#「 about 」 — ❛ dressed in metal٬ dressed in rain. ❜

[cmdrfupa]

Calm Chaos

Metalhead!Choso x Reader

a/n: Let the parasites win with this one. Metal head Cho is simply just another flavor I'm enjoying right now.

Wc: 3.8k

cw: language, boorish man behavior, Reader is condescendingly called princess.

 Calliope

The soft rustle of wind swept through the streets. It carried the scent of damp leaves and the sharp bite of late autumn air. The street trees outside the coffee shop were a mix of orange, red, and a few stubborn greens. They clung on before the chill of autumn claimed them all. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that promised rain but held off just long enough to make you keep glancing up.

Choso sat at his usual table. He wore an illegible name band shirt, dark, worn jeans, and old boots propped against the table leg. Tattoos crawled up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt and peeking out at his neck. Black headphones over his ears. If you were close enough, you'd hear the muted sounds of thrashing guitars. His notebook sat in front of him, half-filled with scrawled lyrics and music notes, though at the moment he wasn’t writing—he was people-watching.

The cozy shop was warm. It smelled of brewing coffee and baked goods. A low murmur of conversation added to the comfort. This was a stark contrast to the gloomy weather outside. It was late afternoon, another day passing. The café buzzed with students, writers, and anyone seeking a brief escape.

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he scanned the café's patrons. Most were lost in their phones or half-assed chats about weekend plans and autumn break. But his gaze lingered on the door as it opened, the bell jingling lightly.

The kind of person who looked like they had just stepped out of some book club. There you were wearing a dusty orange cardigan over a simple, neutral dress. It fluttered as you moved. Your well-worn boots surprised him as you ordered. You had a beloved book in one hand and a tote in the other.  

He’d seen you here before. A regular, it seemed. Every time you came in, you ordered the same thing. It was some tea thing with seasonal syrup, probably pumpkin spice. It was whatever people like you drank. You always found a quiet, sunlit table by the window. There, you spent hours reading or writing in a neat journal. He confidently pegged you as an intellectual type, for sure. The type who had a color-coded planner. And, knew the word count of your favorite novels. He could practically hear the gears turning in your head.

Today, though, you seemed a little more frazzled than usual. The hefty book slipped from your grip as you tried to juggle your order, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled right into his table. Choso smirked as your drink wobbled out of your hand, knocking over his and just barely missing his notebook but dangerously close as it spread across the wooden table.

“Careful there,” he drawled, watching as you struggled to regain your balance. “Would’ve had hell to pay if you spilled that pumpkin spice creation all over me. Or worse—ruin my masterpiece.”

You glanced down, eyes wide in surprise, and saw the coffee dangerously close to his notebook. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!” you sputtered, fumbling to pull the cup back up as he grabbed his notebook to avoid it being soaked. A barista brought a rag and Choso began to clean off the table.

He leaned back once he was done, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he watched you fluster. “Guess it’s my lucky day,” he continued, his voice dripping with teasing. “What are you planning to do about this mess you caused, princess?”

You blinked at him, clearly unsure how to take the comment. Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you straightened up, trying to compose yourself. “I… can buy you a coffee,” you offered quickly, then added, “And I’m not a princess.”

Choso grinned, leaning forward just enough to make you a bit uncomfortable. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, nodding at your outfit, his tone playful. “Cardigan, pumpkin spice bullshit and all—definitely princess material.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly annoyed now, but there was something else in your expression too—a curiosity. “It was masala chai. And I’ll take that as a compliment,” you declared coolly, straightening your cardigan as if it were armor. “So, what’s your masterpiece, exactly?”

Choso tapped the edge of his notebook with a finger. "Lyrics," his voice dipping into a low, almost mocking tone, “could be a little too… heavy for you," eyes daring yours to engage further. “This isn’t that pop goes punk Fall Out Boy shit.”

To his surprise, you tilted your head and gave him a small, defiant smile. “I highly doubt it.” 

_________

You ordered a masala chai for yourself and a cold brew for Choso. Then, you sat across from him. 

“Drinks should be out soon.” You craned your neck in an attempt to look at his journal. “Sorry again.”

Choso looked out from under his brow line, tilting his head towards you. “Uh huh… what are you doing?”

“You told me I could look at your lyrics.”

“I definitely didn’t say that.”

"Well, you challenged me. Saying they were too dark for me. Which is false."

A devilish grin grew, and he put his pen down. “Now why on earth would I let the pretty princess of apple-picking look at my lyrics?”

“Because I bought you a new coffee.”

“Yes. After spilling mine and almost ruining my shit. So what now?"

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But don't start getting sad when I don’t invite you over to sit with me at the best table.” 

“The table that’s now occupied by the couple that's a tongue swipe away from fucking over there?” He pointed to the table near the large window you usually sat at. From just a glance around the cafe, tables were filled.

The barista brought your drinks, and you realized you were stuck if you wanted a table.

Like you were praying into the void, you closed your eyes before smiling. “Fine. But don’t talk to me. I want to finish the next 4 chapters in peace.”

Choso lets you get set up. Your book is open to page 257. A bookmark with Badtz-Maru, Pandaba, and Hana-Maru sits on a beach. You put your phone on the table to keep up with the time and sip your chai, beginning to read. 

“I didn’t say you could sit with me,” Choso murmured, expressionless. “I want to be alone.”

“There is nowhere else, the fuck?” 

“Tough shit, Princess.”

You scoffed, closing your book as you huffed, gathering your things. “So fucking rude.” 

Choso laughed and stood up. He threw his backpack over his shoulder, grabbing his journal with one hand and his coffee with the other. "Relax, Princess Apple. I’m leaving."

You hadn’t noticed how broad he was until he was standing. The steel-toed boots he wore added maybe 3 inches to an already gargantuan man. "Oh…"

“And now you owe me again. Amazing how that works, Your Highness.”

He gave you a wink before walking out of the café. You watched as he walked across the street into the late autumn evening. 

The next day, the weather had turned even colder, with a drizzle coating the streets. Inside the coffee shop, it was warm and bustling as usual. The steam from the hot coffee and the muggy day outside fogged the windows. The air was filled with the comforting scent of roasted beans and cinnamon.

Choso stood at the counter, leaning slightly as he waited for his order to be called. His dark hair was down, framing his face in long, loose waves. His patch-laden leather jacket hung open over a faded band tee. The tattoos on his neck and collarbone were barely visible under the worn material. He tapped his fingers on the counter. The metal rings on his fingers glinted in the dim light. He was in no rush but didn't plan to stay long either.

His mind was on the gig his band had lined up for the next night. It wasn't anything huge, just a venue they frequented. But the thought of the setlist, which they might use on tour, had been taking up space in his head all morning. As the barista handed him his coffee, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here two days in a row.”

He turned to find you again. A few feet away, there you stood bundled up in a soft, dark blue and purple checkered cardigan. It was over a simple shirt and slightly distressed jeans this time.

Choso’s smirk returned instantly, his eyes flicking over you for a moment. “I had a feeling the people's princess would be here again. Glad I was right.” He picked up his coffee, checking the name before taking a sip.

You gave him a small, knowing smile as you approached the counter to place your order. “Right, well, I’m starting to think you live here.”

Choso took a sip from his coffee, glancing at you over the rim of his cup. He felt hesitation bubbling up. It was odd for someone who never hesitated. ‘Just invite them. Don’t make it weird.’

“Actually…” he started, leaning a little on the counter next to you as you waited for your drink. “I’ve got a show tomorrow night. My band, that is.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but trying to play it cool. “A show?”

“Yeah. It’s at this venue called D’s Garage about 2 blocks from here. It’s nothing big,” he said casually like it wasn’t a big deal. He angled his body toward you; how he held your gaze just a little longer than usual suggested otherwise. “You should come. If you’re not too busy annoying anyone else.” His voice had a familiar teasing tone, light and playful. But a flicker of genuine interest lay beneath it.

You blinked, momentarily taken off guard by the invitation. “To a metal show?” You seemed dumbfounded by the mere thought. 

Choso shrugged, his smirk widening. “Why not? You said you could handle heavy shit.  Time to prove it.”

“Look.  I’ve listened to metal before, so this isn’t some new thing for me.” You paused, pushing up your glasses as if weighing your options. “I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to headbang or anything.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, pleased with her response. “We’ll see. It might be hard to resist once I get on stage.”

Your drink arrived. He grabbed it and handed it to you. You glanced at him as you looked for a place to sit. “I’ll see you there then. Thank you.” 

Before you could turn away, Choso added one last playful jab. “Don’t be late. I want the princess to have the perfect spot. And It might be too loud for someone like you to handle without a bit of warm-up.”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but fight the smile that tugged at your lips. “I think I can handle it.”

“Starts at 8, but we should be on around 10 or so. And I’m CK. But call me Choso.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, CK.”

Choso watched as you went to the small table near the window, sipping his coffee with a satisfied smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited you—maybe it was because you seemed like such an outsider in his world, and something about that intrigued him. Or maybe it was just fun to see how flustered you got when he pushed your buttons.

Either way, he was looking forward to seeing your face again.

________

“Why did I say yes?” The usual conversation that should’ve been inside your head was now being held out loud. Sipping your chai, you let the warmth calm your nerves. You weren’t sure if it was the challenge in his voice or the way his smirk lingered in the air like a dare. Part of you wanted to prove him wrong—that you weren’t just some princess with a book who couldn’t handle a little chaos. But there was something more. Something about him that intrigued you, that made you want to see what he was like in his world.

He was a mystery—tattoos, in a band, a metal band no less. His playful banter and lightheartedness sharply contrasted with your life. Always logical, grounded, and comfortable in the routines and pursuits that would stimulate you. Choso, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of person who thrived on unpredictability. It was a tension that made you both nervous and curious at the same time.

“Is he even going to see me? What if I get punched in the face?” You continued walking as your imagination ran wild with what the show might be like. Would he be completely different? Less picking and being in the zone focused on playing and the crowd. “Should I stand in the back? Eh. But if I stand too close I might look like a dumbass. It would be more fun, though. Hm.” 

You shook your head as your apartment building came into view. You stood on the sidewalk. Your recent journal entries were happening. You had wanted to step out of your comfort zone. This was the turning point you needed to shake things up. 

D’s was exactly as you pictured. Tucked away in a brick building that would otherwise be ignored during the day but hard to miss by its flickering blood-red signage that cast a jagged light on the damp sidewalk. 

The inside was dimly lit. A faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with some floral cleaner. 

“Ah. Smells like home.” Shoko smiled as she stepped in behind you. A band was already playing. They yelled about cranial discharge leaking to the floor. You turned to face your smiling friend. “This should be fun.” 

Flyers and posters of past and future shows littered the walls as you walked deeper into the building. The air was thick. You saw a group, swinging their arms and stomping hard. They were pushing other showgoers around. “The hell are they doing?”

Shoko smiled as she ushered you both towards the bar. “Your first-class ticket for when I'm doing rounds at the ER. Come on, let’s get a drink.” 

You sat on one of the bar stools while Shoko ordered you both a beer. You wouldn’t call it nervous. But it was not relaxed. The band finished their set and the group of fist-throwing crowd members settled down, dispersing until the next band got on stage. 

"So, this Choso guy. Did he tell you his band name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Shoko raised her brow. “Did you ask what he played?”

“Uh. No? That probably would have been smart.”

You laughed as Shoko shook her head, passing you your beer. “The person who has to pay attention to detail for work couldn’t even get the details on a guy she’s coming to watch perform.”

“I’m not just here for him! I’m here for the experience. Something new!”

“Yeah yeah. Well, when I invited you out to a punk show, you declined, so I’m not trying to hear about this new experience nonsense.” You kept laughing as Shoko playfully nudged you. 

She chose to wear a band T-shirt, dark pants, and her low-profile skate shoes. With her hair pulled back, only letting her side-swept bangs frame her face, Shoko was blending in effortlessly. 

And you look like you stepped out of a cardigan's quarterly shopping magazine. 

Lost in conversation, you hadn’t realized the next band had set up until you heard a voice over the mic. Introducing a band called “Blood on Your Hands” before he hopped off the stage. 

The harsh sound of a screech sent the crowd into a frenzy. Heavy, almost a good itch to the brain.

Rapid, aggressive riffs ripped through the sound system. The machine-gun drumming caught your ear. Your eyes went to the back of the stage. 

Choso. 

This wasn’t late afternoon cold brew Choso. This was a foaming-at-the-mouth, zoned-out machine. His large arms moved erratically as he played with full energy. 

“It’s him!” You jumped up, pulling Shoko with you. You walked around the barrier of the crowd against the wall to get a better look. 

His heavy foot hit the double drum pedals so fast, you couldn't keep up. But you knew he was playing with no restraint. And damn, did he look good doing it. 

The veins in his arms bulged with each meeting between the drumstick and the cymbal stack. Thankful, he chose a shirt with cut-out sleeves and sides. It showed his pierced nipple and fully tattooed sides. You gawked at the way the shirt stuck to his abdomen.

Some of his hair stuck to his forehead as bulging biceps glistened with sweat. He noticed you during the second song but knew if he kept looking, he’d surely fuck up. 

In the final song, he sang harsh, growling, obscene backing vocals. The audience chanted back.

“DESTRUCTION BEFORE DEATH! MAKE THEM BLEED."

You laughed at the crazed look in his eye until he stood up. The crowd cheered and yelled as they wrapped up their set and his eyes landed on you. Choso gave that mischievous smile before winking at you. He pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face and you could’ve sworn you heard the heavenly trumpets. A fucking six-pack? With a hard gulp, your eyes traveled up until you saw his pecs then his face where he caught you red-handed. He pointed towards the exit and flashed 10 up. You nodded in agreement. “Let's go outside. He said wait for him.”

____

Ten minutes turned to twenty, then twenty to thirty. The temperature dropped by at least 8 noticeable degrees, and you’d waited long enough. “Let’s just go. It’s getting chilly, and it’s been half an hour.”

You walked towards Shoko as she put out her cigarette. She was bummed for you that he forgot you were waiting outside. “Sorry babe. Probably got wrapped up in talking or breaking down the stage. It happens.”

“I guess. But I can at least say I came to the show. That’s good enough.” Arm in arm, you began your walk back to your place. 

  "Hey, Princess Peach.” A familiar voice called out to you. “You leaving me already?” 

“Thirty minutes? You said ten.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he walked over. “Yeah, well... bass amps don’t load themselves, you know?” He stopped in front of you. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wait an hour.”

“Lucky, am I?” you shot back, but there was no edge to your voice. If anything, it was half amused, half exasperated, and Choso could sense it.

“Definitely,” he said, the playful tone back in his voice. “Most people don’t get an encore performance of my charm.”

He walked over, trying to play it off like he hadn’t just made you wait longer than promised. “But really, I'm sorry about the wait. Band life,” he said, his voice casual but just a little strained. “I thought I told the guys to handle the loading, but, you know, can’t trust them with anything.”

He was kicking himself for taking so long, but part of him was glad to see you still waiting. Your amused smile loosened the knot in his chest just a little. 

Choso looked over at Shoko and nodded, “Is this the princess's escort for the night? 

“Ieiri, the princess's lady-in-waiting.” She teased and reached out to shake his hand. “I’m gonna step over there and smoke. Let me know when you’re ready.” She smiled and took a few paces to give you some privacy. 

  “So did you have fun? Or did we scare you off?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to keep the conversation light while his heart raced a little faster than he liked to admit.

“I had fun.” You responded, surprising him with how easily your words came. "A bit intense, but... but I can see why you like it.” 

Choso blinked. He wasn’t used to people from outside his world understanding why he was so into it. Most people assumed metal was just noise or something to be tolerated. But the way you said it—like you got it—threw him off balance. “Yeah? Didn’t think it would be your scene.”

You tilted your head slightly, a challenge in your eyes. “You shouldn’t be surprised. Every princess has to be well-rounded, Choso.” 

Choso chuckled. His usual confidence returned. But, a twist in his stomach reminded him why he was here. He had to ask you—before he lost his nerve.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice lowered as he smiled. “Actually, since you don’t think I’m too awful entertainment-wise, we could hang out again sometime.”

Your expression was curious but calm. "Hang out?"

Pushing through the wall of nerves in his chest, he swallowed. “Yeah. Like grab dinner or something. Just the two of us. No amps, no bright lights, no mosh pit.” His eyes flickered to yours. “A proper date.”

  For a moment, you just stood watching him with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. Choso tried to keep his cool, but internally, he was bracing for whatever answer you gave. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsure. Normally, he didn’t care either way—if someone said yes, cool. If not, whatever. But with you... a yes would probably have him on the moon until he saw you again; he cared. A lot more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

“Hmm,” you said, drawing out the silence just long enough to make him sweat a little. You tilted your head, letting him wonder for a beat before a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “A proper date, huh?”

“Yeah,” Choso said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite mask the underlying hope in his voice. “I promise I won’t make you sit through another metal show... unless you’re into that sort of thing now.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think one show is enough for now.”

Choso grinned, feeling the tight knot in his chest start to loosen again. “So... that’s a yes?”

Nodding, your smile widened, “That’s a yes.”

  He couldn’t help the little rush of relief and excitement that coursed through him. His smirk grew, but there was a softness in his eyes now, a warmth that was rare for him. “Alright. I’ll pick a good spot. Somewhere quieter. For your sake.”

“I appreciate that,” you muttered, still smiling as you looked at him. “But no more thirty-minute waits.”

Choso chuckled, leaning in just slightly, his playful edge back in full force. “No promises, princess."

props to @/saradika- graphics for dividers!

[playmiya]

LIKE A BOY — CYBERPUNK!SUNA cw: description of murder, violence, alcoholism & drug mentions / takes inspiration from cyberpunk: 2077 and cyberpunk edgerunners

suna stares at the view in front of him. night city is a giant, glimmering monster of neon from his perch on the rooftop of this abandoned skyscraper, one of many that dot his line of sight. flickering holograms advertising everything from subway passes to nightclubs rapidly flash, and the sounds of whirring trains and cars surround him in an endless cacophony. the stench of acid and smoke from the factories mingle to create a toxic blend of air that only a true citizen of the city would be able to withstand.

he hates it. he hates it all so much. if there was a world where the clouds, instead of raining sulphur, rained lighter fuel and he could ignite a matchstick just to throw it off this building, he would set night city on fire in a heartbeat.

he's certain he's losing his mind. he doesn't need to be doped out on glitter or teetering on the edge of cyberpsychosis to feel the way he does. every couple of weeks, when the endless slashing and maiming and killing gets a bit much, when he conflates the face of his previous target with the next, his head gets a bit blurry. his hands seem to be perpetually dirty — and scrubbing them to no end, like that germaphobe sakusa — does nothing to clean them. he's overcome with the urge of slitting the throat of anyone within five feet of him, if that'll make him feel better.

the price of devotion to inarizaki must be quantified in blood. it's a mandatory tax he needs to pay, a burden passed down from his father from his grandfather. a burden that's becoming increasingly difficult to pay in a city where every next target is more metal, and less human.

suna can only do so much with his hands before he either sees them as weak or splattered with blood from different beings.

peeling off his shirt, caked with blood and damp with sweat, he wonders what he's doing here instead of trudging back home in japantown.

the click-clack of your heels crunching through broken glass and discarded syringes up the stairs reminds him. if suna's a loaded gun waiting to be fired, you're both the trigger and the safety.

he supposes the only reason he's still somewhat who he was and not some mindless lapdog for the gang is thanks to you. the princess of arasaka, set to inherit their pharmaceutical empire, playing anchor for someone who'll always be second-best in inarizaki. he's so beneath you that it's pathetic. he sometimes thinks he has a better chance of building a stairway to the moon than seriously being with you.

and yet, here you were, rushing out of whatever meeting your parents had trapped you in, taking the godforsaken subway that you'd normally never step foot in, climbing up three flights of stairs in heels that would cover a week's worth of bounties, just for him.

your perfume greets him before you do. it's a delicate floral number he knows you only reserve for important days, so he feels just a little guilty, until your cold hands come to settle against warm, bare skin and he can't think at all.

"hi," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your nails — is that a new set? — adorned with pretty flecks of chrome mixed in with pink glitter gently graze against him, and he can't help but melt into your touch.

"hey," he mumbles in response, bringing one large, calloused palm on top of yours. there's a low magnetic hum from where your ring meets his, and they clink in a comfortable sound as you join him in dangling your legs over the edge of the building, content with resting your face in the crook of his neck to watch over his shoulder at the neon cityscape.

"long day?", you whisper, not wanting to disturb him. truthfully, he thinks you could start screaming about a new dress you ordered from paris and he'd still be grateful to just have you there with him.

"mhm." you shift, just a little, so you're now sitting next to him. he does look a little worse for wear than usual, and you can't help but feel the dull bubble of anger that consumes you at just how tired he looks. he rests his head on your shoulder, and the smell of copper and smoke is a heady mixture that envelops you. you don't budge, not one bit, even as he's sweaty and dirty, and every instinct of yours is screaming at you to return to the boardroom you're supposed to be in instead of bailing and spending the night at a polluted building on the outskirts of the city with a man who'd otherwise make light work of killing you and claiming the millions of eddies that are set on your head.

fate is at its best when it works in diametrically opposite ways.

you run a hand soothingly over his arm, concerned every time about the new scar he's picked up just underneath his elbow.

"wanna talk about it?", you hesitantly offer. you know the suit of events like the back of your hands.

"no," he mumbles, and he nuzzles closer into your neck, fanning the juncture near your clavicle with his hot breath.

"not even a little?", you ask again, feeling his eyelashes flutter. how can be so pretty, bathed in the ugly, harsh glow of pink and purple light even while exhausted will always confuse you. suna was so achingly pretty that you were scared. scared of how you'd respond when he'd ask you to stay, just for a little longer, like he always asks you on nights like these, nights that turn to daybreaks being spent in his arms.

he strips away any rationality you hold. he knows that. you don't know for how much longer you can keep giving in, but that was a worry for another day.

"no," he grumbles again, and his grip on your waist tightens. you giggle at his petulance.

"i think it'll make you feel better."

he may be fatigued beyond words, but he can spare you one of his trademarked dramatic sighs, a sign that there's still the suna you know so very well underneath the layers of the complicated, messy, dangerous persona he has to maintain.

"work today was.... shit," he exhales, thinking of the hostage situation he'd been forced to mediate. a mother being held at gunpoint by her husband, who'd been driven into a deep state of cyberpsychosis after embedding a militech chip into his brain. a chip that suna, who was originally supposed to recover it quietly from new harbour, had to retrieve by sifting through the splattered brains of mother, daughter and husband. that's what the husband gets for fucking with what isn't his. the mother and daughter, though, were collateral damage that hit a too little close to home for him.

"then i went home and that was shit too," he laughs harshly, finding perverse amusement in the irony of his life. rei was all out of her chuupets, and that led her to hiding out in her room and crying for dear life as his dad chose the literal worst time to come home drunk, bitching and yelling to his mother about yet another day spent in miya senior's shadow and how it was all her fault.

the old-fashioned yet highly modified katana suna uses, engraved with the prophetic words of the gang, we don't need the memories, felt heavy in his hands as he chose to run away from home and bury himself in a pile of bodies. he shouldn't have taken so many commissions on, but he did. all to make him think of anything but the broken bottles and rei's wails as he carried her in his arms to kita's place, where he deposited her for the rest of the day.

"do you think i'm a coward?", he asks you, because you're the only person who knows who he truly is, what he truly is, and still decides, every day, to be with him.

you study his amber eyes, so observant despite what they let on. it's not even a question worth asking.

your lips are on his before he can even anticipate it. it's sweet, and desperate at the same time, like you're kissing frantically him so any doubt can disappear from his brain and he's only thinking of you. you're soft, and he can taste the cherry of your gloss when you part your mouth to let out the quietest noise of contentment that he drinks up when his hand creeps up the short dress that hits just right at your mid thigh.

it takes a phenomenal amount of self-control for you to pull away and not kiss him senseless. he's clearly disappointed, and groans when you rest your forehead against his. how you manage to flip his switches so effortlessly will always bewilder him.

"you're perfect. you've never been a coward, and you never will be," you breathe, and for someone who has to measure their words and consider the weight of all their actions as a part of a grander corporate scheme, you find yourself unrestrainedly honest with suna. it's difficult not to be. you kiss his forehead gently, and suna thinks he's going to explode at just how saccharinely sweet you are to someone like him.

"you're too fuckin' good to me," he sighs, lacing his fingers through yours. "too good for me," he adds as you let out a hum of disapproval, beautiful face scrunching up into an annoyed expression.

"should've never bought you that drink," he chuckles wearily, reminiscing about the day he decided to shoot his shot at his deskmate at the academy when he'd spotted you at manhattan's bar.

"you never should've said yes," he grouses, but he doesn't mean it.

"stupid boy," you chide, flicking the same spot of his forehead where you'd just kissed him. the remnants of your gloss are still there.

"you know you're going to buy me a drink in every universe. and i'm going to keep saying yes."

a/n hello hi sorry if this was a bit ,,, dreary but i promise i'm going to make this fun, i plan on doing a little cyberpunk sunarin miniseries because i'm missing the show so much :( also i know suna's ooc in this but i love making my men a little pathetic <3

[angerworn]

what form of love do you embody?

love as violence.

[ love as bloodshed, crimson as a knife slipped between your ribs ] when ocean vuong said "to arrive at love, then, is to arrive through obliteration" and when franz kafka said "you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love" and when ada limon said "how do you love? like a fist. like a knife" and when richard siken said "sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine".

tagged by: @shieldied tagging: @medicbled, @e1verdugo, @sainterror (theia), @stingslikeabee, @susponte, @guttcrson, @tragertm, @4ger, and you. do it and tag me~

[roundedloaf]

an incomplete list of some Things that happened in the olympic opening ceremony

Both Lady Gaga and Celine Dion gave performances

Three teenagers got lost in the catacombs with the olympic flame and got saved by the phantom of the opera

a ménage à trois

20 different pink clad marie antoinettes holding their own chopped off heads watched a metal concert

Dionysius showed up to preach about sobriety??

a guy dressed as Napoleon did BMX tricks

the peace flag was carried by this horsewoman of the apocalypse

The phantom of the opera did parkour. a lot of parkour

3 seperate pianos were rained on

One was on fire

The on fire piano was involved in a very sincere rendition of John Lennon's Imagine

They never actually explained the phantom of the opera bit? I was really expecting him to look different

The minions stole the mona lisa

Are the minions french???

A french man in red white and blue played the accordion while wearing a beret

In conclusion: excellent entertainment, excellent showing off, good luck america trying to top this

[ceilidho]

prompt: reader is hired as a live in house cleaner because ghost is always away and he only comes back on leave and he insists she stay in the guest room. Over time he increasingly acts like she’s his live in girlfriend or something. Very confusing for reader lmao.

-

The job comes at the exact right time. 

The way you stumble onto your new job is a bit dicey, if you’re being honest. You’ve been meaning to get out of the waitressing life for a while—the tips are shit and the number of times that you’ve had your backside pinched has slowly but steadily climbed into the double digits. You just haven’t had direction; somewhere to go. 

Your savior comes in the form of a six foot plus soldier. Oh, he doesn’t tell you that, but his body language speaks for itself. 

At first, even the sight of him makes your belly clench and palms sweat like when you watch rock climbing documentaries or parkour videos online (all moist and clammy and you have to wipe them on your jeans before shaking his hand). He’s a one-time customer at your little roadside diner that gradually becomes a repeat offender. 

He comes at odd times, sometimes disappearing for a month or two before he’s back to sitting in the booth at the back of the diner with his back against the wall. You smile shakily when you pour him coffee after coffee. He never eats. Always sits in the same booth, dressed in the same black hoodie that does nothing to hide the sheer size of him and a black surgical mask that he never removes. He has a sixth sense for when you’re watching him from behind the counter, waiting for him to take a sip.

You never do catch a glimpse of his face. Not completely anyway. You know him only by the faint smell of gunpowder and metal that clings to him like a second skin, and the feeling of his calloused hand against yours. 

Like ice slowly chipping off a glacier that one day cracks, a huge chunk splintering off and crashing into the sea, you know nothing about him until you’re suddenly in his house. Simon, he tells you, and the sound of his name awakens something in you. He needs a housekeeper and you need a reason to leave. 

You quit the diner; barely even put in a week’s notice. 

The day you drive up the long beaten road up to his property, a cabin deep in the English countryside, clear blue skies follow you. Clouds crisp, delicate even. Simon takes you through the house, showing you to the guest room where you’ll be staying while he’s away. He never directly confirms your suspicions, but the faint tightness around his eyes when he mentions his job tells you all you need to know. No wonder he needs someone to keep the house in order. Never around to do it himself.

Then he’s gone, swift as a ghost. You wake up in the guest room to a hastily scrawled note on your bedside table and a faint feeling of loss. 

You scrub tiles and dust the top bit of the fan that everyone always misses; you mow the lawn, clean the gutters, and sit under the shade of a poplar tree with a glass of lemonade in the early evenings. If you look up into the tree, you’ll see spiders and squirrel nests. It’s almost therapeutic. 

Weeks pass at a time. Simon reemerges like clear skies between periods of rain. Sometimes even before you wake up, you can feel the change like lighting sizzling in the air, crackling hot under your fingertips and then stumbling into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, coffee already brewing. You blush into an apology that he waves off.

Good soldier. Better boss. 

You fall into a routine, something of a cadence that is only interrupted by Simon’s hands on your hips when he moves you out of the way to grab a mug from the top shelf. His finger brushing over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away flour smudged on your cheek. Then he’s gone again, passing through like a ghost. 

Perhaps he’s a more tactile man than you originally assumed. Something about the way he held himself in those first few weeks in the diner suggested otherwise, the way he seemed to radiate a latent hostility. Do not get close. You read this in the general slope of his eyebrows and the scars across his muscled forearms up until he reaches out to touch you, growing more and more comfortable with you around.

“You alright, love?” said into your ear on a warm night when Simon materializes onto the couch beside you, practically out of thin air. Your heart almost bursts in your chest. 

When you turn, he’s as beautiful as ever, honey burnt eyes staring out from behind a balaclava this time. Still dresses in his standard issue tactical pants, the faint smear of grime and gore around the ankles. There’s a lump in your throat when you smile. 

He smells richer now. Deeper, like the forest floor. Like crawling through mud and spider webs and a thick, cloying miasma of desperation. 

“Sorry—I didn’t know you’d be back,” you apologize, going to rise up to your feet. It feels wrong to commandeer his house when he’s on leave, even though you live here too.

A heavy hand on your shoulder pulls you down, settling you to his side. “Off your feet now—there you go, atta girl. No sense getting up; show’s not even done.” 

He angles you back to face the TV and tugs you into his lap almost effortlessly. You do not look back, even when you feel him slip the balaclava off, hot breath fanning over your neck. Not even when fingers play over the thin line of skin where your shirt rides up. You blink like your eyes are gummy and try not to shudder when his thumb dips underneath your shirt.

[allurilove]

Yan! Prince x Siren you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Gore, murder, death, cannibalism?, physical violence, non-consensual touching, implied sexual exploitation, fem reader, and decapitation.

*This is just a fun short story I wrote for the class I am taking, and I just decided to upload it here! Some parts are influenced by the yandere fic I already made lol! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: All you have known is peace, all until you get captured by a group of men that unlocks a different side to you. You then meet a prince, a prince driven with a bloodlust for power, and he gives you a proposition.

Men. All they do is bother you.

Your heart beats fast.

Your vision blurs as the familiar blues turn into browns, and your eyes fixate on the woodwork and rustic charm of what is considered to be a ship. The rope burns onto your skin, and your body contorts into an unnatural state as she is hoisted onto the boat.

Your tail thrashes and you try to bite your way out of the trap—teeth gnashing and chewing—and you cry out as youre is hit with a paddle. Your head starts to ring, and your eyes widen as you see the group of men in front of you.

Their garments are quite different from yours; in fact, they are fully dressed from head to toe. Their clothes are all dark, and their blouses have ruffles at the top. They wear boots, have swords at their sides, trench coats, and carry a heavy musk of sweat and battle.

With a sharp and intimidating blade, one of the men cuts through the net. Multiple hands grab for you, and your world comes to a pause as you panic. You feel like you can't breathe and your lungs are about to collapse. You scratch and attempt to plead with your captors, your nails digging into their forearms, drawing long red streaks.

But they do not listen.

“Mighty thang we got ‘ere!” one of the men says, his hair darkened by the rain peltering their bodies. He has a rough scar running down his face– a deep incision that caused his skin to never heal.

You can see a prominent and yellow snaggletooth whenever he speaks. He has an air of authority surrounding him, and his hat has gold embellishments compared to the regular silver everyone else has. That one particular man holds a predatory gaze, his eyes set ablaze with a whirlwind of mischief. “Tie her up, we could use a beaut like her on top of the mantle.” 

Laughter fills your ears as the group of men start to agree, and you feel a chill run down your spine as they touch your smooth cheek, their fingers trailing down to your jawline, and moving lower to your collarbones.

Each touch feels intrusive as they pet your silk-like hair condescendingly. “We could send her to the owner at The Pearl of the Eye; I know they are lookin’ for new girls to show off,” another says, his arms crossed as he leaned against the post.

“Aye, tha’ a popular place.” The man with the highest regard starts to pet his scruffy beard in thought. He then catches your withering glare, and a flash of amusement crosses his face. “Feisty one, aren’t ya? I know men who would pay a pretty coin for that temperament.”

“Keep it up, trollop.” he snickers, his finger moving to boop your nose. “You’ll make me thousands of gold in no time.”

Your pupils turn to slits as you bite down onto the man's finger, a metallic taste bursting into your mouth, satisfaction lingering on your tongue. His blood becomes sweet nectar, and with renewed strength and clarity, you unhinge your jaw and attempt to swallow the human whole.

Your hunger becomes endless, and a gnawing angry feeling grows into an insatiable appetite for flesh. For skin to be peeled off meat. For meat to be taken from bone, and their vocal chords to be a part of yours. Your body adjusts to the change, your throat expanding to the men’s silhouette as they traveled down your gullet. Their screams were words of encouragement, egging you to continue.

Humans, and men in particular, tasted different from the fish you were used to. They were heavier, harrier, bloodier, and infested with nasty ambition of lust and pride. You revel in the taste of their guilt, their fear, and the past memories of their wickedness. 

No matter how hard the group of men tried to band up and defeat the siren, their swords were no match for your unwavering hatred. You waste zero time to snap multiple necks, your teeth digging into any area that you could rip into shreds, and your stomach becomes full off of their disgustingly filthy urine soaked bodies.

One last man is standing, his eyes wide as saucers and his tears roll down his pale cheeks. He looks young and his uniform doesn't fit him properly. Your nails help your body to crawl towards the shaking figure, he can't even defend himself, and the weapon in his hand shakes. The wind continues to whip around them, the clouds darken as a loud cry comes from the sky, and an array of purple and dark blue strikes down on the earth. The boy yelps when you have an iron grip on his ankle. 

Unbeknownst to the siren, a smaller vessel has pulled up to the larger ship.

“I wouldn't touch him, if I were you.” The voice is cutthroat, a harsh demand that sends chills down the spine of the scariest and deadliest creature. You wince as you feel a sharp pain on your scalp, and your hair is now wrapped around a stranger's hand as they yank you back. You crash into a barrel filled with treasures as you are thrown across the ship, and a bunch of diamonds and pearls spill onto the floor. 

A tall and proud man stands in front of you, he has pitch black hair that flows in the wind, and his blue eyes shine like bright lights. The unknown man's presence is regal-like, his back straight like an arrow, and his face is trained with unusual niceties. Then the little boy ran into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around him tightly… all before the man pulls out a dagger from his sheath.

Without a single thought, a clean cut to the throat separated the head from the body, and the man’s lips stretched into a wide eerie smile. He isn't phased by the limp body falling to his feet and the blood spilling onto his perfect shoes.

“You… you are exactly what I need.” The man’s eyes are glued to yours and he stares down at you. “My name is Prince....” 

The prince that stands before you is practically last in line for the throne. That is what you could surmise from his little rant. He is sadly and disappointingly the second youngest, and he isn't close to the crown and title, at all.

He paced around, one hand on his heart, and the other continued to grip onto the hair of the decapitated head. “I need to be king. I am the only one fit to rule the land. It is like the gods have forsaken me, and they decided to punish me for no apparent reason.”  

The man huffs, his eyes narrowing. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, but he stands his ground. “Six siblings ahead of me, and one measly brother behind me– does that seem fair to you? That this kingdom will fall into the hands of dumb and dumber, and eventually to the offspring of the said dumb and dumber?!” His voice is so loud it even rivals the onslaught of thunder, and you can hear a hint of distraught on his otherwise clear and steady tone.

“This is where you come in.” He stops right in front of you. “I can keep you fed, and I can give you all the riches you could ever want. Marry me, carry my children and lineage, and get rid of all of my siblings.” The prince throws the head at your tail, and with a tilt of the ship, it slowly rolls towards you.

The boy's jaw is slack, a tooth chipped from the impact of the fall, and his blue eyes are wide open in fear. He has similar tiny freckles around his nose like the prince, the same facial structure with the high cheekbones, and a tall nose.  

“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” 

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 5•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Simon and Johnny talk.

-

The soft rain continues into the night, enhancing the petrichor of the city: metal and concrete and gasoline. You are tucked away safely in Simon and Johnny’s bed, your dress and virtue intact, where you will remain until the late afternoon if your quiet snores are any indication. Simon had slipped the shoes from your feet, rolled you onto your side, and covered you with a blanket just in time for Johnny to limp into the bedroom and ask him to smoke out on the balcony together. 

Simon doesn’t smoke often anymore; it makes his night terrors worse. But he misses the lazy, relaxed feeling it gives him while awake, so it’s no real harm to say yes. Buttoned up in their jackets, they stand out on the balcony together passing a joint back and forth, the very image that he could have walked in on earlier that week only with you and Johnny instead. 

Johnny opens his mouth. 

“Don’t,” says Simon. 

He throws his hands up, nearly dropping the joint. “How’d you know what I was going t’ even say?” 

“I know you,” Simon reminds him. Johnny has had that look on his face ever since you passed out asleep in the car ride on the way home: brows pressed together, full mouth pouting in a way that is entirely unintentional. Simon has been the cause of that look more times than he cares to admit—and tonight is one more time added to that list. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Hafta.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says I.” 

“Leave it alone,” he says. That’s as close as Simon Riley gets to begging: repeating something twice. 

“Do you believe me when I say that I would if I could?” 

Simon glances at Johnny. The light flooding from inside the apartment casts his face in warm shadows. There is a pleading in his eyes, a begging to be understood. Johnny’s never had to beg for that; Simon’s always been able to read him well, the other man used to wearing his heart on his sleeve and Simon used to seeing much more than he ever says. 

He sighs and impatiently reaches for the joint, taking a hit that burns his lungs. “Make it quick then.” 

“You don’t want me to fuck her anymore. You’ve changed your mind.”

“Haven’t.”

“Aht, aht—look me in the eyes and say it.” 

Simon does, and it makes Johnny frown. 

“Then what is it? You’ve got a bug up your arse, I just can’t figure out the species.” 

“I love your way with words,” Simon says, silently cutting himself off. He hands the joint back to Johnny, his head swimming a little. 

The truth is simple and devastating: Simon’s jealous. It’s not an emotion he’s used to (though self-denial is often in his repertoire). He doesn’t know what to fucking do with it, like a man who has given up smoking and now doesn’t know what to do with his hands. When you had first arrived on their doorstep, the attraction you felt for them had been obvious—except was that Simon fooling himself? Were you attracted to him at all, or just Johnny, Johnny with his pretty pale eyes and charming smile and uncanny ability to make even the most unpracticed of people fall in love with him? 

You smoke with Johnny, cuddle on the couch with Johnny, have movie dates with Johnny when Simon is away. The most interaction he’d had with you involved your anxious stammering and quick retreats. 

Yes, tonight had really put it into perspective for him. When it came to the two of you, Simon was likely only ever going to be on the outside looking in. 

“I’m losin’ yeh,” Johnny murmurs, his words tinted by smoke. 

“Never.” 

“Don’t put yer mask on, Simon Riley,” Johnny says with tenderness that Simon doesn’t deserve. “Not when it’s just the two of us. All that shite we said about her when we were fucking—it was just the sex talking, wasn’t it? You were talking out your arse.”

“When have you ever known me to do that?” 

Johnny doesn’t say anything for a while. The rain is soaking through their jackets. Johnny leans against him, looking for warmth, and Simon is happy to slip an arm around his waist and pull him closer. 

“I want her to want me,” he says at length, voice nearly lost to the nighttime city sounds. Somewhere, a siren is wailing. Simon sympathizes. “I don’t know why.”

“Everybody wants t’ be wanted.” The thought of being lumped in with everybody nearly makes him sick, but he supposes Johnny has a point. It’s human. Unfortunately, so is Simon. “She wants you, LT. Nay—it’s not up for discussion. For a man who sees everything, yer eyesight is broken.”

“It’s not worth the breath it’d take to argue with you.”

“Just how I win all our arguments.”

“Fucking her without talking to her first would be a mistake,” he says.

“I’ll talk to her. But I want you there.”

“When you fuck or talk?”

“In an ideal world? Both.”

“Keep dreaming, Johnny boy.”

“I don’t need t’ fuck her, you know,” Johnny reminds him. He looks up at Simon, all eyelashes. “You’re the only thing in this world I need. If fucking her puts any doubt in yer silly head—“

“It doesn’t. I know what keeps you coming back to me.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asks with a grin, feigning ignorance. He crushes the lit end of the blunt to ash on the metal railing of the balcony and tosses the roach over the edge. Finding Simon’s hand buried mostly in his jacket sleeve, he laces their fingers together, comfortable and lazy.

“My winning personality,” Simon deadpans. 

“Oh, obviously.” 

“My charming good looks.” 

“That one’s true.” 

“My cock.”

“She’s got one of those.”

Simon stares. The silence stretches on, Johnny’s smug grin unchanging. “Dunno how to break this to you, Johnny—“

“A toy, LT,” Johnny stage whispers. 

Simon’s eyes narrow. “How’d you get this intel?” 

“My own eyes. But it was an accident, swear to Jesus,” Johnny says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t materialized behind him. “The other day when you were taking so bloody long in the shower and I had to piss—she was working, so I went into her bathroom.

“She didn’t have the curtain drawn on her shower and there it was, staring me in the eye, LT. Blue monstrosity with a suction cup on the end.”

“Fucking hell.” 

“Big as you, at least.”

“Don’t fucking tell me that.” 

“If I have to think about it, then you do too. Thinking about her in the shower, hands against the walls, bouncing away on that cheap bit o’ plastic, wishing it were one of us.” 

Simon lets himself picture it: the water sluicing rivulets over your skin, creating constellations of drops on your closed lashes. Your mouth wet and open, hoping the roar of water against the tile covers up the sound of your moans and gasps. 

“You’re a menace.” 

“One of my good qualities, what keeps you coming back to me,” says Johnny. He shivers, half of it for show. “Can we go back in?”

They go back in and strip off their damp clothes right there in the living room, balcony blinds wide open. Simon opts to take the couch, though he hardly fits, and Johnny takes the bed to be with you in case you are sick in the night. 

When Johnny slips into the dark bedroom, he can hear the soft sound of your snores. All seems well. A knot of worry in his chest unwinds, and he tugs on a clean shirt, determined not to look like an opportunistic bastard if you wake up in the night and catch him in bed with you. 

You are still there when the sun rises, and Johnny with it. No matter how many years it’s been since he’s left the SAS, the internal clock is ingrained in his subconscious. He lets himself roll onto his side and stare at you: the shape of your brows, your softly parted mouth. You’re drooling on Simon’s pillow. 

His heart throbs with fondness for you, and with anxiety. He’s nearly positive that you have feelings for Simon as well—he’s caught the way you stare, the way your eyes will track the other man’s movements when you’re all in a room together—but of course he can’t be sure. Not until you make a move or say as such.

Years ago, your interest in Simon might have made him jealous, back when all the attention needed to be his for him to feel anything at all. Maybe it was a sign of getting older, tamer; or maybe it was just about growing safe in his love with Simon, in knowing that they belong to each other absolutely and in perpetuity, but now it thrills him—the thought of sharing and being shared. 

It turns him on, too—sharing. A thought he should not be having while in bed with your half unconscious figure. 

Don’t do wrong by us, he thinks, reaching out to tug the covers up around your shoulders more. Give us a proper chance. Let us fuck it up for our selves, if we must—just give us the chance. 

Out in the living room, he hears the creak of the sofa; Simon is awake. 

Rolling onto his side, he shifts his bad leg out of the bed first, wincing at the early-morning stiffness which seems worse than usual. He’s limping more on his way to the bathroom, but left his cane in the other room. 

“Genius, I am,” he mutters, flipping on the bathroom light. “Just another reason why Simon keeps me ar—what the fu-uck.”

Sometime in the night, part of the ceiling in the northwestern most corner has fallen, wet bits of ceiling tile congealing on the tiled floor. Through the hole (big as two of his fists held together) he can see ceiling beams. Water continues to drip, creating a vast puddle that nearly reaches his toes. 

“Jesus fucking wept,” he says. 

-

Sometime during Simon and Johnny’s perusal of the bathroom, two calls to the maintenance superintendent, and numerous Scottish curse words, you wake. 

You have cotton mouth, your head practically stuffed full of the wooly substance. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, panties bared beneath the sheets and blankets. All around you are the scents of Simon and Johnny, and you have just enough time to wonder what they were doing in your bed before the bed depresses, Johnny at your side coaxing you further into wakefulness. You’re not in your bed; you’re in theirs. 

“What’s going on?” you mutter. 

“Maintenance is coming to look at the bathroom. Figured you’d want to be wearing something else when they got here.”

“What’s wrong with the bathroom?” 

“Ceiling’s caving in,” says Simon from where he leans in the doorway of the bathroom, his hip cocked against it, arms crossed and closed off. 

“Sleep well?” Johnny asks.

“Like the dead.”

“Never heard the dead snore like that,” he says, making your face flush with warmth. 

You grab his pillow and lob it at him half heartedly. There’s a knock on the door in the other room, startling you the way knocks and doorbells always do. The imminent threat of strangers in your space. Jerking down your dress to the proper length, you kick off the blankets and scuttle out of the bed, doing the shortest walk of shame in history. The last thing you see is Simon at the front door waiting for you to disappear before giving the maintenance person entrance. 

Heart thudding, you let your back rest against your bedroom door and wrack your brain to remember the finer details of what had happened last night.

There had been joy meeting up with your girlfriends for the first time in ages—you had saved for so long just to be able to afford a single night out. It was like old times—until it wasn’t. Then you were alone, single in a strange bar watching the last of your friends slip out the door with no more than a wave and a ‘what can you do?’ grin. You had shed some tears at the bar, earning the bartender’s pity. And the pity of a few others, though the name of the man who had given you attention for half the night escaped you.

After that, things got very fuzzy. You must have called to ask Ghost for a ride home. He had offered it, after all, before you had left the apartment in the first place. Even drunk, you had known better than to ask for a ride from a stranger. 

Then—God.

Oh God. Johnny. The backseat. You had come on to him. He had even tried to stop you, but you hadn’t taken no for an answer. The memories rush over you like a tidal wave, one after the other, bringing with them mortification, horror, dread. 

You bury your face in your hands, ashamed and terrified all at once. You had hit on your married friend, against his will, with his husband in the driver’s seat. There would be no coming back from this. 

You needed to talk to Johnny and Simon, urgently. An apology was due at the very least. You wouldn’t be surprised if they kicked you out of the apartment altogether. Stripping out of your dress, you drag on the first clean clothes you can find and slip out into the living room, stomach rolling, to find Simon and Johnny speaking together in hushed voices. They stop at the sight of you. 

“I need to talk to you,” you say to Johnny, before you can lose your nerve. 

“I need to talk to you,” says Simon solemnly. 

“Make that we need to talk to you,” Johnny amends, casting Simon a look.

“Well I need to talk to someone,” the maintenance guy says. 

The three of you jerk, having forgotten the stranger’s presence and no one very eager to be the one to speak with him. Simon heaves a sigh and tilts his head toward the front door in a silent order. The two of them disappear outside, voices just audible on the other side of the door. 

“We should wait fer Simon,” says Johnny. 

“Alright,” you give in, choosing to sit at the far edge of the sofa. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking, feeling just as likely to panic as you are to burst into tears. Simon’s disappointment and anger are the last things you want to face, but you suppose that you have earned them. 

After a moment of silence, Johnny asks innocuously: “While we wait—can I use your bathroom? Sorry, it’s just, since ours is out of commission—”

“Of course, my bathroom is your bathroom.” But then you remember... You stand hastily. “Actually, let me just…tidy up really quickly. It’s a mess in there.” 

Johnny doesn’t grin, but it is a near thing. “Alright, lass. Whatever you need to do.” 

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Three

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Suggestive themes (smut is coming I promise)

I literally wrote a whole chapter and it deleted </3

Masterlist

You woke up, body slumped against the door as you groaned. The soft strum of pain vibrated through your lower back, the dull ache sending a small zap through you as you stood up.

Groggy eyes drifted to the stained window, the barely visible streak of sun peaking over the forest as you sighed, feet padding against the floors as soft creaks spoke back to you.

You stared in the mirror, dull eyes staring back. You rubbed your face, small streaks of sticky sleep dragging across your palms as you picked them off.

Mortification is all you could feel. Not only are four men in your house, but you touched yourself to one, and another walked in on you. MID ORGASM. You silently prayed they had packed up their stuff and left. Or maybe it never happened and Ghost hadn’t seen anything. Or maybe- fuck it. There wasn’t much use denying.

The chill of the water woke you up as you scrubbed vigorously, almost as if you could wash away the embarrassment you felt.

You dressed yourself before heading to the barn, the acreage becoming more and more visible by the minute as you fed the animals, collecting any eggs in your makeshift apron, before letting the horses roam in the paddock

You took note of the overcast, thick smog of clouds littering across the barely visible sky. You needed the rain, but you also knew it would make it harder for them to leave if it did.

Conjuring that it would make things easier if they woke up and you were gone, you cooked yourself breakfast before heading out, planning to target a small set of shops you were yet to raid, tucked away on a more secluded part of the area. In fear of waking them up, you rolled out the rusting bike from the garage, a small woven basket adorned with half broken flowers as you rolled the worn wheels onto the gravel road.

You didn’t take much with you. Only a bottle of water, a pistol (incase you magically needed it) and two apples as well the large backpack stitched on your back.

The trail was mostly flat, a few rocks causing you to wobble from time to time, but for the most part it was an enjoyable ride. The soft flicker of the sun stretched through the adorned trees, the heaviness of the clouds beginning to weigh on you as you peddled faster.

It was an hour or two trek, you believed, the roaring ache of your thighs begging for the needed break as you pulled into the abandoned town. Sometimes you expect people to run out, waving you down in celebration, but it never came.

You could hear the soft groans of nearby dead, wobbling their rotting limbs towards the bike before turning around. The tinkle of the rusted bell greeted you as you ducked through the aisles. It was a small store, only supplying anything for a couple hundred, most items expired now anyway, but it was worth a look.

You held your bag open, dumping a few cans of tinned vegetables in as well as a bag of sugar, a pack of razors and some long-life cartons of skim milk. With achy thighs, you jumped over the counter, mess everywhere, register half open with nothing inside. It was funny, even during an apocalypse people found the time for money.

You rattled at the metal knob on the staff door, growing frustrated when it wouldn’t budge before you began to kick, slamming your boots against it repeatedly before it eventually swung open. It might have taken you 15 minutes, but it was sure worth it as you snatched up the golden sweetness many would refer to as whiskey.

You headed off with a few other things, half open stock boxes tipped everywhere as your hands grabbed for anything that hadn’t expire, or was about to. With a heavier bag, and a smug smile on your face, you peddled your way home.

“Y’ think she got scared and buggered off?” Soap quipped, mouth half full with an apple, juices spurting across the room as Ghost glared back.

“If it wasn’t for him,” Gaz interjected, thumb pointing towards the masked-man, “she probably would have let us stay.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, replaying the scene in his head for the hundredth time. Sure, he should’ve knocked but he’s glad he didn’t. Half of him wanted her to ask him to stay, to fully satisfy her, to fully satisfy him.

“She wouldn’t have just packed up and left- put far too much effort into all this place to leave,” Price said, voice deeper than usual as he took a swig of water. Time ticked slowly as they waited around, searching every crevice of the house before they landed on a bow and arrow.

Soap snatched it, veiny hands clawing at the weapon as if it was gold. “What’dya say, LT? Fancy hunting some deer?”

“I ain’t hunting for anybody if I ain’t staying-“

“Go hunt a f’cking deer,” Price huffed.

The two me disappeared into the forest as Gaz stepped outside, bottom plonked in the barely comfortable porch chair. The Captain knew you would probably bitch them out, but a sick part of him wanted you to let them stay, wanted you to realise they were what you needed, that they magically landed on your farm for some Godforsaken purpose.

He would make you realise. He knew he would.

You felt like vomiting now, your bones burning as if they had clawed through your flesh, attempting to escape the treacherous journey that you forced yourself to endure.

You almost felt lost. Why did it feel so much longer on the way back?

You smiled to yourself softly as you passed the tree you marked a few months ago, the unmistakable smiley face almost greeting you. Your smile quickly faded when you felt a spit land on your cheek. And then another. And another. Until you were peddling faster as wet pellets hit the ground.

Slippery hands clutched the leather handles as you neared the entrance of the farm. You were drenched now, hair matted to your neck and face as you flicked it behind you, annoyed that you neglected your clip.

Your boots squelched against the ground as you slammed the garage door shut, weak arms clutching your bag as you swung it around your shoulder, weaving in and out of trees as you stumbled up the front steps.

Tumbling inside, you took note of the cleaner house, a small wrapped bowl of vegetables and a bowl of tomato soup (that was probably cold now) greeting you as you kicked off your boots. You stood over the sink as you scrunched your hair out, the trickle of water tapping as you shrugged off your coat, fumbling outside to hang it on the underground clothes line.

For a minute you thought they had left, no manly faces greeting you until you heard the soft clearing of a throat. “Made you some lunch,” he said.

“Thank you… Gaz, isn’t it?” Clammy hands gripped the bowls as you sat down on the couch, the lukewarm mixture sliding down your oesophagus.

“That’s right,” he replied, gentle smile adorning his face as he watched you, trying to observe you, almost as if you were a war criminal he wanted to break in. Military men, you thought.

You sat in silence, yet didn’t find it to be uncomfortable. Though Gaz was incredibly handsome, and well built, you almost felt comfortable in his presence and you couldn’t quite place why.

“Where did you go?” He asked, almost as if he was hesitant to speak. Your eyes flickered to his lap, hands gently rubbing together before rubbing against his denim-covered thighs. He has nice thighs.

“Uh, I went into a town.. bout two hours from here. Got a few things and I also just wanted to.. get out, I guess.”

He nodded.

Once you finished up, you braced yourself as you ran outside, yet found no horses frolicking frightened in the paddock. Fear ran through you as you sprinted to the barn, heavy footsteps slapping against the mud as you took in the closed door.

You let out a shaky sigh, relieved, when you saw two large, longer heads staring at you from inside, the gentle squawks of hens sounding across the room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put them inside, figured you would hav’ done that anyway when you got back.” You jumped at the voice, body jolting as you snapped your head.

Price stood there, rough hands clutching a wooden broom as he swept, a beanie now plonked on his head instead of the hat he greeted you with.

“Uh- thanks. Yeah, they’re afraid of the rain.”

“Y’r a good owner, picking up the slack after they were abandoned.”

“I guess so,” you conceded. You looked at him, taking in the way his eyes flickered down your drenched frame, a cerulean blue darkening into a navy.

“Y’r wet.” His tone was sharp, even while stating the obvious, a visible clench of his jaw causing you to tense as you wobbled, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

“Well, I was out in the rain,” you said, almost like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. You looked away but could feel him walking closer to you.

“Y’r gonna catch a cold if you don’t change.”

“I’ll survive,” you replied, your voice now dropping to a low whisper. You looked at him, his stare heavy, almost like it was weighting you down. He smiled at you, a hand reaching out before it landed on the flesh of your waist, squeezing as you felt the familiar heat you encountered last night, prickling through you again.

Your breathing was shallow, an occasional hick passing through you as his hand lingered. “Pretty thing, hm?” He gestured, nodding towards your chest as you noticed the faint outline of the rose-coloured brassiere you chose today. You blushed and you were sure you looked silly, a red hue across your face as you barely stuttered a reply.

You turned, almost feeling like you were about to choke. Feeling betrayed by your own body, you pressed your thighs together and you were sure he noticed.

“Y’n need any help staying warm,” he began, “just tell me, sweetheart.”

[zwhoreo]

Luffy accidentally eating/taking aphrodisiac and reader has to deal with the results.

HAPPY 2024!!! :D here’s my longest fic ever as a celebration

can’t come down - aphrodisiac luffy x f!reader

smut with some angst

summary: thinking it was regular chocolate, you accidentally give luffy several doses of a potent aphrodisiac. now he needs you to take care of him

contains: accidental intoxication, luffy in discomfort/distress, tears, some uncomfortable sex, overstimulation, luffy and zoro in a brief sexual situation

words: 4.8k

_______________________________

It’s all your fault. You’ve hurt him, the little angel. A pleasant but burning pain, he’s attached to you, drooling on your neck and he’s been going for hours and he’s rubbing inside you ceaselessly, you’re dripping with him. He’s whimpering, this sweet boy. His eyes are blown out and hazy and he won’t stop just gazing at you, open-mouthed whimpers while he rubs inside you so deep and rough that god, you can feel it blooming and aching in your stomach, squeezed as you breathe so with every breath he moans in frustration and desire. Luffy just wanted chocolate, it’s all your fault.

______________________________

This town is seedy and dark. You like it because you can’t find these sorts of shops in regular port towns, places selling hallucinogens and fake medicine and alcohol for 100 berries a bottle. The sex shops don’t even board up their windows, that’s why you and Nami thought why not, let’s explore.

It’s not a serious shopping trip, more of a chance to laugh, tease each other, indulge in curiosity. This store’s set into the ground, beneath a metal stairway, it’s starting to rain so you two run for cover in the most interesting place.

The sex shop, which is very dim, all lantern light, is filled with things neither of you had ever seen before or thought to consider. The salesman is pushy, coming from behind the counter to try to sell you things you certainly hadn’t come there for. You laugh and walk around and whisper to each other. And even though you’re in a loving relationship these aren’t things you’ve thought to consider. Luffy wouldn’t like any of this. You would never do something to hurt or confuse him, not when you’re both vulnerable like that. But these low prices intrigue Nami who tells you that hey, why not get some cute lingerie?

“They’ve got a whole wall of it!” She points to the colorful selection of lace and silk and you do admit, it’s beautiful. It’s not something Luffy would care about really but you’d feel pretty in it, maybe. They’ve even got these cute little translucent night dresses that look so comfortable.

So you approach the salesman with your arms full of lingerie and he looks eager to be selling to two beautiful women. He keeps talking about deals and discounts, and with a little wink he throws in a special offer, with those two night dresses you’re buying you get free aphrodisiacs. Chocolate aphrodisiacs in a little white box and he keeps telling you these things are powerful. It’s a special deal, just for you. And with laughter and encouragement from Nami you say why not. You take them, even though you don’t think you’ll ever use them.

___________________________

Weeks go by. That little box, it rests forgotten in some dresser drawer. You tend to forget things at sea.

And there’s this island, more of an ocean mountain really, with jagged cliffs for beaches but there’s a small jungle on top, there might be food or resources up there. So Sanji and Zoro are going to go, and Luffy absolutely insists on coming with them. He’s all excited about it, hyper, rolling on his feet because he’s been kept away too long on the ship and he wants to explore.

But he’s not feeling quite himself. You’ve been short on food and Luffy’s had it bad, never satisfied after meals for the last couple days. That’s why this ocean mountain is the center of your universe with only the promise of a grove of mango trees, a flock of quail. So he’s begging you, pawing at your knees as you sit in bed and begging to get something to eat before he goes exploring. You try to help, maybe there’s something in a drawer, you get to your knees and dig through your dresser while Luffy crouches behind you, leaning on your back, you feel his warmth through your shirt. He’s impatient so he bites the back of your neck, tender but sharp.

You find the little box. You have no memory, in that moment, of where you got it. There’s no label, and you later think to yourself why the hell was there no label? but of course it doesn’t cross your mind right here. It’s a little box of chocolates and before you even have a chance to remember, Luffy snatches them out of your hand and says thank you and kisses you quickly on the cheek, cupping your face, his lips wet from hunger. And he sprints away, leaving you blushing, sitting there on your floor with a little smile.

_________________________

He’s beginning to feel very warm but it’s just the sun, probably. He takes off his cardigan, carrying it on his arm. His skin glistens golden in the light, a perfectly burnt brown, but now he’s going red with flush creeping from his face to his shoulders. Luffy’s breathing is irregular now, shuddering. He looks around, the trees wavering just a bit in a cloudy haze through his eyes.

“Sanji?” And he reaches for Sanji’s hand because for some reason he craves contact right now. But Sanji pulls away, feeling the layer of sweat coating Luffy’s palm. “I feel weird.”

Sanji’s eyes wander him. He can sense there’s something not right in Luffy’s stare, something dulled and far away. Something’s wrong, what’s wrong?

“Luffy?” Sanji doesn’t know what to do in these kinds of situations. “You should go see Chopper,” he says finally with his hand on Luffy’s shoulder, gingerly.

“Don’t wanna go back yet.” Luffy’s complaining despite the discomfort. And when he sees that Sanji won’t tell him anything he wants to hear, he turns and disappears into the underbrush, maybe water will help, something cold.

So he comes to this little pond, crystal clear and dappled by sunlight, there’s frogs on the lilly pads. If he wades to his thighs he won’t pass out, probably. There isn’t much care for himself in this moment, just a need to get rid of this burning. So he strips off his jeans which helps, strangely. A breeze hits his now bare body. He feels raw in a way he never has before.

That’s a yearning need to touch himself, but no, Luffy doesn’t think about that. He’s hot so he needs to get in the water. He stumbles on the rocks because his vision isn’t quite right. He shouldn’t go to his waist but that’s where the burning is. Ankles then knees then thighs, ripples lap between his legs, he’s left panting and tingling, that water is hitting nerve endings and with every wave comes friction that makes his body twitch. He wants more.

His hand flies to his cock as if by impulse, all of a sudden. There’s no thoughts now, just need, his hand rubs himself messily even though Luffy has no control, no concept of what he’s doing or why.

God, please.

He bends over a little, head down. Beads of sweat from his brow speckling the water as his whole body shakes back and forth and his muscles spasm. Frustration fogs his mind, with every pump it only stretches his skin, not enough friction, his hand is clamped down so tight that it’s doing nothing for him. He feels like crying. He hates that he wants to go home.

But this isn’t home. And as Luffy moans unabashedly this sounds like cries from pain, which they are, a bit. So it’s Zoro who hears him and without a second thought he’s tearing through the underbrush, tripping over his own feet, led blindly by his worst sound in the world — Luffy crying.

He shouts his name and crashes through the trees, he’s in the clearing and looking around desperately but what he sees makes him yell again. There’s Luffy, the love of Zoro’s life, completely naked and wading in the water of that crystal clear pond and moving sporadically as he rubs his cock, so painfully rock hard, over and over in this animalistic desperation as he cries and whimpers. He doesn’t know where he is or who’s around him and he doesn’t see Zoro.

Until he’s shoved from the side, a powerful push that sends him tumbling into the water, cruel cold water that sucks him in and starts a familiar panic within his heart that makes him forget for a moment about that burning inside him.

“WHAT THE FUCK, LUFFY?!” Zoro pulls him by his hair, shaking him, throwing him on the rocks and looking at Luffy with these stricken eyes, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing. His composure in that moment is shattered, his fists are clenched.

They’ve seen each other naked so many times. They’ve bathed and held and carried each other with nothing between their skin, it’s just how it happens sometimes when you’re that close. But this intimacy, this state Luffy’s in, it’s like nothing Zoro was prepared to see or could even really imagine out of Luffy. Something is horribly wrong.

“Zoro…” and Luffy’s taken up in his arms because no disgust or awkwardness comes before helping a friend who’s hurting. “I feel… I dunno… what’s- …”

Luffy’s voice is so slurred, his body is tense and so solid but yet somehow he’s still melting. Zoro’s finding it hard to look at him, do anything other than just sit there and hold him, uncomfortable at how he can feel that heat from between Luffy’s legs radiating and blooming condensation on Zoro’s skin. He has absolutely no idea how to even begin to approach this situation. So he’s rough and sloppy as he dresses his friend, his cardigan’s on and his sandals are on and his hat has been slammed over his eyes. But Zoro, teeth gritted, has to shove Luffy’s cock in his jeans himself because this boy is useless like this. He’s silently vowing to never talk or think about this moment again, how sticky his hands now feel, how Luffy moans as he’s touched and leans into Zoro and how his cock twitches with an overpowering need to fuck anything that’s close.

Zoro won’t think about this again. He just picks Luffy up and carries him away without saying a word.

______________________________

You’re just looking out the window. Unmoving sun, unmoving sea. You want to eat or go somewhere and maybe you should’ve begged and made them take you on the island.

Is it the island, or do you just miss Luffy?

But it’s not long before your door is kicked open, you jump, eyes wide, whipping around to find Zoro cradling your boyfriend, who looks sick. Fear shoots through you and closes your throat especially when you see Zoro’s eyes, vacant and upset and he looks dissociated, blank.

“Oh god, Luffy.” You run to him and your hands go to his face and just stroke his cheeks, he’s sweaty and burning up like he’s caught in a deep fever. “What happened?” Your eyes are wild and scared as you turn to Zoro.

“I don’t know what you gave him. Just… deal with it.” Zoro dumps Luffy into your arms and you stumble as he curls up into you, drooling all over your neck. And Zoro gives his shoulder one last squeeze and turns away, closing the door behind him, running off down the hall, somewhere where he can’t hear that crying anymore.

And yes, Luffy’s crying. You set him down on your bed, rubbing the back of his head and holding his hand. “Hey, hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Dunno what’s happening…” Luffy’s eyes are pleading and endlessly deep right now. His legs are kicking against the air and he keeps shifting around, he can’t sit still.

With his free hand he’s rubbing between his legs like he’s scratching an itch, but he doesn’t stop, your gaze follows him and oh, oh fuck. He’s got this tight, obvious hardness in his jeans. Straining so hard the zipper is shaking with tension. You’ve never seen anything like this.

Your mind is racing, this isn’t just horniness, Luffy has never been sexsick like this before.

You trace it all back and nothing was wrong when he left. Just bright eyed innocence, affection, nothing strange. And suddenly it hits you, that box, those chocolates.

Oh god. Oh my god.

You fed him an aphrodisiac. An aphrodisiac from a sketchy shop in an old-town basement, a powerful drug, just one would keep you up a whole night.

And you let Luffy eat them all.

“Lu… god, I’m sorry,” is all you can say as he crawls into your lap and breathes on your face. You take off his hat and ruffle his hair. How can you even explain this to him? He’s not going to understand. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault, I gave you an aphrodisiac by mistake.” You’re choked up. You hurt him.

“…” Luffy’s mouth is hanging open, drool coating his chin, dazed, so confused. “Hm?” His voice is even gravelier than normal.

“Those weren’t normal chocolates. They make your body… ready for sex? It’s supposed to be a fun thing. B- but I forgot they weren’t just normal chocolates! God, I’m so sorry.” You’re breaking down, you’re cuddling with him now, head on his shoulder.

“Oh.” You can’t really tell how much he understands. And his voice is quiet when he asks, “when’s it gonna go ‘way?”

“…I don’t know. I’m gonna try to help, ok? Let’s fuck for a few hours and get it out. It’s gonna be ok, Lu.”

His pupils expand when you say this, his eyes going from brown to deep black. He wants that so, so bad. He’s just sort of figuring that out now. “Heh, yeah.” He squirms in your lap, cock so hard you can feel his zipper sliding down on its own, as his breath gets heavier, this desperate ball of energy spasming in your arms.

Then he smiles. And he attacks.

He flips you onto your back and groans, hips thrusting into yours as his lips find your mouth, saliva leaking past your lips, you swallow as they part. You’re wearing these soft cotton shorts and you feel his aching cock smacking the fabric as it pushes and strains to break free from his pants with every motion. He moans so loud you know everyone can hear. Now he’s drooling again, spitting on your face because he’s lost control of his jaw, you’re winded but you grab his face and kiss him, he didn’t even know he needed this.

He falls on you now. He’s all splayed out and whining and just kissing you as if he’s been challenged, teeth and tongue working through every part of your mouth. He’s loud when he kisses, and now every breath is a groan of want.

“Undress me…” you whisper to him, grabbing the back of his neck, he seems like he’ll explode if he keeps on like this without being deep inside you.

With a strangled “Mh,” Luffy’s fingernails scrape your skin in a desperate attempt to pull off your dress. He’s ripping cloth, damn, you can hear him ripping cloth. Nothing you can do now.

But you can tell as your skin shines bare and he tears his own clothes from his body, as his sweat drenches you and that heat like a tropical hurricane all over but especially where it pools between his legs and oh you’d be scared if you looked there now, you can tell he’s about to just go in you with no thought or reason and harder than he’s ever gone before. So — and you hate to do this — you grab his shoulders. You stare him in the eyes.

“Luffy. Listen to me.”

your eyes reach his soul, he tries to look at you with anything close to coherence, he wants to follow your lead, he doesn’t understand anything right now. But there’s a hailstorm inside his mind. But he tries to listen.

“Don’t be too rough, please, can you promise?” Your voice is shaky because you’re not sure what he’s about to do. Luffy would never intentionally hurt you but he’s powerful, his body is strange, he works in ways neither of you understand. He has the power to really, really damage you and the carelessness to not see it happening. So you beg him with your eyes.

“I promise,” he gasps softly, one hand curling behind your neck, and he presses his face against your cheek, trying to harden his eyes in the gentle seriousness of the moment. Luffy is incapable of feeling sadism towards you of any kind and he’s at war with his body and the energy bursting within him right now. But he promises.

You smile and your feet rest on his hips and thighs, you feel him sizzling beneath your touch. The surface of his skin wavers before your eyes from the heat, you understand now the idea of mirages, he looks covered in amber rain even as his skin burns beneath your hands.

“Slow,” you ask softly in his ear, making Luffy whine in hunger.

There it is. What you don’t dare look at you can feel. Swollen and throbbing it feels like a whole other animal is just clawing there beneath that rice paper skin. You can feel his heartbeat in the tip of his cock as he touches you and it speeds up thousands of times in an instant. His thighs clamp around yours and his nails are sharp and Luffy groans in your ear. He’s made of nerve endings that send him twitching writhing with every tiny movement. He needs you now.

He pushes himself in and every bit of friction sends him convulsing against you, squeezing you tighter. You can feel the struggle in his muscles to hold back but that deep, tangible yearning for relief. He’s in and you’re both gasping for air. You’re not used to the size or the heat or that artificially induced power that’s overcome his body. But you’re proud of him and you tug his hair to tell him a quiet thank you, you’re ok, he’s keeping you safe.

All your touches are too much. His hips move messily against you like he doesn’t have the capacity to understand what to do right now. But he’s just going to follow that deep primal craving so he rocks into you with all his weight, crushing you again and again, eyes closed, mouth trying to find yours.

It’s the movement but also the way you’re being held. It’s a scary heaven. He’s going deep and he’s not pulling out just throwing himself against you over and over as if there’s any more he has to go. He’s whimpering and his body is shaking in need.

But he goes faster and now this is what you’re scared of, weighted rubber moves and stretches with momentum, he’s squeezing you tighter and tighter and with each slam against your body his cock buries into you so impossibly deep as his skin stretches and snaps within you. You whine and try to steady him but Luffy’s in this cloud right now. His teeth are digging deep into your neck and he’s drooling all over you, saliva dripping down your shoulder and chest.

When he cums it’s so hot it feels like lava. There’s so much of it. That relief at the slowness, liquid soothing beaten flesh, that’s heaven as you lay beneath him, wrapped in his arms. Is it over? No, no it isn’t.

But first, while he’s stunned and unable to move, you squish his face in your hands. “Luffy,” you breathe heavily into his mouth, “be more gentle. Please. You’re gonna hurt me.”

His eyes are wide and concerned. “I hurt you?” he whimpers from his swollen, shiny lips.

“I’m ok, don’t worry, just please be more gentle.” And you smile at him. That sets something off in his heart and you feel him harden again inside you.

He grins, lifting you back so you’re pressed against his chest, on his lap. And he shoves you down against him as you squirm in his arms, he rolls your hips on his as his strong hands take total control of your body, hungry eyes gazing at you with deep, immeasurable lust. From this new position he has so much control, he’s using your body for his release in as loving a way as possible, biting at your skin. You’re left to twitch in his grasp and hug him, letting yourself bask in this incredible tsunami.

The bouncing and stretching of his cock isn’t as bad in this position although you’re still impossibly full, limp in the overwhelming motion. But that heat is becoming uncomfortable, your cheek from its rest on his shoulder is covered in layers of sweat and you feel it pooling around every point of contact. He smells like burning rubber and thick, palpable sweat. His skin begins to sear your hands and you only realize what’s happening when he starts to steam. Billowing steam clouding your room and soaking you in hot, wet air like you’re in an erupting volcano. You’re not sure which gear he’s changing to and you don’t want to find out.

“LUFFY!” You yell through your haze and hit his back and it’s so hard to talk to him like this, his moans are drowning out your cries, he’s moving faster and faster and his hair and mouth and the area between your legs is already lost in clouds of white steam. “STOP!”

He yelps and rolls off of you. Your words cut his heart. You’re both drenched and your bed is soaking, your hair in your eyes dripping down your face mixed with tears you didn’t even know were there. Luffy looks confused, disoriented, he’s still steaming but it’s slowing now, his skin is dulling to its usual hue, his hair falls back over his face. He doesn’t know what to say.

“You were changing gears,” you murmur under your breath. “Luffy, that could’ve been bad.”

“I’m- I’m sorry…” he whimpers and looks down at himself. There’s still a cloud of blinding steam circling up the shaft of his cock, blooming from his tip and shimmering in droplets rolling down the red, tight skin. He looks at you with puppy eyes, needing your arms again.

You let him crawl to you. You let him place his head under your hand to be pet and comforted. He feels terrible but he feels sick, too, a sickness only cured by the deepest and most indescribable pleasure. He’s melting in your arms, as needy as when he was given to you, eyes blurry. You let him rest his head in your lap and drink in your scent, blankets tucked between his legs for the slightest friction.

“It’ll feel better if you don’t go so fast,” you say softly, stroking his wet hair. And he nods.

“Can I have more now? I’ll be better to ya. I really promise.”

His hands feel gentler now. You let him climb your body and capture you in another deep kiss. And with your legs crossed behind his back you let him fuck you again and chase his second orgasm and he’s right, he’s better now. He’s fighting with his body but he’s better.

When he cums again it feels boiling hot. It’s shot after shot deep inside you and he tugs your hair, bites your shoulder, strokes your lower stomach before moving down to rub at your clit which is incredible because he never thinks of that. This drug is making him different, his mind is overwhelmed by sex in a way it never is. Part of you likes it a lot. It’s new. It’s fun.

It doesn’t take him long before he’s hard again and dragging his cock through your walls in deep, deliberate strokes with his tongue in your mouth. Luffy is a million miles above the earth. With every orgasm his world shakes and crumbles for an instant before it’s rebuilt again in waves of desire that send him higher, higher. He’s a million miles above the earth and even as hours slip by and his body is drained again and again, he can’t come down.

__________________________

At some point the ship has set sail again. Clouds crawl by the porthole and the ocean rocks you both but you and Luffy stay in that soaked bed and get lost in each other for so long that you don’t even know what’s real anymore. You can’t tell sensation from sensation. Neither can he but he can’t come down.

There was that perfect sweet spot where you had just swam in each other in bliss and peace. You didn’t have to stop his gear changes anymore because his body had adjusted to this new universe. And you were in tune with each other. But now, now it’s bad again.

But in a different way.

Luffy is exhausted but so desperate still. His tears have started again and he doesn’t know what to do and he can’t even move and every part of his body aches. You’ve never seen him like this during sex, he’s never weak or tired. But his body is drained.

But that drug won’t let go.

“You ok?” you’re whispering, hand on his face. You lift Luffy in your arms and place him on his back. His eyes won’t leave yours, he’s starry eyed and love struck through his tears.

“Mh…” is all you can make out. He looks down at himself, his body is dripping wet and his cock is hard again, throbbing hard in overstimulation.

Every touch seems like it’s painful to him now. But he wants more so, so bad. So you place a pillow under his head, you curl up against his body, and you rub him with your hand. Your arm gets tired but you keep going for as long as you possibly can. And sometimes Luffy will open his mouth in a silent, breathless moan, sometimes his body will convulse and his cock will twitch. But his orgasms are dry now. There’s nothing left in him.

The last one, that’s when he grabs your face. With his last bit of strength he rolls onto you and clutches your cheeks in his hands and just stares at you, not letting you move, his thighs squeezing your leg. He rubs himself off on you one last time and with a final shudder he’s done. It’s all gone. It’s over.

He collapses into your arms, too tired to breathe anymore. You expect him to just sleep right there but instead he twists onto his back, batting at your face with his palm lazily, playfully. He giggles. He looks dreamy and dazed. But happy, actually. Really happy.

“Feeling alright?” You’re worried. You’re guilty, still. You’re praying nothing hurt him or made him sick.

“Mhm. Feel good!” Luffy’s beaming as if he already forgot everything that happened. He’s glowing, chest rising and falling heavily. But he tilts his head questioningly, “you?”

“Yeah. Just sore.” To which he rolls onto his elbows, kicking his legs in the air, he holds your body, he gives your hips a soft kiss. He’s appreciative, he’s so soft now, honey skin glowing in the sleepy sunshine.

But everything is wet. Your clothes on the bed next to you, the sheets, your bodies and hair. So with your arms around his shoulders, because it will be hard to walk for a while, the two of you throw on robes and step outside. You forgot the smell of fresh sea air after that mist of sex and sweat. Luffy’s heart beats against yours, calm and healthy, steady.

He sets you down and you take him in your arms, now, laying him against the mast. You take a towel to his hair, drying him, the sun on the wind sending the dewdrops you’re made of falling away from your shoulders in rainbows. You’re glittering, you and Luffy.

You should get you both some food soon, you should give yourselves a real bath, you should go and comfort Zoro and assure him that you’re both ok. But not yet. You don’t want that yet.

You avoid the eyes of the others as they pass below. You don’t want to talk about this with anyone but Luffy right now, the boy who looks like an angel resting below you, chiseled glistening body, sunlight divinity. He opens his mouth, he kisses your fingertips as you brush hair from his cheeks.

He wants to talk to you at first but he finds that his eyes are too heavy. He just yawns instead, and bares his teeth in a smile. And he holds your hand tightly with this deep, profound gratitude. You hear him whisper, beneath his breath, that he loves you.

[holybibly]

𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 | 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: smut, Priests!AU

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 9,9k

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: It is said: "The best way to get forgiveness for sins is to repent." Priest Wooyoung will tell you how to do this.

𝔚𝔄ℜ𝔑ℑ𝔑𝔊: Priest!Wooyoung, Hierophilia, church sex, religion kink, dirty talk, masturbation, humiliation, blow jobs, rough oral, power play. spanking, fingering, orgasm delay, overstimulation, dom/sub and more.

𝔄/𝔑: And so it is that I have come to please you with something wicked. I don't know why I get so inspired, but I don't care. My opinion is that Priest Wooyoung is hot as hell, that's all. There will probably be another work released this weekend, but I won't tell you what it is. Of course, the unholy hours are available as usual. It's time to repent for the sins, bunnies, and, as the saying goes, Hell's empty, all demons outside.

You have never thought of yourself as a religious person, not under any circumstances whatsoever. You never knelt down in front of your bed, covered your eyes with trembling eyelids, and whispered softly, "Hail Mary,"  before you went to sleep in your cold and lonely bed. 

Never asking God's mercy and forgiveness, you were as far from faith and piety as you could be. The last time you had been to church was years ago, when you came to communion with one of your distant relatives.   The feeling was all too familiar, yet as alien as the shattered fragments of a mysterious dream you remembered having long ago. You walked slowly up the rain-slicked stone steps of your hometown's old church, as smooth and dreary as the weather today. The thin branches of the dead trees, devoid of the usual green foliage you knew wrapped around them at the beginning of each spring, reached up to the sky as if in prayer—brittle and outstretched—like the hands of a sinner. 

"What am I doing here?" You asked yourself as you wrapped yourself more tightly in your soft cashmere coat and let out a convulsive sigh.

You didn't know how to answer that, and you couldn't seem to find the right one. That place... it seemed to call your name, and you couldn't resist the mysterious magnetism. The church was old and gloomy—the kind of church that people do not tell you the most pleasant stories about. Your eyes wandered over the faded, dark boards and the pointed spire, topped by a crooked, spiky cross that looked almost sinister as the rain swirled around it. The place had an air of desolation about it, and for a moment, you wondered if it was haunted. 

It was the same church that your mother had gone to when she was a child, always dressed in her most beautiful clothes and with ribbons of silk woven into her hair. 

"Did this place always look as spooky as it does now?" you asked her once. 

The cold wind whipped through your long hair as you pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the church and made your way in. The rusty metal hinges sobbed pitifully at the sound of your action. The inside of the church was musty and smelled of incense, and visually, it was the same as millions of other churches: furnished with rows of wooden pews, with dusty Bibles lying in compartments attached to the backs of the pews. Narrow Gothic windows, decorated with the faces of sexless angels, stretched up to a vaulted ceiling.

There was no one there, which was what you would have expected, considering that there were only a few cars in the car park when you arrived here. You felt stupid for being here, completely unaware of what the purpose of your visit was in the first place.

The echo of your footsteps on the dark, faded midnight-blue velour floor was the only sound in the church. As you walked towards the back of the church, where the neatly decorated altar stood, your fingertips glided weightlessly along the cool edges of the old pews. Dark and full of suffering, the heavy crucifix hung over the altar like an unbearable sacred burden. There was a small confessional not too far from it.

One day, when you were a little girl, your grandparents took you to the church and insisted that you have a confession of your sins. Sitting behind the curtain, you felt so grown up; the small room seemed so much larger in comparison to your petite body. With your head bowed, you solemnly told the priest that you sometimes took a few extra biscuits when your mother wasn't looking, and he, in turn, instructed you to recite the Hail Mary a few times.

As you approached the confessional, you lazily tugged at the heavy velvet curtain, running your fingers over the faded fabric, which was worn in places. You wondered what sins you could repent of now; you didn't often reflect on what you'd done or seek forgiveness, at least not from an all-powerful divine being you weren't even sure existed. You opened the curtain and jumped at the sharp sound of metal rings as they scratched against the beam on which it was hung. The inside of the cabin was dark, and there was a smell of dust in it. You coughed and breathed in the small particles that stuck to your tongue in an unpleasant way.

"Hello, my dear."

You jumped at the slight echo of the soft, melodic voice that came from behind the metal bars of the confessional. Leaning against the door, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your fast heart pound. Squinting, you hoped to get a better look at the dark figure of the priest on the other side.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here." You said it quietly. "I... I was just lookin' around."

"You're new, right?" The voice was beautiful; with every vowel the person formed, you could hear some kind of melody, low and languid, almost seductive, and you suddenly realised that your hands were covered with goose bumps. Was the temperature in the little cabin any cooler than it was in the rest of the church? You couldn't be sure, but you found yourself unconsciously pulling the tails of your coat closer to your body.

Intrigued by the man on the other side of the small grate, you took a step further into the small room and looked around.

"Something like that."

"You don't come to places like this very often?" The voice made more of a statement than a question.

"No." You agreed with it. "I can't remember when I've been to church lately." You whispered in reply, so quietly that you could hardly be heard.

Silence fell between you, and, not quite understanding what you'd done, you reached out and pulled the curtain, shrouding yourself in darkness. Through the metal bars, you saw a slender man's figure and carefully sat down on the velvet bench.

"So why did you come here today, then?" The priest asked, although there was something in his tone of voice that told you that he already knew the answer, perhaps even better than you did. Was all this small talk a normal part of confession?

"I... I'm not really sure, just an instinct." You crumpled the soft fabric of your cloak between your fingers, growing more nervous with every second of the small talk between you and the mysterious priest.

"I understand, of course." He replied with a note of familiarity, as if he heard the same thing every day of his life.

Feeling even more insecure than before, you raised an eyebrow and shifted into the uncomfortable seat beneath you. There was something special about this priest, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was.

"Is something bothering you, dear?"

You bit your lower lip as you tried to process what he said. Was something gnawing at you? Was there something that was bothering you to such an extent that you were beginning to feel pangs of conscience? Deep down inside of you, in the depths of your mind, where you didn't dare to go?

"Maybe?" You finally managed to say it, but it sounded more like a question. Your whole body was on edge, and you couldn't understand why it was so. You weren't afraid, no, but there was definitely a sense of something out of the ordinary. Something that was forbidden.

"You've been doing a lot of thinking lately, haven't you?" The man asked you a question, and all of a sudden you found yourself with your eyes half closed in bliss as you enjoyed the silky texture of his voice. It sounded like an angel was singing, but with a dark undertone. "You have been asking yourself questions, perhaps even too alarming ones."

You nodded weakly in acknowledgement of his words; despite the barrier between you, he seemed to be aware of your silent response.

"You're afraid you're bad." He said simply, and you could almost swear that he was laughing at the last two words, there was a hint of mockery in the tone of his voice.

Hearing him say that made your mouth dry up and you coughed slightly, trying to clear your throat.

"Holy Father, what makes you say things like that?"

"Are not all of us afraid of something like this at some point in our lives? We are afraid of ourselves, afraid of our sinfulness."

There was a blink of confusion on your face, a complete bewilderment at the strange turn this conversation had taken. And yet, somehow, you felt compelled to go on and hear more.

His voice dropped to a hoarse, velvety whisper that sent waves of heat down the length of your spine and caused you to squirm in your seat. Was this how you were supposed to feel at this moment?

"Let me tell you a little secret, dearie."

"I-am I listening?" Your heartbeat quickened as a single streak of pale light fell on the man behind the small bars, and for a moment you saw a dark, fox-like eye.

"We are all bad men. Every single one of us."

A shiver ran down your entire body, and you could feel the stuffy air in the confessional getting hotter and hotter.

"Even you, dearest child." He moved closer to the mesh holes in the barrier that separated the two of you, and you could make out the shape of his lips, diabolically curved and full. "Especially you."

"F-Father…"

"Wooyoung." He fixed you. "My name is Wooyoung. "

You repeated his name softly, sliding your tongue over each letter; your voice was barely above a whisper, but you could hear the man inhale sharply as his name came out of your lips. His name was sinful and sweet, almost wicked, like a serpent that tempts you to do the most evil of deeds. This man cannot be a priest at all. But if he was not a priest, who was he then?"

"You are," he began, and you could almost feel the smirk on his beautiful lips as he spoke. "Very naughty girl.

Oh, my God. This wasn't really happening. Was it? No, he couldn't have meant it. He was a priest, for God's sake.

"And what is your suggestion that I should do about it?" You asked shyly, looking down at the palms of your hands, which were now covered in shallow marks from where your nails had dug themselves into the damp skin. You couldn't see Wooyoung, but you were sure that the look in his eyes would be nothing less than piercing and malicious. "Should I say the Hail Mary several times? Pray for atonement for what I have done? You haven't even told me why it is you think I'm a sinner."

He let out a dark, dry chuckle, and you heard a muffled sound as you guessed that the palms of his hands were making hard contact with his thighs.

"Shall I show you?"

"Show me what?" Your eyes narrowed and a strange sense of anticipation began to well up inside you.

"How do I have the knowledge that you are a sinner?"

You chewed on your lower lip in thought, and then you cleared your throat with a kind of self-assured finality.

"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.

Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.

"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.

Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.

You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.

"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.

"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.

"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."

Were they?

Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.

You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.

But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.

"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.

"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.

"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.

"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."

He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.

"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.

"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.

Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.

"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.

Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.

You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.

"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.

"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.

"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."

Were they?

Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.

You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.

But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.

"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.

"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.

"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.

"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."

He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.

"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.

"What if I have no desire for repentance?" You said it in a defiant tone. You wanted to be brave; you wanted to be strong and confident, but something deep down inside of you told you that Wooyoung was not the kind of person that you couldn't help but obey. His whole aura told you that if he wanted to, he would fold you up like an origami piece. But there was nothing you could do about it; you had to test the waters to see what would happen if you refused to bend to his will.

He looked at you so intently that you felt he wanted to eat you alive right then and there.

"But I have a feeling that's not the case, is it?" He said this as he ran the tips of his fingers along your jaw. You tensed as he touched you, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine as Wooyoung lazily ran his thumb over your lower lip. "I think you want to get on your knees before me, child. You wish to repent."

Your eyes widened at the sound of his words, and a smirk of arrogance spread across his perfect scarlet lips. Why haven't you fought back?

He leaned forward so that his gorgeous face was only inches away from yours. You squeezed your thighs together as warm wetness began to pool between them, realising he was even more beautiful up close, like sin itself.

"I could smell the sweetness of your cunt from the moment you walked into the church, you little slut." His voice dropped a couple of octaves, and you shivered at the feel of his hot breath on the skin of your body.

The vulgarity of his words made you gasp, but you couldn't deny how your mouth watered at the sound of his velvety voice saying the words 'cunt' and'slut'. God, he was doing something to you, but you were... You were attracted to it.

"I smelled that smell when you walked into the confessional, when you heard my voice, when you said my name." His eyes sparkled in a devilish way, trapping you in his gaze, and if you hadn't been so excited, you would have noticed the black shadows dancing along the edges of his irises.

He was speaking to you in an almost patronising manner now, and you froze in place as he pulled your lower lip down and gently ran his thumb along the inside of it until the pad of his finger was slick with your saliva.

"Wooyoung..." You exhaled, looking down at your hands, fidgeting aimlessly in your lap. Your cheeks were hot and flushed, and by the way Wooyoung looked at you, with a predatory hunger woven into the perfect features of his face, you could tell that your shyness was only turning him on even more.

"There's never been a girl in my life that has been so desperate for a fuck as you have. Your desires ... they are almost tangible." He was so close to you now that his hot lips touched the round of your cheek, sending a wave of electricity through your body as he spoke. "I have met many sinners in my life, as you can imagine."

"Are you going to punish me for that?" He raised an eyebrow before straightening up and looking down at you, seemingly completely satisfied with your answer. A majestic expression of all-encompassing power was frozen on his face as he spoke.

"No, darling, of course not. I wouldn't want to punish you, but I am going to make you repent. And the first sin you will have to do penance for will be lust." Wooyoung said, and you found yourself biting your lower lip at the commanding tone of his voice. "Stand up." He gave you the order.

You did as he asked you to, got up from your seat, and stood in front of the so-called priest. He moved around you in a circle, as if considering what to do with you, never allowing you to escape his dark gaze. His tongue stretched out to lick his plump lips in a sensual way; finally, he sat down on the spot where you had been a few seconds before and ran his hands over his muscular, thick thighs.

You were standing in front of him, completely at his mercy, your head bowed in respect as he looked at you like a predator from his seated position, your skin burning under the weight of his gaze. You could almost feel his eyes as they crawled over your body, peeling away layer after layer until they reached the very core of your soul.

"Get undressed." There was a metallic edge to Wooyoung's voice as he crossed his legs and leaned back, his long hair falling over his handsome face, making him even more vicious. "Now."

You opened your mouth to speak, words of protest hovering on the tip of your tongue, but you closed it immediately, realising that it was better not to protest. The feeling of submission came again, sharp and clear, and you quickly pulled off your cloak and threw it to the ground behind you. The soft fabric pooled on top of the midnight blue velour. Then your jumper and your jeans joined it, your hands shaking as you unbuttoned them and pulled them down to your hips.

As you shyly wrapped your arms around yourself, you suddenly realised that your nipples were hard and swollen and could be seen peeking out from under the thin white lace of your bra.

Wooyoung leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his sharp chin resting on his palms, before he glared at you.

"You have to undress completely, darling."

You nodded obediently, reached behind your back to unhook your bra, and with timid reluctance, pulled the lace straps off your shoulders. You lowered your eyes in shame and looked down at the floor, while Wooyoung kept his gaze fixed on you.

"In atoning for our sins." He began to speak softly, reaching out to your face and gently guiding your chin so that you looked up at him. "We do not have the luxury of being modest." Wooyoung patted your cheek in a condescending manner before he hooked his fingertips into the waistband of your panties, which were nothing more than a thin piece of white lace. He let out a sweet moan as he slowly pulled them off of you, inch by inch, revealing the smooth skin and the wet folds of your pussy.

You blushed as you watched him rub the lace between his fingers, and a thoughtful look came over his handsome face as he said.

"They're wet, darling." He finally said it in a sarcastic tone, his lips curling into a disgusted grin. "You really are a whore, aren't you? You walk around in wet panties and have depraved thoughts, and no less so than about a person who wears holy garments." Despite the roughness and harshness of his words, you could still see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He tucked your panties into his trouser pocket.

"It's really pathetic, isn't it?" His tongue flicked over his plump lower lip until it was glistening with saliva, and a quick glance down at his crotch showed that he was hard. "You are so lucky that I am here to help you rid yourself of all the sins that you have committed, my child."

The humiliating nature of the situation was turning you on far more than you were prepared to admit. Your clit was throbbing with pain, so intense that it was beginning to distract you, and your thoughts were constantly wandering off in a thick, lustful haze.

"Show me how you touch yourself at night when you are alone with all those sordid thoughts. I want to see you give yourself over to sin." Wooyoung ordered you as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest in a casual manner. It was impossible to ignore his erection in this position, and your mouth fell open a little when you noticed just how massive the bulge was.

"Y-yes, sir." You whispered. Your mind was spinning with lust as you parted your legs slightly for easier access, your hand hesitantly touching the warm, soft flesh of your inner thighs, shuddering as you discovered the abundance of your juices running down it.

"Keep going, darling. Don't be shy." In response to his words, your fingers touched your neglected, throbbing clit, spreading a sticky, warm wetness and massaging it in slow, firm circles. You whimpered softly, partly from pleasure and partly from the thick humiliation that was blooming in your throat, to which Wooyoung only gave a wicked grin.

"Come on, we both know that you can do it better than that." He reproached you. "I'd like to see you fuck yourself, darling."

You swallowed hard and hesitantly let your fingers slide between the wet folds of your pussy. Your behaviour was beginning to irritate Wooyoung, and all the playfulness was gone in an instant, and a venomous bitterness appeared in his voice. With the silver of his rings digging uncomfortably into your skin, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His gaze was as intent and as dark as the night, and you shivered at the sight.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said, fuck yourself."

It was such a rude and vulgar thing to say, especially coming from someone who was a priest, and it took your breath away. In obedience to his command, you immediately slid two fingers through the soft, wet folds and into your cunt. You let out a long moan as you felt your silky walls stretch around your fingers, and, trying to get more of the feeling, you began to move them back and forth. Trying desperately to keep your balance in this awkward position, your knees were getting weaker by the second, and you could feel yourself starting to orgasm.

"You don't expect me to believe that your slutty little cunt can only hold two fingers, do you?" Wooyoung mocked him, biting down on his plump lower lip with her perfect set of teeth. 

Gritting your teeth against the invasion, you sighed heavily and added another finger. The soft walls of your vagina squeezed your fingers like a velvet vice with every move you made. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the shame that was quickly engulfing you like the flames of hell. The wet, squelching sound of your fingers moving in and out of your pussy was nothing short of vulgar.

"Harder, show me all of it." Wooyoung's sharp command came out, and you did your best to obey, curling your fingers and rubbing them roughly against the small, spongy bundle of nerves inside you. You were breathing heavily, your forehead and neck glistening with sweat, and your lips red and swollen when Wooyoung finally told you to stop. It was cruel, the way he waited patiently and calculatedly until you were about to come, only to deny you, but you couldn't bring yourself to complain; it was your punishment after all.

Your fingers picked up the glistening wetness that flowed from your cunt, and as you looked at Wooyoung, you brought it to your mouth and wrapped your lips around your fingers, licking it and sucking every last drop of it.

He rose sharply from where he sat, shading you and towering over you like the very embodiment of God—or the Devil? Wooyoung wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on your hairline, with a look of genuine affection on his handsome face. This tenderness did not last for long, however, and after a few seconds, he was back in his unrelenting position of authority.

"On your knees, dear." You did so without hesitation, your knees immediately touching the faded and discoloured velour.

"Look at you, stripped of all your dignity, on your knees, writhing in despair, like a bitch in heat. Aren't you a sight to see?"

You blinked slowly, looking up at him with a fawn's wide-eyed innocence, squeezing your legs together as another wave of excitement surged from your needy cunt. Wooyoung taunted you; there was no way he would show you mercy—you could see it in his eyes as he looked at you coldly, his pretty mouth pressed into a thin line.

"You have no pride, my dear, but you must still do penance for that, to be sure you will have forgiveness for that too." He lifted one foot and placed it on the seat of the bench, presenting you with a polished, expensive-looking shoe. "Clean it for me. With your mouth, my dear."

You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung but didn't argue, for fear that he would punish you more severely and in more subtle ways if you didn't comply. His boot looked clean enough; not a single scuff could be seen on the shiny leather, and as you moved closer to the bench, you ran the tip of your tongue along the leather in an experimental way. It didn't taste like much, which was a relief to your anxiety, and soon you were flattening your tongue and licking the hard material as if your life depended on it.

"Good girl." He cooed, but there was very little in the way of kindness in that reassurance. As if you were nothing more than a pet, his hand stroked your hair. You were relieved when Wooyoung pulled away and removed his foot from the bench, shuddering at the thought of all the dirt you were putting in your mouth.

"Look at me, my darling."

Your eyes fell on the large bulge at the front of his dark, neatly pressed trousers, and you moved away from the bench so that you were now level with his crotch. A beam of red light shone through the stained glass behind him, reflecting off the black stone of his ring as Wooyoung ran his fingers over his belt. As he slowly unbuckled the belt, the church was silent, except for the faint jingle of the metal buckle. Your gaze lingered for a moment on the image of the Virgin Mary that stood in the corner of the church. Was there judgement in her eyes? Was there a sense of disgust? Her face was as divinely serene as ever, and you couldn't tell.

Too handsome to be a saint, he bowed his head towards you, long strands of black hair falling down to frame his face. Wooyoung unzipped his trousers, taking a moment for a lewd touch of his bulge before pulling out his hard cock. The head of his cock was wet and turgid; a thick drop of pre-cum rolled down its length, and you wanted to follow its movement with your tongue.

"What do you crave, huh?" He asked, hissing as his hand slid up and down the length of his thick cock.

"Do you crave something that can't be satisfied?" His words flowed in a rhythmic flow, and his tone was so soft that you could almost swear that he was singing to you. It was the voice of an angel that was calling out to you. "Do you take all that they give you, only to find that you're still starving to death?" You bobbed your head up and down, desperate and needy, and parted your lips as he rubbed the head over your lips, staining them with pre-cum, making them slick and shiny. You were giddy, stunned by the pure, erotic beauty of this man, this stranger, whom you had so willingly allowed to pollute you in this house of God.

"You're a greedy little animal, aren't you?" Wooyoung taunted you with a throaty grunt as he slapped his cock against your cheek. You kept your hands on your hips, waiting obediently for further instructions. You grew more and more restless by the second, not having his dick in your mouth or in your hand.

God, you were one hungry little thing, you really were.

From where you were on your knees, he looked ethereal, his full lips moulded into a perfect, sensual shape. It was fascinating to watch such a man let himself fall apart like that, his chest rising and falling and sweat forming on his forehead as he moved his hand over his thick cock.

He let out a low, guttural moan as he picked up the pace and came closer and closer to the edge, throwing his head back towards the vaulted ceiling. You were so turned on that you were sure your juices were already dripping onto the carpet beneath you, forming a small puddle, a dirty declaration of your desire. The unpleasant throbbing of your cunt only intensified as you witnessed Wooyoung's approach to orgasm, his breathing choked and ragged.

He looked down at you and licked his luscious, almost sinful, lips.

"Open your mouth, dear." As if you knew he wanted it, you parted your jaw and lowered your head to his cock. Wooyoung jerked his cock a few more times before he released a silky stream of hot, salty cum into your open mouth, an animalistic roar of pleasure escaping from his lips like music. "Don't even have a thought about swallowing."

You felt the thick stream of his cum begin to flow down your tongue and into the depths of your throat, but you ignored the instinctive urge to swallow. Wooyoung pulled his trousers back on, buckled his belt around his waist, and sat back down on the bench with a cold indifference. There was not a single trace left of the erotic image that you had seen just a minute ago.

He patted his muscular, thick thighs and looked at you defiantly, and you obediently walked over to him and sat down on his lap.

His warm thigh pressed against your cunt without pity as soon as you sat down, and you pressed against him desperately in pursuit of the pleasure he hadn't allowed you to have yet. At the same time, Wooyoung slapped your bare bottom with the palm of his hand.

"You have been impertinent to me, which means you have an anger that makes you want to sin. And that is one of my favourite sins, my dear. Wooyoung said as he put his hands on your hips to stop you from squirming on his leg. "To see all the terrible things people can do just because of a little anger is both fascinating and funny."

He lifted you slightly and placed you on his lap. You obeyed him without saying a word. He manipulated you like a doll, positioning you so that you were completely on top of him, your long hair falling in your face and your head tilted forward. You clenched your jaw as hard as you could, terrified of what would happen if you let a single drop of his sperm come out of your mouth. You winced and whimpered as he wedged his knee between your legs again, his hand brushing the tender junction of your ass and thigh.

"I can feel the rage burning deep inside you, my child." Wooyoung held your hands behind your back as he restrained you, tears welling in your eyes. He used his other hand to press down on your lower back and used his knee to press down on your wet cunt. You let out a scream, the piercing sound muffled by your closed lips. The texture of his cum seemed to get thicker the longer it remained on your tongue, and you had to clench your jaw tighter, praying that nothing would accidentally drip out. You couldn't afford to be disgusted by how bitter and cold it had become, coating your mouth with every slight movement you made.

"Isn't that so? Answer me, dear." He growled as he began to massage your ass so hard that you could feel his nails digging into your soft skin.

All you could manage was a pitiful "mmmm.".

"Angry, naughty girl." He said, his voice full of fake sympathy as he ran his fingertips along your thighs in preparation for what was to come. "We can't let this pass unnoticed, can we? You need to repent."

Without warning, he slapped your ass so hard you almost forgot the cum in your mouth. Your body jerked forward before he caught you and brought you back. He didn't give you any time to recover from the blow, as he landed a second one on the opposite side of your ass. Your eyes welled up with tears and concentration as you struggled to keep your mouth shut. Tears started streaming from your eyes down your flushed, hot cheeks as he hit you again with even more sadistic aggression than the first two times. Wooyoung continued his merciless assault, each blow harder than the last, until he landed a particularly hard blow that you were sure would leave a bloody handprint on your skin. The force of the blow was almost enough to bring you to a scream, and for a moment, your lips parted. A small stream of cum ran from the corner of your mouth and down the side of your chin.

You hoped that he hadn't noticed, but you realised that you were out of luck when he let go of your wrists and took a firm grip of your hair instead. As he leaned down to speak roughly into your ear, he dug his nails into the battered, red skin of your ass as he pulled your head back.

"I will have no choice but to extend your punishment if you make a mess, my dear." When he warned you, Wooyoung's voice was deep and quietly ominous, like the ocean on the brink of a storm. He waited for a nod of understanding from you before he let go of your hair and returned to his previous position, running the palm of his hand lovingly over the swollen expanse of your ass.

You closed your eyes and took deep, slow breaths as Wooyoung spanked you over and over again without stopping. You would probably have enjoyed the spanking if it hadn't been for the added responsibility of holding a tonne of cum in your mouthYou s you squirm under his touch. His knee was still pressed relentlessly against your cunt, and his trousers were no doubt slippery from your excitement, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body every time you jerked in response to another loud slap against your skin. The sound was almost deafening, echoing off the walls of the old church in a dull echo.

Your punishment turned Wooyoung on once more, his hard cock pressed against the side of your body.

"It's turning you on, you little bitch." The tone of his voice would have been venomous, but it still remained angelic in some way. "I shouldn't be surprised about that. It doesn't matter what kind of touch you have, is it? You're such a needy slut that even the most innocent of touches makes your cunt wet." He ran his fingers through the tangled hair at the back of your head and let out a mocking chuckle. "You can swallow now, darling."

You swallow the cold, sticky cum, gasping in relief as it slides down your throat, immediately following his request. You could still taste it on the inside of your mouth, a faint hint of savoury sweetness tickling your taste buds. After he had spent a few seconds stroking your battered bottom in gentle, soothing movements, he grabbed hold of your sides and lifted you up until you were back in a sitting position on the edge of his lap. For the second time that night, he unbuckled his belt, sliding his trousers and boxer shorts halfway down his hips and freeing his thick cock.

Your stomach churned at the sight of Wooyoung's big, thick cock, but you knew better than to give in to your dark desires. All you could think about was how much you wanted to feel it—to run your hand along its veiny member, to curl your lips around its warm, velvety length, to jump on it and take it so deep into your cunt until you were sure you could feel it deep inside your belly. Wooyoung was absolutely right: you didn't care how he touched you at all. You were longing to feel his touch in any way that was possible.

"Pampered little sluts like you are always too used to being given everything they want without having to lift a finger to get it." He said this as he used his thumb to massage the wet head of his cock. He lifted you up and guided you to straddle him, his hands gripping the soft curves of your hips. Your breath caught; you were so close to your desire that you could almost taste it on your tongue.

"Is that what you wanted, darling?" Wooyoung hummed sweetly as he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist and pressed your hand down onto his cock. Instinctively, you grabbed hold of it, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you ran your fingers along the prominent veins that adorned the length of his cock.

"Yeah, Holy Father." You said it breathlessly. "God, yes. This is what I have been craving so much."

"You little whore, you ought to know better than to take the name of the Lord in vain in the presence of a priest." Wooyoung teased, and you could feel his hot, cinnamon-scented breath on the back of your neck. The pleasure rippled through your body.

"Please, Wooyoung, please, I want to repent." You came close to whimpering. Your hips jerked in Wooyoung's tight grip in search of some kind of relief, and he reached forward to hold you tightly.

"You must try harder, darling. I want to see you try to repent." He placed his hands on either side of you, and the corners of his sensual lips curled up slightly into a wicked grin as he leaned back against the bench and looked at you from under his half-closed eyelids. You leaned forward and held his cock upright by the base. Sitting up, you rubbed the flushed head along your soft, wet folds, pushing it past your entrance and stretching the small hole with his thick, hot cock. Your heart pounded in your chest, pounding against your ribs as you slid on top of him all at once. At the obviously intense pain of his thickness stretching your narrow, silky walls, tears streamed from your eyes.

"Dear Lord." You let out a loud moan and rolled your eyes back as he suddenly filled you to the brim. Wooyoung didn't move, maintaining a majestic coolness, but you could see him sucking his plump lower lip into his mouth when he could feel your pussy enveloping him, a soft hiss coming from the back of his throat.

"That's it, my darling." He praised you, not being able to control himself, and he began to knead your plump tits in his hands. You squealed and barely moved your hips, still trying to get used to the idea of having something so massive and so hot inside of you. "I want you to fuck yourself on my dick. Can you do that for me like a good girl?" he asked.

"Yeah, Holy Father." You replied breathlessly. You leaned over Wooyoung's shoulder and grabbed hold of the edge of the bench with both hands to prop yourself up. As you began to move slowly, up and down on his cock, Wooyoung pressed his mouth to your sensitive nipple and ran his tongue over it.

You were starting to sweat, but you continued to fuck yourself as ordered, gaining momentum with each thrust of your hips.

The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the empty church and mingled with the muffled, lascivious moans that escaped from your throat. You had never experienced ecstasy like this before, and you were not sure if you would ever be able to experience it again. You were insatiable, moving your hips in an almost painfully hard rhythm, your knuckles white from the force of your grip on the bench. The head of Wooyoung's cock reached your cervix, and you saw stars, unable to think of anything else but your inevitable orgasm and the devilishly beautiful man beneath you.

"Fuck, oh, fuck, Wooyoung, please..." You screamed out the words in an incoherent manner, completely consumed by the intense pleasure you were feeling. Wooyoung was a lot less eloquent than you and tried to control himself, but it was obvious that he was going crazy as well, judging by how hard he was pressing down on you. You could be sure that the marks that his hands had left on your body would be there for a long time to come.

He growled as he lifted his hips up towards you, and streams of tears began to run down your cheeks with renewed force. It hurt, but you loved the pain, you craved it, and you knew you wouldn't be able to forget it for weeks and weeks.

"I'm so close... oh fuck, I'm... I'm..." You let out a loud moan and threw your head back.

With that, he pushed you away from him with such force that you fell off his lap, your ass touching the cold velour carpet, his cock coming out of you just as you were about to come. You sobbed pitifully and looked up at Wooyoung with your eyes wide and glassy as he rose to his feet, his cock glistening with the wetness of your cunt.

"I don't think you're sincere enough in repenting; you're still full of sin, full of forbidden and dark desires, my dear." Wooyoung said it in a dismissive manner as he looked down at you. He leaned down and ran his long fingers through your hair, pulling you up until you were kneeling. "I know what you want, negligible girl. You want to cum. But unfortunately for you, today I'm the only one who can do it."

He mocked you, taking pleasure in the look of misery on your face as he forced your mouth open. He then shoved his cock into your mouth, letting you taste the arousal of your own as it covered him, and without any warning at all,, he began to fuck you in the face at a fast, merciless pace. Gagging on his cock and taking shallow breaths through your nose as he pushed down your throat, using your hair as a rein to guide your head, there was nothing you could do but take what was given to you. You felt his cock twitch, and then your nose was pressed against the smooth, hot skin of his pelvis, one hand holding you in place as warm ropes of cum shot down your throat. He released you and threw you on your side like a rag doll when he was sure you had drunk every last drop.

Too humiliated to look into the eyes of the gorgeous man who had brought you to this state, you began to sob, pulling your knees to your chest. There was no more holiness in Wooyoung than there was in the devil himself. Like the wolf in sheep's clothing, he wore a robe. At the moment, you were nothing more than a whimpering mess, bruised and humiliated, with a sore throat and trembling lips.

And yet somehow your cunt was throbbing and leaking, desperate for filling.

"Please, Wooyoung..." As the words left your lips, you felt numb and didn't even know how you could speak. "Please."

From where he was standing, he looked sinfully delicious, towering over you like a fallen angel dressed in black and sin as you lay on the floor, and you watched in disappointment as he tucked his dick back into his trousers. With what little strength you had left, you tugged at the hem of his trouser leg, and he tilted his head questioningly, a sensual smile crossing his plump lips at the sight of your hopeless state.

"Please. I don't know what you want me to repent for, but please.... Just... please. I'll do anything for you. Wooyoung..." You were on your knees, pressing your cheek against his thigh like a cat begging for food.

"What do you want, my child?" He asked in a voice that was patronising and majestic. He gently stroked your cheek with his thumb, wiping away some of the tears that had partially dried as he did so. "Wasn't that enough for you? Isn't it enough that my cock fills your mouth and your cunt? Are you going to ask me for more when I have already given you so much?"

You lowered your eyes in shame.

He grabbed you roughly by the shoulder and jerked you to your feet, throwing you onto the bench as he did so. Wooyoung licked his lips as he admired the sight of your naked body as it lay on the wooden bench, the angry red marks on your skin, and the blackened bruises that adorned your thighs.

"Do you want to cum? Is that what you want, you little slut?" Wooyoung asked you as he dropped to his knees and spread your thighs wide open. When you didn't answer, he smacked you hard on the inside of your thigh. "Answer me, bitch."

"Oh my God." You sighed, melting at the teasing sensation of the cold air of the wind on your hot and needy cunt as he spoke. "Y-yes Holy Father. That is what I want."

"Isn't it?" Wooyoung purred, holding your hips in place so that they would remain open for his pleasure. "I will be gracious to you, because that is what God commands us to be."

Suddenly, he lowered himself forward and buried his gorgeous face in your pussy, stroking vigorously between the folds of your pussy and collecting your sticky secretions on his tongue. You moaned wildly, one hand tangled in his black silk hair, reflexively rubbing your pussy all over his face. He wrapped his plump lips around your clit, sucking just enough to leave you stunned, and ran his tongue between your soft folds, swollen from his previous actions. Squirming helplessly under his ministrations, you cried out as he let go of one of your hips and slipped two long fingers inside you.

It was brutal—the way he moved his fingers inside you in a merciless way, his mouth working fervently over your clit. The edges of your vision became blurred, and soon you could feel the walls of your pussy beginning to contract, a sign that your climax was nearing.

"I... I... damn!" He flicked your head once more with the tip of his tongue, and then you came, throwing your head back in euphoria as you were consumed by your orgasm. Your cunt vibrated as Wooyoung laughed mockingly, and it was then that the whole situation became clear to you: you had been fucked, well and truly. He wasn't going to let you breathe; instead, he continued to play with your throbbing clit, a third finger thrusting into you with a dirty, lewd slurp.

"This is too much..." You whimpered as his tongue moved quickly around your sensitive clit, and his fingers spread you lightly as they went. You had no choice but to accept what he was giving you—the pleasure coursing through you so strongly that it became unbearable—but you were sure that was what he wanted—to punish you with what you craved so much.

He ran his fingers inside of you, guiding them so that they hit the deepest places that no one else had ever been able to reach. He twisted and turned them, brushing against something that was spongy and sensitive, and for a moment all you could see was white as you came for the second time. Just as you had feared, Wooyoung had no intention of stopping; now he was sucking on your clit with such passion that you could barely move, and you fell limply to the back of the bench, your legs twitching under his tight grip. He continued to push his fingers deep into you, your body shuddering weakly each time the tips of his fingers made contact with your cervix.

"Wooyoung, please stop." You begged, but all he did was laugh maliciously and spread his fingers out inside of you, stretching you even further. He pulled away from your clit with a loud pop, and you were on the verge of a sigh of relief until he removed his fingers from your core and replaced them with his sinful lips.

"N-no, that's too much, please!" Now you were sobbing openly as he lowered his head to lick the stripes between your folds, his thumb circling your defenceless clit, his long silken hair tickling the sore skin on your inner thighs.

Wooyoung sucked one of your labia into his mouth before he pushed himself deeper into your entrance and began to fuck you with his skilled, long tongue. You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach once more, and the muscles in your thighs clenched as he pinched your clit with two fingers. The coil in your stomach snapped without warning, and then you came, but this time everything was different: a wave of clear liquid burst from your overstimulated cunt and soaked Wooyoung's face and the front of his perfect shirt.

Eventually, he pulled himself away, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he looked down at the mess that you had made.

"You filthy little thing." He laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and licked his wet fingers at the mess. "So, what do you think? Have you come to understand how you can repent of your sins?"

"Y-yes, Holy Father." You said you were clenching your legs in a protective manner in case he decided to go for another round.

"Good." He rose to his feet again, looking just as untouched as he had been the first time you had seen him, except for his hair, which was slightly dishevelled.

Your whole body was aching, from your sore ass to your swollen cunt, from your hips to your back. You were sure that for the next few weeks, Wooyoung would be the only thing on your mind.    "I will be waiting for your return, my child. I need to be sure that you have understood the righteous path and that you are living without sin. Do you understand me, dear?"

"Yes, Wooyoung, I am definitely going to come back to confess."

[leonw4nter]

Look Into My Eyes and You Won’t Ever Have To Ask

DI!Leon and F!Reader

“Y/N, we’re going to jump into the water. We’ll have to brace for impact, you especially.” Leon informs you urgently as he clutches the top of his dislocated shoulder but he eyes your broken rib, obviously putting more emphasis on your injury even though both your conditions are critical.

“Will we make it with your arm?” You ask before wincing. “Don’t force it back into the joint, you’ll make things worse for yourself.”

Leon scoffs, a soft gust of wind leaving his chapped and busted lips that are somehow still curled skyward. “Drop’s not that high but we still gotta be careful and don’t worry, I won’t pop this thing back in place. I’m not that stupid.”

You two look down from the platform and into the dark and rocky water below; the drop is high and along with other metal debris falling into the water, jumping would be dangerous. The response team’s arrival can’t be estimated due to several factors so you’re not sure how long you and Leon have to stay out in the water; treading will be difficult for him due to his arm and it’s not going to be easy helping Leon stay afloat due to a cracked rib and what you’re guessing, a fractured hip as well. This mission has not been kind to you and him, the B.O.Ws involved seemingly much stronger than those you two have dealt with in the past. The mission was supposed to be a lot simpler, a “slip in and slip out” kind of mission but due to unforeseen circumstances, you two are now on a high platform with broken bones while dressed in formal clothing. There was an auction afterparty on a private island that you two had to infiltrate while posing as a married couple, complete with rings and an expertly-falsified marriage certificate. The goal was to grab the lone sample of an engineered Plaga strain to bring back to a research lab and have scientists re-engineer the DNA to try and weaken it. Sounded simple enough until someone’s advisor recognized Leon and had you two’s cover blown and now landed you two in this shitty situation. Mentally and physically preparing yourselves as much as you can, you two slip your shoes off and chuck them to the water to prevent adding weight to your bodies because staying afloat will prove to be a challenge.

Just as you were about to say you were ready, a Tyrant busts the door and spots the two of you. Not sparing a moment for you two to even think of getting ready, the B.O.W runs towards the both of you. Leon gives you a look and swiftly takes your hand, the both of you leaping into the ocean with eyes shut and breaths held. The impact of sinking into the water knocks the wind out of your lungs, cracked ribs uncomfortably disturbed. Your eyes open, greeted by the dark black blur of the ocean and salt of the sea slowly irritating them. You turn to look for Leon, fighting the pain of your injury and trying to spot him amidst the black sea. You spot a suit trying to swim upwards to get air and that is enough confirmation for you so you try to swim upwards to get some air and try to look for a chopper. Unfortunately, something tugs against your leg and it appears that debris has hooked around your ankle and is dragging you downwards. You bend down and try to wriggle your foot free, feeling around in the dark since you couldn’t see. Fortunately for you, you managed to get it out and you furiously try to get back to the surface to tell Leon you’re fine.

You gasp sharply and tread water despite the roaring ache in your arms and legs, your head turning here and there to look for your partner.

“Y/N!”

You heard a strained call for your name, trying to locate him amidst the splashing surface due to the pitter patter of heavy rains on the surface of the water obstructing your view.

“Leon!” You call out and try to swim to him but he yells your name in a perturbed tone.

“Big wave!”

You look to your right and see a large wave headed for the both of you. You didn’t have time to fully sink back down and so the wave tossed you, causing you to accidentally swallow some water and choke on it while fighting for your life. Could it get any worse? It could, since the Tyrant above you decided to rip the metal door off of its hinges and throw it down into the water above you. Tossed and disoriented in the water while choking, you didn’t realize that you were heading in the direction of a metal part of the door jutting out. You hit your head hard and fell unconscious, all the thrashing and efforts slowly coming to a halt.

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Leon woke up in a hospital, his right arm placed in a sling and his other arm attached to IV drips. There were several electrodes stuck to his chest, connected to a beeping machine. Dazed and confused, especially with the bright lights of the hospital room, he nimbly sat up despite the dizziness that overcame him and got up, not minding if he was connected to several machines. The sudden commotion alerts the nurses on duty, rushing to him just as he reaches to remove the devices attached to him.

“Sir, please calm down–”

“Where is she–”

“Sir, you can’t–”

“Where’s my wife?!”

He had never yelled like that, not even during training when cadets couldn’t get their form right. Not even when he was frustrated with how life turned out for him.

“Where’s my wife? I need to see her,” he repeats less loudly but still retaining the same stern tone he used earlier. He isn’t moving as much but he keeps his eyes peeled on the door of his hospital room.

“She’s on the same floor, 3 rooms across yours, sir. She’s still unconscious the last time I checked so please be careful and try not to make any sudden noise,” a nurse tells him. He calms down, his body no longer as tense as it was earlier. His shoulders sink, occasionally moving his free arm so the nurses can reattach the electrodes that have gone loose when he moved violently earlier.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “And thank you. For telling me.”

“It’s fine, sir. You did that out of love and concern for your wife. You must love her very much if you lost your cool and acted irrationally just to make sure she’s safe.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.”

The nurses helping him simply smiled and continued making sure all instruments on him were secure before helping him back to his hospital bed and making sure he was laying comfortably and didn’t place any pressure on any other injuries he sustained. Before the last nurse turned around to leave him be for the time being to go call a doctor and have the doctor check his vitals, she informed him that guests aren’t allowed at your room for the time being that you’re unconscious. He nods, understanding since you did take a particularly dangerous hit to the head and nearly drowned. He sits in silence, head hung low as he looks at himself and sees his injured arm on a black sling and his suit discarded in favor of a hospital gown. Purples and yellows, along with some small red spots, decorate his skin along with new scars among old ones. Now that he’s more aware of how he’s feeling, he realizes just how much his back hurts and how sore his joints feel. He’s no stranger to an achy and sore body, especially after missions, but as his age progressed the pain seems to have increased along with it. He can’t carry heavy things like he used to and he now takes longer breaks to regain his bearings after training. His gaze falls on his hand and notices the fact that his ring is missing first, not the redness and the bruising in his knuckles on top of recovering wounds from the previous mission. His eyes widened, looking around for his ring until his gaze fell on the ring inside of a tiny ziplock on his bedside table. He sighs, a small lock of brown hair falling down and covering his eye. His mind drifts back to the mission and his small outburst earlier, flitting between the two events. He feels guilty to have taken longer to bring you back up to the surface despite the arm proving to be difficult to swim with. If only he’d already swam up to you and moved you two somewhere less prone to having debris dropped on, you wouldn’t be suffering a concussion. If only he didn’t resist having you style his hair differently, that damn man wouldn’t have recognized him and caused an uproar. For once in a long time, none of his thoughts went into whether or not the mission was a success; he was entirely concerned with your well-being as a nasty guilt eroded his heart slowly and painfully. He loved you, he loved you dangerously for he would do anything brash if it meant securing your safety at the expense of his. He cherished you more than the stars that the night sky offered for your presence outshone even the most stellar cluster of stars. He cherished you more than the serenity that solitude offered for in your presence he could find a peace that solitude could never offer him. He knew the lone and solitary path, having gone down that road almost all his life but when he knew you, he could never go back to living without you by his side again. Hell, he loves you more than he does with whatever freedom he has left after being forced to work for the government for when he’s with you, he finds the true meaning of liberty. For the first time in the longest time, he prays. He stopped praying in the winter of the same year he turned 21, the prospect of believing in a God and holding on to a prayer as good as stupid and a waste of breath. Despite his doubt with the heavens, he is firm in his belief that you will recover soon. In a universe where he sees no god, he prays for you for in you he has found something sacred.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He waits for several days and nights, occasionally getting up from his room to drag himself and the IV drip to the locked door of your hospital room. He tells nurses passing by that he’s your “husband” and that he just wants to see you, even for a little bit. The more he explains to nurses that he’s your “husband”, he feels like a liar. On a fake piece of paper, he is, but do you really want him to be your husband? He is far from ideal– he used to be a heavy drinker, he’s got emotional baggage, and a life with him would put her and possibly, your future family, in constant danger. He knows you’re very capable, more than capable in fact, to defend yourself but you can only do so much to defend yourself, you lying unconscious in a bed attached to tubes being proof of that. As he turns to walk back into his room, a million thoughts run through his head; he decides to tell you about how he feels and treat you the best he can, whether or not you feel the same way towards him. He’ll even request the D.S.O. to put both of you on a break since you both deserve time to focus on your recovery and pursuit of interests outside of work. He also considers writing a book to record his thoughts but considering the injury on his dominant arm, he realizes that writing will be a lot more difficult. On the steps back to his room, he also mentally lists down what he wants to gift you but he stops himself– realizing that he’s getting too ahead of himself.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Oh, he did react violently. Very violently.” your nurse tells you as the doctor with her takes your vitals.

You asked her how he’s doing as soon as you got up, looking around worriedly for your ring and your other belongings. The lights disoriented you for a moment, too bright for your pupils that are still adjusting after being asleep for nearly an entire month. You also learned that he got discharged 2 weeks ago but still came by often to visit you. He’s also been said to occasionally brush your hair away from your face and change the water from the vase and flowers he brought you a day after he got discharged.

“He was yelling, moving so much and screamed ‘where’s my wife?!’. Honestly, it was so cute!” she said with a wide smile.

“The entire floor heard him since he opened the door loudly and screamed even louder but he cared less, even if his ass is poking out of his hospital gown.”

You blushed at the mental image of Leon looking for you like a madman in a hospital gown where he’s naked at the back.

“He only calmed down after we told him where you were and he stayed in his room, head hung low the entire day and we all honestly felt bad for him.”

You nodded to her words, your gaze falling to the ring in the ziploc baggie on your bedside table. You asked for a phone and called him, telling him that you woke up and he can come visit you.

“He seemed really happy, could tell that wideass grin of his even through the phone,” you told the nurse and doctor while they smiled and giggled for you.

“Go give him the best kiss you’ve ever given him and profess your love again like it’s the first time!”

Their words made you blush again, only this time it’s because they don’t know you two aren’t exactly married. You two have only kissed once and that was during the fake wedding that the company set up for you two, present with a witness with no affiliation to any of the guests or you two. You’re not even sure if him talking to you was purely out of kindness or if he did that in order to keep up the image that things have not gone awkward. You’re even surprised Leon doesn’t seem to have been picking up the hints you’ve been dropping at him; for an agent who’s trained to be highly perceptive of people’s actions and body language, he sure doesn’t know how to pick up signs that you’re flirting with him. Unless he doesn’t want you. You groan and carefully rest your head on the pillow behind you but you stop, wincing because you just remembered you’ve got a busted rib or two.

A few minutes later, the sliding door to your room opens and in comes Leon with a bouquet of sunflowers on his free hand because the other is on a black sling. His black leather jacket is draped over his shoulders and he can hardly contain his joy at seeing you awake.

Placing the bouquet on your lap, he cages you in for a hug with consideration for your injuries. You swear you hear a soft sniffle from him and feel his body slightly jerk and as he pulls back, he’s got semi-glossy eyes.

“Y/N. Hey, how are you feeling?” He softly asks as he takes your hand in his.

“Feeling amazing. You?”

“Better than ever now that you’re up.”

“That’s good.”

A comfortable silence settles between the both of you, Leon taking one more good look at you. He thought he had a ton of things on his chest but that couldn’t compare to the amount you had on yours– literally and metaphorically. He breaks the silence first by clearing his throat before speaking.

“I– Uh… I got you some flowers,” he explains as he picks up the bouquet and shows some of the flowers to you.

He definitely picked it up in a rush since you spot a small card in the middle of all the sunflowers that says ‘well wishes on your new business’ in swirly gold lettering. You smile for the first time in a long time, finding the gesture to be sweet coming from Leon. He probably got it seeing as how sunflowers seemed to be a bright and happy kind of flower and he wanted you to feel even a little bit positive even in this condition and it’s definitely working but you still decided to ask him why he chose sunflowers amidst all the different pre-packaged flowers.

“Why sunflowers?” you ask as you gently inhale the scent of the flowers despite sunflowers being odorless.

“It only made sense for me to get these for you since sunflowers always face the sun,” he explains as he drags a chair to sit down on as he talks. “I go to you when I need help with something and you’re always there for me so I guess… in a way… you’re kind of like my sun.”

His words trigger your heart to ram itself against your ribcage, your heartbeat thundering so loudly in your ear as you imagine color furiously rushing to fill in the paleness of your face. Leon looks away, a hand making its way to the back of his neck and rubbing it. His gaze returns to you but his eyes shoot up to his brows, picking up your hand with a finger clipped to the pulse oximeter, looking at you worriedly.

“Your pulse is picking up. You alright? Need water? A nurse?” he rapidly asks. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

The pulse oximeter continues to display your heightened heart rate and you want to tell Leon that you feel fine– amazing even– but that would contradict with the reading of the device. You can’t tell him that whatever he just said made your heart race because you love like him so much, it’s almost embarrassing.

“Water would be nice,” you say. He gets up and pours you a glass of water, handing it to you carefully while keeping his hand near the glass in case you don’t have the strength to hold it yet. For the entire day, he tells you all about what he’s been up to while you were unconscious– the break that the D.S.O. gave to the both of you, the mission, his arm, his thoughts while you were gone, and a lot more things.

“Leon Kennedy prayed for me?” you ask in shock, mouth agape while still curled into a perplexed smile. “Leon ‘religion is beyond me’ Kennedy clasped his hands together, shut his eyes, and devoted a few moments of his day to pray for me.”

You laugh heartily, clapping along. You find the image of Leon praying to be a little funny, impossible even; you know about Leon’s past on religion and how he was a practicing Catholic up until the winter of the same year he turned 21 but it seemed so foreign for him to be praying for you. Little did you know, he found himself praying because his love for you taught him devotion in feelings more powerful than he.

“Shut up,” he mumbles while his cheeks burn pink. “Don’t laugh at me like that, at least it worked.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You told Leon about what the nurses told you about him nearly having a meltdown as soon as he woke up. You’ve never seen him bury his face into his hands and groan, leaning into your side and burying his face there as he pulled his leather jacket above his head and begged you to stop teasing him about it. It’s been a week since you’ve woken up and Leon’s visited you every single day since then, occasionally bringing personal items you told him to bring for you or lunch boxes he cooked and made for you. Bento boxes, he called them. He showed you the entire playlist of YouTube videos he made full of bento box cooking videos, some of the videos having the red bar underneath them.

“Rebecca told me all about them, said that they were balanced with everything you’ll need to recover,” he explained. “They’re pretty neat, actually. It’s fun making them look all cutesy for you. I’m pretty sure we’re giving the nurses a new reason to giggle every day.”

You smile as you take a bite of the spam, humming in satisfaction as the flavors erupt. You thank him for the effort he’s been putting into cooking for you, to which he smiles and nods to.

“Leon,” you say as you put the lid back on the bento box. “Um– I’ve… There’s…. I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?” He says, putting his pocketbook into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“We’re on a break right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He shifts in the chair and you begin to fiddle with something small in between your fingers.

“Are we still required to keep this up?”

He stays silent for a moment until you gesture to the rings on both of your hands. “Not sure but not until we confirm that the mission is a success in a briefing, I guess we have to.”

“You don’t have to cook for me, you know. The hospital makes sure to feed me everyday.”

“I don’t have to but I want to.”

“I’m sure no one’s suspicious of us being a sham couple. You’re always nice to me and it seems genuine so you’re free to go.”

“Y/N,” Leon begins. “I’m not doing this for the mission. I’m pretty sure praying for you isn’t required by the D.S.O. Before you begin to tell me that I’m being nice for the record, Y/N, I’ve never prayed for anyone to wake up from a coma. You’re the first.”

“Does that mean you love me, Leon?” you ask. You lock stares with him, determined to not let Leon leave your room for the night without getting a direct answer from him.

“Y/N. If you stared any longer and fiercer into my eyes a long time ago, I would’ve crumbled then and there and told you that I have always loved you. All this started from a deception but it led me to the most honest feeling I’ve ever felt so yes, I do love you.”

Silence befalls the both of you in the room, save for the soft beeping of the machines in the same room as you two are in. Amidst the silence, you two come to a wordless understanding that you two are in love and have been in love for a long time. A delicate smile points the tips of your lips upwards before a soft laugh leaves you, genuinely ecstatic that your feelings have been returned and he fiercely feels the same as you do. He follows suit, smiling and chuckling as he takes your hand into his and kisses the back of your knuckles, nuzzling into your open palm as you gently rub your thumb back and forth on his stubbly cheek.

“In a few years time, we’re going to replace these ones with actual rings,” you say to Leon to which he nods, silently basking in your beauty and in the joy that there’s a future ahead for him with you. A nurse knocks at the door, informing Leon that visitation hours end in a minute and he has to go soon.

“Well, looks like I gotta go,” he quietly says though you know he doesn’t want to go just yet and frankly, you don’t want him to go just yet.

“You’ve only got a minute left before you do leave, just wait it out,” you urge him.

Sighing but not out of displeasure, he sits back down and leans near you to bask in your presence before he heads back into his lonely apartment. An entire minute passes by and Leon begins to get up but not before you sit up, reach for the sleeve of another one of his many jackets, pull him down to your level, and place a hungry yet velvety kiss on his lips. His eyes are widened before he shuts them, his free hand traveling to the base of your head and gently drawing your face nearer to deepen his kiss. A nurse walks in again, telling Leon to leave since his visiting hours are over but neither of you are too stubborn to pull away and break the kiss just yet. Your hands finds a portion of Leon’s jacket draped loosely over his shoulders and lifts it up, shielding both your faces as you feel a smile widen on Leon’s lips fitted against yours. You two are definitely giving the nurses a new reason to gush and giggle every time they are going to see either of you. As for you alone, you’ll have some explaining to do to the doctor checking your vitals for the irregularities in your heart rate.

NOTE - I didn't proofread this so if you spotted errors then I'm rlly sorry because I'm lazy (💀). This fic is a lot longer than my other drops lately so I hope we're all okay w that!!! I've got like 2 requests in my Inbox so to my anons who are waiting, it might take a while but I'm def going to work on them and post something for you <3 Happy Pride Month to my queer readers and queer mutuals, you deserve to be seen, heard, celebrated, and appreciated!!! Support your queer friend or someone you know who is queer by doing something for them or getting them a food item that they like, make them feel extra special this month yk :3 Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!! I <3333333 UUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The wavy divider was made by @roseraris , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[angerworn]

top 100 characters

[adventuringblind]

Keep me Close

Past Jules Bianchi x reader, platonic Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: angst

Request: yepyep finally got me some angst things to write

Summary: Charles's new girlfriend can't understand why he's so attached to the reader

Warnings: talks of death, name calling, a table gets flipped

Notes: I definitely didn't cry writing this at one point. Also, no hate to Alex!! I know hardly anything about her, but I know her and Charles are currently together, and it fits the Timeline, so please bear with me.

Masterlist

Your love for Jules was something you find in fairy tales. It was beautiful, and both of you felt connected on a level deeper than anything imaginable.

It started when you were both merely kids. You were six, and he was eight. The two of you had met at the wedding of a mutual friend. Dressed in nice clothing, he'd marched right up to you and claimed to be a knight looking for a princess.

You were inseparable after that. It was like you'd found your soulmate.

When you turned eighteen, Jules had immediately proposed. And when you countered by asking if you were both too young, he said, 'Why waste time when I know I'll love you forever?'"

You'd gotten close with Leclerc family. Specifically with Charles since Jules was named godfather. He spent a great deal of time with you and Jules.

Then 2014. Everyone was sure Jules was going to get a seat with Ferrari. It would be a crime if he didn't.

You remember kissing him, good luck. The last feeling of his lips on your before getting in the car.

You remember telling him to be safe with the rain; that you love him dearly. He replied with his signature wink and an 'I love you more and I always am.'

Then everything stopped. The world seemed to no longer spin. Time refused to move forward as you willed it to go back.

It couldn't be real. There was no way it had happened. You still thought that as you sat at his bedside faithfully for months. There wasn't a world you wanted to live in if it didn't have Jules.

Charles was similarly devastated. He'd lost someone dear to him. The boy spent all his free time sitting with you in the hospital. Even bringing around food that Pascale had made to keep you alive. Something you didn't want to be at that moment.

The bond you'd formed with Charles during this time is hard to explain. There is nothing romantic. He's family despite the age gap not being that large.

He was, and is still, family. You'd promised to still take care of him despite the loss of Jules, and he promised to do the same in his stead.

The start of the 2024bseason brings on an interesting turn of events. Charles had split with his girlfriend before the new year and is now with his new girlfriend Alex.

You like her. She's very sweet as far as you've been told. But there is something there that makes you worry. You just blame the fact that you want the best for Charles.

The first time you met her was at a family dinner. Charles brought Alex with him to introduce her to everyone.

You were actually the first person he introduced her to. You felt honored, but there was something behind her eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint. But you kept it to yourself and made friendly conversation.

The next time you saw her was when she dropped by the Leclerc family home unannounced. The position she caught you in wasn't a bad one, but it probably didn't look good to her.

Charles had a rough race in Monaco, as per usual, and was laying with his head in your lap while you ran fingers through his hair. It's the same thing Jules had done when Charles was a child after a bad Karting race.

Alex definitely didn't look pleased with you. But she managed to put kn a smile and say hello.

It was awkward. Especially after Charles and her went into another room because you could hear them talking in hushed whispers.

Your fingers find the chain with your wedding ring on it. Your lips press against the cold metal as you hold the ring to your mouth. "I hope I'm doing this right, Jules. It's hard without you here."

The last time you saw Alex was at a birthday party. Your birthday party. Something you don't like having after Jules because he was the one who always made the day special.

Charles is a stubborn man though and decided it was necessary. Partly because this is his way of remembering that you are alive and with them, but it also gives him and excuse to drink and dance.

It wasn't anything massive. Or at least - not a massive as it could have been. There were a good number of people crowded into your Monaco home. The food is good, and the music is better. It definitely felt like a party Jules would have dragged you to in your youth.

It's not long until Charles appears at the door with Alex in tow. He comes to you, and you embrace him as usual. The smile on his face makes everything worth it. despite having to deal with a party for a few hours.

Pierre also finds you and starts up conversation. The three of you fail to notice the fourth becoming increasingly agitated.

A loud crashing sound pulls all of their attention. Alex flipped over the table in her agitation and is now sending chills down your spine with the look on her face.

"Why are you so determined to be some kind of homewrecker! Why can't you just stop being a creep to Charles and let us live in peace!" She screams. It hits your mind like a shadow. The world fades away, and your thoughts are filled with the doubts you have daily.

Tears fill your eyes, and your body goes rigid. "I'm Charles' godmother. Y/N Bianchi. I am no homewrecker." You choke.

Charles and Pierre take a protective step in front of you. "Get out!" Charles' voice drips with venom. Alex looks stunned. She doesn't move even as Charles shouts at her. "Nobody gets to speak like that to my family! Get out!"

Then she runs. Avoiding the gazes of disapproval.

Charles spins around and places his hands on your shoulders. His eyes scanning your face to assess the damage.

"I'm so sorry that happened. You're amazing. Always have been. And anyone who says differently is a fucking asshole."

Even through the tears, she smiles. Jules couldn't have left her in better hands.

[scarlet-bitch]

GLITCH. (Part Two)

18+ MDNI. Literally it’s just porn. If you want some plot read GLITCH : Part One

What was supposed to be a simple blind date - a quiet dinner, that perhaps would’ve ended with a chaste goodnight kiss - has spiraled into something else entirely. Now, you’re in the back of a van, caught between Steve's soft whispers and Eddie’s tantalizing touch.

You blame Robin.

———

Your lips feel swollen and from what you can see in the dim lighting of the van, both Steve and Eddie’s are too. Evidence of the intensity the three of you shared as your lips became one.

"Ready?" Steve whispers, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes.” you reply, sounding a little more eager than you’d hoped.

Steve exchanges a knowing glance with Eddie, silently signaling towards the rear doors of the van. Eddie nods, his gaze lingering on you before he gently withdrew his hand from your thigh, moving from his spot on your left, to reposition in front of you.

"Could you move up a bit, baby? Just for a moment,” Steve requests, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently urging you forward.

You comply, shifting closer to Eddie, who steadies you with a touch at your waist.

Steve maneuvers behind you, his presence enveloping you as he settles in, his knees bending slightly on either side of you. His hands found your hips, guiding you until you leaned back against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through your clothes, sending a ripple of anticipation through you.

Steve's warm breath tickles your ear as he leans in closer, "Relax, honey.“

You took a deep breath, letting yourself ease into Steve's embrace. His grip on your hips loosens, his hands now gently massage your sides as you relax into the moment.

Eddie trails his hand from your waist, finally resting it back on your thigh. Now that your senses aren’t overloaded, you can’t help noticing the roughness of Eddie’s fingertips as he traces soothing circles on your skin, the cold metal of his rings contrasting with the warmth of your body.

Inside the cramped confines of the van, every sensation feels magnified. The air is thick with anticipation and desire, faintly scented with leather seats and a hint of alcohol. Outside, rain softly taps, creating a cocoon of privacy that suspends reality for the three of you. Heart racing, you shift your gaze between Steve and Eddie, a swirl of excitement and uncertainty filling you about the moments to come.

Eddie's hand on your thigh moves higher, his thumb grazing under the fabric of your dress. “Is this okay, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, his eyes locked on yours.

“Mhmm.” Your eyes intently glued to his hand and how close it is to where you ache.

Steve’s presence behind you, enhancing this moment. His lips peppering soft kisses along your neck as his hands grab the skirt of your dress and slowly hike it up until your panties are visible.

You’re not usually one to hook up on a first date, especially a blind date, so tonight you didn’t plan for anyone to be seeing what you wearing underneath. To your surprise, the simple white cotton panties don’t disappoint. Eddie letting out a low groan from seeing the way they hug your cunt, the very evident wet patch making them see through, clinging to your folds. Steve can’t see everything from his position, but he still has a damn good view and the sight of the damp patch causes his dick to twitch.

“When you watched me tonight, mesmerized by my hands, is this what you thought about?” Eddie asks while trailing a finger down your covered slit.

You gasp at the sensation. Nodding your head, unable to form words as Eddie gently teases his finger up and down your slick soaked panties. If Eddie thought he was hard before, feeing how wet you actually were, made it painful. “Already soaked, and we’re only just getting started.” Eddie teases.

You shift your hands from your sides to your chest, overcome with the urge to conceal yourself in embarrassment at his words.

Steve recognizes what you’re doing instantly, grabbing your arms and guiding them back to your sides. "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “We want to make you feel good.”

“We’re very glad to know we are.” Eddie whispers, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips.

You moan into it, having missed the taste of him. The combination of his soft kiss and his gentle finger toying with your clothed pussy, is making your heart race. You can feel Steve shift behind you, his hard cock pressing against your back.

Eddie pulls back, a grin spreading on his lips as he feels your arousal continue to seep through your panties. He removes his finger, and you unintentionally buck your hips up at the loss of contact.

Eddie holds his glistening index finger towards Steve, “Wanna taste?”

Steve leans in, opening his mouth, and sucking your juices off of his finger, pulling away slowly. Eddie lets out a deep sigh, not quite realizing the effect that would have on him when he offered.

"So sweet," Steve moans softly, his lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to explore your mouth. The taste of him, mixed with the taste of yourself, causing more wetness to pool between your thighs.

Steve breaks the kiss, and his hands begin roaming over your body with purpose, sliding your dress up, and you instantly put your hands up so he can pull it over your head. You felt Eddie's fingers now slipping beneath your panties, “Can I take these off?”

You nod insistently.

Eddie shimmies your panties off of you slowly, and Steve’s eyes are glued to the scene, his dick straining hard in his jeans. A taste wasn’t enough. He wants his tongue inside you. “What a pretty little pussy.” He rasps into your ear.

Eddie throws your drenched panties to the side, leaving you sat between them, only in your bra. “Pretty indeed.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing at their words, and you whine at the emptiness. In anticipation you lift your hips up towards Eddie, begging to be filled by his fingers and he lets out a chuckle. “You’re a needy girl, huh?”

“Please.” It comes out breathier than you expect. Fuck. You’re a fucking mess right now, and they are loving every second of it. A groan leaving both their lips hearing you beg.

Steve's hands continue their exploration on your body, unhooking your bra and sliding it off, before hands slip to trace the curve of your breasts. He moans at the feeling of your fullness in his hands. Your eyes shut and you throw your head back on his shoulder, hissing at the feeling of his large hands caressing your breasts, the warmth of them against your pebbled nipples, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Ah-Ahhh.” You moan, eyes flying open as you feel Eddie’s tongue lick a thick stripe through your folds. You were too caught up in Steve’s touch to notice Eddie’s change in position. Sprawling himself as much as he could in the confined space to lean down, and lap at your wetness.

“Harrington’s right, so fucking sweet.” He murmurs against your pussy. The feeling is tantalizing.

Steve groans at the sight, wishing it was him between your legs, but he also can’t get over how pretty Eddie looks with your arousal dripping from his face.

You feel Steve press his lips against your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

You think you could probably cum if they keep this up, but even if you could you don’t want to, not yet. Never have you ever felt this, euphoric.

Eddie and Steve, the dynamic fucking duo. Literally.

Eddie stops his teasing licks, and runs his finger over your slit. It’s different than earlier, without the barrier of your panties, your cunt is trying to suck him in.

“Fuck.” You whimper.

Eddie's touch became more insistent, his fingers finding your clit and starting slow, teasing circles that made your breath hitch in your throat.

You move your left hand on top of Steve’s as his hands are stilling playing with your breasts, alternating between kneading them, and toying with your nipples, mouth sucking at the skin under your ear, while Eddie is teasing your cunt. Your right hand goes behind you, finding Steve’s hair and running your fingers through it, as you arch your body into Eddie’s touch.

“I-I, need more.” Your breath is ragged, each touch and kiss intensifying the desire that burned within.

“Tell him exactly what you need, baby.” Steve encouraged, nipping gently at your earlobe.

“I need your fingers,” you pant. “Inside me, Eddie.”

“Fuuuuuuck.” He mutters, groaning at the sound of his name spilling from your lips with such desperation. If this was anyone else, Eddie would keep teasing them, relentlessly, but seeing your pleading eyes, and your quivering bottom lip he can’t do it to you. He just wants to make you feel good.

He trails his finger from your clit, to where you desire him most, circling your entrance slowly causing you to whimper at his touch, rolling your hips up, begging to be filled. Then before you know it, Eddie sinks two fingers into you. It feels fucking delicious.

“Goddamn it, Steve. She’s so fucking warm.” He says, gritting his teeth. This is it. Eddie thinks he’s finally going to blow his load, because your pretty little pussy is wrapped so tightly around his fingers, he can’t help but imagine the way you’d feel on his cock. Rutting his hips into the carpet of the van just for a little relief.

Tears are beginning to prick at your eyes from the sensation. The feeling of Eddie’s skillful digits in your pussy while Steve is caressing your body whispering about how good you’re taking it, makes your skin feel like it’s been ignited on fire.

The view before Steve is a fucking vision. Eddie’s mouth falling open locked in a haze as he’s pumping his fingers into your sweet cunt, while tears are beginning to spill from your eyes. “Such a good girl. You're taking him so well, baby.” Steve whispers, his voice smooth and reassuring, a stark contrast to the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Steve's right hand abandoned your breast, delving deeper, until his middle finger found your clit.

“Shit, oh fuck, fuck.” The sensation of Steve’s touch on your clit in tandem with Eddie’s finger’s thrusts overwhelm you.

The sight of both of them rubbing your aching desire was nearly enough to make you explode, the tension building inside of you at a rapid pace.

In the dim light, you could see Eddie between your thighs. Mouth parted as his eyes plea for you to give him all you’ve got, thin layer of sweat on his face, and remnants of you are still glistening on his chin - he looks heaven sent.

“Steve, I want- ahhhh fuck, I-I need to see you too.”

Steve let out a deep groan, releasing his hands from their place on your breast and you clit, sliding them along the soft flesh of your sides. He gives a firm squeeze as he lightly ground his hips into the small of back.

Eddie starts to reposition at your words, fingers still expertly stroking your pussy, he adjusts back up on his knees, left hand hooking under your arm pulling you up towards him, as you place your hands on his shoulders. This position allows his fingers to hit another angle and you can’t help but let out a cry. Eddie urges you further up, repositioning you on your own knees, wrapping his left arm around your waist pulling you into him. Your ass now exposed to Steve, as he shifts to this knees as well, hands giving a rough squeeze to the fat of your ass, as his lips place open mouth kisses on your neck.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Eddie moans before pulling you into a kiss as you begin riding his fingers, your ass now grinding against Steve’s strained cock. Eddie’s mouth trails down your jaw, making his way to your chest, tongue flicking out to tease your left nipple, before popping it into his mouth, sucking harshly.

The van rocks gently, each touch and caress deepening the connection between the three of you. In this moment, all that can be felt is the raw, primal need for release.

——

Steve’s made his way in front of you, enveloping your right nipple in his mouth. He takes a different approach than Eddie, who is still sucking your left, aggressively. Steve is slow, savoring it, you can feel the precise swirl of his tongue, and my God the contrast is perfection.

Your hands reach out, giving a tight squeeze to the bulge in their jeans. From what you can tell, they seem similar in size, Steve slightly longer, Eddie slightly thicker. They moan in unison around your nipples at the feeling.

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans, removing his mouth from you as you palm him. He grips your waist, with his left hand, head lulling on your shoulder as he starts to lose his balance from the feeling. His fingers still inside you, as you continue swirling your hips to aid in the friction.

Steve licks a trail from your nipple to collarbone, nipping gently at the delicate skin, soft whimpers leaving his mouth as you continue to rub him through his jeans.

Just as you think these men are putty in your hands, Eddie removes his fingers from you and you realize, they still have the upper hand.

“No, please.” You whine, the ache of the emptiness consuming you, so much so - that you can’t help but remove your hands from their bodies.

“I have a feeling you’re gonna like this.” He whispers, biting gently on your ear lobe. Eddie smirks at Steve who’s so blissed out his eyes are half open.

Eddie guides you back, so you’re lying down as you were earlier, just without Steve behind you. Your legs are bent, spread open wide, and Steve is finally getting the full view of your pretty pussy. He all about growls when he sees it. Your arousal dripping, begging to be cleaned up by him and in instant his mouth is on you. Eddie lets out a chuckle, sitting back watching the way Steve teases your clit with his tongue.

Steve’s using the same circle movements he used on your nipple, kitten licking your swollen clit before sucking it softly into his mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god, yes, Steve. Fuck.” Tears are pricking at your eyes at the feeling.

Steve releases your clit, and starts kissing down your slit, tracing his tongue around your entrance before he dips in, fucking you gently with it, his nose brushing your clit, the sensation causing you to writhe beneath him.

Your eyes are locked with Eddie’s as he’s staring intently on Steve devouring your pussy. “Do you like watching us, Eddie,” you moan.

His grin is wide, shaking his head as you all but bliss out on Steve’s tongue. Your orgasm is building back up, and you don’t know if you can fight it off any longer. But you have to. You need them both.

“Do you want to touch yourself.”

He nods again, Steve grunts on your pussy at your words, desperately wanting that same luxury.

“Steve, do you want that too?”

He removes his tongue, placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thigh as he lifts his head up. “Very much.” He rasps, his voicing cracking with want.

“I want that for you both too,” you rasp. “But I really want, more than anything is for you to make me cum harder than I ever have, together. You’ve both gotten me so close, but I needed to see both of your pretty faces. Can you do this for me, please.” Your voice is breathy, and seductive, the words leave your lips in an almost sing song way that makes Steve groan.

“Christ. Whatever you want, pretty girl.” Eddie whispers, leaning in to place his hand on your thigh.

You tell them how you want it. Eddie’s perfect fingers back inside you, Steve’s fingers on your clit all while they touch themselves, but only over their boxers, and you want them to cum with you and to see their faces while they unravel.

—-

As Steve and Eddie worked in harmony, their movements synchronized, you felt your orgasm approaching.From the look on their faces, they were close too. Tears are spilling from your eyes, profanities falling from their lips. Then suddenly you feel it, Eddie’s fingers hit your gspot and you can all but see stars.

“Ah fuck, that’s the spot, huh.” Eddie whispered, hooking his fingers upwards.

Steve doubles down on the movements on your clit, matching Eddie’s pace.

“Yes, right there. Please, fuck, don’t fucking stop.”

Steve looks like he’s about to cry himself, the feeling is so fucking overwhelming, the sight of you absolutely losing yourself because of him and Eddie. His hand tightens around his boxer clad cock, with the same rhythm, as his other hand on your clit. “Let go, baby girl.” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s breath is quickening, trying not to lose his pace on his own thrusts, as he focuses on bringing you to your release.

“I feel you clenching, sweetheart. Go on, do as Steve said, give it to us.”

That’s all it took. The prettiest men you’ve ever seen, coaxing you to orgasm, only for you to squirt all over their pretty fucking faces, while they released at the same time.

Steve’s mouth falling open as he came, your juices hitting his tongue, as he murmurs profanities, Eddie’s fingers relentless on your cunt, riding you through your orgasm, as he hits his, with the loudest whimper as he leans towards Steve, catching his mouth in a kiss, to taste your squirt on his tongue. The sight before you enhancing the sense of euphoria even further.

The inside of the van, is filled with the sound of your combined panting. The three of you completely spent, soaked in sweat, and your release following the aftermath of your orgasms. Eddie and Steve move to either side of you, caressing you softly, and intertwining limbs and as you come down.

You feel too amazing to be truly embarrassed but you’ve never done that. It felt like pure fucking ecstasy, the best orgasm you’ve ever had.

“Sorry, that’s never happened before,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper, tinged with a soft laugh as you struggle to regain your composure.

Eddie stroked your hair, giving you a kiss to your cheek. “No need for apologies, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You did so fucking good, baby.” Steve whispered.

You chuckle, savoring the afterglow of the night’s turn of events. You'll make a point to thank Robin when you see her at work on Monday.

[superblysubpar]

<- part three | part five -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve drives you to work all week.

the song: Smoke by Caroline Polachek

also for your listening pleasure: Do You Believe In Love by Huey Lewis & The News, We Are the Champions by Queen, and In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

6,475 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned / for the purposes of this fic, you drink coffee and you take it sweet / alcohol mentions/consumption - you are tipsy in this / brief descriptions of car accidents/injury with some blood/ slight descriptions of panic/anxiety happening to Steve | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday

You slam the alarm button down when it goes off on Tuesday morning, sitting on your bed, fully dressed, one hour too early. 

Your knee bounces up and down, your teeth rip at the skin next to your thumb, and you stare at the clock, counting down, literally, to when your ride will be here. 

Steve had offered, when he dropped you off last night, to pick you up all week. It was supposed to rain off and on till Friday, you shouldn’t have to bike so far, it was the least he could do all babbled out of him as you sat in his passenger seat still wearing his clothes. 

What was the surprise, to both of you, is that you’d said yes to his offer. 

He’d blinked at you, you blinked at him and he nodded, fingers fiddling with the radio dial as he murmured, “Cool, cool.”

You’d sat in his passenger seat in silence, both staring out the windshield at your apartment complex until Steve cleared his throat and looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” You quickly snapped off the seatbelt and pushed the door open, pausing to look down at the clothes you had on and the wet ones in your hands. “Um, I’ll, I can change quick and-“

“No!” 

He snapped his jaw closed and rubbed at his temple, blowing out a breath before he gestured, “I meant, like, don’t go to the trouble. It’s late, and, I’ll see you, and it’s fine, I don’t even wear those pants to sleep in because they’re too hot and-“

“Steve?” You interrupted, lips twitching against a smile. 

“Yeah?” He replied limply.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. You smiled. Something was definitely wrong with your stomach and so, sure you were about to be sick in his car, you mumbled something about seeing him tomorrow and quickly closed the door, then climbed the stairs up to your front door. 

Steve waited to back out of his parking spot until you were safely inside where he couldn’t see you fall backwards against the door with an exhale and you couldn’t see him rubbing his face at the exit of the complex mumbling the word ‘idiot’. 

Which is what you felt like, when you woke up with the sunrise, still wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes. 

And you were still feeling like it after you showered, scrubbing at your skin till it stung because you felt like you needed to wash off any evidence of the smell that clung to your body like it was supposed to. But somehow that didn’t stop you from spending longer on picking out an outfit, or taking more time to get ready. Reasoning with yourself that it was because you didn’t have to bike, that you woke up early, it’s nice to dress up and take care of yourself every once in awhile, it feels good to be put together for no one but yourself. 

This is what you’re currently telling your reflection, avoiding eye contact with the sweatshirt as you stomp out of the room towards your kitchen. 

But as you move down your hallway, something, or rather someone, outside the window catches your eye and you grab your bag and leave your apartment to figure out what he’s doing. 

Steve’s crouched down next to your bike, large fingers working on something with the chain with a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t hear you approaching, which is probably why he shoots up at the sound of your voice, the back of his head smacking right into the metal bike rack.

“Harring-“ his name cut off with a sharp empathetic wince as his eyes shut tight and his jaw pulses after he curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” you rub at your elbow, scuffing a converse on the ground as you squint at him, “Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve exhales what you think is supposed to be a laugh, as he blinks at the ground, “Yeah, I…” 

His words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth somehow because all he can think now is:

Pretty.

The word makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth, like he needs to say it or it’ll just keep sitting there and he’ll suffocate as it swells.  It’s not like he’s not thought that word around you before, he has. But the urge to say it hasn’t ever quite made him feel like this, like he’s gonna die.

“You…?” Your head tilts, eyes squinting to inspect him more, heartbeat thrumming faster as Steve stares at you intensely.

“Don’t,” Steve finishes, standing up slowly, your red helmet swinging in his fingers. 

“You don’t?” The two of you blink at each other.

“Believe you,” Steve offers.

“Oh, right.” 

You hate that you feel so warm under his stare, hate that you’re wondering if he likes your outfit. You hate-

“I, um,” Steve gestures to the bike, “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to me driving you. Since you, you know, hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slip off of your tongue so easily, you bite down on it in fear that more lies will fall out. 

The words to Steve are, however, exactly what he needed to hear to remember who the hell he is. 

Steve grins, two freckles lifting as he asks, softly, fondly, “Yeah?”

“I,” you swallow, wondering if it’s possible that Steve Harrington possesses the power to erase ‘how to speak’ from your list of skills and abilities simply because he’s got nice eyes and smells good.

His grin settles, a smug smirk keeping his lips in a flat line before he whispers, “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your Journey t-shirt as you snap, “I don’t hate you. I despise you.”

Steve’s gaze darts over your face, before golden iris’ are settling on yours. He takes a step closer, dangerously closing the gap between your bodies as he whispers, “Yeah? Well I detest you.”

His chest rises and falls, bumping your crossed arms, the toe of his Nike’s touching the tops of your converse. So close you can count freckles on his nose and see green in his eyes.

“Wow,” your words hushed, but dripping in sarcasm, “Another big brain word and it hasn’t even been a week. Would you like a prize?”

Steve’s eyes flash, his lips twist up as he leans in even closer, “Yeah,” murmured as the tip of his nose almost touches yours, mint toothpaste fanning over your lips, “I would.”

Your breath leaves your lungs, held somewhere so it can’t escape as his nose brushes the bridge of yours before it’s suddenly gone. 

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” spoken over his shoulder with a grin as he heads towards his car. 

Steve faces his car again, biting the inside of his lip out of your sight as you close your eyes out of his. 

Were you just going to let him kiss you?

Your legs feel wobbly as you make your way across the pavement towards the maroon car, and even more so when, nestled inside and buckled, Steve’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he says, “You look really pretty today, by the way.”

His forearm flexes in the corner of your eye as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the spot, spinning his steering wheel with the other hand effortlessly. The movement and skill makes your legs press together under your skirt, and you bite the inside of your cheek, adamant on ignoring what your body wants to tell you.

Steve fiddles with the radio dial as he comes to a stop sign.

“You know,” you bite, mad at yourself for falling for this, mad at him for starting it, just mad, “I haven’t forgotten that you have five days left to get me, of all people, to sleep with you. And as much as it pains me to say this, we’ve been in each others lives for quite awhile now, and I know you, Harrington. This isn’t working, it’s not going to work, and the fact that you think-“

He says your name roughly, tight, like the word burns his throat to say it. He leans over the console, ducking his head to catch your gaze causing a strand of hair to fall over his forehead. 

“Have you ever thought, for one second, that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as much of an asshole as you think, but because I know you hate me, I’ve never even tried to give you a compliment because that’s just not what we do? Tell me, honestly, if I’d have told you that you looked pretty, before today, before this bet, you wouldn’t have bit my head off then too? Or, god forbid, would have believed me?”

His breath is sharp, his gaze pierces into you, making something in your chest spark and sizzle, it’s not unlike the swell of pride you get when you win, and it’s better. 

It’s addicting. 

A horn honks and Steve blinks, facing the windshield and moving the car forward again. 

“I don’t hate you,” the words are a whisper, not as easily said as earlier.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat. He glances over at you with a small smile, then back at the road as he sighs, “Just despise.”

You hum a feeble agreement, and let Huey Lewis & The News fill the silence, asking if you believe in love. 

Steve’s fingers tap along to the song, his lips part, every other word softly exhaled as he sings under his breath. Which makes it hard to convince yourself that his words were just words, they meant nothing, and yours weren’t true either.

Steve Harrington doesn’t think you’re pretty and you hate each other. 

Despise. 

Whatever.

Your hands rest in your lap, thumb catching on a loose thread in your skirt that you are indebted to now. 

Not because Steve thinks you look pretty in it. 

But, because, if you instead search for where the loose thread begins, that brain space cannot be occupied by trying to figure out other times Steve wanted to call you pretty, or how you would have reacted, or how there’s two coffees in his cupholders next to your elbow. Focusing perhaps on, how the snag happened in your skirt could even make it so you don’t think about how, somehow, the leather of the seats and the coffee in such a tight space only make his normal scent of something minty and woodsy better and-

“Before you ask, no it’s not poisoned, and no, this isn’t me trying to woo you or whatever.” He gestures to the coffee, as if he’s reading your mind, “Could you hand me mine? Think it’s the front one.”

You’re shocked to learn that one of them is for you, and even more so when he grabs the cup from you and sips, grimaces, then coughs. 

“Ugh,” he licks his lips and holds it over to you, “That one was yours.”

You hand him the other cup, staring down at the one he handed back to you.

He bought you coffee and seemingly knows how you take it. 

As he pulls into the Family Video lot, expertly avoiding the kids skating and running around in front of Palace Arcade already, he sighs.

“You know,” he puts the car in park and looks at you, “I don’t have cooties.”

Haven’t even thought of the fact that if you took a sip, your lips would be where his had been, your body warms at the ‘kiss through contact’ possibility like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, heartbeat erratic still from the gesture of getting you the coffee.

“Actually, I was wondering if you did in fact poison this, because you despise me.”

“Detest,” Steve offers quietly with a smile.

“Detest,” you agree.

“I took a sip of it though. How would it be poisoned?”

“Maybe you’re like Westley and built up some sort of tolerance to this particular poison.”

Steve stares at you, blinking in silence until finally he asks, “What?”

“The Princess Bride?” You unsnap your seatbelt as he starts to get out of the car, talking over the roof of it. “Harrington, you have to have seen The Princess Bride?”

Steve swings his keys on his finger as he follows you to the front door, squinting. Both of you loving to have something to discuss that feels like easily navigated territory again. 

“Is that the one with Daisy?”

“Buttercup,” you correct immediately, stopping on the sidewalk to face him, “That’s our first movie today. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs, but then nods to the cup in your hand, “If you take a sip and say thank you really sweetly.”

You scoff, “I don’t have to do shit, I’m the manager. And that was an if.”

Steve nods, holding his hand out. “Okay, then give me the coffee.”

“But...” you hesitate, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting up to your nose. 

He definitely knows your order.

“Thought you said no ifs, ands, or buts?” Steve grins.

Your lips scowl before you mutter, “Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He smiles wider than he has all morning, showing off perfect, dazzling teeth. 

You roll your eyes and lift the cup to your lips. His eyes remain on yours, drinking you in just as much as you drink the coffee, gazes unwavering upon each other. 

It’s hard to swallow the perfectly made to your specifications coffee when he whispers, “That’a girl. See, was that so hard? Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you,” you grit, but Steve’s hand stops yours from unlocking the door.

“That wasn’t very sweet…” he tsks, sing song lilt to his voice.

With his hand over yours on the handle, you sigh, focusing on getting to watch a favorite movie instead of the way it engulfs yours. Batting your eyelashes, you force out a cheery, “Thank you, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, shakes his head no. He leans in, just like he had at your apartment. 

Just like when you almost let him kiss you. 

“First name, honey.”

That sparking, sizzling, simmering feeling is happening in your chest again.

Steve’s breath in is yours out as you murmur, “Thank you, Ste-“

“Jesus Christ! Thank fuck you’re alive! I’ve been…”

Eddie’s shout drifts off as he jumps out of his van, his eyes darting between you and Steve who’s starting to stand up straighter, hand dropping from the top of yours.

You clear your throat as Eddie grins at you, then Steve, then you again as he steps closer.

Eddie’s gaze looks over your outfit and your cheeks warm as he hums, raising his eyebrows over bright brown eyes that see right through you. 

“Well, don’t you look nice today.”

  Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday

  He was already on thin ice, and now, you were planning to fully cut a hole in said ice and let him meet his demise in the cold, dark water beneath it.

  Eddie doesn’t seem to care, as he winces with fake sympathy, and tosses an M&M in his mouth as you glare at him with your arms folded over your chest. 

  “What do you mean, you can’t take me anymore?” 

  He shrugs, but takes a step away from you, seemingly out of harms way.

  Physical harms way at least.

“I have to go back into the shop, Wayne needs me. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you?” He puts on a nice, big, Munson level show - hands folded in prayer, big pouty lips, and blinking sad doe eyes. 

  You stand in front of the counter, rubbing your temple from the fluorescent that’s been blinking all morning. 

  “I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t pack a lunch, because you promised the diner, you made a big deal about tradition,” you start towards him, hangry and looking for vengeance. 

  Eddie quickly sidesteps around the corner, standing directly across from you as you both go in a circle around the main counter where Robin sits, typing at the computer. 

  “Beer, on me,” he pleads, quickening his pace, “Tomorrow. A whole pitcher, just for you. I won’t even make fun of you when you get a gutter ball every turn!”

  “I don’t want beer, Munson! I want a strawberry shake and a damn cheeseburger!”

  “I can take you.”

  Steve’s quiet offer makes you freeze, Eddie grins and backs out quickly towards the front door, pointing, “What a wonderful idea Steve! I wish you both a lovely first date!”

  “Eddie!” you shriek, stomping towards the door, but he’s gone. 

  The bell chimes as he dashes through it with a salute, Steve clears his throat while you stand frozen, staring at the closed glass doors. 

  After Eddie had found you yesterday, and thoroughly bothered you about your outfit, and what he didn’t interrupt, because there was nothing to interrupt, he’d shown up at your apartment with far too many questions and far too much of an opinion on your relationship with Steve Harrington.

  Not a relationship. A friendship.

  No. 

  A mutual understanding. A common ground. An agreement of ceasefire of your overt…hatred. A, maybe, slow ascent to friendship, one day, perhaps. 

  Which seemed to please the idiot who was betting against Steve winning, well into the night. So, he agreed to take you out to lunch the next day, honoring your tradition, yet assuring you that the conversation was in fact, not over. 

  Robin finally breaks the silence, calling your name, then, “You good?”

  “Yeah,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Just debating sleeping with Harrington so Eddie loses three hundred dollars.”

  There’s a choking sound behind you, and you spin to see Steve’s mouth stuffed with Red Vines.

  Your Red Vines. 

  “Are you kidding me? What did I say!”

  You stomp towards him and he holds up his hands in surrender, talking around the candy, “Hey, remember me? Steve,” he swallows, backing away and tripping over his heels. “I’m the guy who brought you coffee two mornings in a row and has the ability to bring you to a delicious, cheesy burger, fast?”

  You’re inches from him and he yelps, wincing before you even attack, then a shouted, “I’ll pay!”

  Stopping in front of him, you snatch up the package of Red Vines and growl, “And a shake.”

  Robin gapes at the two of you, then looks at Steve, “You brought her coffee? You never bring me coffee.”

  Steve glares at her while he grabs the package of candy back and holds them high above your head, ignoring your protests. 

  “You can have these back when you learn to say please.”

  “Can you pass the salt?” You speak around the fries in your mouth.  

  Steve sits across from you, eyebrows raised. 

  “Please,” you grumble. 

  You shake the salt over the basket sitting between the two of you after he hands it to you. The basket holding the fries he ordered immediately and flashed the waitress a smile and wink for so you got some food fast while you waited for burgers and shakes. 

  He watches your shoulders relax after a few bites, and decides he can attempt conversation, “Better?”

  Your head nods, fingers covering your mouth full of food as you say, “Yeah. Thank you.”

  Steve nods too, looking anywhere but you while you lick salt from your thumb or suck on the straw in your glass of coke. 

  “Glad I could help.” He risks stealing a fry for himself, his stomach grumbling in protest as it watches you eat and it gets nothing. 

  “Sorry,” you fiddle with the straw wrapper in your hands, shrugging, “I know I much more resembled a ravenous wild animal than a normal human being back there.”

  “Glad you said it,” he mutters, ducking when you throw the folded straw wrapper at his face. He catches it, playing with it between his own hands, staring at the table. “You were pretty upset though, what’d you mean about tradition?”

  You shove fries in your mouth, buying time to respond, wondering how much you should tell Steve. 

  “Um,” you cough into your fist, squinting out the window at the sky turning gloomy. 

  “It’s okay,” Steve waves it off, “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

  He shoves fries into his own mouth, right as the waitress brings two burgers over, sliding a strawberry shake onto the sticky tabletop. Steve’s chewing becomes frantic, holding up his hand and you’re saying the words before you can even register what you’re doing.

  “Could he get some extra pickles please?” 

  “Of course, hon,” she sways off, delivering another shake at a different table while Steve blinks at you. 

  “What?” You avoid his intense gaze, looking at your burger as you lift it to your lips. 

  “Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me,” he finally says, smiling at the waitress when she drops off a small container of pickles. 

He looks at his burger, not you, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep talking about it.

  “Kind of make it hard to not pay attention, Harrington.”

  The pair of you sit in silence, chewing your burgers as rain starts to tap softly against the window, the red neon sign next to you flickering and making his yellow tshirt orange. 

  “Wish I knew you were watching sooner,” Steve looks up to find you already staring, “Wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot, maybe this would be a different story.”

  Your heart thuds in your ears, too warm under the softness of his eyes.

  “Acted?” You manage to push past your lips, tilting your head. 

  Steve smiles, and grabs for the shake, waiting for you to protest him putting a second straw into it. When you don’t, you surprise yourself by offering up, “It’s from the night we met.”

  He blinks at you, wrinkle forming between his brows as he sucks on the straw between his lips. You look away from them as you clarify, “Eddie. The diner. It’s a tradition from the night we met.”

  “Oh,” Steve nods, pushing the shake away and returning to his burger, adding another pickle. 

  “Yeah, I,” you close your eyes, then open them to look down at your food, blurting out, “Met him, after I threw that beer. In Brendan’s face. He took me to the diner, here, for pie, and I sort of spilled my guts to him.”

  Steve’s jaw pulses, the furrow of his forehead only deepening as you explain, not lessening. He takes another bite of his burger, ketchup smearing against the side of his mouth, offering you a reprieve from staring at his lips as he speaks around his bite, “Got it. That’s when you guys started dating, right?”

  You blink, lips parting but nothing comes out other than a shocked, “Ha!”

  Steve looks up at the scoff, taking in your wrinkled nose and how your eyes stare at his lips as you laugh, “Eddie…Ed,” you giggle, “No.”

  “You and…never?” Steve sits up straighter, eyes bouncing between your own. 

  “Not even a little bit,” you laugh, touching your lip, “You’ve got…”

  Steve swipes at his lips while he asks, “But you said you spilled your guts, I just assumed after what that asshole said and did that Munson like comforted and you and…”

  He trails off as you lean forward, rolling your eyes. 

  Your thumb swipes over the corner of his lip as you shrug, “Yeah, we bonded over assholes and crushing on people who’d never give us the time of day while sharing cherry pie. Best friends ever since.”

  Steve’s heart thrums as your fingers linger on his jaw, before you sit back again.

  And then you lick the ketchup off of your thumb. 

  He finally stumbles over the words, “I love pie.”

  “Yeah?” You grin, grabbing the shake.

  Steve nods, keeping eye contact as your cheeks hollow around the straw. But then he rolls his shoulders back and grabs the shake out from your lips and back across the table.

  “Except cherry. You’re delusional for choosing that over lemon.”

  “You’re delusional,” you yank the shake back towards you, “If you think you’re having any more of this.”

  Steve leans over the table as you begin to sip the shake again, only to wrap his lips around the second straw, noses bumping as he tries to drink it faster than you at the same time. 

  Your feet are intertwined under the table as you push at his shoulder and he tugs on the glass, both of you making a slurping noise as you get to the bottom, then grabbing at your temples from brain freezes while laughing.

  “I can’t stand you,” you push the glass towards the middle of the table. 

  “That’s better than detest, I’ll take it.”

    Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday

  Steve holds out the bag of popcorn to you, and you grin, taking some as you lean into him, a little tipsy, in the backseat of his car. 

  You, because you were last out to the car, and Steve, because he doesn’t do well in the front seat when Robin is driving. 

  Which is saying something, because Eddie isn’t doing so hot as it is.

  “No, Buckley!”

  “Give me a break, Eddie! It is super dark outside, and I’m a new driver, never attempted driving in the rain, and I don’t know wiper speed to rain droplet ratio!”

  You snort, nose in the popcorn bag as your shoulders shake. 

  Steve shushes you, mumbling, “You’re kind of a menace tonight.”

  “Eddie’s,” you hiccup, blinking up under heavy eyelashes at Steve’s profile, mesmerized by the freckles that dot it, “Fault. Got me all that beer.”

  “No comments-” Robin begins to talk over her shoulder.

  “Ba-ah-ah,” Steve points forward, stepping on an invisible brake in the backseat while Eddie grabs her chin and keeps it locked straight ahead.

  “From the peanut gallery,” she finishes loudly.

  “No peanuts back here,” you throw a piece at Eddie’s ear, “Just popcorn!”

  Steve remains facing forward, watching intently as Eddie directs Robin on slick roads towards her house. “You didn’t have to drink it all.”

  “Oh,” you sigh, sliding over to the window and pressing your forehead against the cool glass, “But I did, Harrington. For I am the champion of bowling night!”

  He opens his mouth, but you sit up straight again, and press your finger to his lips, softly saying (but thinking you’re singing), “No time for losers.”

  Steve smiles behind your finger, eyes soft and melting you a little. 

  Which you almost say out loud, but the song on the radio grabs your attention. You squeal, which makes Robin jump, which makes the car sway and Steve grab your shoulders, pushing you back on the seat as you yell, “Turn it up!”

  “You’re such a loser,” Eddie grumbles, but does as you request. 

  Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes plays a little louder, but no one can tell, because you’re loudly singing over him.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Steve watches you, and Robin bites her lip, fighting back laughter as you shout, “You all love this song, don’t lie to me!”

  You scream into your fist, dramatically singing, tossing your head, pointing at each of them. 

  “And all my instincts,” you take a deep breath and whip over to Steve, kneeling on the seat, “They return!”

  You shove your fist into Eddie’s face, who pretends to bite it, refusing to sing. But finally melts at your pout, mumbling along with you, “Without my pride.” Robin happily joins in, in a high falsetto, when you whip your fake microphone over to her, “I reach out from the inside.”

  As they all join in with you for the chorus, you fall backwards, laughing, catching Steve’s eyes. 

  You’d like to blame the beer, the cozy dark backseat, the way Steve smells, the rain, the fucking song. And while you can’t blame them for something that was inevitable, you can pretend that without this specific combination you never would have. 

  If you were sober, and In Your Eyes came on, you never would have touched the two freckles on Steve’s cheek, your fake microphone falling limp, palm flat against his chest. 

  If it weren’t dark, and he didn’t smell so good, you never would have let those same fingers drag down his jaw, only to linger on his lips. 

  And if it weren’t raining, and Robin hadn’t taken a second to look back in her mirror and say, “Holy shi-“

  It never would have happened. 

  Eddie shouts, Robin screams, and something heavy and warm is on top of you as the car spins on the water that’s flooded the streets. 

  Your ears are ringing, muffled words lost in the sound, and you can’t move, something holds you down. 

  It takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving anymore, and there’s hands on your cheeks. When your eyes blink open, there’s golden hazel ones that remind you of a scared boy looking at you intently.

  “Are you okay?” He gasps from on top of you where you’re both horizontal in the backseat now.

  “I’m fine,” Robin says sarcastically from the front seat, “Thanks for-“ Eddie shushes her.

  “Of course,” you grumble, hands that were clutched in Steve’s shirt loosening and pushing at him.

  His hands shake on your cheeks, fingers touching a spot on your forehead that has you wincing and his chest moving up and down faster.

  “Harrington,” you push at him more, his hand cups your cheek, eyes turning glassy as you insist, “I’m fine, get off.”

  “Hey,” you shake his shoulder as stares at your forehead, breathing harder still, “Harrington, relax. We’re all fine.”

  The side of his face flashes with red and blue, his heartbeat thuds against your chest as his breathing continues to ramp up. Your hands cup his jaw, thumbs delicately swiping over his cheeks. 

  “Steve. Look at me.”

  His shoulders shake with a stuttered breath and then his hand quickly reaches forward, gently cupping the back of your head as the door behind you opens. 

  Someone speaks, but neither of you hear them, eyes remaining on each other as you whisper, “Take a deep breath, Steve. Please?”

  You nod as he does, your hands loosening on his cheeks as he starts to let his weight hover over you instead of pushing you down. 

  A voice from behind you asks Steve to get out first. He’s held back as paramedics help you out of the car and lead you over to the back of the ambulance. Robin stands next to you and you shake your head, the words I’m so sorry easily able to read off of your lips and Robin stops them with her hand up. 

  Eddie stands next to him, watching, just as intently, and he clears his throat. 

  “That was…” he starts, looking at Steve, then back at you, now getting your forehead looked at. “Glad you were back there, man.”

  Steve nods, numb, as he watches you wince and say, “I’m fine,” to the EMT stitching you up. His fingers graze down the bridge of his nose and his swipes underneath it, nodding when Eddie says he’s gonna go check on Robin. 

  Everyone is fine, save for your head injury. His car is fine, save for a ding on the back bumper.

  Your side. 

  He saved you.

  He protected you. 

  He was scared for you. 

  Your heartbeat picks up as your gaze on the wet asphalt beneath your scuffed sneakers catches bright Nike’s approaching. 

  “How’s the patient?” 

  Steve’s voice is soft, scared, not a thing like you’ve ever heard before. 

  Which is maybe why when you look up at him, nothing comes out of your parted lips.

  Rain drips from the tip of Steve’s hair, curling around his ears, a droplet caught on his cupid’s bow, darkening the green shirt he wears. 

  The EMT stares down at you, waiting, then she smiles, staring at your forehead as she offers, “She’ll be okay. No concussion, probably a little sleepy from the pain meds she just took, but overall just a little dinged up. Nothing a little night of tender loving care from her boyfriend can’t fix.”

  “Oh, no, I’m-“

  “He’s not, we’re not-“

  Steve and you talk at the same time, stopping when the other speaks. 

  “Oh, my mistake,” she hums. She looks down at you as she inspects her last stitch, smiling softly, “Well, maybe some tender loving care from a friend then. Can I count on you handsome? Get her home safely?”

  Steve nods, cheeks pink as he waits for you to stand, his hand resting by your elbow just in case, then hovering near your lower back as he walks behind you towards his car. 

  “Dingus!” Robin shouts from Hopper’s truck. 

  Steve turns to look at her, and as he holds the door open for you, he leans down and murmurs, “I’ll be right back, you’re…you okay?”

  “Mhm,” you nod, blinking from the pain of the movement. 

  Steve doesn’t look like he believes you, but nods, and closes your door softly, running over to the truck, squinting in the rain. 

A soft tap hits the glass of your door and you jump, rolling the window down for Eddie, the boys swapping places without you realizing.

  “Hey sweetheart, how you doing?” He folds his arms on the frame of the door, bent down to take a closer look at your head. 

  “I’m fine,” you answer without thinking.

  Eddie’s lips twitch, fighting the urge for the joke, “Of course you are. You okay with Harrington taking you back? Hopper always can? Need me to stay over?”

  You watch Robin grab Steve’s jaw, pushing and pulling him to inspect him while he rolls his eyes and pushes her off. A much more physical approach, but the same as Eddie’s nonetheless. 

  When you don’t say anything, he follows your gaze and sighs. “Yeah, you’re okay. Fucking hell, I gotta figure out where I’m getting three hundred dollars from, thanks a lot you Peter Gabriel loving dork.”

  “Eddie, I-“ you protest and he waves his hand, smiling.

  “Save it, you’re hook line and sunk for him. You have been since the day I met you, fine.”

  He kisses your temple, opposite of your cut, and taps the hood of the car before jogging over to the truck, swapping with Steve again. But he pauses in the middle, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the car, then pats him and jogs off again. 

  Once Steve is back in the car, you wait for him to drive, to say something, but he looks at you expectantly and then you realize-

  Your seatbelt. 

  “Sorry,” you murmur, and then it’s silent. 

  No radio. 

  No talking.

  Just the swish of rain on the pavement under spinning wheels. The rhythmic pit then pat of it hitting his windows, the slosh of the wipers back and forth. Steve’s breathing. 

  You don’t realize you’ve been soothed to sleep from it all, the combination of alcohol and adrenaline fading, until the car is coming to a complete stop, engine off, and your door is being opened. 

  Steve leans over you, unbuckling the seatbelt, whispering, “Come on, trouble.”

  “Mmm,” you protest, eyelashes fluttering, head hitting the headrest with a frown. “Steve.”

  “I know, just a few more minutes then you’ll be in bed, come on.”

  His hands slide into yours, gently pulling you from the car, guiding you towards the stairs. Your lead filled eyelids blink with each step, as you mumble, “Keys.”

  “I got ‘em, come on,” his hand presses to your lower back, then roams higher, pressing lightly when you sigh from the feeling. 

  A door opens, a hand wraps around your waist and a shoulder supports your head. 

  Steve blinks in the low light of your lamp that must be on a timer, taking in your space for the first time. He closes your door, keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you sway while he bends down. 

  He watches you, as he unties a sneaker, patting your ankle as he quietly says, “Lift your leg up for me, honey.”

  You do as you’re told, blinking down at the boy who gently removes your shoe, then the other as you rest your hands on his shoulders for balance. 

  “Steve,” you gulp around his name, blinking back tears.

  He looks up at his name, frowning as he stands, large hands cradling your jaw as he tuts. “Hey, what’s the matter? What’re these for, huh?”

  His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, catching big tears that spill over your lashes as you blubber, “I’m so so-sorry. Everyone could have been really hurt. I hate Peter Gabriel. I’ll ne-never listen to hi-him again.”

  Steve laughs, and you frown, blinking at him through tears, “It-it’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”

  He clears his throat, nodding, “Right. It’s not funny.”

  His lips twitch when you frown more, fingers curling around his wrists that still support your cheeks.

  “Bedroom?” He asks softly.

  “Harrington,” you sniffle, eyes rolling, “I hardly think this is the time to try to make a move.”

  He shakes his head, “I meant so I can set you up before I leave, smartass.”

  You point down the hallway, but then sigh, “Can you get me a glass of water.”

  He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

  “Please?” you pout your lips out.

  Steve nods towards your bedroom, “Yeah, I can do that.”

  He watches you wander down the hallway, and click on a light in your room, before he heads to your kitchen. As he fills the glass up, he takes the opportunity to glance around at pieces of you he’s not normally let in on. Wondering where certain trinkets are from and what they mean to you. He notices the large collection of vinyl. He grins at the stack of Family Video tapes that are clearly over the rental limit, even for employees. 

  And he’s ready to say something sassy to you about it, when he reaches your room, but you’re already laying in your bed, eyes closed and curled up on your side.

  In his sweatshirt. 

  He sets the glass of water on the nightstand, then lifts your comforter, pulling it over bare legs exposed from small sleep shorts. He leaves a quick note about leaving your front door key in your mailbox. 

  Steve hesitates before clicking off the light, taking in your slow, even breaths, the shadows on your face, peaceful with sleep. 

  He kisses your cheek as he turns off the light, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than he probably should have. 

  “Goodnight, honey.”

AN: thanks for your patience in this chapter and the next! This chapter is actually what sparked the core of this whole series, and I’m excited to finally share it with you. It was originally being written in the winter, and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by a moment that happened between my parents before they were married! My dad and mom were in the backseat of a car, an accident happened, and my dad had leaned over to protect my mom, and she says that's when she knew she was in love with him. Take that for this story however you'd like 🤭 So while it’s not exactly what happened anymore, the essence is still there and I hope you love it, it definitely holds a special place in my heart. Also, I simply can’t help myself from including The Princess Bride in all of my series it seems. Thanks for being here!

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[futureplayboibunnie]

Spiderman Kiss

Miguel O’Hara x fem! black cat! reader

- i wanted to write a little fluffy, very flirty upside down romantic rainy spiderman kiss w miguel just because. black cat is in almost every spiderman story and i really wanted to include that for this one cause she’s a badass. just a cute little blurb to get me out out of my writing slump, i was thinking of making a part 2 cause lawd it’s steamy. (yeah i did make a part 2 im just too lazy to link it😔)

warnings: there is some dirty stuff, lil bit filthy but just a lil bit (i’m the worst) streamy sloppy makeout but overall just some romance for y’all.

You were walking on the damp, cold streets of New York, the soft pitter-patter of rain colliding with your umbrella as your sad eyes were glassy, street lamp lit. The neon buzzing and humming a little in the air as the dark clouds rolled over your head, promising heavier rain in the next few hours. Your boots were fitting for the autumn chill, your little black dress and a mid-length trenchcoat made you look like a detective from a shitty 50s novel, but it was fitting. It felt…romantic. As you walked down the street you caught yourself smiling at nothing. Well, not 'nothing' per se.

Spiderman.

Miguel O'Hara.

The self-appointed leader of the infamous Spider Society, aptly remembered as the Spider with the stick up his ass and a temper akin to that of a raging bull being flagged down by a red tarp. He had been on your coattails for months now. The Black Cat. The thief. One wrong-manicured finger or one slip of that vulgar tongue could end in you being an anomaly, which is a bigger problem than just a petty thief. Miguel wasn't from your universe but he had been watching you from afar...just to keep a watchful eye on you, making sure you were behaving yourself-which was never the case. What was jarring though is that he never stepped in on you making your own mess, he just surveilled you. You never seemed to notice and even if you did, you wouldn't care or give him the time of day.

Miguel watched you stroll confidently as the rain hit his broad shoulders, he had never seen you so casual. He cocked his head to the side to survey you from the rooftop you weren't far away from. You didn't fear the elements, the elements fear you. You boasted a certain naturality, your eyes glassy and the bridge of your nose pinched a pretty pink. Huh, cute. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, his eyes narrowed as your hair bounced with each step, lips parting in the process as the cold chilly air started to get to you. See, Black Cat was this force of nature, mysterious, sexed up, a siren seducing her prey into a strangle. Black Cat always gets what she wants, those silk lips ready to bite and those eyes ready to roll back like second nature. Miguel wanted to turn a blind eye to you acting in such a way but he couldn't help but admire your tactics: men would quite literally throw themselves at you, they would beg at your feet, they would lick the ground you'd walk on, they would be desperate for mercy and you didn't even have to touch them to do it. It was something that you just had the ability to do.

But now, here you are. Without the mask. Without the suit. Beaming against the damp night, giving him the opportunity for him to see who you really are when you're not being someone else. Showing the real you when no one else was looking. Miguel had a problem with admitting things. He could never admit when he was wrong, he could never admit the thoughts that buzzed his brain awake at night because no one would understand. You were dangerous, you were a threat. Then why did he want you? Why were you his calling? Why did he catch himself thinking of you?

Miguel was agitated because of it, acting out in the shadows, being more aggressive and hot-headed than usual. He had to do something about it.

Miguel swung to the alley that you were just about to walk past, hanging upside down from the metal fire exit. Thank God for his adhesive feet. Your boots clacked as you walked past the opening. Something blue and red flashed against the corner of your eye and you stopped in your tracks, the breath almost leaving your lungs dry. You couldn't believe it. You scoffed, a smile tugging your lips upwards as your tongue licked at your back teeth.

‘’Late night?’’ Miguel questioned in that low voice of his, you turned your head to face him squinting your eyes slightly. ‘’Couldn't risk getting your hair wet, could you?’’He insulted but there was a playful tone in his voice. Fuck you. You make him playful. He's always fucking serious- the weight of the multiverse rested on his broad shoulders, and here you are not doing anything and he was already letting go. He really needed to check himself.

‘’Take off the mask, couldn't risk getting your hair wet, could you?’’ You walked towards him as he dangled upside down, his massive reached for the flexible fabric of the mask and pulled it off of his insanely structured face.

Lord above, even upside down he looked fucking delicious, his bone structure and dark eyes made an ache form inside of you. A few strands of his raven locks stuck to his forehead due to the rain. He looked dreamy, you couldn't fucking lie about that. You had eyes, after all, you weren't blind.

‘’I think we know each other enough to not be bound by masks.’’ You added completely serious but a smirk played on his lips and his gaze softened just a little but enough for you to notice.

‘’Mask or no mask...’’ Miguel trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

‘’What are you doing here, Miguel?’’ Your voice was above a whisper as your gaze fell to his lips. This was coming from a case of genuine and undying curiosity- Miguel always has so much to deal with. What made you worth the precious minutes of his day? Well other than being a criminal, today wasn't one of those days though. ‘’You want me to prove to you I can get my hair wet?’’ You closed your umbrella and the droplets of rain started to dampen your hair and slide through the strands.

He couldn't give you an answer, he just cocked his head and looked at you. Fuck, you were beautiful. It was almost scary. You raised your eyebrow at his silence, his face went hard like his thoughts were racing a million miles per hour. And they were, relentlessly. A few burrowed thoughts pierced through the front of his mind.

Miguel let himself be selfish and he let himself wander when it comes to you. He wanted to fuck you, any red-blooded man would. He didn't want you to do all the work though like you usually would expect, he wanted to worship your body and praise you. He wanted to paw at you like an animal. Hold your hips down as he kissed and bit down your thighs, eat at you, devour you, spending hours at a time just tasting you to make you feel good.

Though he did want to take you over his knee for so blatantly misbehaving. Oh, but he did find it impossibly cute though when you were trying to act all smart defying his orders- you'd end up on his knees, ass up face down. Whimpering and on the verge of tears as he had to spank and fuck the disrespect out of you. The dirty thoughts so obviously transferred onto his face, his eyes darkened instinctively as he glared at your lips, he was worried his fangs would pop out unprovoked. The sexual tension between you two was astronomical and difficult to ignore. He didn't want to ignore it anymore, it was affecting him in so many different ways.

‘’You're a million miles away.’’ You bit your lip, eyes going heavy as your perfectly manicured hand tangled in his hair. Fuck, your touch was like magic.

‘’Stop biting your lip. I need to do that instead.’’ Miguel whispered. Your mouth popped open slightly at his words but you definitely knew this was the PG clean version of what was actually going on in his head.

‘’I'm afraid you'll tear them right off.’’ You flirted back, the proximity between you closing with every second.

‘’No, you're not.’’ Miguel's eyebrows furrowed as if he could read your mind. You swallowed the lump in your throat as his response started to shimmy and have an effect all over your body, your eyes widened and you wet your lips with your tongue. A daring invitation.

Miguel closed the gap between you, the rain sliding across his face as he leaned in to capture your lips with his. You expected his kiss to be mean and filled with anger, he was half expecting you to grab his lips and cut them off with a pocket knife for being so callous but no. It was soft. Sensual. Romantic. It felt...meaningful.

You moaned a little and he took it as an opportunity to open your mouth wider to slip his tongue in. It was slow. Messy. Wet. Tongues gliding against tongues, he even nibbled at your lips with his fangs. The strings of saliva kept pulling you back together like an invisible string. It felt so wrong but so good. It was a sloppy kiss turned makeout session, you swear your heart was burrowed inside of your throat as the butterflies in your tummy were starting to turn into hummingbirds. That ache he was making you feel was unmatched. Damn, that's surprising.

‘’Ah.’’ You moaned softly against his lips, finally detaching yourself even though it pained you to do so. Those soft noises shot down all the way to his cock. What was he, a fucking horny teenager? He wanted to hear you moan into his ear. You smiled as you pulled back from his mouth, your tongue darted out and flicked against his lightly protruding fangs, and licked it all the way to his bottom lip. Jesus Christ, you were fucking toying with him. It was like a cat and mouse game with you but in this case, it was cat and spider. You lifted your head to stare into the dark abyss of his eyes and to your surprise they were gleaming. You ruffled your hand into his damp hair messing it up for him as to further prove your point.

‘’I usually hate spiders. Cats eat spiders.’’ You mused.

‘’Do you now?’’ He teased back. ‘’It seems like you don't hate them enough.’’

‘’I like that you've been watching me, Miguel.’’ You exposed that you knew what he's been doing, the man is 6'9 he's not good at hiding things.

‘’Needed to make sure that you've been behaving.’’ He said huskily and it made your knees buckle a little.

"You already know that I haven't been."

"I should punish you.’’ He scolded coldly, he was being deadly serious and you fucking loved it

‘’Swing by my universe whenever bug boy.’’ You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he was salivating yet again. And bug boy? That's just unforgivable. ‘’Call me.’’ You smirked playfully, giving into your teenage fantasy of a boy falling head over heels for you, wrapping the telephone cord around your finger and twisting it whilst whispering sweet nothings across the line. But you were both far too dangerous to have anything normal.

‘’Maybe I will.’’ He replied in a rich low tone that made your insides melt, he said it like it was a promise.

You shuffled his hair one last time before your eyes fell on his, eyebrows wilting as an expression of sad tenderness. ‘’Goodbye, Miguel.’’ You breathed as if it was the final moment you’d share with him, finally taking the necessary steps back to successfully be back on the main pavement. You opened up your umbrella and then you were gone, Miguel sighed.

‘’Parting is such sweet sorrow.'’