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holybibly · 2 months

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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.

"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.

"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?

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.

"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."

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yeoslattes · 2 months

Text

Cashmere

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 939

Pairings: Non idol!Hwa x fem!reader

Summary: Sleepy sex with Hwa, that's it

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex 🤘🏻, creampie, lazy sex, titty sucking

A/N: whipped this up in like 10 min (made it short and sweet), for some reason couldn't get soft lazy sex with Seonghwa out of my head...I recommend listening to Lana Del Rey while reading, enjoy!!

The soft glow of the lamp sitting on your bedside table illuminated your sleeping form cuddled into Seonghwa on the bed. You had spent the entire day deep cleaning your room, when Seonghwa made a surprise visit. You hung out with him as usual, joining him on animal crossing for a couple of hours and building Lego flowers together until the day's exhaustion caught up to you. You had laid silently next to Hwa as he scrolled on his phone until eventually sleep took over your body; Seonghwa followed shortly after.

Your bed was a plush nest of blankets, the fluffiness completely engulfing you and Seonghwa head to toe. You stirred awake, cracking your eyes open slowly, you moved in your spot, shifting on your back to relieve the tension on your shoulder. The more you come to, you realize the window had been left open allowing the fresh air of the spring night in and the soft music that was still playing on the small speaker. Peeking from behind Hwa the clock on the bedside table read only 8:30. You laid back carefully not to disturb Seonghwa and huffed, there goes my sleep for later, you thought.

Seonghwa however couldn’t be bothered, he laid on his side. Face relaxed and his chest rising and falling with even breaths. His hair that was now slightly longer than it had ever been, rested over his eyes. He stirs slightly, turning onto his back this time, he moans softly before becoming still once more. Your arm drapes over his torso and you feel this arm subconsciously move to wrap around you.

He felt warm and comfortable against you, the longer you peered up at his peaceful face the more you yearned for him. Despite being as close as humanly possible, you still needed more. You squirmed next to him again ,this time he wakes up, lifting his head up and looking at his surroundings. “Baby stop moving.” Seonghwa mumbles, dropping his head back on your pillow and stretching his legs out. You whimper next to him nuzzling your face into his chest and inhaling the fresh detergent that lingered on his white tee. His hand rubs up and down your back as his body fully tenses and then relaxes in a stretch. “What’s wrong?” He mutters gently, he’s fully looking at you now, “Hwa…want you.” You whimper, rubbing your thighs together hard, the heat between your legs burning hotter than ever. He lets out an airy laugh, and you pull yourself up to face him, you shyly press your lips against his. He stays still, letting your lips rest against his, a couple of seconds pass before his mouth starts moving against yours giving you the indication that he wanted you just as much.

As the kiss grows hungrier his hands pull you up onto him, thighs resting on either side of his hips and hands tangled in his messy hair. His hands run down your back to rest on your ass, pulling you down onto his hardness. You whimper into the kiss, “Hwa…now please.” You whine resting your head on his chest. Without uttering a word, he works on pulling your sleeping shorts to the side. “Hips up.” He whispers, you do as you’re told, holding your hips up as he pulls his own shorts down. One hand is wrapped around his cock and the other one pulling your shorts to the side, he rests the tip on your slick hole, you lower your hips down groaning softly at the sudden stretch. With your head resting on his chest you can hear his heart's sudden jump and his breathing turning heavy. “G-god Seonghwa…” you trail off, focusing on grinding your hips down on him. His hands pull on your hips helping you ride him slowly. He groaned at how warm and sticky you felt. “Good job baby, you’re doing so good.” Seonghwa whispers in your ear, you lift yourself up on shaky arms to kiss him, hips speeding up, eagerly chasing your release.

“S-eongh-wa,” your eyes close tightly, hands on either side of his head gripping the pillow tightly at the sudden burn of your release building up. Seonghwa watches you in adoration, the way your hair fell over your face and eyes closed tightly as you desperately fucked yourself on him. He lived for this kind of shit, his hands tug on the tank top you wore, hard nipples ready for his mouth. His hot tongue runs over the hard buds, the stimulation pushing you closer to your end. You gasp and whine out at the way your boyfriend helps you fuck yourself harder on him and the way his wet mouth feels on your chest. “I’m g- cum.” Spills from your pink bitten lips, Seonghwa runs his tongue over the expanse of your chest, eyes peering up at your face scrunched up in pleasure. He gasps as you shake on top of him, arms coming to wrap themselves over your waist and pulling you down flush against his chest as he reaches his own release. He feels your walls pulsing on him as he finishes with hot spurts of spunk covering your walls. You fight for air on top of him. The aftermath of your orgasm leaving you drained. You slowly roll off him, walls clamping down to keep his release within you. “So good baby,” Seonghwa mumbles, eyes beginning to close for a second time tonight, he pulls you into him. You shudder slightly at the breeze blowing in from the window, you close your eyes, drowning yourself in his scent till tomorrow morning.

#ateez smut #mingi smut #hongjoong smut #jongho smut #san smut #seonghwa smut #wooyoung smut #yeosang smut #yunho smut #smut

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obaewankenobis · 5 months

Text

born to die ; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but i don't think i use pronouns? also no use of y/n)

word count: 6.8k

part 2: find here!

summary: having just finished your victory tour, you, the winner from district 4, are forced to confront the reality of winning the games. luckily, you know someone who's done this before — finnick odair.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, nightmares, blood, sex trafficking, i mean... it is the hunger games so read at your own risk! mutual pining, slowish burn, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it ), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, idk it's not that bad. minors dni!

a/n: sorry to everyone who followed me for my star wars content... anyways here is my first finnick fic cause my friend made me watch the hunger games a month ago so here i am. i was super interested in the cashmere/glimmer theory so i kinda used it here. i have a prequel and a part 2 planned so lmk if you want that <3

There were things nobody ever told you about winning the games, things you wished you would’ve known before you tried so hard. Before you’d clawed your way up a cliff of desperate survival and emerged on top. Before you’d killed people — other children — to be able to stand here now. Your father, a former Victor himself, hadn’t told you about this side of things before he died. With a pang, you realized how badly you wanted him beside you, and how impossible that was. How you were now confined in shoes so tall you thought you might wobble over, in a dress so thin you were beginning to shiver, and a hairstyle that pulled uncomfortably at your roots. It all tied in for a look that was clearly meant to have all eyes on you. It was your victory party, you tried to reason as you slipped into the dress and noticed just how much of you would be on display. They wanted all eyes to be on you. It was okay.

You just wanted to feel beautiful again, to not be plagued with the feeling of revulsion when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was perhaps the most stunning thing you’d ever worn: a loose dress with billowing sleeves that fell off your shoulders and opened around the stomach, the silky material melting from transparency to a solid, pale purple around the parts that clung to your breasts and hips. The opalescent color, meant to mimic the expensive pearls commonly found in District 4, shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to turn even the solid parts translucent and expose every part of you to the Capitol.

Not that they’d mind, you thought, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that threatened to rise to the surface, breaking through a perfectly painted smile and tugging your blush lips into a frown. You couldn’t help but feel that was the point, with all the oogling that no one was trying to hide. And that feeling… that is what kept you from feeling anything but beautiful. You felt used, and exposed, but not beautiful.

A hand on your arm startled you out of your bitter thoughts, your skin immediately crawling with disgust as your gaze traveled to the face connected to the hand still placed possessively on you. While not particularly ugly, the man in front of you was pushing fifty, and the lewdness dripping from his gaze as he leered at you, an eighteen year old girl…

“There you are,” his lips curled into an unpleasant smile; he was close enough you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, almost overpowered by the sheer amount of cologne that clung to him. “I must say, my sponsorship has paid off… handsomely. I mean, look at you! Such a stunning addition to the Capitol, I just cannot wait for you to become—”

“Excuse me,” a new voice — a familiar voice — cut through. “I think your wife is looking for you, Quillon.”

Of course he knew this man, he seemed to know everyone. And of course the man — Quillon — listened, his eyes widening as he immediately removed his hand from you, leaving an unpleasant dampness from his sweaty palms. He backed away until he had disappeared into the crowd and it was just you and him.

Him. Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling, youngest Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, the most insufferable and obnoxious boy you’d ever had the displeasure of encountering. You were sure he’d never liked you from the beginning; you’d tried to introduce yourself to him at fourteen when you accompanied your father to the Capitol to train the new tributes, only to be brushed off without a second glance.

That dislike had only seemed to grow when you had been Reaped the year your father had been killed (the rumors of the siblings and children of Victors being chosen so often finally making sense to you), and Finnick Odair, master of the Games, expert of the field, had all but ignored you.

“You!” All of the rage you’d pent up about his mentoring skills — or lackthereof — were coming out in full force, though even you were surprised by the venom in your words. With a jab of a finger in his chest, you finally began to let it all out. He seemed to have sensed that you would come at him swinging, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a quieter corner of the party, beneath a small pergola weighted with vines that crept up the sides and wove inbetween the planks on top.

“Look, I know you must be upset — ” No. You wouldn’t let him talk, not before you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. You took a step closer, until your nose was brushing against his, and tried to keep your voice as level as you could.

“Nice of you to finally fucking show up, Odair. Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh? Not after you all but fucking abandoned me during training week. I mean, I know we never really got along, but seriously? Is that why you left me with Mags and I never saw you past the first day? You hoped you’d train Kier—” the breath caught in your throat as you finally uttered the name of your fellow District tribute for the first time since… well, that wasn’t important. “—and then I would be out of your hair, is that it?”

Finnick, however, took this as an opportunity to spit his own words out, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he looked down at you. “I was trying to help you.” He was so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, almost making you want to close your eyes.

“Help me?” A laugh escaped your lips, one that could’ve almost been seen as genuine because of the honest disbelief that coated it. “You think I’d be better off dead?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t even look you in the eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a tiny rose growing from within the depths of the ivy layers. That was basically a confirmation of what you’d just said, but for some reason he couldn’t even admit it to your face.

You weren’t sure why, but hot, angry tears were beginning to form in your eyes; you tried frantically to force them down. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt you with his indifference. “You were supposed to be there for me, you were supposed to teach me how to survive, and you fucking left me to die!”

Had you done something? You replayed all of your interactions with him, coming up short with a conversation that would make him hate you so much he wanted you to die. Sure, you’d been a bit annoying when you’d trailed behind your father, and maybe you had been a little relentless to pursue his attention when he moved next door to you in Victor’s Village, but this? The way he couldn’t even answer you? The way he was just standing there, his gaze in some far off place? It made you angrier. How dare he be so indifferent, how dare he act as if he was doing you a favor?

There was a moment of hesitation before Finnick sighed. “It’s not like that. I was trying to protect you. Look— has Snow talked to you yet?”

This left you truly at a loss for words. “Snow?” You words were less harsh and more curious. “Why would Snow want to talk to me? You know what — don’t try to spin it on him, this is about us! About you—” You stabbed at his chest again, and this time he let you. “—about you abandoning me in that arena, when it was your job to fight for me! To keep me alive!”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” he began again, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the hand that had struck against his chest, and that was the final straw snapping; you were done.

With a scowl and a tug of your hand, you yanked it free of his grasp and whirled around, the flow of the dress whipping around from the sudden gust of wind. “Whatever, Odair. I’m done. If you can’t even admit what you did was wrong, then… then just leave me the fuck alone from now on.” You didn’t bother to look back, missing the way his jaw hung open and his entire face crumbled. If only you had any idea.

You found out soon enough.

“You’re quite popular now, if you didn’t know that already. Although you’re quite perceptive, I can’t imagine you don’t.” Though he sealed the compliment with a smile, it did little to soothe the unease stirring within your belly.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve noticed. Is that a bad thing?” You hated how weak you sounded, your voice faltering slightly at the end of your sentences, hanging uncomfortably in the air and weighed down with uncertainty.

“I knew you were a smart one,” he finally tucked the envelope in his hands into his pocket, his undivided attention now on you. “You see, with how desirable you are… there are certain expectations that come with that. We wouldn’t want the Capitol to be unsatisfied, now would we?”

When did attention turn into desire? When were there suddenly expectations, and why was it suddenly your responsibility to keep people satisfied?

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” A hollow, empty statement, but a genuine one.

“Well,” it seemed Snow was particularly delighted by your response, as if it allowed him to explain something that pleased him greatly. “Victors have their place in Panem, just as all the Districts do. What would Panem be without Eleven’s grain, or Five’s power?”

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, that he really wanted you to answer, you stumbled through a response. “Well, I— I suppose it would topple the whole structure. We… we can’t survive without eachother.”

“You’d be correct. The same thing applies to the Capitol. Without everyone doing what’s required of them, the Games fail to run smoothly. With no… incentives, shall we say, people… sponsors… become uninterested. There are things you, as a Victor and a mentor, need to do to ensure that interest remains. Do you understand me now, my dear?”

You did, oh how you did. And that was the worst part.

That was how you got here on the rooftop of the Victor’s apartment complex, wrapping a thin robe around the once pretty, now torn chemise that did little to hide your body. You barely survived the first night, there was no way you could spend the rest of your life doing this. No amount of hot showers and scrubbing your skin raw until it bled could free you from feeling so dirty. Tears glistened on your cheeks, highlighting your face in the pale dawn light and exposing your true emotions to anyone who could see you. Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — you were all alone in the Capitol, your family safe and sound because of what you’d agreed to, but so far away.

With slow movements, you hoisted yourself onto the ledge of the roof, telling yourself you wanted to get a better glimpse of the city skyline as the sun crept higher into the sky, not wanting to admit the real reason why, even to yourself. The wind whipped all around you, tearing the robe from your body and splaying your hair in different directions, but you felt as close as you could to freedom. If you just— took another step, or stumbled forward and fell, maybe you would truly be free in the entire sense of the word.

“There’s a forcefield. They wouldn’t let you get away that easily,” the all too familiar voice of Finnick Odair startled you out of your thoughts.

“Did you know?” You had to ask, but couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head and look back at his features, because you would surely crumble if you saw the look on his face.

To his credit, Finnick didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, of course I knew. That’s why…”

“That’s why you wouldn’t train me. You wanted me to die, so I wouldn’t end up like this—” you whirled around sharply to stare straight into his eyes for confirmation as you guessed what you were going to say next. “—like you. Because he makes you do this too, doesn’t he?”

Finnick was never an easy person to read, always hiding behind dimples that indented in his cheeks when he flashed one of his dizzying smirks. But now? You felt like you were staring at a statue, his gaze unable to leave yours but also unable to say anything in return.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, allowing the cold caress of the breeze to take hold of you. If only you could fall back, if only…

“I tried to protect you,” his voice cracked, finally pushing something past his lips and drawing you away from the dangerous thoughts fighting in your mind. “Don’t you see it now? It would’ve been better if you’d died in the arena, you wouldn’t have to do this,” he spat out the word like it was hot tea burning his tongue, but you noticed the crack of defeat in his voice. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his sea green eyes were fixed on his shoes. “And I… I wouldn’t have to see you like this.”

You did see it now; there was a fate worse than death. “I should’ve listened to you, Finnick.” His first name felt foreign on your tongue, as if you were speaking an intimate language only known to the both of you. “I— I’m sorry. I had no idea, I…”

He let your apology hang heavy in the air, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to the waking Captiol, evident by the honks of car horns and the chatter of thousands turning into a dull buzz.

You couldn’t stand silence, it reminded you too much of what followed your father’s execution, what followed when your name was called from the Reaping Bowl. So with a huff, you jumped down from the ledge and hoped he wouldn’t notice your disgruntled appearance.

Not that you cared what he thought of you. But one look from him and you were a goner; your lips began to quiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Finnick, I… I don’t know how to do this,” a choked sob escaped you, and then it was all over and you were crying, shaking violently as you tried and failed to regain your composure. That seemed to snap him out of the haze he’d been in, his eyes flickering over and fixating on your figure, deep frown lines etching themselves on his face in a worried expression. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he didn’t hesitate to surge forward as you began to sway, the lack of sleep from the night before becoming evident in the dark circles beneath your bleary eyes, cracks in your skin holding onto tears that had long since been shed. He placed a careful hand near the small of your back, hovering over your skin before you fell back into it, like he was uncertain if you would be okay with touch. It reminded you of two nights ago, where he’d been so close to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to invade your space. His reluctance to touch you without your explicit permission made sense now, it all did.

“I just— I don’t—” Your body convulsed with gutteral sobs that sliced his heart in two, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into his chest, allowing fresh tears to stain in the wool of his white sweater. “I don’t…” you tried again, wanting to continue despite the hiccups, “I just don’t… don’t… know what to do.”

You could feel his lips moving against your hair from where they rested on top of your head as he answered. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now, at least.”

Time passing was the last thing on your mind as you remained in his embrace, soaking up everything about him, relishing in the comfort his closeness brought to you. How when your mind began to wander, the rhythmic pattern of his heartbeat brought you back so you could listen with your ear against his chest. How when your body expelled the last of its shudders and gasps from your breakdown, you could feel his arms flexing, squeezing you a little tighter. How when you pulled back from his embrace, he traced the red indent on your cheek, left from one of the buttons on his sweater.

“When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?” Finnick asked in a tone so gentle it brought fresh tears to your eyes; perhaps it was the sleep deprivation this time.

“I— I can’t go to sleep,” you began to panic again, digging your fingernails into his clothed arms. “I just close my eyes and I keep reliving it over and over again, I can’t do it again, I can’t—”

“I get it,” he stopped your rambling with a simple sentence, and you finally felt like you didn’t have to explain, he just understood. “Just… come with me, okay? You can trust me.”

Wordlessly you nodded, allowing him to guide you gently through the long corridors of the various penthouses until you arrived to one that had been occupied by none other than yourself. No, I can’t sleep, you wanted to shout at him, but remained silent. Trust him.

You allowed him to go through the motions of a bedtime routine, paying no attention to the fact that it was probably breakfast time. Pulling back one side of the blanket, he patted the uncovered space, motioning you to come lay down beside where he sat.

“Finnick, I can’t…” I can’t sleep.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trust me, okay? Come and lay down, you don’t even have to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you threw the robe off of you and on to a chair, trying very hard to ignore the fact that the nightgown underneath did little to hide your body, reaching just past the tops of your thighs and exposing most of your legs. But Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, watching just your face as you settled into bed beside him, laying stiffly on your back until he motioned for you to roll over on your side, facing away from him.

“What are you—” you were shushed yet again and tried to comply, feeling a bit odd facing away from him when he was supposed to be distracting you.

You suppressed a shiver as his finger came into contact with your back, the thin silk of the nightgown doing little as a barrier and feeling more of a second skin. He began to trace a pattern— wait, were those letters?

“Finnick, what are you doing?” You forced back the beginnings of a smile, the first time you’d genuinely wanted to in what seemed like forever.

“Just relax, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just… let yourself be distracted,” his voice trailed off, differing from the confidence you were used to, replaced by something much more vulnerable. “What am I drawing now?”

“I…” you frowned in concentration, trying to piece together the light strokes of his finger just barely gliding over you. “The sea, no! Waves?”

“Woah, that was fast. Didn’t know I was such an amazing artist, but it doesn’t surprise me—” The teasing tone had returned to his voice, no doubt an effort to continue to distract her

“Can you just continue drawing?” You rolled your eyes knowing he couldn’t see, but there was a slight humor to your voice that let him know it was working, that he was distracting you. His fingers continued their roaming, dancing so delicately and so dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Finnick traced a moon, a star, and even a fish before he switched over to words, indenting each letter in your back with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

At first it was people, places. Your name. His name. District 4. District 1. Then it transitioned to phrases, which proved to be much more difficult. ‘You should sleep’—

“—Hey! I thought this was supposed to just be a distraction,” your words were finished with a heavy yawn that caused a chuckle to vibrate within his chest, and a feeling of warmth spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help it, in a moment you had flipped over onto your other side, wanting to see him. You could hear him, small chuckles passing from his lips and the slight rustle of the sheets beneath his body; you could smell him, a comforting, clean scent that instantly relaxed you, but nothing compared to actually being able to see him in all his glory.

You studied the high of his cheekbones, the straight edge of his nose, the golden glow of his skin that matched his bronzy hair dishevled from its place against your headboard. You studied the way his hair curled around his ears, the way you could faintly see the indents in his cheeks from where his dimples would appear if he were to smile, how the white of his two front teeth would poke out from his lips if he flashed you a smirk. They were full and pink, and, with a pang of jealousy that rocked your entire body, you wondered how many Capitol women had been blessed with feeling his lips on theirs — then swallowed that thought down with a shudder of disgust. He hadn’t wanted them, any of them, it was all a facade made up from by the Capitol, and you needed to realize that.

And while hearing him, and smelling him, and even seeing him was great, all you wanted to do was touch him. Not like that; no, you just wanted his arms around you again like they had been on the rooftop, shielding you from the cruelty of the world and finally allowing your body to feel safe enough to sleep. You wanted to reach out and trace the sharpness of his jawline, trail your fingers down to explore the planes of his chest, draw letters and shapes and meaningless patterns over his shirt like he’d just done to you. He watched you through sea green eyes that were glassy with sleep or emotion, which one you couldn’t say. His breaths came out short and shallow, hitting your face as you stared right back. You wondered if he could feel your breath fanning his face, or the warmth radiating from your body as you could from his.

He was close, so, so close, like that night you’d first seen him in the Captiol. You were wanting, just about begging for him to say something, something that would snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so close, mere inches away on the bed, but be so unreachable.

But, as Snow had so graciously reminded you, fairness was a luxury you were not blessed with. So with great effort you tucked one arm under your pillow, using the other to pull the covers over you. Much to your relief, Finnick made no attempt to leave, saving you the embarassment of asking him to stay.

“Finnick?” You asked after several moments in a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake him. You felt guilty enough to have kept him up until mid morning.

“Mmmm?” Was the response, thick with sleep.

“Thanks for staying with me.” You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

Blood. Red and warm and sticky.

Heat. Blistering your skin and parching your throat.

A knife. Glinting in the sun, slicing straight through skin and muscle and bone.

A scream. Bloodcurdling and drawn out and all too familiar.

A scream escaped your lips, mimicking the one in your dream to an uncanny degree until you realized it was your scream. The sheets were tangled around your limbs, suffocating you and rendering you paralyzed as you fought with them, sweat drenching your forehead and leaving your hairline damp as you struggled for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a moment or two before your disorientation faded and you realized you weren’t back in the arena. Two hands were on your shoulders, strong and grounding, and you realized someone had been calling your name.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, it’s just— it’s just me,” Finnick’s voice was soothing to your ears, a calming melody against the screams and sounds of sliced flesh that were assaulting your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, chest heaving as you sucked in as much air as possible, needing desperately to occupy your mind with something else, anything else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off; his hands moved up from your shoulders to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and you realized you’d been crying. “I get it, you don’t… you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

His arms wrapped around your body until you had been tucked into his side, your head resting in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and allowed steadying inhales and exhales to relax you as he resumed tracing patterns on your back. You cried, for everything you’d lost in those games, mourning the person you were before, and he just stayed there, cradling you against him, wanting nothing more than to take your pain on as his own.

“I— I— I just— I can’t—” you hiccuped, fresh tears spilling from your eyes as memories from your Games kept crashing down, how your District partner had protected you and you’d killed him—

“Please, what do you need?” Finnick squeezed his hands a bit tighter around you, trying desperately to bring you back to today. “Just tell me, and I can get it for you— liquor, morphling, anything, just—”

“Finnick,” you croaked out, hating how your voice sounded so weak, so broken. “Can you just…” your eyes flickered down to his lips, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to ask: “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened like it was the last thing he expected you to say, “I— okay— are you sure?”

You answered his question by surging forward and capturing his lips with your own, telling yourself it wasn’t his lips that you craved, but that you just needed something to get you through the night. He reciprocated immediately, matching your desperation with his own, like the two of you were trading blows as he pulled you fully under him, settling himself between your legs. You felt the hardness in his pants and couldn’t help but roll your hips up to meet it, pressing your own desire up against his. That — the feeling of his cock straining through the material of his sweatpants — made everything a little too real, and you suddenly found yourself needing to justify your actions. Why you felt this way was a mystery, perhaps you were protecting yourself, scared he wouldn’t feel the same if you were honest, but you truly had no idea, it just slipped out.

“I just… can’t think about it anymore,” you panted out. He didn’t have to know that you’d been pining after him since you were sixteen, didn’t need to know you hid your wanting behind sharp jabs and petty slights. “I don’t want you to think— this doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but Finnick’s eyes flickered with something you’d never seen before, clenching his jaw for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “This means… whatever you want it to mean,” his voice was husky with a mix of something that sounded a little like… well you weren’t really sure, and you soon forgot to ask him as he stole your lips in another kiss.

You swore you would never get used to the feeling of Finnick’s lips on your own, even if you kissed him every day for a thousand lifetimes. Because each time his lips met yours, the world as you knew it was set ablaze with the same fuel that set your whole body on fire. You could never get enough of him, the way his lips were so soft and gentle, the way his breath mingled with and matched your own until it was like you were breathing as one. The way his tongue slid into your mouth but didn’t invade it while his hands roamed your body, squeezing the flesh around your hips, your sides, not being able to keep them contained to one place.

They finally settled on the sides of your thighs, squeezing around the area where your nightgown stopped, fading into a lacy trim and then disappearing completely. With tentative hands, he gripped the bottom of your nightgown and slowly began to hike it up your body. You helped him slide it up your legs, your stomach, your head, until it was completely discarded and you were left in nothing but underwear, having not worn a bra to sleep and leaving your chest completely exposed. Before you even had the chance to cover yourself, he was pressed up against you and his lips were on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spots under your ear and near the base of your throat, soothing the sting of his teeth with the swirl of his tongue.

This continued for a bit without any talking or shifting around, until you decided you weren’t content with being the only one practically naked, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He got the hint pretty quickly, leaning back and sitting on the backs of his thighs before tugging the shirt over his head. His biceps flexed in the process as he revealed a body sculpted and shaped into what you could only describe as perfect, not a single flaw to be seen.

Sitting above you, your legs spread around him and almost completely bare before him, this was the first time he was truly able to take in all of you, his green eyes nearly black with how wide his pupils had been blown out. His cheeks were so flushed they nearly matched the red of his lips, swollen from the constant attack of your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finnick whispered, so quietly you thought you imagined it. He didn’t leave much time for the compliment to settle in before he was back on you again.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down past the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and not leaving an inch of skin untouched. You let out a little whine at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, stopping his kisses just by your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see him searching them for any trace of unwillingness, finding none.

You nodded, desperate to have his mouth on you, and involuntarily shivered as a finger hooked around your panties and rolled them down your legs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as he was met with how eager you were for him, evident by the growing wetness between your thighs, and instinctively pressed your legs together to shield yourself from his prying gaze, despite being completely bare before him.

“You don’t have to hide, it’s just me,” he said as gently as possible, gripping your thighs and slowly spreading them apart, “Are you really sure about all of this? I don’t want you to think that’s why I stayed.”

God he was so good, you realized with an ache that rocked your body, shooting straight to your heart as you stared at him, met with only sincerity that made you want to cry again, because you could never truly have all of him.

He was doing this as a favor, as a distraction, not because he had any real feelings. But you were so desperate for him you’d take what you could get, which was why you nodded fervently and said, “Please, Finnick, I’m sure, I need you, just… touch me.” And as soon as the last words slipped past your lips, his mouth was on you, and you knew in that moment you were utterly fucked.

Finnick, on the other hand, knew he there was no coming back the moment he came into contact with your clit and tasted you with his tongue. He wanted you, all of you, and chanelled that into the expert motions of his tongue as he dove it deeper in you, continuing at an agonizing pace until you were trembling, practically begging for release. Your fingers raked through his hair, tugging him closer to you, his groans vibrating against your folds whenever you pulled a little hard.

And then, he stopped altogether, and you let out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact, but he was quick to make his way up your body again, peppering kisses along the way before swallowing your whine with another kiss, your mouth opening to let his tongue inside and tasting yourself on him. He broke away for a moment, just in time for you to cry out his name.

“Finn—” you barely had time to whimper again before he suddenly sunk a finger in and kissed you at the same time. His mouth never left yours as he continued, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips as you parted them with a gasp. And he swallowed that with the kiss, too, like he was hungry for every part of you that he could get.

Desire ignited every part of his body, reflected in the way he began to pump his finger in and out before adding another, wanting you to be ready enough for his cock that he so desperately wanted to sink into you.

But Finnick had waited so long for this moment, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. No, he needed to relish in every moan elicited from your lips, every clench of you around his fingers. He needed to memorize every dip and valley of your body, kiss every square inch, memorize the taste and feel of you, in case he never got the chance to again.

He broke away his lips from yours and reattached them to your neck as his thumb began to trace a pattern against your clit. His pace quickened as your moans grew louder and more frequent. Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, until you were practically undone, as he reveled in the sting in his roots and on his back as as you pulled his hair even tighter and your fingernails dug little crescent moons into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’m gonna—” You were cut off as he sent you over the edge with the slight curl of his finger, pure bliss blinding every other sense until all you could think of was Finnick. It took you a moment to come down from your high, realizing it did little to satiate you because you still wanted him, all of him.

You reached for his bare torso, feeling each of his abs flex individually as you trailed your hands down his stomach. You stopped just above the waistband of his pants, not only wanting to feel him, but wanting to hear him say he wanted it just as badly as you did; but it seemed he was thinking the same thing and beat you to it, shucking off his sweats and boxers until he was also bare before you.

“Tell me you want me,” his chest heaved with each word, demanding you say just what you wanted to hear from him, tearing your attention away from everything else. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Want you so bad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you inside me. Right now, just… please.” If you could get drunk off of the word please leaving your mouth you’d be wasted by now, almost wanting to laugh with how often you’d said the word.

“Whatever you want,” the way he said that made your spine tingle, the purr in his voice causing you to border on ferality.

This caused you to laugh and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the intention of kissing the smirk right off his mouth until you felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, making this feel a little to real once again.

“You sure?” He halted your movements, both hands resting on either side of your head as he remained hovering above you, repeating his question from earlier.

The vigor in your nod caused him to throw his head back with laughter, though not before you asked for confirmation of his own.

Mimicking your move from earlier he answered with a kiss, this one so sweet and quick it was more of a peck. Before he had time to overthink, he was inside you in a swift motion, a moan tearing from your throat as he paused, waiting for you to adjust to the sheer size of him. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he held still, waiting for you to give him the go ahead before he started moving.

“Just— move, please—” that was all it took before his hips snapped against yours and he was inside you fully, biting back a groan to match yours as you clenched around him.

After a while of slow strokes, you were starting to grow inpatient with how gentle he was being. Not because you didn’t like it, but because then you had the chance to slow down and remember it was actually Finnick, and not some nameless man you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He seemed to pick up on your growing disinterest quickly enough, and began quickening his pace until you were crying out. His thrusts soon became wild and erratic, signaling he was just as close to finishing as you were.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, his lips brushing your ear as his hand reached down to circle your clit once again. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t sure whether it was his command, or the pet name, way his lips felt against your ear, or even his thumb pressing against your clit, but you came hard and fast, your body spasming and clenching around his cock until he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, his chest shining with sweat as he continued to press kisses on you shoulder, up your neck, behind your ear. The weight of Finnick pinning you to the mattress was oddly comforting, grounding you and effectively keeping you from wandering back to thoughts of your Games. The distraction had worked, you realized as he eventually rolled off of you and up into a sitting position.

You wondered tiredly where he was going, but he had left and returned before you could even ask where. A damp towel in one hand, he cleaned you up with gentle movements, slowing when you gasped from sensitivity and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear. The whole interaction was so domestic you actually felt nauseous as you remembered this was just a one time thing, and you’d never experience any of this again. This was just a favor done by someone who wasn’t even really your friend — a familiar stranger who knew more about you than most.

Finnick oh so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. He would ask, but the look in your eyes kept his mouth shut as he fell on the mattress beside you. He itched to pull you close to him, to be able to fall asleep with the security of you in his arms, but couldn’t bring himself to make any first moves. Had he not slept here before you two had just fucked, he’d be questioning whether or not he should remain or go back to his room.

If only he knew you were craving his touch just as much as he was craving yours. So the two of you fell asleep shoulder to shoulder, with so many words left unspoken.

And when you woke up the next morning, you tried not to let your heart sink completely into your chest as you reached over and felt nothing. He was gone.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #the hunger games #thg #finnick imagine #the hunger games smut #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair angst #finnick x reader #finnick odair fluff

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mcleodhandcraftgifts · 7 months

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#cashmere #upcycled cashmere #organic materials #felt cashmere #nursinghome #print patterns #fall accessories #accessories gloves fingerless fingerless gloves upcycled wool sweater recycled felted gloves gloves fingerless wine color half gloves textin

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multifandomgirl08 · 6 months

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To Constantly Be Away [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Wife!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Second race of the season and Max is already having a tough time with the car. Missing his family only makes it worse.

Warning(s): Fluff

A/N: I stayed up late watching qualifying and the race in Singapore while working on this, and took out my stress watching that on Mini Verstappen verse Max.

Words: 1.7k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

It had been a bad weekend for Max, the car wasn’t running right with the new upgrades that had been added. They were starting P10 in the race. Y/N couldn’t fly to Jeddah with Nico because she was on call through the weekend. Everything was just going horribly wrong.

“Max!” He heard Christian call him over. “I know that you’re not in the best spirits right now, but I need to make sure that you’re okay.”

Christian did occasionally still check in with him before races, but given that Max hadn’t felt like this since before Daniel had left Red Bull. It felt nice that Christian could still pick up on those things after all this time.

“Call Y/N if you have to, find a way to talk to her or Nico.” Christian laid a hand on Max’s arm. “I know you’ll feel better for it once you have.”

Max tried to manage a smile but just gave him a stiff nod at the end.

Y/N had texted him when she got out of helping one of her co-workers with an issue one hour after he was already at the track for the race. She let him know that Nico had been sitting in front of the TV all afternoon waiting for the race to start before ordering an early dinner. In the photo that she sent, he could see her laptop open to her work email, Nico on his spot on the couch hugging one of the throw pillows. It had made some of Max's nerves go away but he still needed to talk to her at least for a few minutes.

He tapped his fingers against the screen of his phone, looking at the photo of her and Nico napping in his and Y/N’s bed. He let his phone unlock before pulling up his contacts and pressing on Y/N’s name. He stared at it for a few seconds before putting his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” He heard her voice.

Max let his shoulders deflate, “Mijn leeuwin?” He stammered out.

“Hey Maxy,” She didn’t call him that often, only when she thought he really needed the comfort.

“Hi,” He weakly replied.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” He choked out, trying to brush off the sound of concern in her voice. He didn’t want to make Y/N upset or let her know how horrible he was feeling about being in the car. There was nothing that she could do to make the car better for him to drive.

He didn’t want to be at the track without his family. It felt wrong. He knew that Nico and Y/N were watching at home, and were supporting him even if they couldn’t be there but he selfishly wanted them here.

He heard Y/N sigh over the phone, “Do you want to talk to Nico? He’s coloring in front of the TV.”

“No, it’s not that bad.” He let slip out. He didn’t want to alarm her about how he was feeling. Brad would be coming into his driver's room soon before the race and he just needed a few moments to collect himself.

“Can you tell me about him? Tell me what he’s doing.” He asked.

“Sure,” He didn’t know if she was doing anything for work at the moment. But he knew that if she was, she was putting it aside for a few moments to calm him down. He could imagine her sitting on the couch with the caramel cashmere Hermés blanket thrown over her legs that had been gifted to them after they had moved. He could feel some of the pain of his headache slowly seep away as Y/N talked about Nico seeing Christian on the TV asking when was the next time that he could see Grandpa and Grandma GG. Max couldn’t help the smile that broke out when remembering that Nico couldn’t pronounce Geri’s name. It always ended up sounding like Gewy. The more she talked the more Max felt like he was in the right headspace to get inside the car. 50 laps, media, and then once he got on the plane he would be on his way home to his family.

They had talked until Brad had come into Max’s room to help him get ready for the race. Max had begrudgingly said goodbye.

“I love you.” He heard from Y/N.

“Love you, Papa!” He heard Nico yell. “Good luck.”

“I love you too, both of you.” He said cradling the phone in his hand. “Be home soon.”

Max pulled the phone away from his ear, giving Brad a small nod. Ready to go out there and give the race his all.

As the race went on it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. It wasn’t great, the major issues with the car seemed to go away after qualifying luckily. It was running closer to what he was used to. Even with those issues, he had somehow managed to finish P3. It felt like a miracle given how the weekend had been going.

He avoided the press as much as he could until he had to go for his post-race press conference and talk to the other journalists.

Everything felt so draining today. Normally he would talk to the team, and try to figure things out with GP about what went wrong earlier in the weekend but he just wanted to go home. He knew it was the thing that would set his head right.

Once his car got to the private airport, the next four hours passed by rather slowly. It was too quiet on the plane, Nico wasn’t bothering the stewardess on board about snacks, and Y/N wasn’t carding her fingers through his hair while she aimlessly checked her phone. He would normally end up taking a nap throughout the flight. She would wake him up slowly. He would start to grumble that she woke him up before her laugh would kick in. It was the best sound that he could hear after a long day on the track.

The drive from the airport was taking too long. Once he got to the house, he pulled into the garage. It took him almost no time to get his bag, lock his car, and make his way through the side door before walking into the living room.

Max quietly closed the door. Given how late it was Nico was probably asleep. Y/N would let him stay up to watch the race but once it was over, podium or not Y/N would have Nico get ready for bed.

He placed his keys in the bowl by the door, quietly walking through the house that was still covered in half-unpacked boxes. He went downstairs, walking by Nico's room to see the light turned off. Max opened the door, the hall light showing Nico's empty bed and missing pillow. That could only mean one thing...

He quietly walked towards the master bedroom, pushing open the door that was half closed. The moon casting a shadow over the bed, to see Y/N and Nico asleep under the covers, his side of the bed, open and waiting for him.

Nico normally wasn’t allowed to sleep in here with him and Y/N. Unless he had a nightmare, Nico would sleep in his own bed. She probably made an exception tonight because she didn’t know when his flight was going to get in.

He moved to the foot of the bed to take off his shoes.

"Max?" He heard as he slipped his shoes off. Then left them at the foot of the bed, making a mental note to put them away in the morning.

He turned his head to see Y/N barely awake, leaning against the pillows. Max shrugged off his jacket before walking over to her.

"Hi, mijn leeuwin." He was quick to kiss her forehead.

Over the last month since the wedding, Max had stopped questioning how Y/N fit into his life. The way that she could accept everything that was going on with his schedule and Nico. She took it all with so much grace. He never knew that someone could.

“Hey.” She muttered.

“I’ll change and then be in bed.” He watched her slightly nod until she laid her head back against the pillow. Nico turned over and moved to curl up next to her.

He was quick to remove his shirt and took off the skinny jeans that he was wearing, his socks getting stuck in the denim before throwing all of it into the laundry basket in the bathroom. His feet tapped against the cold tile, the transition of the wood doing nothing to warm his feet.

Max pulled back the sheets from his side of the bed being careful not to wake Nico. He took off his watch, put it on his nightstand, and then climbed under the black sheets of the bed. Max turned over towards his son and wife, pulling them in closer. All of the stress from the race seeping out of him, finally feeling like himself again.

Not Mad Max, not Super Max. Just Max.

Max closed his eyes, just letting himself lay there for a few moments. Taking in the quiet sound of the house, Nico sleeping next to him, Y/N within arms reach. He reached over, lightly stroking her cheek. He looked over meeting her eyes in the dark. He could see her lips form the question, "Are you okay?"

He nodded back brushing his thumb over her cheek again seeing her eyes flutter closed.

It blew Max away sometimes that this was his life. That by the age of 27 he had a wife and a child. The WDCs were nice and they were things that he was happy he had achieved, but this right here was what mattered to him most. The people that he got to come home to after stressful weekends and hard-fought victories. This was what was important to him.

Max settled further into his pillow ready to let sleep take him when he felt short hair brush over his arm. He opened one eye to see Nico had moved his head to rest against his shoulder. Max kissed the side of his son’s head, finally letting sleep take him.

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie

#mini verstappen series #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #mv1 imagine #mv33 imagine #formula 1 imagine #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #max verstappen x you

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courtforshort15 · 1 year

Text

All I Feel is You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 10,700

Summary: The story of how Matt Murdock falls in love with you, as told through the five senses

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of sex and oral sex

Written for this post by @dorothleah

Seriously guys, this was supposed to be short🤣🤣

Masterlist

1. Touch

The fabrics you tend to wear are warm and inviting and almost begging to be touched. Every single thread is soft and calming, more so than what Matt is accustomed to finding on friends and the general public, and it's become a much welcomed change. He's noticed that you very rarely wear cotton, instead sticking to silk and satin and cashmere, and though you’ve only been at the firm a scant few weeks, he is addicted and can’t help but want to run his fingers up and down the fabric, dying to know how it would feel underneath his fingertips.

He’s felt silk and satin and cashmere before, often preferring those materials on his own skin, but he’s never felt them on you, and it somehow still changes the way he gravitates towards them. The thought is arousing and enticing in a way he would have never thought possible.

The fabric slides over your skin as you move, and Matt finds the sound almost distracting, wishing it was his fingers that were sliding over you instead. When you wear dresses, the material sways around your legs as you walk by him, and it takes everything in Matt to not pull you close and slide your dress up, just so that he can test if the clothing you wear is as soft as the inside of your thighs.

His fingers twitch at his sides whenever you move past him, ruthlessly pushing all indecent thoughts away and out of his head. He knows that if he were ever to touch you like the way he's hungered for weeks, he'd never be able to stop.

Matt very nearly loses all semblance of control the first time you grab his hand and place it around the crook of your elbow, silk blouse pressed between his flesh and yours.

Typically Foggy is the one to lead him, perhaps even Karen, because leading a visually impaired individual is a skill, and it requires a certain level of finesse and anticipation of the other’s needs. You’ve been hesitant, he’s aware, to guide him, though not because you don’t want to help him; it’s because you’re afraid you’ll mess up, you admit, and he outwardly laughs in your face.

You flush, smacking his chest, and tell him you’re nervous you’ll forget to remind him of a step up or down, nervous you’ll walk him right into something or someone. He finds it adorable, especially given the fact that he has better coordination and direction than you ever will.

He’s not ready to tell you that yet, though the secret is constantly brimming at his lips, ready to spill at any given moment, regardless of the consequences.

But one day Foggy has a late meeting with a client across town, and Karen has left early for a date, and it’s just you left in the office with him. The long work day ends with a quiet sigh, the office pleasantly peaceful as the last few hours of work tamper off, and Matt startles when you kindly offer to help walk him home. It’s later than you’re usually at the office, and Matt briefly wonders if you’ve stayed because he had needed to finish things and wasn’t able to leave at a decent time.

Matt strives for a healthier life-work-vigilante balance, has worked for it since things ended with Fisk a little over a year ago, but he’s still a work in progress. He’s addicted to his work, both the work that sees the light of day and the work that doesn’t, and he still sometimes forgets that it impacts others, too, despite the constant drilling of these details into his mind by Foggy and Karen.

“It’s really not necessary,” he tells you with a laugh after the offer spills from your lips, packing his things up and putting his suit jacket back on, sliding his arms through the sleeves. The weather is still decently temperate, the warmth of summer still desperately clinging to New York City, but he can already feel the way the air outside has started cooling down now that the sun has almost finished its descent below the skyscrapers that surround the neighborhood. “I know my way around Hell’s Kitchen well enough. I’ll be okay.”

And the words are true enough, with or without his senses. He’s a New York City boy, through and through, and he knows these streets and city blocks like the back of his hand.

You pick up your purse, pushing the strap over one shoulder, before turning back to him. The sound of your hair and the smell of the shampoo still clinging to each strand stirs a sense of want and yearning, one he so desperately wants to satisfy.

“What if it makes me feel better?”

Matt shakes his head, smirking, the look on his face something Foggy would probably label as the typical Matt Murdock charm. The ticking of the clock echoes through the office, and though he can't read the time, the dull sounds of the New York City streets outside the window tells him it's later than he thought it was.

“And what if the idea of you going out of your way at night just to walk me home makes me feel worse?” He’s teasing, of course, though there’s some level of truth to it. He hates the idea of you walking alone at night, knowing far too well the danger that seems to always lurk in the alleyways, knowing far too well that even he can’t be everywhere at once, should something happen to you.

The words that leave his mouth seem to temporarily quiet you, but Matt’s not shocked when the silence ends after only a moment or two. You're usually quick with a rebuttal, your mind always sifting through sentences and body language, and Matt waits in amusement as you work to find the right reply for the situation.

“It’s hardly night,” you finally respond, decidedly shoving the concern aside easily. “It’s only 7. There’s still a little light out.”

Matt may not be able to see the way his face lights up or darkens with certain expressions, but he knows he’s giving you the driest look possible. “You’d still be going far out of your way. Don’t you live in the opposite direction?”

He hears you scoff, though the sound is more amused than anything. “I can walk you home and take a cab back to my place.”

“You should take a cab back to your place regardless of where you are at this time at night,” he counters, stepping completely out of his office and into the lobby of their space, briefcase in one hand, cane in the other. “But I promise I’m fine on my own. It’s only a few blocks.”

“Humor me.”

It’s a last ditch effort, he’s well aware, if the helpless sigh you let out is anything to go by. You’re waiting for him by the front door, and Matt, despite his protests, wants nothing more than to walk through it with you and bring you home with him.

“Fine,” he says with another sly grin, and he hears the way you exhale in relief. “But only because I’m not going to pass up a few extra minutes with you when you’ve so graciously offered them.”

The words settle between the two of you, and Matt can feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks as vividly as if he was pressed up against you. Your heart skips briefly, and the sound reverberates in his head. He laughs internally in pure satisfaction when you gulp.

“Fine,” you repeat the word back to him, voice slightly higher than it had been a few moments ago, and Matt can’t help but still be secretly pleased with the reaction you’ve given him. “Are you ready then?”

He gestures towards the exit. “Whenever you are.”

“Good,” you say, turning to open the door, but before you can step through it, you pause. Matt tilts his head at you curiously, wordlessly questioning the silence and the way you've hesitated.

“So…this is an awkward question, and I don’t know how to do it delicately, so I’ll just dive in. At what point–”

Matt cuts you off, suddenly knowing where this was going. This time he's unable to hold back a laugh. “You want to know when you should offer your arm.”

There’s not a moment of hesitation on your end when you answer. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The grin on his face widens, and Matt wonders if it’s possible to ever frown when you’re around. “I can make my way to the elevator just fine,” he says with a brief shrug of his shoulders, unsnapping his cane as he takes a few steps forward. “But having help after that is always appreciated.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod. You turn back to the door, finally opening it up, and step back so that he has room to walk through. “After you, Matt.”

He resists the urge to brush past you as closely as he possibly can, and instead places a careful distance between your body and his. It's almost excruciating, this self-imposed separation, but he pushes the feeling down.

He doesn't need your assistance with this particular task, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take full advantage.

It’s not long before the elevator is dropping you down at the lowest level, and the doors slide open with a quiet ding. He follows your lead, taking a step outside and into the fresh air of the building lobby, and waits patiently for you to reach for him.

Your hand is trembling as it stretches out to grab his, Matt notes curiously, but it’s steady by the time it pulls him slightly forward. Soft fingers settle on the skin of his wrist, and he adjusts his body so that he’s grasping the crook of your elbow as you step further in.

Matt’s stood intoxicatingly close to you before. He's felt the heat of your body close to his as you pass him files, or when you sit next to him at lunch. He’s felt the length of your hair brush his arm lightly as you reach for something that is on the other side of him, felt the way your breath fans over his face when you lean in to whisper something in his ear while at court. It drives him crazy, these little moments of feeling you, always burning and aching for more.

But through all of that, nothing has prepared him for the feeling of silk that encases your upper arm and the way it feels against your skin resting underneath it. He’s sure he’s gone to heaven, or whatever sort of heaven is possible for a man like him, and he knows then and there that he needs to feel the way your skin will slide against the silk of his own sheets.

You feel far too wonderful him in that moment, wrapped in the soft material the way that you are, and Matt relishes the way your sensitive skin is an equal match to his, knowing he’ll never have to wonder or worry about rough, scratchy fabric rubbing against him if you can help it. It’s exhilarating, this idea that you’ll always be soft and ready for him.

He’s going to have you, one day. You may not know it yet, but there will be a day when he has you spread out and waiting underneath him, and he’ll tell you that it was this moment that was the tipping point for him.

It's hard to focus as you walk him home, saying your goodbyes at his doorstep when a cab pulls up, and he knows his hand will feel empty and bereft until it has the chance to settle on you once more. It’s like he was always meant to hold you, always meant to touch you, and he’ll wait patiently for you to come to the same realization.

2. Hearing

Matt has long since learned to drown out noises that aren’t necessary to the tasks at hand. His ears always pick up everything going on around him, relying on them more often than not for obvious reasons, but he’s mastered the art of tuning things out if they are not currently relevant to what he is working on. It’s a skill Stick had taught him, and it is perhaps the best thing that man had ever done for him, encouraging him to focus in the moment while forever remaining vigilant.

The same cannot be said for you.

He's not exactly sure when the others pick up on the way you need things to be softer, but he notices the first time you flinch as the front door slams shut by mistake.

A potential client, rejected by their team due to several, incessant lies that pour from his mouth in the thirty minutes they meet with him, storms out of the office in annoyance. He mutters angrily to himself as he leaves, and yanks the door behind him, the sound of it echoing throughout the office.

The sound was expected by Matt, having already anticipated the way it would reverberate throughout their space due to the heaviness and speed of the door headed towards the frame, but with his senses trained towards you, as they so often are, he doesn't miss the way you flinch and cover your ears.

Harsh and loud noises are triggering for you, it seems, and it’s something he can fully sympathize with, unfortunately. He finds it concerning, if not a little intriguing, this flash of vulnerability you display.

Your voice is gentle as it floats out around the office, rarely rising above a certain decibel, almost encouraging those around you to keep things quiet as well. It's impacted the way he, Foggy and Karen listen and speak to each other, making an effort not to shout things through offices, but rather get up and find the person they’re talking to. The transition happens almost over night, and he can sense the way your body relaxes the longer you are employed with them, trusting the team to use voices that aren’t louder than they really need to be.

Over the course of the months you spend settling into their team, you're frequently invited to happy hour at Josie's. It’s easy for him to pick up on the way you love joining the team, having told them you hadn’t felt like New York was home until you accepted their offer of employment, and it warms him. Your cheeks flush with the buzz of alcohol, your posture relaxes, and your speech becomes less poised, less polished. And every time you join them, without fail, you have soft, silicone plugs nestled in your ears while you're seated at the table.

Tonight you’re seated next to him, something that Matt had carefully orchestrated while you were placing a drink order at the bar, adjusting himself so that the only open seat would be next to him. He tries not to give himself away, but he can’t help but lean into you as far as he can without making it extremely obvious how much he wants to be pressed against you at all times.

He inhales sharply when you abruptly twist your body so that you’re angled towards him in a way that suggests he might not be alone in this need that runs viciously through him.

Matt does his best to focus in on the story you’re telling, your arms gesturing wildly as you regale the group with a funny anecdote about your younger brother. Your voice, despite the loudness of the bar, is still gentle in its cadence, and Matt has long since determined that no other voice will ever captivate him the way yours does.

When you’re done, you take a long sip of your drink, the liquid sliding down your throat, and Matt longs to wrap his hand around the column of your neck just to feel it, while maybe tilting your head back to kiss you in the process.

Before Matt has the chance to ask you a follow-up question about your brother, curious to know more about the life you’ve led before moving to New York, Foggy jumps in with a question of his own, shouting over the noise of the bar.

"I've never asked before, but why do you wear ear plugs when we come here?"

You freeze next to him, and for a brief second Matt wants to shove his friend off of his bar stool. It’s a question he’s always had, though he thinks he already knows the answer, but he hates the way you’ve been put on the spot. He opens his mouth to tell you that you don’t need to answer, but you reply anyway, cutting him off.

"I, uh…I can get overwhelmed with loud noises," you explain quietly, fidgeting with the napkin still resting in your lap, placed there to wipe salt and grease off of your fingers as you munch on the french fries the group had ordered. "Sometimes it just gets to be too much. I can't focus on what's going on in front of me because everything else is just too loud. The ear plugs drown some things out."

Foggy tilts his head in curiosity, and Matt throws him a look of warning, wordlessly asking him to tread carefully, unwilling to let anything upset you. It had surprised him, initially, his reaction to the thought of you being uncomfortable, but now he knows and no longer questions the fact that he’d gladly rake his body over flaming coals if it meant you were always safe and happy and settled in whatever environment you found yourself in.

Foggy hasn’t caught on to his feelings just yet, but Karen has, and he can practically feel the amused side-eye she’s shooting him.

He rests a hand on your knee gently, intending to only leave it there for a second, but your hand suddenly reaches down and grabs it, easily interlacing your fingers with his. Matt tracks the way your cheeks flush, the way your heartbeat stutters for a split second, and is unable to stop the way his face splits open in a smile.

"Can you hear us okay, then? When you have them in?" Foggy questions, continuing on with the topic, completely oblivious to the body language of the people around him.

You let out a quiet laugh. "You're sitting close enough that it's not really an issue. But I am decent at reading lips, so that usually helps, too."

“Gotcha,” Foggy says with an easy smile. “Let me know if there’s ever anything we can do to help make you more comfortable."

The conversation about your ear plugs ends there, Matt steering them gently towards another topic to help lead the focus off of something he can tell you're slightly self-conscious about, and he's rewarded by another squeeze of his hand.

After that evening, the group still goes to Josie's fairly often, but they begin taking turns hosting happy hour at their own individual apartments. It becomes a frequent habit, ordering take out and staying in rather than going out, and Matt easily admits to himself that the quieter get-togethers are easier on his own ears, too.

The lack of the sharp noises and drunken chatter of a bar also gives him the ability to focus on your heartbeat just that much easier, jumping whenever he gently brushes his fingers over yours when handing you another drink or carton of fried rice, and that alone makes the slight change worth it.

Matt is committed at this point, intimately aware of what his presence does to you, and while he’d wait forever, he’s desperate to hear every single moan, gasp, or sigh he can draw out of you with his body pressed against yours.

"I never did thank you," you say quietly one evening, helping toss the beer bottles in his recycling bin. Foggy and Karen left ten minutes ago, claiming the need to prep a few more things before trial tomorrow, though Matt knows they had strategically left him alone with you on purpose.

Sometimes he thinks his friends are trying to get back at him for the years of chaos and tears he’s caused them.

"Thank me for what?" He asks, throwing some of the leftover Chinese into his fridge. He packs up a small bag of leftover white rice and vegetables for you to take, knowing without verbal confirmation that the slight blandness is something you'll enjoy and appreciate. He enjoys it, too, strong flavors sometimes too much for him, but he would rather you have it.

"You're the one who started encouraging us to spend time as a smaller group at someone's place, rather than going out," you say, voice floating through his apartment. He may not yet have told you about his own senses, but for some reason you've picked up on the way he can always hear you, no matter how soft or loud you are. "And I just really appreciate it. Going out isn't a big deal, but this is still a nice change sometimes."

Matt steps out of his kitchen to where you've picked up your purse from his table and stands directly in front of you, close enough to reach out and touch. He notices the way your breathing catches, as it always does when he stands near, and for whatever reason, tonight he feels emboldened to fully lean into it.

He reaches out to run a gentle finger down your cheekbone, and you sigh and seem to lean into it instinctively. It's all the encouragement he needs to continue. "I've found that I'd do just about anything to make sure you're comfortable," he says, enjoying the way your skin heats, and he takes another step forward, hand now fully cupping the side of your face. "Whatever you need from me to help that, I'll do it."

You pause for a moment, apparently weighing something in your mind, and he feels the moment you've made some sort of decision. He stands still when you take a tiny step towards him, the heat of you downright scalding, and he waits with bated breath for you to say something.

"You don't need to do anything, Matt," you whisper quietly, taking his other hand in yours. "But thank you all the same. Truly."

Months of him needing you near more than he needs to breathe, months of him needing to put you first before all other things in his life, causes him to close the distance, unable and unwilling to spend one more second of not knowing what your mouth feels like underneath his.

Your lips are warm and soft as he presses against them, and he keeps the kiss gentle. Your hands reach up to wrap themselves in his shirt, and Matt knows he'll spend the rest of his life wanting to hear nothing else but that quiet sigh that leaves your mouth as it parts for his.

3. Taste

Matt grew up in perhaps one of the most unique melting pots in the world.

New York City is an explosive mixture of cultures and ethnicities and races, and he’s been exposed to all the wonderful things that come with the mixture of so many people living in his city - the different music, the different languages, the different dreams and ideals.

But the one thing that never fails to disappoint and sadden him about it is the fact that all the different foods of the world, so easily within his grasp, can be extremely overwhelming to his sense of taste. It’s a sense of irony that he doesn’t appreciate.

Over the years, he’s learned to cook with minimal spices and flavors, almost desperate to avoid making his taste buds go haywire, but though everything he makes is nourishing and edible, it doesn’t necessarily make them…good. Matt has a relatively bland diet, sticking to foods and flavors that are subtle, and the repetition is boring.

But then…you come along.

It’s like an explosion, the flavors you bring with you in your lunches and snacks every day. Matt’s mouth salivates over the meals you bring in, knowing without tasting them that nothing you make will overwhelm his taste buds. It’s never anything fancy, he admits. But you’ve tossed ingredients and spices together in a way that he would have never thought to mix, and it suddenly sets him on a renewed journey of finding new things he can’t wait to try.

Rich and savory spices and herbs spill out of your small backpack as you load them in the fridge every day, and the way the scents sometimes stick to your skin makes him want to take you home and never take his tongue off of you.

…which, he feels that way one hundred percent of the time anyway, the taste of your skin divine by itself, but these moments bring out his hunger for you even more. He's had his tongue on you now, had it in you, and he'd gladly spend the rest of his time here on Earth tasting nothing but the salt on every single inch of your body that you'll let him touch.

He's only made love to you once, but Matt can no longer imagine his life without your taste in his mouth.

It's a rainy Friday night in Hell's Kitchen when you manage to drag him to one of your favorite restaurants, though the word drag is used lightly. He's eager and selfish enough to take every spare second you'll give him, but even he can admit that some cases at work require late evenings. There's an everlasting desire to press his lips to yours, if only to draw out every sound he now knows you can make, so he follows you anyway, despite the heavy workload resting on the secondhand desk that's situated in his office.

The streets of New York City are wet and miserable, but you pull him happily with you, and he has no control over the heart that has decided your hand is a better home and keeper than his own chest.

Before you even round the corner with him half a step behind, he knows instinctively what restaurant you’re taking him to without a word being spoken. It's a few blocks outside of Hell's Kitchen, so he's never really walked by this restaurant before, but now, just a few hundred feet from him, it calls to him, a delicious mixture of spices and herbs and sugars rolling across his tongue that are satisfying without being overwhelming.

He takes his time on your arm, enjoying the way you sway and swerve in between other pedestrians, simply because it gives him an excuse to hold onto you that much tighter. And by the time he holds the door open for you to step inside, Matt's mouth is almost drooling in want and hunger.

It's not long before food is being placed in front of you both, and he wastes not a single second before diving in. He knew before he even entered the restaurant that he was about to eat one of the most fantastic meals of his life, outside of the classic bacon and eggs and pancakes his father used to make him every Saturday morning while he watched cartoons.

The same explosion of flavors that he had smelled from outside is there, foods that are bold but still somehow subtle, and he swears he's never tasted a combination of ingredients and sauces and spices that fit so well with his palette.

Add in the fact that the restaurant uses natural products to clean their dishes and wash their vegetables, rather than burning chemicals that scald both his nose and tongue, and it makes him feel like he never wants to eat anywhere else again.

He also never wants to eat or discover new things with anyone else but you again, but that's a conversation for another time.

"This is one of my favorite places to come to," you say lightly with a soft smile on your lips, and Matt hmms in agreement, because it has suddenly managed to become one of his favorites, too. "I found it a few months back. It’s relatively new, I think. It just has so many options to choose from that fit with the sorts of things I like."

Matt lifts his fork to his mouth, eyes briefly shutting in contentment, a swirl of rich, savory flavors that settle enticingly on his tongue. He savors it before he swallows.

He can track down every ingredient used for this specific dish. The vegetables are the same ones Monica Smith sells in her small market on 42nd, the chicken from the butcher on 57th. Most of these ingredients are sold fresh and locally, sources that Matt often trusts with his own meals that he cooks himself, and there's nothing more comforting than tasting Hell’s Kitchen, than tasting home on his tongue.

"Do you come here often, then?" He asks once he places his fork down and takes a sip of his drink.

Your mouth twists into a smirk. "You've already got me, Matthew. No need to use a pick up line.”

A startled laugh escapes his throat, and the sound echoes throughout the quiet restaurant. "That's not how I meant it."

"Felt like you were putting the moves on me like we were some sort of dive bar," you tease. You blow on the spoonful of soup you're about to wrap your mouth around to eat, and Matt can't help but think of the way your mouth had been wrapped around him not too long ago.

"No need to put the moves on you when I've apparently already got you, sweetheart," he fires back with a grin. "Though I'd be very interested in discussing that particular fact later. In detail."

A quiet laugh trickles over to him. "That can probably be arranged."

"Good," is all he says. He takes another bite, and you mirror him, finally placing the spoon in your mouth. Matt lets out a quiet moan, both at the taste of the food in his mouth and the taste that's now resting on your tongue, eager to pull you to him and share it with you by way of placing his mouth greedily on yours.

"But to answer your question, I do," you tell him once you swallow, and Matt simultaneously attempts to push the arousal away temporarily (he fails), and smiles at the way your voice sounds wistful and happy. He hopes the sound can be contributed to his company just as much as the food in front of you. "It's hard for me to find places that I like."

He tilts his head to the side. "Any specific reason why?"

You shrug, and Matt's attention lazily drifts to the sound the silk makes as it slides over your shoulders. He's had you in his bed now, and the sound of silk and your skin gliding against each other will forever be etched into his memory.

"Too many places just use ingredients that don't…taste right to me," you answer easily. "Too much salt. Too much grease. Too much everything, really. This place is more gentle, more thoughtful with how they prepare things, I think. Things just feel more natural here."

Matt has to bite back a smile because you just…get it.

He hasn't said a word to you about his senses, not yet at least, but somehow everything about you just fits with him, like you're two pieces of a puzzle, meant to connect and stay connected, revealing an image that only the two of you can see and feel.

"I understand what you mean by that," he says softly, reaching out to grasp your hand in his before he pulls away to grab his beer. "Have you always been that way? Sensitive to different foods? I've noticed the types of things you bring in for lunch; seems to be a common thread."

He feels the way your hand halts on its way to your mouth, and the pause sets him briefly on edge, the sound of your heartbeat stuttering for just a quick second. Opening his mouth, Matt means to ask what's wrong, but you answer before he can do so.

"Yeah, I've always been like this. I, uh…I'm on the spectrum," you tell him before shoving the bite of your salad in your mouth. Matt's mouth drops a fraction of an inch, honestly having not suspected the response. But it makes him pause, because all of a sudden it clicks that he has observed traits that seem to be consistent with what he knows about the diagnosis.

Sensitivity to sound. Sensitivity to certain fabrics. Sensitivity to taste. He hadn't caught on before, but now it just…makes sense.

You continue. "I'm a fairly mild case, honestly, but certain tastes and textures of food are just overwhelming sometimes, or they don't feel right in my mouth. It's hard to explain."

His focus quickly shifts to the way you adjust in your seat, as if nervous about his reaction, and he finds himself intensely disliking the thought of you regretting your admission in any way.

"You could try to explain, if you're comfortable with it," he suggests softly, reaching out to gently grasp and squeeze your hand again before he pulls back, needing you to know that anything you divulge is safe with him. He hopes that when he's ready to divulge a secret of his own, you'll sit and really hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him, the way he's always needed someone to hear him and still love him.

"Whatever you have to say, I want to listen."

Taking a deep breath, you place your fork on your plate, though Matt doesn't necessarily take it as a sign that you're uncomfortable with the topic, to which he is grateful, but rather something that indicates you're planning in your head what you want to say.

When you finally answer, Matt is utterly powerless to do nothing but give you every single cell of attention that resides in his body.

"I'm not necessarily shy about it, I'm actually pretty open about it, but I guess there's not much to say," you begin, sounding less hesitant than you had sounded just seconds before. "It's pretty common for people on the spectrum to be picky eaters, and that's always been the case for me. But even if it's common, it doesn't mean it's necessarily well understood why, and no two people and their reactions are the same. For some reason, it tends to be more prevalent in women, which makes it even more difficult to track or explain because there isn't a ton of research on women who are autistic. Most studies focus on men."

He hmms in the back of his throat, tilting his head to the side in consideration. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that."

"Most people don't," you say after another bite, and he frowns lightly at the tone of nonchalance in your voice, because even though you sound unaffected, he can hear the quiet waver that suggests that there's a part that ever so slightly bothers you at people's general lack of acknowledgment of the matter. He vows to learn every single thing you're able to teach him, vows to read every single book, published article, or internet post he can find. "Long story short, my sense of taste tends to be limited in terms of what I can tolerate, you know?"

Matts quiet for a moment before he responds. "Oddly enough, I can understand that," he says with a small smile, raising his glass to take another sip of his drink.

"I figured you would," you reply with a light shrug, the movement stirring the air around you, making the scent of you carry over to him enticingly. He opens his mouth ever so slightly to catch the taste on his tongue. "You tend to order pretty simple things when we all go out. You stick to the same foods and drinks for the most part."

A smirk replaces the grin on his face. "You've been paying attention to me? What am I supposed to do with that information, I wonder?"

He can feel the way your face flushes, and he imagines the color that is blooming rapidly across your cheeks. He vaguely remembers the color red, and he wonders if your skin is vibrant and bold right now, or if the hue is soft and sweet.

"Am I wrong, though?" You ask, neatly avoiding his own questions. "You prefer things that are subtle, things that taste smooth, as opposed to things that taste sharp or in your face, I guess? Do you know what I mean by that?"

"I do. Things that are easy rather than bold," he says with a quick nod. "I can't do bitter or spicy or sour."

Your face splits into a grin. "Exactly. Certain flavors are nice, but they can't be overwhelming or I just kinda…start to shut down. I don't tend to like new things. I'm perfectly happy sticking to the things I know I like."

Matt leans back in his seat as he places his napkin on the table in front of him. He waits until you swallow before speaking again, diving in for the kill, knowing exactly what sort of reaction he's hoping to get from you.

"I'm typically the same way," he says with a smirk. "Though, based on the other night, I'd have to say that my new favorite taste is you."

Your skin flares to life again as you take in a sharp breath, and the smile on his mouth is wide with borderline glee and satisfaction when you give him just the response he had been looking for.

He practically pats himself on the back for a job well done, but is unprepared for your response.

"Well," you say slowly, voice quiet and wavering for just a split second before it strengthens, "if that's the way you feel, then maybe we could go back to your place and you can have me for dessert."

It's Matt's turn to be momentarily speechless, and while blood had rushed to your cheeks at his comment, his own blood heads straight to his cock at yours, and at the thought of having his mouth on you again makes him go absolutely feral.

When he regains his ability to speak, he flags down the waiter he can hear at the table next to him, and asks for the check with a speed he's never managed to achieve, despite his years of snapping at the heels of every violent and manipulative criminal in Hell's Kitchen.

Your soft laugh continues to echo in his ear as he practically drags you to his apartment.

4. Scent

You miss two or three days of work a month due to what you’ve described as chronic migraines, and the whole office cringes in sympathy whenever you call out. Matt is no stranger to headaches, having had his head bashed in too many times to count, and he knows he’s caused several headaches of his own for Foggy and Karen, the direct result of them being friends with a man who is always finding himself in some sort of trouble.

But migraines, he’s heard, are a whole different ball game, and it saddens him to think of you in so much pain.

When you first started working for their firm, the team used to come to your home and bring you case files and notes at your request, as you were always eager to prove that you were a valuable member of their team, despite the illness that randomly knocked you on your ass for sometimes 24 to 48 hours. They all trust you to complete your work, usually staying late and working weekends to make up for lost time, and for months he humored you, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to show up on your doorstep and check up on you.

Now, though…it’s different.

He ignores your request to bring the files over, and is instead armed with decaffeinated coffee, green tea, peppermint tea, anything and everything he’s researched that is recommended to help ease you out of a migraine and prevent future ones. He’s not sure how much of it all works, but he’s willing and desperate to lessen your pain, even if only for a few minutes.

You’d gifted him with a key just a few weeks ago, shortly after he had told you he loved you for the first time. Unlike most things in his life, being with you is effortless and calm. The transition from friendship to this was seamless, the pair of you somehow knowing this was something meant to last, so he lets himself quietly into your apartment without a second thought.

The air conditioning is cranked up and blasting as it always is when a migraine sets in, something about heat being a trigger for you, and he doesn’t need to see to know that all the blinds are shut, cutting out all of the natural light and the warmth that would have hit his skin through the windows.

You’re in your bedroom, your heartbeat too rapid for his liking, so he sets the items he’s brought over onto your counter, removes his shoes and suit jacket, and makes his way towards you. You don’t say anything when he settles in behind you, just grabs his arm and pulls it around you, and within a few moments, you’re dead asleep. It’s as if you had been waiting on him before you could fully relax, trusting him to watch over you in your moments of vulnerability.

It’s hours later, well into the evening, when you finally stir again, your body stretching before sinking further into his. Matt had drifted off to sleep beside you for a bit, but had already been awake for an hour before your eyes fluttered open, grateful that your heart rate had decreased and your breathing settled into something more peaceful. The way your body physically reacts to any sort of stress, whether it be sickness or an impending deadline, never fails to put him on edge, ready to leap into the fray of whatever has the potential to cause you harm.

“You’re still here?” Your voice is groggy with sleep, though it’s not as tight with pain as it normally is when you’re in the throes of a migraine, so Matt finds himself relieved that the worst of it may have passed.

“I didn’t want to leave,” he whispers in your ear, tightening the arm resting around your waist. “I don’t have to go out for another few hours or so.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after 7,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head from where it’s almost tucked under his chin. “I got here around 3, after the meeting with that new client.”

“And you stayed the whole time?” The words are quiet, but they still sound slightly incredulous. “Matt…you had so much to do today.”

“Nothing more important than making sure you’re okay,” Matt responds easily, slotting his legs up behind yours, pressing the entire length of his body against you. You’d called early this morning while he had been on his way to work, claiming that an awful migraine had started up last night, and he had rushed through his day as quickly as possible. “Are you feeling better?”

You make a non-committal noise. “Maybe a little. I think my meds kicked in this afternoon.”

Matt hums quietly in your ear. “Have you considered a new brand? They don’t seem to be helping much. You still get them pretty frequently.”

Shifting in his hold, you suddenly turn to face him, and Matt adjusts by rolling slightly on to his back, allowing you to curl up against his side and lay your head on his chest. Matt uses the opportunity to brush a kiss against your forehead, the heat of your skin against his always welcome. He had long since removed his pants and shirt, having taken them off before he decided to nap with you, and the way you snuggle closer reminds him that you like being skin to skin just as much as he does.

“They help as much as they can,” you say with a subtle shrug. “It’s hard when something triggers it.”

Matt stills the hand that had naturally risen up to brush lightly against your back. “What triggered it?”

“The lady that came in yesterday afternoon.”

He furrows his brow, searching back through his memory. “Mrs. Henderson?” He feels you nod against his chest, still shuddering and inching impossibly closer. “What about her?”

“It was her perfume.”

“Her perfume triggered the migraine?” You nod again, and Matt frowns mildly as he starts piecing some things together.

It clicks. “Are you migraines…scent triggered?”

You sigh against him, throwing a leg over his, further settling yourself against him, and Matt tightens his arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak. “Yeah, usually. Being around strong scented things can be awful.”

Matt’s not sure why he hadn’t recognized it before, now that he thinks back on it. The way your apartment always smells clean, but not in a way that smells like a solution of pure chemicals. It always smells more natural, made up of subtle scents that are warm rather than piercing. Your detergent is in similar fashion, and the shampoo you use on your hair is soft and almost indistinct to anyone who doesn't have a nose like his. No candles. No air fresheners. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t noticed it, given the fact that he has always used similar products at his own place that are equally kind to his nose.

“How come I didn’t know this?” Matt questions curiously. He should have known, uniquely prepared and understanding of yet another sensory factor that he has in common with you. But unlike your own unique sensitivity, Matt has found a way to block out most scents, especially the more unpleasant ones that come with living in New York City.

“Didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem–? It’s super important, if it means there’s something that causes you this much pain,” he argues quietly, resuming the movement of his hand running up and down your back. You arch into the touch. “I might not be able to help all of the time, but I might be able to help with this.”

Matt knows you know exactly what he’s talking about, having told you his biggest secret not long into the relationship. You take a sudden deep breath.

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” you admit quietly. “It didn’t really occur to me, that this might be something you could maybe…help with.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, shifting his head to kiss your cheek. “Whatever I can do to help, just like I said before.”

You nod sleepily into his chest, the conversation having apparently worn you out already, and Matt huffs a laugh when your eyes close again and don't reopen.

It doesn’t take long to develop a routine from there on out. Matt’s able to pick up on a scent headed up the elevator that he knows will bother you, long before the client even enters the office of Nelson, Murdock & Page, and he takes great care in either encouraging you to work from home the rest of the day, or hoarding you in his own office, the quiet and unassuming scent of your shampoo and detergent an everlasting sense of peace to his own sensitive nose.

It’s only been a few months, but he has every intention of permanently blending your scent with his.

5. Sight

You prefer muted lights over fluorescent ones.

It doesn’t take long for Matt to notice that the lights in your apartment are warm and relaxing, a strong contrast to the lights he can hear in other various settings. It’s no surprise to him, not really, when he pairs this detail with all the other sensitivities you have. And while the low lights are a benefit to your eyes, Matt considers them a benefit to his hearing.

He’s never mentioned it, but even though he can’t see the harsh lights of a courtroom or police station, he can hear them, and the buzzing noise isn’t always pleasant. He can block most things out, but the constant thrumming does wear on his nerves sometimes, a sharp sound that blazes across his skin before settling in his ears.

He appreciates coming home to you, for more reasons than he could ever possibly count, knowing that the only lights you’ve brought with you when you moved in are soft and warm and blessedly quiet.

Matt knows your eyes are sensitive, that you wear sunglasses whenever you’re outside, regardless of sun or rain or snow, and the lenses that perch on your nose have a special blue-light filter to help take away the strain of staring at a computer screen for too long. He split the cost of having custom sized curtains throughout the apartment to drown out some of the light, and he’s heard you explain to Foggy and Karen the reason the backlight on your phone is so muted.

This isn't something he can necessarily relate to, the one sense of five he is lacking and will never regain. He remembers what it was like to see, colors and faces and neighborhoods rich and vibrant, but light had never caused him actual pain.

He will forever live his life in the dark, even while you remain the bright and pulsing star he will never stop orbiting around.

Over the course of the past year and a half, Matt has spent time tracking the similarities he has with you. All the sensitivities that match up, and it's brought so much comfort to his life that he doesn't know how to articulate it. You've begun building a life together that is soft and soothing for you both.

He's not surprised that the topic of his own sight has taken so long to be brought up. Calm and simple conversations have sprouted up here and there, and he's always known that you'd haven't avoided the topic, but rather simply made it clear that while losing his sight has continued to be a large part of his story, it is not necessarily the one that is most important to you.

You have always understood that he is more than his blindness, even before his big reveal. And when the topic finally surfaces, it carries both more and less weight than it has anytime before.

"Matt," you begin quietly, settled in his arms after he absolutely wrecked your world with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. He's wrapped himself around you from behind, one of his favorite ways to ensure that you're here with him, that you're safe, that you're his. "Can I ask a question?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat quietly, indicating that yes, you can ask him anything. He has stripped down every barrier that keeps you from him, both his walls and yours, and there is nothing he'll deny you.

You must pick up the unspoken words he's given you in a language only the two of you understand, so you proceed. "If this sounds insensitive, please tell me. I don't want to upset you, I'm just curious."

Beyond interested now, Matt rolls you in his arms until you're facing him. Your breath gently rolls over him as he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Taking a deep breath, your mouth parts in response. "Do you…ever wish you could still see?"

The question makes him pause in a way he hasn't quite stilled before. He's been asked the same question hundreds of times over the decades of his life since the accident, and the answer has always been the same. In an effort to tell people he's happy with where his life is at, in an effort to make people not pity him by him thinking a part of his life is missing, he has always responded with a quick, no, I'm fine. I've gotten used to it.

And while he is fine, the reasoning goes far beneath what he hands out for others to know. Matt may struggle with believing he is worthy of being loved and adored, but one thing he is sure of is that he doesn't owe anyone his story, and that very few deserve to hear it.

He told Karen once that he wished he could see the sky one more time in a rare moment of opening up, though he admits that he had mostly done so to earn her trust in a display of offering a vulnerability. He had hoped it would inspire an admission of her own, something to help guide him towards the next clue to the puzzle in her case, but he had been unsuccessful.

But that was neither here nor there.

The question falling from the lips he'd gladly spend every second pressed against is quiet, less probing than others who have asked, and he knows this is yet one more thing he's unable to keep from you.

Actually, the word is no longer unable, but rather unwilling, because there's not a single piece of himself that he wants to keep hidden from you. You own him, body, heart, and soul, and months ago that acceptance of ownership came with the realization that he has no desire to be anything but open and free beneath your fingertips.

A soft hand runs up his torso and settles over his heart, a quiet yet intentional moment of comfort, and you speak before he gets a chance to reply. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He shakes his head. "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking."

"Take your time, love," is all you say, and the term of endearment never fails to knock him off his feet. You are his love, but he is also yours.

With a subtle clearing of his throat, he opens his mouth to answer, not an ounce of hesitation, though the words at first seem disjointed because he's not quite sure how to say what he wants to say.

"I…yes and no," he starts softly in your ear. "There...are certain things I wish I could see at least once, or at least one more time, but for the most part, no. I don't necessarily wish that."

Sheets rustle as you push a thigh between his to press even closer. "Is it because you just have accepted it? That there's nothing you can do about it, so no use thinking about it?"

"In some ways, sure," he tells you, pointer finger drawing lazy circles on your hip. "But I was angry about it for a long time. Angry that my vision was taken from me because I tried to help someone. I felt like I had been punished by a god who only ever saw the devil in me, rather than the good I had tried to do, even as a kid. But that anger shifted the older I got, and rather than blame God, I blamed the rest of the world for all the injustices, feeling like I was doomed to do nothing but hear them. And it made me furious that everyone else had the ability to actually see these horrible things happening, and yet they did nothing."

"So…you let the devil out," you murmur against his chest, already familiar with this part of the story, having heard the explanation of what had made him snap, the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"Yes," he whispers back, knowing you held no blame or disgust associated with the sentence you had just let out. "I let the devil out."

Once upon a time he had begged Foggy to understand why he had chosen this particular path, asking him to forgive him for doing what he had thought necessary to save that little girl. He had repeated the process with Karen some time after that, but the results had been even worse the second time, the lie in their friendship and failed relationship a chasm between the two of them.

But with you…there had been no begging involved. No praying at your feet that you would understand it, understand him. The shock had been there, true, when he finally revealed himself all those months ago, laying all his cards on the table, yours to do with what you wished.

A silence had echoed between you, one that had felt like years but had only actually lasted a split second, before you picked up all the cards he had given you, tucked them in your chest for safe keeping, and responded with endless amounts of love and affection. You'd taken his hand just as easily as you'd taken his heart, told him you trusted him to do what he thought was right, and that there was not a single piece of him that you did not want and adore.

"And now? How do you feel about it now? About not being able to see?"

"I talked about this once with Maggie," he replies, recalling the conversation he'd had with her years ago underneath the church. "This idea of looking back on the past and trying to figure out if the life we led was on the right path or not. I told her about all the anger I had felt, all the hurt and betrayal. It took me a long time to realize that maybe God thought sight was unnecessary to do what needed to be done, and that I needed to go through the things I did in order to become Daredevil."

"And has that helped you? Thinking about it that way?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation, without pause. "If getting back my sight meant losing everything else, losing all the things that have helped me to help others, then it wouldn't be worth it."

"That makes sense," you whisper quietly against his chest. Your hair rubs against his skin, and Matt sighs at the contact. "You're Daredevil. Daredevil is Matt Murdock. There's no separating the two, because you're both. You wouldn't be your full self if you couldn't do what you can do."

He pulls you tighter against him. "Yes, I....that's exactly it," he says with a rush of breath that slides over your hair and skin. "I couldn't…be me without it. So, no. I don't wish I could see, not if it meant giving this up."

"And you don't feel the need to see."

Matt can't help but love the way it's a statement, and not a question.

"I don't," he says simply. "I've lived the vast majority of my life without sight, and I can live the rest without it, too. I have Foggy. I have Karen. I have our practice. And I have you. My life is complete the way it is."

Fingers trail up his chest, up his neck, and settle on his cheek. Matt instinctively leans his head into the touch, relishing the way you always manage to provide love and affection without saying a word.

He's not necessarily sensitive to the topic anymore, and certainly never could be with you, this wonderful person in his life who has filled him with warmth, a steady flame licking at his heart and spreading outwards, always finding every crack and crevice to stitch together and make whole.

He'll never be able to fully articulate the way he's never felt like home with anyone else but you, never be able to fully articulate the way you've righted the axis of his life that has not felt safe or secure since his father died.

All he can do is try.

Try to explain just how you've pulled him in like a moth to the flame, but never once tried to burn him.

"My eyes haven't worked since I was 9, but you manage to help me see, sweetheart. In a way no one else has been able to before, " he says, and the words cause your breathing to hitch. He continues without much pause. "You describe things to me without me asking. I can hear and feel everything so much, but there's always going to be things I can't pick up on, and you've filled that void for me."

Your hand twitches, curling into itself on his chest, and he doesn't waste a single second reaching up to flatten it against his heart again. "Matt." Your voice is thick with an emotion mimicking both surprise and reverence, and your heartbeat has sped up considerably.

Bending his neck lightly, he brushes his lips across your forehead. "You just naturally tell me about things going on around me, as if you had been doing it your whole life. I thought it was cute before you knew what I was capable of picking up on, but you haven't stopped. You still describe colors and facial expressions and funny signs you see when we're outside. You still tell me all about these things you notice, as if you want to make sure I don't miss a single thing, and I love you for it."

Seemingly stunned into silence, you lay cradled up against him, heart racing and skin flushed and warm. Winding his hand in your hair, Matt pulls your head back, and waits until he knows for sure your eyes have rested on his face. His smile is soft, as is the skin of your cheek when he moves his hand to stroke a thumb down your cheek, picking up a stray tear that rolled down.

He tilts his head down to kiss you, but before he can move an inch, you're pulling his mouth down towards yours with a hand of your own wrapped around the back of his neck.

He pulls away after a brief moment before he gently rolls you onto your back, parting your thighs so that he can lay between them, anxious to be pressed against you, pressed in you, in every way he can. You moan as his weight settles on top of you, though it changes to a quiet gasp when his cock slides inside, your cunt still wet from where he had finished inside you not an hour before.

He's pretty sure you're nothing but wet when you're around him, something that never fails to arouse a sharp sense of satisfaction that he makes your body react that way. It makes it easy to take you whenever he wants, your body ready for his with his name and a murmured yes on your lips.

Matt captures your mouth again with a soft kiss, and when he pulls away, even as his hips rock languidly against yours, he can't help but whisper the words that have unconsciously circled in his head for months now.

"Out of everything out there, out of everything you've told me or described to me, if I could see only one thing in the world, it would be your face when you say I do."

And with that, he laces his fingers with yours as he presses your hand into the mattress next to your head, lightly tracing over the engagement ring he had slid on to your ring finger not too long ago.

It seems that every one of your sensory sensitivities matches his in some way or another, and he can’t help but be thrilled, be calmed by it. The idea of spending the rest of his life side by side with someone he not only loves and adores and cherishes more than his own life, but someone who appreciates and understands the way that the world is just too much sometimes, someone who has helped him find peace in a way he had never thought possible, has forever changed this path that his life has always been on.

Your mouth parts in a sigh underneath his, and he spends the rest of the night using all four senses to drive you both to the edge over and over again, aware that he'll never need his sight to see how perfectly, how flawlessly you were made for him.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #reader insert

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kxmisato · 6 months

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♡ LIKE THIS — GOJO SATORU

↳ note : fluff because i'm missing my stink stink right now ˙◠˙

↳ song rec : seasons by wave to earth

a long day has finally come to its end. a long day of work and a long commute home had you wearing your tiredness both on your face and weighing on your shoulders.

as you unlock the door to your apartment, you can hear the sound of downpouring rain, contrasting the previous days of scorching sun and unbearable heat. as much as you enjoyed the freedoms that summer brings you that fall and winter cannot, you find this weather to be not as enjoyable as that.

walking into your home, you’re met with satoru lounging lazily across your cream loveseat. looking around you noticed the lights turned off, a candle is lit, and the smell of cashmere and linen filled your apartment and senses.

“i’m home,” you mumbled. “why’re all the lights turned off?”

“i’dunno, felt like having them off,” satoru replied, as you watched him get up from his seat and stretching his arms above his head, noticing the little sliver of skin show as his shirt rose above his abdomen.

he makes his way over to you, feet padding heavily across the floors and greets you as he usually does when he’s home before you. he wraps his arms around your frame and gives you a gentle peck to your left temple. you relax in his embrace, sighing lightly at his affection.

“long day?” he asks, pulling away to study you. he can see it already painted on your face but asks regardless.

“yeah.. really long..”

“y’wanna talk about it?”

“not really, would rather just forget about it.”

“we can do that.” he decides to not push, you’d talk about it when you want to.

satoru gives you one more quick peck to your temple before kneeling down to the floor, untying your rain-soaked sneakers and pulling them off of your feet.

you shrug off your jacket, draping it across the coat hook by the door and then mumbling a quick ‘thank you’ to your boyfriend for helping you with your shoes.

“think we might have to get you a new pair of shoes, babe.” he says, holding up your distressed shoes. “the rain really did a number on them.”

“yeah, i think you’re right. i might look online before bed tonight.” you reply.

“we can go look at the mall tomorrow if you want.” he suggests.

“thought you didn’t like the mall?”

“i can make an exception.”

you let out an airy chuckle, “then yeah, let’s go to the mall tomorrow.”

satoru takes you by the hand, leading you to the couch, laying down on his back first then leading you to lay on top of him, resting your head on his chest. “we can make a date out of it… only if y’know, you want to, of course..”

“of course i want to, ‘toru. did you want to get breakfast and then go?”

“hm..” he ponders, “maybe lunch? so we can sleep in.”

“i like that idea.” you turn your head to smile up at him.

satoru feels his heart swell in his chest everytime you smile. he feels like a little kid again, with how giddy you make him feel, he’s eternally grateful to have you in his life. he traces your features with his eyes before his right hand comes up to your face and does it themselves. his thumb feathers over your cheekbones while the rest of his hand rests under your jaw.

“want to shower with me?” you ask.

“maybe in a little, just want to lay with you like this for a bit longer.”

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bitchimasnake-sss · 9 days

Text

just a distraction ft. choso kamo!

academic rivals, academic rivals, academic rivals, academic rivals- set-up: in which, choso and you are academic rivals. in every exam, the raven-haired cunt always seems to be just a negligible percent ahead of you. maybe you've had enough of his bullshit. maybe you should find better ways to get him off that first rank? (both the reader and choso are in second year of college)

warnings: PORN WITH (A LITTLE) PLOT. nsfw babes. contains blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talking, pet names (baby, darling, etc.), banter (lots and lots). yeah mdni <3

you didn't know much about choso kamo. not really, no.

i mean you knew the basics. you knew his name, his voice. you knew that he always was dressed in black and that he had that weird (somewhat hot) tattoo cutting a horizontal across his pretty face. you knew he had two younger brothers (the pink-haired twin underclassmen) and how he doted on them outside of these wretched lecture rooms.

oh, and what else? you knew he was a fucking bastard.

you knew how smug he was. how absolutely insufferable. you knew the way he scoffed when the professor asked you for the answer instead of him. you knew the way he rolled his eyes when you told him he was wrong. and you knew his full lips always curled up when all the students would gather around the notice board after the exams.

you knew he would always scan his gaze over the crowd, meet your eyes and mouth, "maybe next time, sweetheart." and then walk away.

there's no way an arrogant asshole like him should ever come first in anything! but here you stood in front of the fucking notice board, seeing his name next to the first rank. again.

you had tried everything, really. you had been studying everyday in the library until the staff physically pushed you out of the gates and asked you to go home. you had practiced every question paper in existence, really. then how was he still sitting on top with that stupid fucking smirk of his?

"ugh, don't tell me you're going to the library today." nobara groaned, sprawled out on your dorm bed. "exams literally ended two days ago. you should take some time off!! you promised me you would shop with me once the break came-"

"that was before that bastard beat me again." you mumbled, stuffing a thick notebook into your bag haphazardly.

"are you gonna ditch me for that guy? again? nobody even cares about coming first in uni!! it's a miracle we're all passing, even."

"it matters to me."

"sure does..." nobara pouted. then she sat up and tucked her legs one under the other. she eyed you cautiously and uncannily slow, then grinned like a devil, "what are you doing?"

"what? packing my bag to go to the library?"

"why are you trying so hard to impress him?"

if your body was not a human body, you were sure your eyes would have fallen off and onto the ground. you spluttered, "excuse me? i- i am not trying to impress anybody!"

"uh huh, uh huh." she rested her face on her open palm as if oblivious to the accusations she had placed upon you and your character.

"don't uh huh, uh huh me."

"i am just saying that there are more ways to get a first rank than just studying your ass off you know?" she followed with a cashmere smile, "maybe you should take up another strategy. distract your opponent a little?"

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

this was stupid. really, really stupid.

but nonetheless, you knocked on his dorm room and awaited an answer.

the rest of the floor was empty, most people on vacation or back home for the spring break but not him. he was holed up in his room doing god knows what (studying, probably.)

you subconsciously pulled down the hem of your short denim skirt while awaiting his answer. it's not like you dressed too modest or something. but knowing that you had purposely put on a white, almost see-through long sleeve with a mini, mini denim skirt for all the wrong purposes felt embarrassing.

he would probably see through your act so quickly.

the door finally swung open and there stood an annoyed man in a black, fitted tee and black sweats. his long, choppy hair had been put up in a half-up and his annoyed expression morphed into a sadistic, half-satisfied smile when he saw you. his lips tugged upwards as he took you in, up and down.

"want something?" he asked slowly, leaning against the door frame and towering over you.

you held the books flush against your chest, as if hiding yourself from his scrutinizing gaze. "i-" you swallowed thickly, the words going sour on your tongue, "i just was wondering if you would help me out."

"awh, finally asking for me help, sweetheart?"

the urge to flip him off and walk away was big. but the urge to defeat him and see his crying face was bigger.

"are you gonna invite me in or are we supposed to do this in the middle of the hallway?" you snapped.

god, your self esteem was taking brutal hits right now.

he stepped to his right and mockingly invited you in. you stepped inside into his dark, disheveled dorm room. only purple LED lights had been turned on and from the looks of it, his roommate was gone. possibly on vacation. the raven-head's laptop lay forgotten on his bed and the dimly lit screen had some pop-up game menu asking if he wanted to exit the game.

you looked back at him as he locked off the door. you swallowed yet again, "uhm, so what were you doing?"

"playing." he remarked nonchalantly, nodding towards his laptop. he sat on his roommate's clean bed and you mirrored his actions by sitting on choso's messed bed.

"so?" he quipped again, and the purple led lights casted ghostly shadows across his face, "what does the princess need help with?"

"first, she needs you to drop that cocky, bitchy attitude." you chewed on the inside on your cheek to bite back insults, "second, i- uhm, needed help with the integral problems."

"ah, really? which part?" he stood up, walking over to where you were sitting. looking down, he casted a dubious look as your fingers pulled his tshirt downwards as if nudging him to sit down besides you.

he sat down, uncomfortably close to you on that small bed. he refused to meet your gaze, choosing to pick up the book you had brought with you and flipping through it.

you leaned forward, purposely brushing your perked chest against his biceps. you pointed towards a random problem and whispered, "that one, please."

and just like that, choso kamo was fucked.

you could feel the man's composure was evaporating when he nodded dryly and swallowed in vain. he tried to put distance between you two but you felt confident in your teasing. deciding to press himself closer to his side, molding your curves against his sculpted body, you noticed how he shifted his pants ever so subtly.

"so, you know this needs to be integrated separately first-" his breath hitched as your light fingers skimmed over his arm and you nodded enthusiastically to continue. "right- so. so, you know then you take the numerator okay? and you should- hey w-what?"

he stopped confused as you lightly skimmed over his thighs. your fingers barely brushed over his hard-on. you flashed him a smile, "you look a bit tensed up. i feel like i can't study if you'd be so stiff around me."

"yn." choso breathed as you brushed your soft fingers past the growing tent again. his rough hands held your wrist still as he gave you a pleading look, "what are you doing?"

you took the book out of his hands, placing it somewhere on the bed. then you gave him a reassuring smile, "choso, relax."

and then you sat down on the floor. your hands separated his thighs gingerly and you looked up at him one more time. he had closed his eyes, as if looking at you would make him cum.

you dragged your fingers to the waistband of his pants and tugged them down slowly. his erect dick sprung up, slightly hitting his clothed abdomen. hiding your amusement at his apparent shyness, you slowly pumped his dick.

"look at me." you whispered and he exhaled softly. when his eyes met yours, you took off your shirt, presenting him with your bare torso.

"fuck-" he choked up, eyes transfixed on your perked nipples and the slight goosebumps on your supple skin.

your fingers pumped him languidly and you finally placed wet, kitten licks on the mushroom tip. tasting his salty pre, you swirled your tongue around it, relishing in his breathless whimpers. then, in one go, you took him in. you sucked on it while your hands worked his base.

you looked up at him through fluttering eyelashes and something in his demeanor broke. as if he had finally let lose.

his rough palm pressed against the back of your head, pushing you to take in more. you momentarily gagged around his cock and he moaned as your helpless voice reverberated against his shaft. he pushed you in slowly, looking at the way your eyes started tearing up.

fighting off a feral grin, he whispered, "you have no idea how long i've waited to do this."

then his hands guided you up and down, using your face as a toy for his pleasure. your manicured nails dug into the fabric as he abused your mouth for his pleasures.

"fuck- fuck. fuck. look at you, on your fucking knees. you're so fuckin' pretty, god." he threw his head back and strings of curses and moans left him as you worked in tandem with him. sucking him in pacing with the way he moved your head up and down. you eyes were getting watery and your throat feeling sore but you kept going, sucking harder till you felt him tremble under your strained touches and spit-soaked, red lips.

"i think im gonna cum- f-fuck i-" his voice broke and suddenly your mouth was full of a salty liquid. you swallowed down and ignored the sting that his dick had left behind in your throat.

still struggling to breath, he looked down at you. his calloused fingers softly wiped off the drool on your chin and he pulled you back up to sit you on his lap.

"pretty sure that wasn't a part of calculus." he whispered, almost laughing at his own joke but you were having none of it.

"choso." you breathed, desperation etched into your voice as you rut your hot, wet core against his clothed thigh. your eyes were watery, voice hoarse, "cho-"

"what do you want?" he pulled you in and pressed a kiss on your throat, his hands running over your smooth back, "ask me 'n ill give you the fuckin' world."

you leaned into his soft kisses. his clothed chest rubbed against your perked buds as you grinded yourself harder on him, "i dont know- you. i want you."

"you already have me." he insisted.

turning you around and laying you on his bed as softly as he could, he gave you a last hesitant gaze. his lips pressed chaste kisses down your body till he reached the swell of your breasts. his hand roughly pressed against one while his mouth latched onto the other.

he hummed, too drunk to say anything other than the feeling on your skin on his tongue. his fingers pulled at your hard nipple and you jolted under him, fighting off a moan. he let go with a pop, his eyes trained on your face as he licked a stripe down on your skin before focusing on the previously ignored side.

your hands tangled in his hair and you pressed down his face harder against yourself, insisting him to go rougher on you. as in on cue, he bit you slightly. grazing his sharp canine against your soft tits, he smirked when you shuddered under him.

moving even downwards, he kissed down on the soft fat on your stomach. his hands slowly played with the soft skin and he looked up at you, mumbling against your skin, "you're so fucking beautiful."

he undid the skirt, pulling it past your hips and thighs and throwing it somewhere on the floor. then, he took off his shirt, leaving him bare to be ogled at. you propped up, eyes running over every taut muscle rippling under his skin. mindlessly, you mumbled, "i hate you, you know?"

he gave you an easy smile, "maybe if you focused as much on integrals as you do on my abs, you would have been first."

"excuse me?" you sat up haughtily, "are you fucking stupid? asshole!"

his hands gently guided you back, laying you down. he gave you a teasing smile, "you run your mouth too much. that's your issue, yk."

"did i ask for your opinion or he-lp-" you closed your eyes as the pad of his thumb rubbed your clit through your slick-drenched panties.

he slowly traced circles on the sensitive nub, kissing the inner side of your plush thighs, "i thought that's why you came here?" he pressed an open-mouthed kiss close to where you wanted him. then he looked up and mumbled through a hooded gaze, "i thought you needed my help?"

he pulled the translucent fabric aside, he kissed the bundle of nerves before licking down a patient stripe down to your entrance, "fuc- choso ngh-"

"or is this it?" he spread your thighs apart more, looking at the glistening core, "did you want my help to fuck you as dumb as you are?"

before you could argue, he dipped his tongue in your entrance. his tongue lapping up the juices. he dragged his tongue up, focusing on your clit and the way you squirmed under him when he sucked on the puffy bud harshly.

looking over at your flushed face and being guided by your desperate hands, he pushed in two fingers inside. dragging them in and out, he marveled in the way your body responded to his touches.

your walls spasmed every time he entered and refused to let him go. you bit your lip to quiet yourself down. your thighs were shaking ever so slightly, your mouth agape, lips stained red. your back arched off the bed when he increased the pace and you tugged on his hair and cried out a moan when he used his thumb on your clit and pressed a kiss to your thigh.

"oh my god-" your back arched off as he sucked at your clit again, "fuck fuck fuck, choso. i'm gon'- cum, im gonna cum."

he pressed one last, fleeting kiss to your flushed clit. and he stayed there, drinking up any wayward nectar till you stilled under him. once he was sure you were through your orgasm, he stood up on his knees. wiping his face off, he asked, "you okay?"

you gave him a lazy, unenthusiastic thumbs up and he laughed at the gesture. climbing up, he came up and kissed your nose. you were sure he could taste the salt on your skin.

well, not like it wasn't his fault you were like this anyways.

laying next to you, he stared up at the ceiling and you fidgeted with your hair because it felt as if there was nothing else to do. you chewed on your lips, mulling your words over, "i don't run my mouth too much."

now that the sexual tension was gone. it was awkward, "sorry i said it like that."

"yeah, i guess it's okay."

well there were other things he had said aswell. like "i have been waiting so long for this" or "you have me"... but you didn't feel like raising such important questions when your limbs ached with fatigue and your mind was clouded over with thoughts of choso in your veins.

he gave you a tight-lipped smile and after a minute, he climbed off the bed.

"uh, hey?" you got up too, "do you want me to like... leave?"

"what? no no. i figured you'd get cold." he shook his head and grabbed a plain, blue t-shirt from his closet. he handed it over to you and climbed back in bed, dragging the covers up to cover you both. hesitantly, he draped his hand over your waist and no sooner was he asleep. his soft snores rang through the room and now you lay confused next to him.

nobara had given you some ideas and you followed it. now what? choso barely seem distracted. if anything, it seemed like it had taken off some sort of load off of his chest. he was sleeping so peacefully that you resisted the urge to sock him in the face and run back to your dorm.

while choso lay unaffected, it seems as though this escapade is gonna be rough on you.

well, this is your sign to never take nobara's advice again.

a/n: i actually have a part two written out already. let me know if anyone wants to see it lol. part two is now up! hope you liked it <3

#jjk smut #choso smut #choso #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk choso #choso x reader

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holyghostbelle · 2 months

Text

STEVE HARRINGTON MUST DIE

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

chapter one:

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

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

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

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

“Okay wench”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're in the boys bathroom”

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

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

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

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

“your pretty when you're not being mean”

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

“Asswipe”

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

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

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

“No, Steve” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spit it out Munson”

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

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

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

“Don't fight him,Jesus!”

You clench your fists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, you make a bet with Steve"

“What bet?”

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

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

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

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

“What can I say, I'm a feminist”

Eddie sighs, and then laughs, “okay”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck.

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

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

“Well, what did he say?”he asks.

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

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

continue on

comment to be on taglist

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

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