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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

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mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it.

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free.

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.”

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--”

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--”

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.”

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face.

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets.

“She likes it.”

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.”

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar.

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.”

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.”

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,”

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face.

“As many as will make you happy.”

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.”

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?”

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for.

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father.

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.”

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable.

Low sperm count his ass.

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it.

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.”

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.”

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel.

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them.

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.”

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly.

“Sí, Miggy?”

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so.

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that.

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place.

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder.

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck.

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone.

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day.

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is.

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready.

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall.

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.”

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.”

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.”

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck.

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.”

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest.

“Who would come in?”

“Peter,” you answer.

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see.

“The balcony, then.”

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?”

“Maybe.”

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter.

“Bend over.”

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now.

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.”

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth.

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?”

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again.

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back.

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability.

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable.

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach.

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body.

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs.

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days. “Like… not this.”

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Don’t start.”

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging.

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--”

“Let me guess. She told you.”

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?”

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe.

“Are you sure? I know--”

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.”

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?”

He leers. Peter scuttles away.

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

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pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

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mania // hinata shoyo

tw ⇢ childhood friends to lovers, possessive!hinata, borderline obsessive behavior, teasing, squirting, cunnilingus, manhandling, dirty talk, unprotected sex, grinding, hinata takes a picture of you while you’re covered in cum

wc ⇢ 8.5k

The blaring of your alarm jolted you awake, the last wisps of a strange dream quickly dissipating. Groaning, you reached over to silence the incessant beeping. Another day, another monotonous routine to slog through.

As you raised yourself up on your elbows, you noticed a moving truck parked outside your window. Huh, someone new must be moving into the apartment next door that had been vacant for months. You supposed you should introduce yourself as the neighbor at some point.

You watched with detached interest as a figure emerged from the truck, hoisting a box into their arms with ease despite its considerable size. They wore a baseball cap pulled low, shielding most of their face from view. Suddenly, the person paused, turning to look in your direction. Even obscured by the cap's brim, you registered a pair of distinctly familiar bright eyes that sparked an old warmth within you.

Could it be...? No, it couldn't possibly...

As if hearing your internal questioning, the figure reached up with their free hand to remove the cap. Instantly, you gasped softly in recognition at the sunlight catching on his tousled orange locks and the gentle, friendly features - those of your childhood friend and neighbor Hinata Shoyo whom you hadn't seen in nearly a decade since his family moved away.

But as you drank in the rest of him, you realized this was not the Hinata you remembered. His compact frame had broadened substantially into toned, powerful muscles that rippled beneath his shirt as he moved. Faint tan lines gave a glimpse of the athlete's build lying underneath. Your gaze lingered perhaps a moment too long, feasting on the sight.

It was then that a myriad of conflicting emotions welled up - shock at his unexpected return after so many years, happiness to see your dear friend again, but also a growing flutter of something else in the pit of your stomach you couldn't quite identify. The tiny, energetic boy you fondly recalled was gone, unmistakably.

When Hinata's penetrating stare met yours once more, the intensity simmering there rattled you to your core. It was as if he were seeing straight through you, into you, assessing your reaction to his transformation in minute detail. You looked away sharply, heat creeping up your neck as your heartbeat quickened for reasons you didn't fully understand.

One thing was for certain - the reunion with your long lost friend was about to make your life anything but monotonous...

You stood there, still trying to process that the tall, chiseled man before you was actually little Hinata Shoyo, when he suddenly broke into a blinding smile and started bounding towards your door. Before you could even react, your front door burst open and powerful arms were enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug.

"(Y/N)! I can't believe it's really you!" Hinata's deep voice reverberated through you.

As he squeezed you tight against his firm body, his large hands splayed across your back, one slipping perhaps a little too low without meaning to. You gasped at the unbidden thrill the innocent contact sent through you. Get a grip! This was your childhood friend, for god's sake.

Pulling back finally, you drank in Hinata's features again up close - the sharpened jawline, intense eyes that seemed to glitter with unrestrained joy and something else you couldn't quite place, kiss-swollen lips quirked into a roguish grin.

"Shoyo! I...wow, you've really..." Your voice trailed off as heat flooded your cheeks.

His grin widened mischievously, as if he knew exactly what you were flustered about. "Yeah, I've changed a bit since we were kids, huh? The big leagues will do that."

There was a self-assured cockiness there that the old Hinata definitely lacked. His hands were still planted firmly on you, his thumbs tracing maddeningly slow circles against your sides that had you struggling not to squirm.

"Hey, why don't you come over in a bit after I get settled?" he asked, that molten gaze boring into you. "We have a decade to catch up on, after all."

You couldn't be imagined the darker undercurrent, the subtle heat behind his words and body language. This reunited friend dynamic was quickly veering into dangerous territory. Still, you found yourself nodding dumbly in agreement before he released you finally.

As you watched Hinata retreat back towards the moving truck, you realized with a start that he moved with the same fiery confidence and intensity he always radiated on the court - except this time, it was directed solely at you. A shiver ran down your spine at the implications.

What had once been an innocent reunion between childhood friends was rapidly becoming anything but. You didn't have the slightest clue just how obsessively Hinata's desires had been simmering underneath the surface for you all these years.

A few hours later, you found yourself standing at Hinata's door, your nerves a bundled mess of anticipation and trepidation. You had changed outfits twice, uncertain why you felt the need to put in any extra effort for hanging out with an old friend. But the simmering tension from earlier had you feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious.

Taking a steadying breath, you rapped your knuckles against the door. It opened almost immediately, as if Hinata had been waiting right on the other side. He greeted you with that same earth-shatteringly warm smile and ushered you inside.

"Make yourself at home! I just put the kettle on for some tea if you'd like."

You nodded, drinking in the neat but still half-unpacked surroundings. Pictures were already hung up - most showcasing Hinata's impressive volleyball accolades, but a few candid shots of the two of you together as kids. A pang of nostalgia hit you seeing your grinning young selves, so blissfully ignorant of what the years would bring.

"Those were the days, huh?" Hinata's deep voice rumbled beside your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You jumped slightly, not realizing how close he had gotten without you noticing. He was radiating warmth like a furnace, his clean, crisp scent enveloping you and cranking up your pulse.

"Y-yeah, I can't believe how long it's been," you managed, hating how flustered you sounded.

Hinata held your gaze a beat too long, as if studying you, before thankfully the tea kettle's whistle pierced the tension. He flashed you another knee-weakening grin before brushing past you towards the kitchen, his arm grazing your side ever so lightly.

You sank onto the couch, trying to collect yourself as Hinata pottered about preparing the tea, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having on you. This was just Hinata, your innocent best friend growing up...right? You had to be misreading the heated looks, the weighted silences, the proximity.

By the time he returned with two steaming mugs, placing one in your shaking hands, you had mostly regained your composure. Hinata took a seat beside you, his broad shoulders bumping against yours in the tight quarters. The smell of his intoxicating cologne clouded your senses again.

"So..." He took a long sip, those hauntingly amber eyes flickering over you from beneath his lashes. "What did I miss while I was gone?"

And so the two of you fell back into familiar banter and catching up, the years seeming to slip away with every laugh and anecdote shared. But you couldn't shake the feeling there was an underlying current of tension just beneath the surface - a raging storm of want and obsession Hinata could barely contain, no matter how friendly his words.

He hung on your every word, body angled towards you eagerly as you recounted pieces of your life since he'd been gone. You tried not to stare too openly at the way his toned forearms flexed as he gesticulated or how his shirt stretched deliciously across his muscular chest with each breath. This was torture in the sweetest way.

At one point, Hinata reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a beat too long and sending sparks ricocheting through you. His gaze had darkened an unmistakable few shades, pupils blown wide. You realized with a start your faces were mere inches apart, close enough for you to taste the lingering tea on his lips if you just...

The afternoon drifted by in a warm haze as you and Hinata continued catching up, swapping stories and reminiscing about old times. With each anecdote and laugh shared, you felt the lingering awkwardness dissipate as the familiar comfort and ease of your childhood friendship reasserted itself.

"Oh my god, do you remember the time we tried to camp out in your backyard?" Hinata chuckled, his eyes crinkling in that achingly nostalgic way. "We didn't even make it past 10 pm before you were crying because you thought you heard a bear!"

You gasped in mock indignation, swatting his arm. "I was 8 years old! Of course I was terrified! You're the one who insisted we could survive in the wilderness by ourselves."

"Hey, I still maintain we were doing pretty well until your dad came out and dragged us inside," he countered with a smirk.

Shaking your head at the memory, you couldn't stop the fond smile from stretching across your face. Those careless days of wandering the neighborhood and dreaming up adventures seemed like an entire lifetime ago now. An unexpected pang of wistfulness tugged at your heart seeing how much had changed - how much Hinata himself had changed into this ruggedly handsome man oozing quiet confidence.

As if reading your melancholic turn of thought, Hinata's expression softened almost imperceptibly. Reaching out, his thumb gently grazed your cheek, lingering on the cusp of something more intimate. You fought the urge to turn into his touch, to chase that fleeting connection.

"I missed you, you know," he murmured, molten eyes roving your features as if mapping every curve, every laugh line. "After we moved away, not a day went by I didn't think about you."

The raw honesty, the undisguised yearning in his voice made your breath hitch in your throat. What did he mean by that? You wanted to ask, suddenly hyperaware of the searing heat building between your bodies where your legs were pressed together on the couch.

Before you could find your words, Hinata dropped his hand, the moment breaking. He flashed you a brilliant smile, but you could have sworn you detected a fleeting look of frustration, of wanting more. But the instant was gone in a blink.

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "Tell me more about what you've been up to recently! Any relationships I need to intimidate the guy over?"

And just like that, you found yourself diverted onto a new conversational path, the flirtatious tension fizzling out into easy banter once more. But you couldn't quite shake the feeling that something deeper, something hungrier lurked behind Hinata's every glance, every casual brush of contact between you two.

Part of you was afraid to give in and explore where this was leading, this dizzying chemical pull between you and your newly reformed friend. Another part wondered if you were imagining things, projecting some deeper meaning onto innocent friendliness.

But the largest part of you, the part that recognized the same blazing intensity from Hinata that used to set gymnasiums alight when he took the court...that part was purely intrigued to see just how far this obsession could go if you fanned the flames rather than backing away.

As the conversation continued to flow naturally between you two, you started to relax more into the familiar camaraderie. Hinata's boisterous energy and lack of filter were still very much intact, to your amusement.

"So then this rookie on the team tries to mess with me during practice," Hinata was saying animatedly, "Acting all cocky because he's some hotshot striker right out of university. But he doesn't realize who he's messing with!"

His eyes flashed with a competitive fire that made something stir low in your belly. You could easily envision the intimidating aura he must command on the court these days.

"Well, what happened next?" you prompted, leaning forward with rapt attention.

Hinata flashed you a wicked grin. "Let's just say he learned very quickly not to underestimate the flight patterns of my freak quick strikes."

There was an edge of cockiness, of arrogance coloring his deep voice that you had definitely never heard from him before. This supreme self-assuredness, this awareness of his own prowess was utterly intoxicating coming from the usually humble, sometimes bumbling boy you remembered.

"You should have seen the way he was gaping at me after I spiked that ball right past his face," Hinata continued, leaning back to throw an arm over the back of the couch behind you. "The look on his face was priceless."

His movement brought you two even closer together, close enough for the heady scent of his aftershave to cloud your senses. You tried not to visibly react as the back of his hand came to rest against the nape of your neck, sending tingles down your spine.

"I'll have to take you to one of my games sometime," he murmured, eyes darkening in a way that had nothing to do with the story he'd been telling. "I think you'd enjoy watching me hit the court...get a taste for my stamina and power up close."

The words seemed loaded with innuendo, dropping into the silence like lead weights strangling the air from the room. You swallowed thickly, frozen under the banked intensity of his stare. Was this really still just playful banter to him or was there an undeniable heat simmering behind those amber eyes?

Hinata leaned in a few hateful inches closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke in a low rumble. "I have a feeling you'd appreciate the view, among other things."

The implication in his tone was clear, setting your already heated skin aflame. This was not the innocent boy you had once played pretend with in your backyard. The man sitting before you now was all bravado and unrestrained desire barely contained beneath the surface.

Just as your mind began to reel, Hinata pulled back abruptly with a laugh, the spellbinding tension shattering. "But enough about me, what about you? Any hot dates or romantic prospects I should know about as your best friend?"

You could only gape at him, utterly thrown by theiplodic shift as he regarded you expectantly. Clearly this new Hinata was a master at skirting the line between propriety and inappropriate suggestion, holding you in a constant state of off-kilter want.

Part of you was uncomfortable with wherever this was leading, fearful of crossing boundaries you could never uncross with your childhood friend. But the other part, the growing part, was undeniably intrigued to call his bluff and finally unravel the obsessive beast you saw lurking beneath his careful words and heated stares.

Licking your lips, you managed to find your voice at last. "No, no one serious at the moment. But I'll be sure to let you know if that changes."

The blatant challenge glittered in your eyes, tossing the ball back into Hinata's court now. His pupils flared, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he studied you. It was clear the gauntlet had been thrown between you two - the only question was which of you would be the first to stop playing games and give in.

The charged tension continued to build between you and Hinata over the next few hours, every casual touch and weighted look laden with the promise of something more simmering just beneath.

His words became more boldly suggestive, clearly testing the boundaries to see how you would react. "You know, sometimes at night I still get flashes of the games we used to play as kids in your backyard," he mused at one point, amber eyes burning into you. "Except in my dreams, we were a little...older and the games became much more physical in nature."

You nearly choked on your drink, warmth flooding your cheeks. The blatant innuendo hung heavy in the air, daring you to either deflect or match his energy. Holding his heated stare, you replied evenly, "Is that so? I don't recall those kinds of games, but I'm certainly intrigued to learn the rules now."

A muscle flexed in Hinata's toned forearm where it rested on the back of the couch, the only visible sign of your words affecting him. His gaze darkened further, a low growl sounding in his throat that had your heartbeat thundering. For a moment, it seemed like the dam of restraint was about to break and he would finally act on the smoldering obsession written across every part of him.

But then the moment passed, that infuriatingly placid mask of friendly interest slipping back into place as if nothing had happened. "Well, maybe I'll have to show you sometime and refresh your memory," he said with a wink, so achingly casual.

The back and forth continued like this, each salacious comment and heated look slowly unraveling your nerves until finally you realized with a start that evening had begun creeping in through the windows.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize how late it had gotten," you murmured, disappointment and relief pooling in your chest. Part of you was grateful for the reprieve from the exquisite torture, while the other part ached to keep pushing to see how far Hinata would eventually take this.

"I should probably get going," you continued, standing up from the couch and trying not to look too affected. "But we'll have to do this again really soon, Shoyo. I've missed you."

You realized the truth in your own words as you said them. Despite the simmering tension and undercurrent of something darker lurking within Hinata, it felt so refreshingly wonderful to have your oldest friend back in your life again after all this time.

Hinata's expression softened at your parting words, something painfully tender flickering across his features before the hungry gaze returned. "Count on it. In fact..."

He rose as well, following you towards the door with those powerful, assured strides. You felt dwarfed beneath his towering height, pinned by the smoldering look he swept over your body. Reaching out, his calloused fingers grazed your arm, tracing upwards to curl around the back of your neck with unrestrained possessiveness.

Your breath hitched in your throat, trapped by the unyielding heat in his stare. He pulled you flush against the solid wall of his chest with a gentleness that somehow felt more frightening than outright aggression. You could feel every shuddering inhale, every thump of his hammering heart against your own ribcage.

"How about I walk you home?" Hinata husked, his lips a hair's breadth from yours now. "Make sure you get there safe?"

You could only mutely nod in acquiescence, all power of speech robbed by the delirious tension rapidly crescendoing around you both. His grip tightened ever so slightly against your nape, a clear undercurrent of possession in the deceptively simple request.

The walk back to your apartment building passed in a heated daze, the only sound your shaky breaths and the white noise roaring in your ears. Every nerve ending felt electrified under the weight of Hinata's domineering presence beside you. He was so close, the scent of his cologne and body heat making your head swim with visceral awareness of him.

When at last you reached your doorstep, you started to turn and bid him goodnight, but your words died on your lips as Hinata suddenly crowded you back against the door. His large palm slammed against the wood by your head with a bang, face ducking down to crash his lips against yours in a heated, untamed kiss.

A shocked gasp parted your lips, allowing his insistent tongue to delve deeper, staking its claim as he devoured you. You clutched the hard planes of his chest, knees turning to liquid at the unbridled desire, the feral obsession driving his fevered movements. This was not the chaste affection of childhood friends - this was a man's unyielding passion finding its voice at last.

Then, as abruptly as the searing kiss began, Hinata tore himself away. You slumped back against the door, chest heaving as if you'd just run a marathon, lips still tingling from the lingering heat of him. When you finally managed to pry your eyes open, Hinata was watching you with hooded eyes, body tense like a lion poised to pounce again.

But instead, he simply retreated a step backwards, the briefest flicker of a satisfied smirk playing across his swollen lips. "Goodnight, (Y/N)," he murmured in that deep, rasping timbre that had become your undoing. "Sleep well."

And with that, he turned and started back towards his apartment, leaving you a gasping, disheveled mess still slumped against your door in disbelief.

The next morning, you awoke feeling groggy and disoriented, as if emerging from some fevered dream. Fleeting fragments of memory ricocheted through your mind - the blazing heat of Hinata's kiss, the undeniable hunger in his touch, the gravelly timbre of his parting words that had you squirming restlessly through the night.

Surely that couldn't have been real...could it? Your fingers drifted up to ghost across your still-tingling lips, the phantom taste of him making a shiver chase down your spine. No, it was too visceral, too branded into your very bones to be anything but reality.

Which made Hinata's complete nonchalance when you finally ventured next door all the more confounding.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted you cheerfully after pulling open the door, seemingly oblivious to your rattled state. Not a single hair was out of place, every inch of him the picture of friendly affability, as if he hadn't ravaged you against that same door just hours before.

"I, uh, made some coffee if you want a cup?" he continued when you failed to respond, holding up the steaming mug in front of you. "Cream and sugar's on the counter."

You blinked dumbly, struggling to find your footing as Hinata brushed past you towards the kitchen, jostling your shoulder with his warmth. The familiar citrus notes of his body wash and subtle musk wafted over you, conspiring to make your head spin anew with half-remembered sensations.

Clearly seeing your frozen, flustered state, Hinata's brow furrowed slightly in concern as he regarded you. "You okay? You're looking a little...flushed."

His eyes slowly trailed down your body in an unhurried once-over, like a physical caress raising goosebumps across your heated skin. You fought not to squirm beneath that smoldering amber gaze, dark memories of its intensity looming over you threatening to unravel you completely.

Somewhere beneath the indifferent veil, you caught the brief flash of a knowing smirk playing across Hinata's full lips before it disappeared just as quickly.

"Sorry, I'm just...still waking up I guess," you managed to stammer out at last, averting your eyes.

"Well, wake up quickly then!" Hinata clapped you lightly on the shoulder, the innocent touch somehow loaded with suggestion. "I was thinking we could go on a hike together later and explore some of the old trails? For old time's sake."

His brilliant, sly grin was daring you to read between the lines. What fresh depravities might await you two alone on those "old trails"? The question hung unspoken but heavy between you as your tongue slicked unconsciously across your lower lip.

Hinata's eyes followed the movement hungrily, pupils flaring for the barest hint of a moment before regaining their innocuous sheen. Every part of him screamed he was a master at this game of plausible deniability.

"Only if you're feeling up for it, that is," he added smoothly, stepping close enough for his clean, heady scent to cloud your senses anew. A heavy-lidded look was cast your way, not quite a challenge but definitely dangling an unspoken promise of something more if you were brave enough to agree.

Your throat clicked in a dry swallow as you held his piercing gaze, vividly recalling the taste of his tongue in your mouth, the scorching brand of his hands on your body. There would be no going back once you stepped over this line with him, of that you were certain.

"You know what?" you murmured, leaning in until your lips were a hairsbreadth from brushing against the heated skin of his neck. You felt Hinata's pulse kick up in response, a low rumble vibrating from deep in his chest. "I think a nice long hike is exactly what I need to...clear my head."

As you pulled back, you allowed your eyes to trail brazenly down the corded lines of his throat, across the broad expanse of his chest, daring him to stop playing coy and claim what was rightfully his.

Hinata's eyes were molten fire, burning straight through what little restraint still remained between you two. There would be no more childish pining from afar or hollow games of making you wonder - this day in the wilderness would be about finally indulging the ravenous obsession that had simmered too long unchecked.

This time, there would be no going back to how things used to be. One way or another, you were about to get a firsthand taste of just how far Hinata's hunger for you could go when given the chance.

The hike started out innocuously enough, just two old friends exploring familiar trails and reminiscing about days gone by. The warm spring air and lush greenery surrounding you was almost enough to make you forget the raging wildfire of tension simmering between you and Hinata.

Almost, but not quite.

No matter how casual and lighthearted the conversation flowed, you were hyper-aware of every loaded glance, every "accidental" brush of contact searing straight through you. The memory of Hinata's searing kiss was branded into your very cells, stoking an insatiable yearning you hadn't felt in years.

You found yourself unable to meet his eyes for too long without getting lost in their molten depths, breath hitching at the banked intensity that promised so much more if you let it unfurl fully. Hinata seemed to revel in reducing you to a flustered wreck with little more than a heated stare or casual touch skating along your arm.

The atmosphere grew thicker the deeper you ventured into the secluded trails, a heavy silence blanketing you both as words fell away in favor of something else entirely. You could feel the obsessive pull between you cresting towards its inevitable peak.

It happened so fast when it finally snapped - one moment you were walking slightly ahead of Hinata on the narrow path, the next you felt a solid weight slamming into your back as he crowded you up against the nearest tree trunk. The breath punched from your lungs in a harsh gasp, but any noise was swallowed by Hinata's scorching kiss.

His large hands cradled your face in a punishingly tight grip, angling you backwards as he devoured you with the same unrestrained hunger from last night. You clutched the solid plates of his back as he pressed closer, the hard ridge of his cock grinding shamelessly against you.

There would be no preamble, no questioning what was happening between you two this time. The dam had finally burst and Hinata was claiming you as his obsession laid bare at last. When he finally wrenched his lips away with a guttural groan, you were both panting harshly.

"About damn time," was all he rasped out in that ruined timbre before crashing his mouth back against yours.

No more words needed to be exchanged after that. You simply gave yourself over to the onslaught of sensations - his calloused hands roaming hungrily, his hips rutting against you in primal undulations, his harsh pants scorching your neck as he blazed a trail of opened-mouth kisses downward.

Restraint and uncertainty shattered, nothing existed in this moment except for slaking the ravenous cravings that had smoldered between you both for far too long. Years of repressed obsession, of dark desires aching to be indulged, all came pouring out in a frenzy of tangled limbs and desperate caresses.

There would be no going back after this. You had awoken the unrestrained beast in Hinata and he was never letting you go again. But as his skilled fingers deftly divested you of your top and his solid weight pinned you to the forest floor, you found you had no single regret about succumbing so completely to his smoldering hunger.

The frenzied make-out rapidly descended into uncharted territory, hands grasping and exploring with reckless abandon as you both surrendered fully to the raging obsession. Hinata's broad frame was splayed over you, caging you against the forest floor as he rutted shamelessly into the cradle of your thighs.

You arched off the ground with a keening whine, nails raking down the corded muscles of his back as wet heat pooled between your legs. This was really happening - years of repressed yearning were about to finally find their release. Hinata growled deep in his chest, the scorching brand of his tongue searing its path along the slender column of your neck.

Just as you reached up to tug insistently at the hem of his shirt, desperate to divest the offending barrier and feel his searing skin against yours, Hinata suddenly froze. His harsh pants fanned across your flushed cheek as he drew back slightly, eyes glittering with some emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

Before you could even process what was happening, he rolled off of you in one abrupt, fluid movement. The sudden lack of his solid weight crushed you with its absence, leaving you splayed out and utterly wrecked on the forest floor as he rose to tower over you.

You could only gape up at him, chest heaving rapidly from your entwined state moments before. Hinata simply stood there drinking in the sight of you so thoroughly disheveled, eyes blazing with something that looked a lot like triumph etched across his sharp features.

After allowing the weighted silence to stretch tortuously, he bent down to retrieve your discarded top, holding it out to you without a single word. It was like emerging from a fever dream, the abrupt shift disorienting you even further.

You felt heat prickling across your skin as you shakily accepted the offered garment, struggling to cover your breasts with shaking hands. Hinata didn't so much as bat an eyelash, merely turning on his heel and continuing along the trail as if nothing had happened.

"You coming?" he tossed over his nonchalant shoulder after a few paces, as casual as could be.

Still sprawled there in stunned disbelief, you could only stare after him, mouth agape at the whiplash shift. Part of you was mortified at being left utterly debauched on the forest floor. But the larger part, the part that recognized a deliciously depraved game when you saw one, felt a reckless thrill starting to build.

So that was how Hinata wanted to play things - all heated frenzy one moment only to leave you aching and unfulfilled the next with that stoic nonchalance. Well, two could undoubtedly play at that game if that was the case.

Scrambling the rest of the way into a standing position, you hastened to follow after his retreating form. If Hinata thought he could get away with teasing you to the brink like that without some delightfully torturous form of retaliation, he had another thing coming.

By the time you managed to catch up, his expression was a mask of polite obliviousness, the smoldering heat from earlier carefully banked once more. Only the slightest quirk at the corner of his lips hinted that he was well aware of the effect he'd had on you.

"Lovely day for a hike, isn't it?" was all he said, smiling beatifically as you fell into step beside him.

You shot him a sidelong look, letting your eyes deliberately trail down the distinct bulge still tenting the front of his shorts. That innocent facade wouldn't last long once you decided to enact your vengeance, of that you were certain.

"The perfect day," you agreed lightly, gaze skating back up to meet his heavy-lidded stare.

Let the games begin.

The thick tension lingered heavily between you and Hinata in the days following your hike, neither of you acknowledging or discussing what had transpired on the secluded trail. You went about your routines and conversations as normal, but the undercurrent of unresolved desire simmered with every lingering glance and casual touch that felt electric.

Finally, you decided to invite Hinata over for a home-cooked dinner at your place a few nights later, hoping to find some release from the maddening tension. He arrived with that same nonchalant ease, not a hair out of place, as if he hadn't ravaged you against a tree trunk just days prior.

Dinner itself flowed smoothly, the two of you slipping back into familiar banter and catching up. But you didn't miss the way Hinata's piercing stare trailed over your body when he thought you weren't looking, or how his large hands seemed to linger whenever he passed you something.

"You know, I haven't stopped thinking about what happened on that trail," Hinata said abruptly during a lull in conversation. His tone was conversational, but the smoldering look he fixed you with was anything but casual.

You felt your throat go dry under his heated appraisal. "Oh? And what's there to think about?" you managed to reply, keeping your expression carefully neutral despite your rabbiting pulse.

Hinata's lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk, clearly seeing through your nonchalance. He leaned in closer, braced forearms on the table bringing his face mere inches from yours as he lowered his voice to an intimate rumble.

"Don't play coy, you know exactly what I mean. I meant it when I said I've been waiting years for that moment, to finally get my hands on you like I've craved."

His words struck you like a physical caress, raising goosebumps along your heated skin as you fought not to squirm. The raw honesty, the undisguised obsession burning in Hinata's molten gaze made your head spin.

"I've fantasized about you more times than I can count," he continued in that same low timbre laden with promise. "Imagining what you'd look like splayed out underneath me, writhing and whimpering for more while I took you apart piece by piece."

You swallowed hard, suddenly regretting trying to maintain pretenses of normalcy between you two. This clearly was anything but a normal situation – the powerful, athletic man before you was practically vibrating with years' worth of repressed hunger and fixation.

"So no, I haven't stopped thinking about finally claiming what's mine," Hinata concluded, holding your stare captive with smoldering intensity. "And I won't stop until I've had my fill, until you recognize you've belonged to me all along whether you realized it yet or not."

There was no questioning his blunt words, no interpreting the blatant obsession and dark undercurrents driving him now. Hinata had been pushed to the brink, and he was done with subtlety. You were his all-consuming fixation, the object of his ultimate hunger.

And from the way his hooded eyes trailed over your lips, he was making it abundantly clear he had no intentions of stopping until that appetite was finally sated, no matter how long it took.

The heavy silence stretched between you and Hinata, the weight of his ardent confession hanging thick in the air. His burning stare pinned you in place, demanding a reaction even as your brain struggled to process his blunt words and undeniable obsession.

Before you could formulate a response, Hinata abruptly shoved away from the table and closed the distance between you in two long strides. Powerful arms encircled your waist, hauling you flush against the searing wall of his chest as he captured your lips in a scorching, desperate kiss.

You made a muffled noise of surprise against his mouth, but it quickly melted into undisguised want as the dizzying heat of him overwhelmed your senses. This time there was no restraint, no coy suggestion - just Hinata taking with the same unrestrained obsession he had promised.

His large hands roamed hungrily over your curves, bunching the fabric of your top as he angled your head to deepen the frenzied kiss. You clutched at the straining muscles of his back, whimpering at the solid planes you could feel flexing beneath your palms with each roll of his hips grinding shamelessly against you.

Hinata's harsh growl of approval vibrated against your lips before he seized the opportunity to lick inside, tasting and claiming you with fervent sweeps of his tongue. You melted helplessly back against the solid oak of the table digging into your lower back, utterly at his mercy.

There would be no more feigned nonchalance, no more skirting the issue driving this raging obsession between you two. Not when you could feel the undeniable ridge of Hinata's arousal rutting against your pelvis, or the wet heat of him leaving a searing trail down the vulnerable column of your neck.

"Hinata...we shouldn't—ah!" Whatever feeble protest you tried to voice was swallowed by his searing mouth devouring you once more.

"Don't try to deny this, don't try to pretend this hasn't been leading here all along," he all but growled when he finally tore his lips away, pinning you captive with eyes blazing like molten amber. "I'm done with games and holding back. You're mine, whether you can admit it to yourself yet or not."

His calloused fingers deftly worked at the buttons of your top, divesting you of the garment in one smooth tug as he bared your tingling flesh to his smoldering gaze. You shuddered, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed and vulnerable you were beneath his ravenous stare.

But any shred of self-consciousness was forgotten the next instant as Hinata dipped his head, fevered mouth searing a path downwards across your flushed chest. Your breath stuttered in your lungs as he reached the peak of your breast, suckling hard enough to leave a mark before soothing the sting with his tongue.

You couldn't contain the moan that spilled from your lips, the visceral pleasure and aching heat too intense to remain silent. Hinata rumbled his approval, calloused hands gripping your hips in a punishing hold as he continued his relentless onslaught.

The searing trail he blazed over your trembling body was unrelenting, leaving a map of open-mouthed kisses and love bites in his wake. His teeth nipped at the soft flesh of your stomach, followed by the soothing swipe of his tongue and then the graze of his nose as he inhaled your scent.

Every sense was drowning in him - the searing heat of his palms, the heady citrus notes of his cologne, the low growls emanating from deep in his chest as he slowly drove you mad with sensation.

You could feel the throbbing ache growing between your thighs, the telltale dampness soaking your panties. There was no disguising your arousal from him now, no pretending the raw desire coursing through your veins was anything less than the truth.

Hinata was a man possessed, his fixation driving him onward as he dropped to his knees, yanking down your leggings and underwear in one smooth movement. You felt a rush of cool air hit your exposed center, the sudden vulnerability sending a shockwave of goosebumps rippling across your heated skin.

The breath punched from your lungs as Hinata surged forward, burying his face between your legs without warning. You cried out, head dropping back with a thunk against the unforgiving wood of the table as pleasure jolted through you.

He wasted no time, licking a broad stripe up your center before suckling on your clit, making your knees buckle beneath you. All you could do was clutch the short strands of his hair for purchase, gasping and keening with every sweep of his talented tongue.

Hinata seemed just as lost in the frenzy as you, grunts of pleasure reverberating through your very core as he devoured you whole. You could feel his strong arms gripping your hips, pinning you in place while his thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your hipbones.

The sight of him kneeling before you, head buried between your thighs and feasting on your wet cunt with single-minded determination was too much. The white-hot pleasure rapidly crested, threatening to send you hurtling over the edge at any moment.

Your moans grew louder, fingers tightening in Hinata's hair as your climax neared. You felt his lips curve into a smirk against your slick flesh, clearly recognizing how close you were. Then, just as your entire body was coiled tight as a bowstring, poised to snap, Hinata withdrew.

"Wha—why did you stop?" you panted out in a whine, hips canting forward in desperation.

You were so achingly close, could feel the phantom pressure of his tongue where it had just been. You were right on the cusp, teetering on the edge. One more swipe of his skilled tongue and you would have tumbled over.

"Because," Hinata purred, his warm breath ghosting over your throbbing cunt and making you shudder, "there’s no way in hell I'm letting you come unless it's on my cock."

With that, he rose from his knees, dragging his tongue along the column of your throat. You whimpered, the loss of contact making you ache even worse than before. Then Hinata's lips were back against yours, hot and insistent, and you tasted yourself on his tongue.

You groaned, fingers fumbling to tear at the buttons of his shirt and push the offending garment off his shoulders. Hinata made a rumbling noise of approval deep in his chest, calloused fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.

The moment his shirt fell away, exposing the hard planes of his sculpted torso, you were clawing at the waistband of his jeans. You wanted him, needed him, craved the feeling of his throbbing cock splitting you open.

Your frenzied movements had him chuckling, the deep sound sending another shiver racing down your spine. But Hinata was just as far gone, his large hands grasping yours and helping to yank down his pants and boxers in one smooth motion.

The sight of his erect cock, swollen and throbbing with precum glistening at the tip, had your mouth going dry. Your eyes trailed down the hard lines of his stomach, taking in the rest of his powerful body. The faint trail of hair leading downwards, the sculpted v-lines that were a roadmap to the most delicious places on earth, and his thick cock standing proud and ready for you.

Hinata growled deep in his throat, seizing your hips in a punishing grip and hoisting you onto the edge of the table. Your thighs parted automatically, a whimper falling from your lips at the rough manhandling.

Then the thick head of his cock was nudging against your slick folds, not quite pushing in but still driving you wild with anticipation. His thumb guided the fat tip along your slit, rubbing it in small circles as he let it dip slightly inside, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

He was watching your face with such rapt intensity, his pupils blown wide and nostrils flaring with every shaky inhale. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, the corded muscles of his stomach twitching and flexing. He was just as lost in the sensation as you were, his self-control slipping the more his cock slid through your folds.

You could feel your arousal coating his thick length, slicking him up with each pass. Hinata's breaths were coming quicker now, his eyelids fluttering and his head dropping forward as he ground his cock along your aching center.

He was right on the cusp, his hips moving erratically. He was trying to hold back, to maintain his composure and tease you even longer. But you could see the cracks starting to show in his mask of restraint, could see how much he was struggling to hold himself back.

Just when the tension was about to snap, Hinata reached down, grasping his cock at the base and giving it a few rough pumps. His eyes rolled back in his head, a deep groan of pleasure rumbling through his chest as he came.

Thick ropes of cum painted your stomach and breasts, dripping down his fist as his cock pulsed and twitched in his grip.

It was so fucking hot, so depraved, to have Hinata's release marking your body, to know you had driven him to this level of ecstasy.

He gave a shuddering gasp, eyelids fluttering open as the last dregs of his orgasm washed over him. The look of utter satisfaction on his face as he took in the mess he'd made of you, the possessive gleam in his eye as he raked his gaze over your body, was enough to have you aching and needy all over again.

You watched on curiously as he reached over to grab his phone, aiming the camera at you. Your mouth went dry at the realization of what he was doing, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you at the thought.

"Don't move," Hinata murmured, voice heavy with satisfaction and desire. "I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. You don’t know how many times I've fantasized about this, how often I've jerked myself raw thinking of you covered in my cum."

The click of the camera captured the moment forever, the proof of your mutual debauchery immortalized on the screen. His lips curved into a sinful smirk, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"My turn," he growled.

In the next instant, he had you pinned back against the table, his weight settling on top of you as his tongue dragged through the mess on your stomach. You whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair and hips canting upwards to seek out some kind of relief.

Hinata hummed his approval, lapping up every last drop of his release before shifting further upward, licking and nipping his way across your heaving chest.

His cock was already hard again, pulsing and grinding against your soaked folds. The heat of him was searing, setting your body ablaze with pleasure. He was teasing you, torturing you, his lips sucking a dark bruise along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"You know," he murmured, hips rolling in an unhurried pace, his words a rumble against your ear, "I could get used to this view."

A strangled moan escaped your lips as his cockhead notched against your entrance, the heady promise of release just within reach. Hinata was still teasing you, dragging his shaft along your soaked slit as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"But if I'm going to keep fucking you on this table, I need to make sure you won't spill any leftovers."

You could feel his lips curve into a smirk, the barest hint of a chuckle vibrating through his chest. But you were too far gone, too lost in the sensation of his thick cock sliding through your folds and grazing your throbbing clit.

Your entire body was tensed like a bowstring, wound up so tightly that the slightest movement would snap it. And when Hinata finally, finally, pushed his thick cock inside you, the string snapped.

You cried out, arching off the table as stars exploded behind your eyelids. Pleasure unlike anything you'd ever experienced washed over you in waves, your cunt spasming around the solid girth stretching you open. You felt the foreign sensation of something liquid gushing from your pussy, coating Hinata's cock and your inner thighs.

"Fuck," Hinata hissed, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Did you just squirt? You didn’t tell me you were a squirter, fuck, that's so fucking hot."

He sounded almost drunk, his words slurred as he started thrusting into you. Each pump of his hips had another wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body convulsing and clenching around his cock.

Hinata fucked you through the aftershocks, his hips slamming into you and driving his cock impossibly deep. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingernails digging into the straining muscles as you held on for dear life.

He was relentless, pounding into you and chasing his own release. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt, the harsh slap of his balls against your ass, the groans and grunts escaping his throat – all of it only heightened the sensations overwhelming your body.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, a string of curses falling from your lips as the pressure built once again. This time you knew you wouldn't be able to hold back, wouldn't be able to keep from exploding into a million pieces.

The tension was coiling tighter, your body trembling as Hinata fucked you harder. It was too much, the pleasure was too intense, it was almost painful. You were so close, you were almost there, you just needed a little more, a little—

"Oh god," you cried, your body arching off the table as your cunt clenched around his cock, gushing another flood of liquid.

Hinata let out a growl, his thrusts becoming more erratic. You could feel his cock pulsing and twitching, his breathing ragged and uneven. He was right there with you, his own climax building.

"That's it," he rasped, his grip on your hips bruising as he slammed into you. "Fuck, I can feel your cunt milking my cock, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

With a final cry, his hips stuttered and he came, his cock spurting ropes of cum deep inside you. The sensation of his hot release filling you up, the feeling of his cock pulsing and twitching as he emptied himself, was enough to send you over the edge again.

Your orgasm tore through you, your body convulsing and gushing around his cock. The pleasure was so intense, it was almost painful. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down your thighs and soaking the table beneath you.

"God, I love watching you squirt," Hinata growled, his eyes half-lidded as he watched his release leak from your cunt. "I could do this all day, watch you cream all over my cock and soak this table. You're so fucking hot."

You could only moan, your body completely spent and limp from the intensity of your orgasms. Hinata pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your pussy with a wet squelch. More cum leaked from your cunt, dribbling down your thighs.

He scooped some up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you with a satisfied smirk. You shuddered, the feeling of his cum inside you making your cunt clench around his digits.

"Mmm, we're gonna need to do a lot more work to make sure none of this leaks," he purred, his other hand trailing over your stomach and smearing the remnants of his release into your skin. "We can't let any of this go to waste, now can we?"

You whimpered, his words and touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. He chuckled, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your cum-filled pussy.

"That's right," he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a scorching kiss. "Let's see just how many times I can make you squirt before the night's over."

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #hinata smut #hinata x reader #hinata x reader smut #hinata shouyou #hinata shoyuo #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo smut

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silverfairywings · 2 months ago

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— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT I

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: not sure what this is but let me know if u want more lol

You’d think that hiding behind the Spymaster of the Night Court, a literal Shadowsinger, would allow you to blend in well enough to go unnoticed.

The auburn silk of your dress is a near perfect match to the grandeur of the Autumn Court ballroom you’re unfortunate enough to have to be in, and you tell yourself that the attempt at camouflage is the reason you were so drawn to the colour.

When Rhysand approached you and the rest of the Inner Circle with the invitation of a ball thrown by Eris to celebrate his newly inherited title of High Lord, your sister Nesta had dragged you out to shop for new dresses. You were adamant to wear an old gown until the dress caught your eye, the gold beads glinting in the light, almost mimicking a gently burning fire. The deep orange hue of the silk slip was muted ever so slightly by the sheer overlay, cinching at the waist before cascading to the ground and the wisps of fabric around your legs gave the illusion of sparks every time you moved.

Nesta had made a comment about the dress being perfect for Autumn Court and you had to physically restrain yourself from grimacing. You just liked the colour. It didn’t mean a thing.

Nesta and Feyre looked like perfect representatives of the Night Court and even Elain was donning soft shades of purple and blue tonight, a perfect embodiment of twilight. You loved your sisters, but you felt like you never quite fit in to the Night Court the way they had grown to. And you certainly felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb tonight.

Eris was definitely going to comment on the dress and you curse yourself internally, not having thought it through. He was jarring at the best of times, let alone a night that was solely dedicated to him. And you were dressed in the colours of his court.

You were extremely glad when Eris’ mother was the one to greet you all when you first entered the Autumn Court and not him. It allowed you to fully appreciate the beauty of his lands with unrestrained awe. Your sisters knew that Autumn had always been your favourite season, so the way you were so happy catching each falling leaf out of the sky was even more amusing to them considering they also knew how little patience you had for Eris.

That’s why you find yourself hiding behind Azriel’s wings tonight. As soon as you spot Eris making his way to greet Rhysand and Feyre, you sneak behind the Shadowsinger in an attempt to make yourself invisible.

“Seriously?” mutters the Illyrian, but he stays still for you all the same.

“Keep quiet,” you hiss, prodding him in the back. “You know very well how much he targets me. Gods, I thought he hated Cassian, but I seriously give him a run for his money.”

Mor, overhearing you, snorts into her cup. She creeps up next to you, lowering her voice to match yours. “You are so oblivious. He doesn’t hate you. He wants-”

“Might I interrupt the riveting conversation that I’m sure is going on behind the Shadowsinger’s wings?” you hear a voice drawl from in front. Your blood runs hot at being caught and you nearly burst into flames when Azriel starts to lower his wings, revealing you and Mor. She rolls her eyes at Eris’ attitude and walks away to talk to the pretty faerie in the green dress.

The years have softened the strained relationship between the Circle and Eris and none of them view him as a threat any longer. That doesn’t mean they find him any less irritating though.

Eris smiles at you when you cross your arms and clench your jaw, already feeling impatience with him bubbling up inside of you. He glances down at your dress and his lips quirk up a little higher. “Looking stunning as ever, Y/N.”

The others have already dispersed, and even Rhysand and Feyre have started to garner the attention of other important people they need to talk to. As they start to leave however, Rhysand speaks to in your head. Let me know if he’s bothering you too much. Just… try not to throw a plate at his face this time, please.

You glare at the back of Rhysand’s head. That was one time.

He doesn’t respond but you see his shoulders shaking with laughter for a millisecond before Feyre nudges him to behave in front of an Autumn Court official.

“Talking about me?” Eris asks, amused. You open your mouth to snap back at him, but notice the growing number of guests that are around the two of you now that the others have moved away. You bite your tongue for once. He is the High Lord now after all.

You plaster on a sweet smile. “Only good things… High Lord.”

Eris raises his brows at that, but chooses not to comment. He holds out his hand instead. “Dance with me.”

You’re about to laugh in his face and tell him absolutely not, but his request has caught the attention of a couple guests and they nosily look over in what you’re sure they think is a subtle way. “I’m a little tired. Sorry,” you say through gritted teeth, still smiling.

“Surely you’re not going to deny me such a small request on tonight of all nights?” he says softly, part mocking and part pleading.

You know for a fact he won’t force you to dance, but if you deny him in front of the other guests, it’ll undermine him and while you dislike him, you’re not that cruel. Plus, Feyre would probably have your head if you were to insult a High Lord in public. In private, she only ever laughs when you disparage him, but appearances are everything.

“Of course not,” you deadpan, reaching for his outstretched hand and trying not to react to the way the warmth radiating through his palm is warming your previously cold fingers.

He leads you into the crowd of dancing guests, placing his free hand on your waist as you rest yours on his shoulder, keeping a respectable distance. He rolls his eyes and tugs you forward so your chest is nearly flush against his own. When you glare at him, he merely smirks. “It’s a little hard for two people to dance when one of them is halfway across the room from the other.”

You hear a giggle from one of the guests near you and nearly whip around to glare at them. Eris catches the expression on his face and it’s as though he can read your mind with the way he’s holding back a grin. “My apologies,” you mumble, before lowering your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “Smartass.”

“I do so enjoy your pet names for me,” Eris teases, utterly unbothered. Every time you interact with him, you swear to yourself you’ll keep a cool head. And every time, you fail. “I like your dress.”

You narrow your eyes at the compliment, but since he hasn’t actually said anything insulting or with a double meaning like he usually does, you don’t have anything to be annoyed about and begrudgingly accept the nice words. “Thank you.”

“You look ravishing in the colours of my court.”

You step on his foot.

He hisses in pain, but the grin doesn’t leave his face when he sees that he’s succeeded in irritating you.

“I didn’t choose the colours on purpose,” you say, defensively. “I just happened to like the dress.”

“You know, you often happen to like Autumn colours,” he muses, expression turning thoughtful and not in a sarcastic way this time. “Or any colour that isn’t of the Night Court’s fashion. Tell me, do your sisters know how you long to find someplace you actually belong?”

Your stomach drops and you feel like you’ve been doused in freezing cold water.

“I wasn’t aware you were a Daemati, High Lord,” you say, scowling. Eris furrows his brows at the title and spins you out before bringing you back in, this time a little closer than before. “You’re wrong.”

“Stop calling me that,” he mutters, a hint of impertinence in his voice. It takes you by surprise since you assumed he’d be revelling in all the glory, the power of High Lord coursing through his veins. Instead, he sounds like a boy being denied his favourite sweets. “Call me Eris again.”

“No.” You frown at him, pulling back slightly to meet his stubborn gaze. “We’re not friends. You’re the High Lord of Autumn now and I’ll be addressing you as such.”

“What, I’m High Lord now, so you have to respect me all of a sudden?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yes,” you sigh, already anticipating this conversation taking a turn you don’t want it to.

“You have to be pleasant with me?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to my commands?”

“Yes.”

His smile turns wolfish. “Then I command you to call me Eris.”

“I can think of a few other things to call you, if not High Lord,” you mutter, careful not to allow any eavesdroppers to hear.

“And while I’d love to hear them, I doubt they’d be suitable for the delicate ears of court officials.”

While he’s exactly right, the way his eyes twinkle with mischief tells you that he’s insinuating a completely different type of unsuitable and your cheeks burn.

“Don’t you ever tire of being so wearisome?” you say, drily. His eyes soften ever so slightly as they scan over your face.

“Don’t you ever tire of pretending?” he asks quietly, meeting your eyes determinedly. You don’t bother asking him to clarify.

“Why can’t you just mind your own business?” You try to snap at him, but the way his words hit you deep have all the bite leaving your voice and instead you sound imploring.

Eris doesn’t answer your question and just keeps going as the two of you dance. “My mother wants me to tell you that you’re welcome to visit any time, by the way.”

“I’ll let Rhysand know.”

“She didn’t say Rhysand, she said you.”

”What?” You look up at him, shocked. That was probably the last thing you expected him to say, “Why in the world would your mother want me to visit? She saw me hurl that plate at your head last month.”

“Yes, and she told me I probably said something to deserve it,” he grumbles, but without any real malice when talking about his mother. It’s clear as day that he has nothing but love for the sweet woman.

“She’s a smart one, your mother,” you say, grinning at the thought of Eris being reprimanded. You catch him watching you without speaking and immediately frown, not wanting him to think you’re actually smiling at him. Which you definitely aren't. “I still don’t understand why she wants me to visit.”

Eris shrugs, although his eyes stray from yours, and he’s seemingly bored with the conversation as he looks down to the floor as your feet move gracefully across it. “She likes your attitude.”

“My bad attitude?” you ask, wrinkling your nose in genuine confusion.

“Passionate,” he corrects you, meeting your eyes again, and you find no traces of humour in them. “And ‘fiery’ as she called it. Don’t feel bad for not being able to always control your emotions in front of others like the rest of them. You’re allowed to feel.”

Any response you might have had is lost to nothing and the silence stretches as your heart feels like it’s slamming against your chest. It’s a mix of fear and something else with the way he’s looking at you and you suddenly need to be anywhere else.

Clearing your throat, you step back in the middle of dancing and lower your hand from his shoulder to smooth down your dress. Your other hand is still ensnared in his and it lingers there while he speaks.

“If you do accept my mother’s invitation, you don’t have to see me if you don’t want to,” Eris adds and you try and listen out for any veiled mocking.

“Why do you even care?”

At this, his lips quirk up almost involuntarily. Slowly, his fingers start to loosen up around your hand and he begins to let go, faintly trailing his hand down your own as he does so. Instead of stepping away, he walks closer, stepping to the side slightly to lean down so his lips brush against your ear in a way that makes your breathing erratic.

“My mother was telling me that she saw you practically light up like a forest fire surrounded by the trees. She feels as though you should be able to stay longer next time,” he says in a normal voice before lowering it to a whisper. “She also overheard one of your sisters call Autumn your favourite season.”

Before you can protest and, let’s face it, lie to him, Eris calmly walks away and you know for a fact that the smug bastard is smirking at the way he’s succeeded in getting under your skin.

There’s no way you’re accepting his mother’s invitation, as sweet a woman as she is. You think about all the possible ramifications and decide to push the thought in its entirety out of your mind.

Nothing good ever comes from agreeing to dance with Eris. It’s extremely similar to playing with fire, you think.

#eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris x you #Eris vanserra fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris fanfic #Eris vanserra imagines #eris x oc

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chatsukimi · 9 months ago

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ｓｃａｒｓ： "ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴀʏ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʟɪꜰᴇ"

Sukuna x deceased reader. pt 1.

Sukuna whose flames are unleashed solely on special occasions. One day, when Yuji wonders aloud why he has two, he tells the brat to "shut up and get yourself your first technique before asking for seconds." Yuji winces, shutting up nevertheless.

Sukuna who quietens next to the bonfire on New Years. The open conflagration bursts and wanes. He peers at the sparkling flames, dancing before Yuji's worn out sneakers. He wills the boy to let him switch places- one minute, just as he had promised when Sukuna restored his heart. Now the Devil will restore his own.

Sukuna who appears, silent, next to a mossy pillar in the middle of a redwood forest; a trick of Cursed Technique, long lost. He only has a minute: prepare the incense, plant the prayers, spare one longing gaze at your statue. He clenches his teeth as he hears Yuji banging on inside his mind, but it's the one chance he has of being with you, alone.

Sukuna who had always been concentrated compared to the other Special Grade sorcerers, capable of miraculous devotion. Suffice to say, he likes it best when there aren't passerby's, mistaking zeal for shortcoming.

He sinks to the ground, bowing his head, pressing his palms together, before wisps of flame start drifting from between them, touching every candle and incense to life. Wisteria scents float over him.

In this forgotten corner of the world, all who remember you are the monks who tend this shrine, and the strongest of them all.

When Yuji wakes up, on the stone floor of the Fujiwara Clan's tombs, sputtering at the cold. Shocked, later on, by the violent burn in the middle of his chest he had never seen before.

"Curious..." Gojo murmurs, inspecting the wound. "Yuji, you're growing more and more like him."

This used to be his scar.

Sukuna who doesn't come out for days when Gojo informs Yuji about the Fujiwara Clan's destruction. What was he doing at the shrine? Why did he kill them all, the children, the soldiers, the wives?

Everyone assumes Sukuna's just tired of Yuji's moral clamouring. No one suspects he is drowning in the shadows of his domain, his head collapsed back onto the animal skulls, exhales spilling out in long drawn out phrases, in the nightmare he created.

Sukuna who used to hate fire because it quashed the dark, until he saw you manoeuvre flames and arrows as though they were a second skin. He was the Disgraced One, but you- you were kind.

Sukuna who was killed by you, when he killed your clan. He was promised your technique when he said he would protect you. He made a vow. He had to keep it.

So, when it came time, he had simply let you press your burning hand upon his chest and feel him recline in agony. He knew it would be the last time you touch him. He wanted to feel it burn.

"Sukuna, you told me you would try to get better. You told me you didn't care how the others saw you, about us- how could you lie to me?"

He never wanted to lie to you, of all souls. If it makes you feel better, he still thinks of you when he uses your flames, only on special occasions. Your strength, your grace, and the look you wore as you killed him, they all come wobbling, like moth to a flame. Like a lowly cast-away boy on his way, in rage, to destruction.

Sukuna who thinks to himself, "you have given your technique to me, but what if I had asked for your soul with mine forever?", looking for your voice in the flames.

It only cracks and cackles.

It is Yuji who first notices you on the street.

"Hey! Hey!"

You turn around. A boy with pink hair is jogging towards you. He waves.

"Oh. Hi, do I know you?"

"Don't think so. You just look really alike to someone I saw a while ago at a shrine."

You can't pinpoint what but the slit on his face... you can't tear your eyes from it. You shake your head. What is wrong with you today?

"I don't go to shrines," you say. Your fingers itch to reach out to graze his cheek. "... that's a cool scar you've got there. Both sides of your face. They say scars are where you were killed"

"Oh I've got many scars," he mutters sheepishly. "A big one on my chest, s'kinda lame though, 'cause I don't remember how I got it."

You laugh. "Me too." You drag your T-shirt neckline down just an inch, pointing at it with your thumb. "I was born with mine."

A scar.

A burn.

A flaming arrow.

Right above your heart.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #heian era #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuji itadori

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obsessedwithceleste · 10 months ago

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Theodore Nott and the Fortress of Trust Issues: how to cast a patronus in 3 easy steps

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: Theodore Nott had never been able to cast a patronus. In third year, when dementors were swarming the castle, of course he tried, but was never able to manage more than a whisp of soft silver. Come seventh year, he was painfully unsurprised when his efforts were once again lack luster. Turns out, with the right tutor, casting the formidable charm might not be as impossible as he thought.

word count: 3.8k

Theodore glowered menacingly at the students below him chattering happily amongst themselves in the courtyard. A puff of smoke slipping through his lips as he leaned on the railing of the astronomy tower. Theo knew his life wasn’t exactly one that most would be envious of. Sure his family had money, power, but add on a mother who had died far before her time, and a death eater father whose attention it was far better to avoid? Theo laughed dryly to himself.

Theo knew he didn’t have many happy memories. Truly happy memories. He was painfully, excruciatingly, self aware. Still, nothing made it quite so glaringly obvious that his life was rather pathetic than broadcasting to his entire charms class his bitter inability to force even a wisp of silvery bloody smoke out of his bloody wand. Yes. Flitwick had finally found his weakness. That damned Patronus spell. Being one of the top students of his year, it was humiliating. It wasn’t even expected that most of the class would be able to cast a corporeal patronus, yet even Draco and Matteo of all people managed to produce soft billowy clouds of silvery magic.

Theo shook his head at the thought, trying to clear his mind. His eyes once again began gazing about the courtyard before landing on a lone figure sitting beneath a willow tree, hidden from view unless one was looking close enough. Theo brought his smoke to his lips once more, inhaling deeply as he watched a burst of silver leave the tip of the girl’s wand. His eyes darkened with envy, remembering the words of his professor from earlier that day.

“Wonderful, y/n. Just wonderful! A fox! Withdrawn when necessary, but natural adaptors. Embodying intelligence, independence, mischief, and beauty. A unique patronus indeed.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched the silver creature trot happily through the air before turning and dropping his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it harshly. With one last glance at the girl sitting awestruck with her silvery companion, he descended down the stairs, determined to spend the rest of his night, moping in peace.

Step 1: Find a Pretty Tutor (read: have a tutor forced upon you under the threat of a failing grade.)

“What do you mean a tutor? You of all people?” Matteo laughs mercilessly as Theo scowls at him. “Can’t believe I’m doing better than you in a class, you must be bloody miffed.”

Theo tuned out his friend’s laughter as he continued to glower at the floor in front of him. The two boys currently sat in the Slytherin common room as Theo hastily tried to finish up his ancient runes homework before dragging his arse to the library to meet his supposed tutor. Matteo was making this quite difficult however as he continued to poke fun at the boy, rattling on about how, for once, Theo had had the nerve to not be good at something. The horror.

Snapping his textbook closed and sliding it into his book bag, Theo began gathering his things, choosing to forego the blasted assignment.

“Aww, have fun with you little tutor Teddy. Maybe it’ll be that foxy Ravenclaw you’re always staring at. Bit ironic that her patronus is a fox innit?” Matteo teases as he watches his friend’s jaw clench at the mention of the pretty girl.

While perhaps Matteo wasn’t the most entirely perceptive of the bunch, it would take a blind man to not notice Theodore’s eyes flicker over to the group of Ravenclaws throughout their shared charms class.

“Shut up Matt. Shouldn’t you be shagging Astoria in a broom closet somewhere?” He grunts out.

Matteo smirks, knowing he’d found a tick, but deciding to leave it for another time.

“Not a bad idea mate, see you later. You’ll have to tell Enzo and I all about your tutoring session tonight,” he says with a wink before sauntering off towards the girl’s dormitories.

With a heavy sigh, Theo began making his way slowly towards the library, silently cursing Professor Flitwick as he recalled their conversation from earlier that day.

Class was finally wrapping up for the day and Theo was about ready to bolt out of that blasted classroom, but Flitwick had other ideas.

“Mr. Nott? A word?” He’s called from his grand podium in the center of the room.

The summons had garnered a few raised eyebrows and surprised looks from his fellow classmates, and Theo had trudged solemnly up to the professor.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you appeared to have had some difficulty today,” the professor and stated rather bluntly after all the other students had shuffled out.

Theo blinked back up at his professor.

“You do understand of course, that I cannot grant marks for a spell you did not perform?” He asks finally.

Theo once again stares blankly back at the professor.

Appearing to grow uncomfortable under the boy’s steady, unwavering gaze, Flitwick lets out a deep sigh.

“Mr. Nott. I’m aware that you are quite the talented young wizard, and I simply do not want to have to give you low marks on an assignment I’m confident you could perform well on.”

Still nothing from the brown haired Slytherin.

“I’ve arranged for you to begin working with a tutor until you’re able to cast the spell.” He says finally.

Theo frowns. He’s never had a tutor before. Never needed one.

“Professor-“ he begins to protest.

“The two of you can begin later this evening. 8 o’clock in the library,” Flitwick interrupts before shooing him off to his next class.

Finally arriving outside the library doors, Theo made another look of distaste before pushing through the large double doors. His eyes gazed over the tables not entirely sure who he was looking for as the twat had never actually told him who would be tutoring him. He felt his body freeze momentarily when his eyes locked with another pair of bright eyes and he began silently cursing Matteo. The bloody fucking bastard had jinxed him.

You sat quietly at your table in the library, waiting for the clock to slowly hit 8 as you mindlessly worked away at your essay for ancient runes. During charms today, Flitwick had noticed one of your classmates have a particularly difficult time with the lesson and asked for you to guide them in the right direction. Not one to argue with your head of house, you’d easily agreed.

As the clock struck 8, you began casting quick glances every so often at the library doors, until suddenly you were locked in the gaze of none other than Theodore Nott. Surely he wasn’t the one you would be tutoring? You didn’t know the boy particularly well, but you did know that he was a fierce competitor for top of the class in most of your other lessons. You watched silently as he made his way over to your table, offering him a small smile.

“Charms?” He asks, tossing his bag onto the table with a gentle thud.

You give him a slight nod, eyeing his tall figure as he sat lazily across from you.

“Well I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’ll be wasting your time. Never been able to cast the damn spell. Probably never will,” he says, leaning back on the chair, eyes not wavering.

You purse your lips. Looking at the handsome boy in front of you.

“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then, won’t you?” You reply, a challenging tone apparent in your voice.

The boy smirks at this, cocking his head as if really getting a good look at you for the first time before finally replying, “I’ve never been particularly trusting.”

“Well then I guess you’ll be learning all sorts of things.”

You take your charms book out of your bag, opening it to the reading you had been assigned earlier in the week. You glance up to see Theodore mirroring your actions silently.

“A patronus, is a concentration of pure happiness and hope, derived from the recollection of a single talisman memory which is essential in its creation,” you read, the underlined section of the textbook was one you had pre-selected as it was the concept most people struggled to grasp.

Watching Theo stiffen and clench his jaw slightly, you knew you were right.

“When someone is unable to cast a patronus, I’ve found it’s usually because they haven’t figured out yet how to focus in on their talisman memory,” you continue.

“And if someone doesn’t have a talisman memory?” Theo’s voice interrupts.

You glance up at him in surprise.

“Everyone has a talisman memory. We just need to find it.”

“I don’t have one.” He insists.

“Then we’ll make one.”

The boy sighs in frustration. Fists clenching as he glares at the textbook in front of him.

“It might not be as complicated as you’re making it. I know when Flitwick was in class, he made it seem like your talisman memory had to be a big, grande gesture, or a clear moment of inexplicable joy. But I think the little moments count too. Everyone has been happy at least once,” you say, watching as Theo slowly relaxes.

“What do you think about?” He asks, before quickly back tracking “You don’t have to answer that.”

“All sorts of things really,” you reply, offering another small smile. “When I got my first wand at Ollivander’s. Honeydukes with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Playing quidditch. Specially that time we beat Gryffindor.”

Theo snorts at that, a small grin reaching his lips.

“Point is, it doesn’t matter how small the moment is, long as it made you happy.”

You’re met with silence, as Theo continues to stare down at his textbook, a look a deep contemplation on his face.

“Think that’s enough for today. Flitwick said to keep up the sessions until you’re at least able to cast an incorporeal patronus, so, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Theo nods his head, still not meeting your gaze.

“Does 6 o’clock on the lawn work?” You ask, only to be met with another nod.

Sensing the boy needed a bit of space, you quickly gathered your things before leaving the boy to his thoughts.

Step 2: Accidentally Fall In Love with Your Tutor (if you weren’t half way there already.)

You sit staring out at the vast lake in front of you, watching as the breeze pushed against the water, forming rolling waves across the surface and taking a deep breath in. You had been meeting Theodore here every day at 6 o’clock sharp for almost two whole weeks now, but you honestly weren’t sure if he’d show up today. Not that you’d blame him.

You felt as if you’d really failed him as a tutor after so many consecutive days of work, with nothing to show for it. On top of that, the two of you had gotten into a rather intense shouting match yesterday, the stress of the whole thing really getting to the both of you.

You lean back, laying down on the soft blanket below you, knees still propped up, and close your eyes, thinking back to the first time the two of you had met out in this very spot. You’d originally picked the spot, because it helped you clear your mind and you thought it might help clear Theo’s too.

That first day had been awkward. Almost painfully so. You had simply wanted to talk. Get to know the boy, pick his brain for any source of happiness or joy he might get out of life. You didn’t get much, so instead you talked about your own life. What it was like living in Ravenclaw tower, the time you and Cho had tried out together for the quidditch team. You told him how you had gone to the Yule ball with a big group of friends, and how you thought it was much better than going with some stuffy date, and how your favorite candies were the purple taffies from Honeydukes, and your favorite flowers were deadly poisonous despite their pretty and innocent appearance.

The second day, you borrowed Cho’s cat and brought her along to the meeting, thinking it might help further relax your brown haired companion. It did, so you brought her along the next day, and the day after that. It wasn’t until the fourth day that Theo broke. Sure he had told you a bit about his time at Hogwarts. Playing on Slytherin’s quidditch team. Sharing a dorm with Matteo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire. But on the fourth day, he told you about his mother. You weren’t expecting it, and it honestly had caught you wildly off guard. Theodore’s mother had been the light of his world, and after she was gone, you could understand why he thought he would never cast a patronus.

It went on like this, the two of you gradually becoming closer, as you carefully began building a sort of trust between the two of you. You thought you might even be becoming friends; which excited you as you’d never been quite able to stop your eyes from wandering over to the group of Slytherins in the back of the class, and stopping on the tall, brunette boy with pretty eyes. You tried every couple of days to cast the spell, guiding him through different memories, trying to focus in on different experiences. But still nothing. You had even tried inviting Matteo and Enzo to a session, hoping they’d help lighten his mood, but it only ended in the four of you skiving wildly off course and getting nothing done. You and Theo had laughed about it the next day, but still not even a whisp of silvery magic.

It had all come to a head yesterday. You could feel the two of you beginning to lose hope, but you were nothing if not determined. The two of you were sitting quietly, skimming the textbook for what seemed like the thousandth time, when Theo suddenly stopped and looked up at you.

“I read something the other day. Bout patronuses. And being able to cast em.”

You looked up from your reading, intrigued.

“Said that there’s a widespread, and justified, belief that witches and wizards who aren’t pure of heart can’t cast a patronus.”

Your mouth slowly formed an O shape, and the book you were holding dropped to the ground, completely forgotten.

“Theodore. You don’t honestly think. That’s ridiculous.”

“It makes sense doesn’t it? Why I can’t even cast an incorporeal charm. Why nothing we’ve tried works. There’s no point,” Theo had said, growing frustrated.

“Theodore stop. That theory is all nonsense. There isn’t even any evidence really to back it up,” you reply.

“Why else would nothing be working?” Theo asks, slamming his book on the ground.

“Theo!”

“No, y/n, honestly. What other explanation could there be. We’ve been doing this for weeks.” Theo’s voice began to rise.

“And we’ll continue until you’re able to get this.”

“What’s the bloody point? We’ve tried everything!”

“And we just need to try a bit harder!” You respond.

“You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Of course I know you’ve been trying! And I’ve been trying to do everything I can to help you succeed!”

“And everything I’ve been doing is for you! I don’t care about the bloody charm, I don’t want to disappoint you!”

Theo’s outburst had shocked you, and your breath hitched as the two of you stared at each other, Theo’s words sinking in.

Then he was kissing you. Hot lips working against yours as he pulled you onto his lap. Your fingers worked their way up to his hair, relishing in how soft his brown waves were as you tugged at them gently.

You let out a soft moan as you felt his tongue glide gently across your bottom lip before diving in at the opportunity you had provided him.

You seemed to get lost in the feeling of his soft lips and large hands around your waist holding you firmly in place. You had no idea how much time had passed by the time you were both panting for breath, foreheads resting against one another.

Seeming to really realize what he’d done, Theo looked down at you, eyes beginning to widen slightly.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he’d said before promptly rising and hastily making his way back to the castle.

Now, your finger tips softly brushed the soft leather of Theo’s book bag that he’d abandoned yesterday in his hurry to leave. You thought that maybe, if for no other reason, he’d perhaps come to retrieve it. Not that he needed to you thought dryly, knowing that with his Gringotts account, he could’ve easily already replaced it and its contents.

Sitting up, you glance at your time piece showing a quarter after 6. With a deep sigh, you fish your transfiguration textbook out of your bag, flipping it open to begin your assigned reading. You’re only a few pages in when a twig snaps somewhere behind you. Whipping around, you see him standing there, handsome as ever, looking down at you.

“Sorry I’m late. And, sorry for yesterday,” he mumbles, dropping down to sit next to you.

You eye him warily as he refuses to make eye contact with you, eyes appearing to be glazed over as he gazes out at the lake like you had been earlier.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, you shift next to him so that your arms and legs brush softly, and you gently lean your head against his shoulder as you join him in looking out at the water. You feel him tense initially before slowly relaxing, leaning in as the two of you sat in silence.

“I won’t give up, if you don’t,” you say finally as Theo’s hand finds yours.

Step 3: Trust

It had been a week now since that day at the lake, and you weren’t quite sure where you stood anymore with Theo. You still met each other everyday by the lake, slipping easily into your usual banter. But now it was eyes meeting from across the classroom and slips of paper making their way back and forth. Your fingertips would brush softly in the hallways, and sometimes, you’d feel a hand reach out, pulling you into a hidden nook, and warm lips would meet your own. But you’d never actually, talked, about it.

You shake the thoughts out of your mind, a shiver running down your spine, as you focus in on the present. That all wasn’t the reason you once again found yourself lying out on the lawn, Theo’s head resting comfortably in your lap.

“Can you cast it?” Theo asks, looking up at you.

“Hmm?”

“Your patronus? Can you cast it? I know yours is a full, corporeal form.”

Looking down at the boy, your fingers weave slowly through his hair as you reach for your wand.

Closing your eyes and taking a breath, you focus in, memories flashing through your mind, a sense of warmth overtaking you.

“Expecto patronum.” The spell falls from your lips and you open your eyes to see a silver fox tumble out of the tip of your wand before trotting through the air around you.

You really did love the spell and it amazed and intrigued you every time. A reflection of someone’s soul, your textbook had said. It could change throughout one’s life, should they experience a shocking event, grow more mature, fall in love. The last one had always been the most curious, the idea of someone loving so much, that a piece of their soul reflected that of their loved one.

You watch as Theo’s eyes follow the the creature in awe.

“You know this is hopeless right?” Theo asks softly, your hand in his hair freezing.

“Theodore. We agreed that-“

“But really what’s the point? So I get one poor mark. When am I ever going to need to use the spell really? No point in wasting time on something that’s hopeless.”

You carefully mull over Theo’s words in your head. You supposed that realistically, he wasn’t necessarily wrong practicality wise. But if you both simply gave up, would he ever want to see you again? You knew in your core that it was selfish, but the last three weeks really had been some of the best during your time at Hogwarts. Which was saying a bit considering you’d been there for almost seven years. You supposed you’d just hoped- hoped. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. Hope. A concentration of pure happiness and hope.

“Theodore?”

“Amore?”

“When you’re thinking of your happy memory, why did you choose it?”

Theo gives you a strange look.

“Because it made me happy at the time, and the talisman memory is supposed to be a happy.”

“Good. But can you tell me why it’s so important to focus on a happy memory?”

Theo blinks.

“Because the spell says so.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Because the whole point of the charm is to create protection from the dark. Something that will keep you safe so that you can continue to feel that happiness. To give you hope.”

Theo furrows his eyebrows and frowns.

“This feels emotional.” He says, his face distorting in disgust.

“Sometimes magic is.”

Theo’s frown deepens. “It shouldn’t be. I’m perfectly content being apathetic and emotionally detached thanks.”

You let out a small snort. “Come on Theo. Try it again. But this time, think about your memory and why you want to feel that again.”

Theo’s face scrunches up in distaste before he sits up lazily, picking up his wand. You watch as he closes his eyes, pausing. His chest slowly rises then falls, once, twice.

“Expecto patronum.”

Nothing. Theo let’s put an annoyed sigh.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can try again. Think about something that you love, make sure you can picture it clearly. Something that made you so happy that you would relive it over and over.”

Theo’s eyes flick over to you, a brow raised before he closes his eyes once again. You watch him closely, perhaps too closely, as a minute passes. Then two. You’re almost worried he’s fallen asleep sitting up when the words fall from his lips.

“Expecto patronum.”

A burst of silver flashes out of his wand, and your jaw drops as your eyes follow the silver creature that had emerged, gracefully moving across the lawn.

Your eyes dart over to Theo, and you reach out to grab his arm seeing that he’d not yet opened his eyes again. When his eyes finally open once more, his gaze immediately falls on the whimsical creature, eyes widening slightly as he stares at his patronus in disbelief before looking at you with bewildered confusion.

“That’s not mine.” You tell him with a small smile, giving his arm a squeeze as you both look up at the silver fox dancing through the air.

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