#lmk if u want the links but be warned | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vyzz-undercover · 3 months ago

Text

RAAAGHHG QUICK HOLD THIS!!!

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(11,000ish words) (MAXED OUT SPACE LMFAO)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•no dubcon (growth!!!)

•hints of size kink

•references to masturbation

•oral [f receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•breeding kink (finally someone admits it)

•mild violence [on reader]

•degrading language

•tumblr's horseshit concept of copy paste formating

———————————————————————————————————

WHATS UP???? IM ALIVE ENJOY THE FUCKING SHITSTORM OF CATO FINALLY ADMITTING HES A WIFE GUY BASICALLY!!!!! oh and here's the taglist ily all mwah mwah!!! @mothiir, @moodymisty, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @thevoidscreams, @pluvio-tea, @lemon-russ, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @historitor-bookshelf, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @ma1dmer, @scriberye, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @undeaddream, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist, @sinistermojo, @vivacious-hyena, @grimdark-racoon!!!! if anyone wants on or off taglist lmk no pressure!!! enjoooooyyyy i love u alllllll :3

———————————————————————————————————

For all intents and purposes, everything is going swimmingly.

Cato is happier these days—and so are you, apparently.

So when he is called to the Command deck by his Primarch, he is somewhat unsure of what to make of the matter. Paranoia rises in his gullet like bile, but ever since the slip up in front of Guilliman, you've both been spotless.

Cato strides up the parapet and demagnetises the locking pins keeping his helm secure, tugging it off his head and letting it nest in the crook of his arm.

Slicking his hair into some semblance of order with a free hand, he sighs.

Ugh, he needs a haircut—it's starting to get in his eyes if he doesn't swipe it back. But he can't—because you seem to approve, and stubborn as he is, if keeping it this length means he receives dainty Ambassador fingers as a comb sometimes, then so be it.

It still pisses him off, though.

Regardless, Cato carries on his way—and the first face he sees upon entering the discussion area is the Chapter Master's, and two of his subordinate Victrix Guard hovering behind.

The Primarch's lesser-used vessel Dawn of Fire has been given to Calgar, and has been trailing behind the Macragge's Honour for a month and a half now; meaning the situation has granted a fair few more audiences than normal amongst them.

Nemus bows his head in unison with Lethro, the gesture familiar and practiced, while Calgar simply tips his chin down at him.

Cato reciprocates with a curt, martial bob and takes his place nearby his Primarch at the central control booth.

A few menials are fiddling with the specifications of the lithocast display before it flickers into life, the green-tinged projection juddering for a second before stabilising to a clear motion pict link.

Lo and behold, Severus Agemman's shiny bald head and pinched face.

The mere sight is enough to make Cato disinterested; and when he hears the First Captain speak his greetings to the Primarch, Cato abruptly considers himself deaf.

He turns away, looking aside, and finds you.

You're leaning on the railing of the raised observation deck while his Primarch gives feedback Cato doesn't heed.

You've dressed a little different than your usual ship-attire—clad in that same old blue robe but armed with a big navy shawl, and he suspects you've done so expecting the chill of the upper deck.

Cato's dark brow quirks as he gazes towards the high, arching, star-flecked windows. Throne, he feels like he's being hypnotised by the white shifting whorls—there is a humility to gazing up, every so often. A reminder of perspective. Cato has seen some objectively beautiful sights in the galaxy; stars and asteroids and planets untouched by Humanity, and Xenos, and Chaos alike; but none really compare to watching you stare up at the wide glass panels, absentmindedly connecting the dots between distant gas giants.

For a moment it feels like everything is unimportant.

He wants to stand beside you. Lean down and rest on the railing, and bask in the smile you'd shoot up at him.

He wants to ask which cluster of far off planets you think prettiest, perhaps if you recognise any—or if you'd like to see how the stars look glittering off the mighty oceans of his home-world—but it is not appropriate to behave that way with the current company, despite how it aches to deny himself the sentiment.

"No," Guilliman sharply answers a response Cato hadn't been listening to.

And only then does Cato realise himself, gaze and focus tearing back to reality and sticking to Guilliman's big, tired blue eyes, as he digresses, "No, no—the moment the Drukhari know we are onto them, they will butcher through the populace for sport—and the elites will cripple the dwarf planet to spite them. Farrim is a major port world, the set back of going off course, even temporarily, is worth the delay."

There are several billion inconsequential people on that rock. And all they have to thank for not being sentenced to slavery and death is the benefit of being close by.

The locale would surely not be high priority if not for the chance it is practically adjacent to Agemman, and he can simply scare off the assault with an extremely minor detour—and then obliterate the fleeing Xenos like chaff before the wind.

The only real problem is orchestrating how to go about it.

Bombard them into their base particles before they even get their hand in the jar? Or let them begin, and then close the trap to watch them squirm and suffer in it like salted leeches?

Cato knows he would chose the latter, but he's not about to dignify Severus with any sort of advice on such meagre matters.

Cato exists beyond the normal chain of discipline, as Commander of the Victrix Guard—which means felating Agemman is Sevastus Acheran's problem as Captain of the Second Company, now.

The planetary governance's reaction must be considered also—he knows of Farrim, vaguely. There are a series of vast docks in geosynchronous orbit, and that means they are host to all sorts of satellite criminal activities. It is surely a rat's nest rife with Rogue Traders returning from deep dives into hell; and that means heretical practices, like engaging in interspecies dealings; of tack, of weregild—of flesh.

Cato knows well the horrible desperation of the weak for some form of certitude in a galaxy run mad, even if the only certitude possible was that of complete degeneration. A greedy baseline would sell their kin to Xenos to eat another day. That is the reason for law. It is one of the reasons for Astartes. It is a basic truth. Because a cornered beast would sooner kill itself in the struggle of fleeing than face its pursuer—and humanity in masses are oft worse than if they were caged in a cramped pen with a starving Termagant.

But he hopes, beyond reason, that the moronic rulers that allowed the Drukhari so close would suffer far more than just the panic of the chase before succumbing to their vermin fear in such a way. Punishment would be harshly imposed, because treating with Xenos ever yielded foul results. Simply writhing in their own terror was not enough justice for their enactures, and Cato will gladly watch the meting out of greater judgement upon them soon.

Consequently, Cato had come to find almost all Aeldari are cunning, vapid, spineless rabid dogs. Naught but misery-merchants, worthless and parasitic enough to be slaughtered en masse without hesitation.

The Lord Primarch did not wholly agree with this, of course. But he had his own reasons for such beliefs, after having met with them himself. He said there are, allegedly, good and bad ones amongst the lot—then he went on to say one should ever be considerate of their fey, mercurial motives.

Cato knows a knife-eared witch had implored much of Guilliman, and his father is nothing if not a good listener.

But Guilliman is also a master tactician, and is more human than most of the Imperium is led to believe.

At times, he behaves more human than his gene-sons—but his Father was reared well, so he says. And maybe that's why he insists on assessing the uncouth. Like hearing out dribbling Xenos hierophants, or keeping you as a pupil pet.

Cato believes the Primarch favours you, truly.

He has projected his meagre hope of a kinder future on your success, against all the impossible odds.

Guilliman is a brilliant leader, and an even better teacher.

He is just, and personable—but stern.

Cato is the opposite.

He bites, and he always has.

Martinet to his core, Cato is ever succinct; almost to a sociopathic degree at times. He's never truly understood how to speak with his Father's finesse. But he can mimic it. He knows the gist of what to say, and when to say it. Largely by predicting the next words. As an Astartes, he is not inherently made to be a statesman, even if he is the Grand Duke of Talassar.

Nevermind the fact a vast majority of political dissidents opponents would sooner grant themselves the Emperor's mercy than try argue policy with him, an Ultramarine. He knows he is sullen and bad-tempered and easily aggravated in casual conversation, even amongst his Brothers—but he's not about to admit things like that out loud; and where he once sought out discourse—he's become despondent reclusive compared to his previous confidence.

He swallows down the harsh reality that he knows the exact tipping point.

He tries to forget that Damnos was the first pebble before the rockslide; the agonising strike of a Necron lord's war-scythe in his side, not to mention the sting of Severus Agemman's proverbial sabaton up his ass.

And, most importantly, he ignores the hint of tinnitus in his ears. The echoing across the decks of the Emperor's Will that sound like screa—

You yawn, and look over your shoulder to Guilliman with a weary curiosity.

You are everything Cato isn't, and he knows that now.

Perhaps that is the real allure of you, in the end; beyond the aspects of his lust, and your own affections.

Sweet, endearing—trusting to a fault, and... small.

He almost snorts to himself at that because, Throne, you really do look tiny amongst so many ceramite clad trans-humans.

The Primarch flashes you a soft glance and directs his gaze back to the lithocast.

You approach Guilliman with a preppy, yet cautious sort of diligence; standing beside him not a moment later as he listens to Agemman prattle on, and on—and on.

Agemman doesn't acknowledge your entrance in the slightest, hell, he doesn't even blink. He doesn't know you by face—but Cato knows you know him; because in Guilliman's quest to have you absorb as much information as possible, you've interacted by writing many times. But the First Captain clearly wrongly assumes the woman in his holo-field of view is a lowly attendant, not the Ambassador he's had several dissertation-long discussions with by note.

You're looking up at Agemman with a soft smile, like one would reserve for a friend—and he does not return it.

Seemingly aware of the fact your gesture is for naut, your expression withers to a sad little frown.

At that, Cato's eyebrows furrows harshly, embittered by seeing you suffer the rejection.

He ought to—

But then a bundle of data-slates are lifted off the hexagonal interface surrounding the projection system, held out to you in far, far larger gauntlets than Cato's own; and you take them into the cradle of your arms.

It's too many for you to comfortably hold, and Cato can tell solely because there's that familiar, tiny crease between your brows that only ever appears when you're unsure of something.

"I will be back en-route with the First as soon as the threat is cleared, and—" Agemman's raving wavers periodically, hologram gaze tilting down.

Cato winces a bit when the topmost slate slips out of your bundled arms and clatters to the deck loudly.

In response, the First Captain's hologram rakes you with a nigh appalled sneer that has Cato puffing up at the hackles like an angry carnodon.

"A-Apologies, my lords..." You shrink back, seeking an exit, in that frightened-mouse way of yours that Cato would've once delighted in long ago. But it's a grating, bastardised comparison when he knows Agemman's disgust is entirely, baselessly genuine unlike Cato's had been.

Another slate falls in your timid outburst, and Agemman snorts angrily at you.

More than willing to take the heat, Cato immediately steps forward into the threshold of the holo-cast's vision breadth and snorts back.

It's a standoffish moment where the First Captain becomes aware of him and turns his head.

"Cato," Agemman says sharply in that typical, dismissive tone; but his expression betrays a brooding aggravation.

He scowls, lips curling much like his fingers into a fist, "Severus."

He can play this game, because unlike prior altercations—he's not being held to a rapport of failure.

Cato answers to Calgar and Guilliman now, and yes, he's to heed Agemman—but he's not to abide orders like he'd had to during his Captaincy of the Second.

And neither Calgar nor Guilliman have stopped him as of yet for this outburst.

In fact, Calgar is apparently more interested in trying to rub away a speck of grime on his power-fist.

While the Primarch... well, the Primarch has currently shut his eyes, grimacing softly.

It appears Cato's simply keeping the peace.

And on the surface, to onlookers, it's not at all indicative of any ulterior reason aside from petty distaste for Agemman—even if Cato's real motive is possessive defensive, and solely intent on taking the attention off you.

"Enough," The Primarch grumbles at last, and opens his eyes as he leans down—his great height folding—dutifully collecting the two, small fallen objects with mild hassle. Guilliman sighs at you remorsefully as he sets the data-slates in a better position, unperturbed by your clumsiness. "The Ambassador has done me no insult, she was merely over encumbered. The galaxy as we know it has not imploded, as of yet."

Agemman blinks, "...Ambassador?" he mumbles—with the revelation, in a fraction of a second he's entirely placid and defanged, reigning himself back in and cringing slightly—unlike Cato, who returns to glaring murderously at him.

"That means you, too," Guilliman starts aloud, and he apparently knows he needn't clarify more.

Cato grinds his teeth and tears his gaze away, letting it fall aside as he unclenches his fists.

You take a step back, a pitiful sigh leaving you as you set about trying to balance with the data-slates. The Primarch finally realises that it's too much for you, just like Cato had to begin with.

"Sicarius," Guilliman says flatly, "Give her a hand."

A hand?

Oh, he's given you more than hand.

He feels himself bristle with want, an abrupt , mad rush of eager heat besieging his body as he sets his shoulders stubbornly.

In or out of armour, he's done it—and Cato is caught daft at the sudden eidetic memory of having you straining against his big forebrace shoved hard under you to keep you in place. Squirming frantically against as many fingers as he would deign allow you, drooling on his armour as you suffer a cleverly turned thumb; so wanton and pretty as you finally, finally give him his prize and cry out for—no—no, no—shut up, shut up.

At that, he tersely inhales; and remembers he's surrounded by other Astartes.

Nobody's noticed, thank fuck.

"Cato!" Guilliman snaps.

Cato blinks, "What—uh, pardon me, my lord?"

"You are utterly impossible," he half-chastises, half-laments, with little more than a sigh. "Help. Her."

Cato nods stiffly, silently panicking, and approaches you.

"Stop snivelling like a useless dog, and pull it together, woman, you're embarrassing yourself," he accosts loudly, overcompensating for his own screw-up, and it's cruel—he knows it is because you flinch a little, and one of the gathered high-ranking brothers behind you huffs in surprise at just how brutish he's acting—but he cannot show the comfort you wish of him under the circumstances.

You regard him with a profound sadness in your eyes, and he can't bear to meet your gaze; so he casts it aside.

And immediately meets the Primarch's eyes.

A strange, angered confusion has graced his Father's features. A sort of stunned disappointment—and Cato supposes that tracks, given the fact Guilliman though he'd gotten over his gripe with you.

"Check your anger, Commander Sicarius." Guilliman says with a cold discontent, and Cato immediately drops the act.

Cato holds out his helm, turned plume-down, the inside proffered up as a bucket.

The task of shovelling the data-slates in is tedious at best, but it's easy when he joins in.

When all's done, Cato practically dumps his helmet in your arms.

"It's alright, don't fret," Guilliman chuffs, smiling at you tiredly, trying to seem supportive. "Just be on your way, Ambassador."

You look back at the Primarch, stunned for a moment—who smiles at you again, and tips his chin to the exit hallway.

Nodding, you shakily curtsy at the gaggle of Astartes and stumble away with the heavy weight of Cato's helmet and it's new contents in your grasp.

Cato frowns at the entire display, and Guilliman seems to notice that too, because he immediately grits out, "Commander Sicarius, if the safety of your helmet worries you so, go make sure she doesn't drop anything else."

"Of course... yes, my Lord Primarch," He straightens up, surprised at the dismissal but certainly not about to argue.

in his mind, Guilliman is sending him to cool off. That much Cato is sure of, which works to his favour.

Promptly, he knocks his breastplate in respectful farewell and trails after you; now a little ways down the grand and lofty adjoining chamber hall.

Cato strides with his chin held high, but promptly drops it when he rounds the corner and is out of view of the Primarch a few moments after you.

You say nothing to him when Cato catches up and matches your slow march to your quarters.

Cato's practically drags his boots across the regal carpeting as he walks.

And when the carpet runs out, he scrapes his heels on steel like a petulant child.

He knows he's taken the charade too far.

Head hung low much like his, you don't look at him—and it eats away at what meagre actual backbone he's got left around you.

It continues for a while; you pass servitors, serfs, staff, and Astartes alike; not acknowledging anyone.

They acknowledge Cato of course, but he ignores any nods or salutes like he's got blinders on.

He knows the path you're taking well—it's a shortcut, but a tedious one with the load you're carrying. And when the passersby thin out to nothing eventually, you're still trudging along like a lobotomite.

You look appear much like a sullen little arming serf carrying his helmet as you are. The coarse broom-spread of his helm's Suzerain mane brushes the fabric atop your thighs—and Cato can tell it's annoying you, because you slow a little when it itches; trying to shimmy it up higher in your grasp to no avail.

Your breathing is heavy with strain, now a few paces behind him; and Cato groans when you both round a corner and he sees a flight of stairs ahead.

He pauses, and rounds about-face.

"Give it to me," he snaps.

You immediately sigh, "Why?"

"Because it's mine," Cato grumbles. "Now give it to me."

You pout, "I don't need help."

He scowls harshly, "I wasn't asking."

A gasp leaves you as you're suddenly being advanced on by an Astartes, stomping you down—and he catches the data-slate filled rim of his helmet with a gauntlet.

He's honestly surprised you hold on while he pulls it away from you.

"Let go," he hisses.

"No," you hiss back.

"Let go, now." Cato shakes the helmet around, trying to dislodge you; going so far as to lift it until you're dangling off the side.

"No," is all he receives again.

Tiny, stubborn, cunt of a waif.

He cannot sustain subtlety when he is rebutted on something. Not without pause. He's aggravated now, and it shows when he snarls, "Why are you acting like this?"

"No," you bark.

A very real temper is flaring as he says, "No, what? That's not an answer—"

"Fuck off, Cato!"

He's never heard that tone out of you directly. It stuns him for a second, because he's never actually made you genuinely angry. He can't explain why it makes him suddenly decide to play disciplinarian like you're an unruly Scout, but it does. And you're going to explain exactly why you thought to voice that opinion, Emperor help you.

"Enough of this groxshit," He tugs the helmet high, and you up with it, scooping a vambrace under your midsection to carry you like a keg under his arm; prying you and the helm apart.

"Put m-me down!" You kick out wildly behind him, snarling insults and slamming your fists back against his plate on his core, to no avail.

It's a good thing you're actually close to your quarters, because the scene you're making is more than enough to be flagged for gross insubordination if anyone saw. Striking an Astartes is of no meagre consequence. It'd be death, for anyone but you.

It takes him a try more than usual to input his locking override code, given your squirming—and him only being able to manage a pointer free on the hand holding his helm.

Your door slides open nonetheless, and Cato ducks in with you still secured, despite your tantrum; and in his seething, he fully calculates the effort it'd take to hog-tie you with your own robes.

You're hissing and carrying on as if you're a pissy little neophyte hopped up on stims for the first time, and Cato ignores you periodically to lock your door behind you both.

He empties his helm of the data-slates on the nearest pile of clothes, magnetises the bucket on his hip; and practically tosses you onto your bed.

You yelp at the rough handling and scramble to reach your nightstand.

Instead of scampering off like he honestly expects, you grab a book; and when he leans over the bed and reaches for you, you start to bat his armoured hand away with the hardcover front.

"Do you honestly think that will work?" Cato snarls, but despite himself, he recoils and starts eyeing you. "Are you that fucking dense, woman?"

You grumble sourly and hold the novel up, like it's an actual weapon.

"Fine, be that way," he rolls his eyes, and with trans-human speed, catches you by the ankle and reels you in.

You bleat out a warbling cry at being yanked, and manage to toss the book at his head in a lucky shot.

He cops the hit to the brow harmlessly, then it lands on the covers below him beside where he's dragged you under.

You freeze for a second as he brackets your arms upward above your head in one large gauntlet.

"Stop," he bites out, "Just stop struggling."

You start fighting him again regardless, legs kicking out—knocking the book sidelong into the headboard with a thud.

Cato glances at source of sound, and then he's suddenly fixated on the wall above it.

His dagger's been hung up.

It's a little crooked, but that's expected when the hooks the sheathe and blade are lodged against aren't actually drilled in place. It's done with adhesive—it's your doing.

Cato can't exactly name the feeling that washes over him as he stays staring at it, but it feels thick, and viscous in his chest. Like pain, almost—like he's hurt himself. His tongue feels leaden in his mouth. Every ounce of retaliatory anger at your earlier antics dissipates into nothingness.

The shackles his large mitt's made on your wrists falls away.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," He mumbles, before taking a deep breath—and his armour creaks at the gesture; servos humming as he settles into a crouch at your bedside, half strewn over the duvet—staring at you pinned under him.

The bed protests, because of course it does to that amount of bulk, but it still holds regardless.

You huff sourly, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth as you avert your gaze.

With a tired sigh, Cato leans close to you and frowns—straining to tuck his nose against your neck and scoop a vambrace under you to hold you close.

"I may have," he starts slowly as he smothers himself against you. "Overreacted."

A scoff escapes you, but you rest your cheek to his temple regardless.

You take a big breath in; and the politician in you jumps out—even if the politician is currently a little bit shaky.

"I-I am aware that... it's tedious to have me around given my bearing, amongst your kind," you stammer, gaze flittering to and fro from his eyes to his pauldron to the desk behind him. "I can take a snort and a scoff, but you made it worse, at the end—" your voice trails off, and you sit up; scrubbing your cheek with your palm, fussing. "It's easy to hear criticism from a stranger, but not—not from you. Not after... all of this, in a situation like that."

There was a time when Cato would've flat out turned his nose up at the prospect of apologising. He has done so to maybe ten baselines in his entire life, and he's including his parents in that number purely by an assumption—and Vedeah.

"Even in the moment," he says carefully, and tries not to think too hard about the wider implications of doing so, "I realised it was a cruelty, and I am sorry for it."

You simply hold onto him for a moment, and Cato buries his face closer; your hand combing across the side of his head.

"It's alright," you tut softly, "Seeing y-you... you getting all huffy about the First Captain for me was funny though... Throne, I feel so stupid sending him all those letters now."

"You weren't to know Agemman's a prick," he sniffs, laying a gauntlet on your thigh. "I've been on the receiving end of his sour judgment just as you, earlier."

"Were..." you start, voice hesitant. "Were you like that, when you were Captain of the Second?"

The question catches him off guard, which makes him harrumph.

Cato sets his jaw and leans back to look at you, frowning softly, "You would not have liked me in the slightest."

You look a little taken aback at his admission, and Cato feels the need to clarify before your habit of asking too many questions seizes you.

"I was..." Cato begins abruptly, cringing, "...reckless, and a lot more vain; always seeking victories at any cost despite the odds," he says, begrudgingly explaining himself and feeling a lot like his own Primarch was simply speaking through him, "I probably would have petitioned to have you tried for the simple crime of... being, despite my actual... ahem—predilection."

You eye him for a moment, and there's a familiar warmth in your gaze despite the fact he just admitted, out loud, he'd have you put to death for the crime of stirring his cock in another set of circumstances.

"Why do you think that?" You ask, curious.

Cato raises a brow, "I would have painted you a Slaaneshi temptress, like I had thought originally."

"You thought that? Really? I hadn't even—" You scoff, looking at him with a quizzical little grimace.

The deadpan expression on his own face answers you before you can even get it all out.

"Okay," you groan. "Okay, I get it."

He gives your leg a squeeze, and pulls back.

"Good," he hums and moves to stand.

"Wait, Cato—stay," you mumble, "Please."

At full height in your cramped room, he furrows his brows, "I cannot remain here, not tonight, not in this."

You sit yourself on the edge of the bed and look up at him, and Cato's forced to peer over his gorget to catch the full extent of the pleading, doe-eyes you're putting into action.

Cato has to fight back a dopey smile at the insistent, honeyed look you grace him with as you stare up at him.

So pretty, even when you're playing at guilt-tripping him.

It's risky, and quite frankly his dumbest, most thinking-with-his-cock moment; but he still offers it.

"You could accompany me, instead?" He dithers, and eventually acquiesces.

Your head cocks to the side excitedly, "...to where?"

"My quarters," Cato says matter-of-factly.

You're suddenly up and scrambling off the bed to stand beside him, and he hands you his helmet off his hip. You take it without complaint nor reason, even though Cato'd been prepared to give you an excuse.

Oh, it's an alibi, oh, it's this—it's that—it's the simple fact you looked irresistible amusing carrying his helm.

He unlocks your door, and shuffles out—with you tailing him eagerly.

Laterally, it's not too far from his quarters, but it is tedious given the levels between; and it has to be done quickly—if not for the fact if others see they will gossip, he'd throw you over his shoulder like a dead-weight and break into a run. So you need to keep up with his rush, given you wanted to follow.

He hastens down the corridor, and up a flight, and you keep pace, surprisingly.

Your breathing is a little heavy, but Cato attributes that to you having just scaled a fair amount of stairs, for a baseline.

He lingers at the top, in the elevator bay; and you bumble up to him and take the spot behind him.

Cato activates the lift and sighs as it begins to grind it's ascent into existence.

He's stunned to have not heard a peep out of you yet, and honestly that—hold on—there's a hand on his rear, and small fingers depressing the bodysuit over his left glute.

"Get off of there," he snaps, "We are in public."

"I'm just leaning to catch my breath," You huff, squeezing him a little.

Fifteen minutes ago you were sulking and seething, and now you're straight back to bothering him for entertainment.

"Don't start," he sighs, and takes a step aside from you—desperate to not dignify the heat crawling up his neck.

"What will you do?" You scoff, and he all but whips around at your snarky tone, "Snort and sneer me to death? I just fought you off with a book."

Cato rolls his eyes.

"I can and will use things against you," he says, a slight hint of a growl trailing his words.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

"I know how easy it is to render you docile and silent, as you ought to be," Cato scowls harshly, putting some finesse into appearing menacing.

It does not work.

"You think I'm some animal to be scruffed?" Your laugh is painfully endearing, but—but he's firm in his rapport. At least, he's trying to be firm. One part of him certainly is firm and hard... and straining against his inners—stop.

"Much the same, seeing as you would preoccupy a single hand at most," he grits out flatly, but his temper wavers when he realises his own statement's double meaning—his cheeks feel a little warm, and it aggravates him that he reacts so easily.

You raise an eyebrow, staring at him, "Just your hand?"

He fights the urge to pout at the sheer cheek of you, and the lurid smugness you're letting show so brazenly.

It's a common situation now: you say something erring on insult, smile a tad, and then the brain in his cock takes the reigns from the one in his head. He thought he was past swooning starting at your antics by now; or at least he hoped to have become a lot more immune to it.

But no—despite being the belligerent, bitter bastard he is, you still manage to ferret out a weak spot for yourself in his hearts.

"I ought to take you over my knee," he says so softly it's practically an oath to himself.

Nonetheless, you apparently catch it—and blink dumbly up at him for a few seconds; a slow, creeping flush steadily finding it's place on your cheeks as you swallow so hard he hears the cartilage in your throat click.

The lift comes to a halt, and he all but harries you off it.

Thankfully, it is standard rest hours for the Victrix; that is to say those who aren't bedded down are likely on jaunts elsewhere in the ship.

It's the perfect opportunity to sneak you inside, in short.

The grand, carpeted corridor is empty, and you ogle it; and it's likely your first time having been near higher standard Astartes accomodation.

"I'll be back—" He opens the door in a quick input of numerals and ushers you in swiftly before huffing; "Don't open for anyone, not even Guilliman."

You nod and step inside, looking back at him a little sheepishly with his helm held to your chest; as the sliding mechanism activates, clicks shut, and promptly dead-locks behind you—while he quickly thumbs in his security code.

He breaks into a sprint to the nearest armour chamber, which is thankfully on this level; if not an eight minute jog at Astartes speed.

At first, Cato asks the mechanicum disarming staff to show some haste in doffing him from his panoply of ceramite—but he quickly loses patience and growls at the serfs who try to drag out the whole ordeal with longwinded rights and sermons while the adepts' machines hex-key open his vambraces. Part of the ordeal ends, war-gear shed, and Cato practically hisses at the gathered attendants when he starts to wrestle out of his body-glove and they try to smear him with unguents. He does, however, allow them to administer local numbing agents and analgesics for the more tedious, biological matters of unlinking from his interfacing.

They hose him down instead of scrubbing him at least, and Cato's glad that someone in that Void-damned room is listening to him.

He hurriedly lathers his arms and legs, dipping a cupped palm back into the presented urn of warm, fragranced oil to cover his neck and underarms—and bending, creasing points, as is typical.

He feels a little wobbly as he puts his sandals on at the hasty loss of the armour's weight—and in that aforementioned hurry, he trips a little while he tugs his tunic over his head and knocks over the servitor, who then knocks over one of the serfs, who then knocks over the tech adept.

It's not Cato's finest moment, surely, but he's in about as much of a rush to get moving as an Astartes can be in a non-combat environment.

He doesn't stop, because he has better things to do—more specifically, he has you to do.

He makes his way down the long winding halls, sprinting between the gaps in onlookers eyelines, stop-starting, like a fool. But damn, if he isn't on a mission with the thought of you waiting on him hanging over his head.

"Sicarius," the Chapter Master's voice abruptly greets curtly.

Cato swallows a scream and takes a step backwards, immediately entering grappling stance.

The aging Primaris seems to realise he's genuinely surprised him and raises a grey brow.

Cato rights himself with a forced cough and stumbles a little, "Lord Calgar?"

A huge power fist comes to rest on his tunic'd shoulder to steady him, "I did not intend to shock, but there is something you must hear of," Calgar says, manoeuvring to allow space for him to walk beside.

Cato matches the broader strides of the Chapter Master, although with him being a Primaris and Cato out of his war-gear—it's a tad more effort than normally required given the size disparity.

Marneus Calgar is typically a man of few words when he's not seized by his passion for monologuing... but he certainly has plenty words when he has gossip.

"I have a suspicion," Calgar huffs.

Cato swallows the lump in his throat, playing along, "And I assume you're not at all responsible for that suspicion travelling to other ears."

"Of course," The Chapter Master shoots him a downward, sidelong glance with his good eye. And if Cato didn't know any better, he'd have been amiss to the glimmer of amusement there.

Abruptly, Calgar pauses in step and quietly remarks, "One of our brothers is aberrant."

The metaphorical leaden brick that hits Cato in the temple works in his favour, because it makes it seem like he's in disbelief rather than panic.

"Corruption?" He hisses, eyes narrowing.

Calgar's grey brows furrow as he shakes his head, "Aberrant, Cato—not chaos-tainted, insofar as I am aware."

"How?" Cato snaps, and again, his bemusement that Calgar didn't equate the two for some reason surely works in his favour, making it look like a sincerely shocked reaction—but the problem remains that he, personally, would equate them. Throne, there—there must be a reason he's acted on his urges, there must be something he can blame.

Calgar purses his thin lips and sighs, "I have on good reason to believe there is a sort of... fraternisation is occurring."

"Really?" Cato huffs, he's simultaneously stunned and horrified that this conversation is even happening. Because if Marneus doesn't think it's the work of the Warp's wiles, then it can't surely have just been his own love partiality for you—that damnable, incessant yearning to have you close, and warm, and tucked against his side.

"And by that," Calgar starts, "I mean that one of them is engaging in baser ventures."

He tries very hard not to laugh out of sheer mortification, and the mental pict of Calgar clutching a string of pearls like a senile ecclesiarch.

"Are you certain?" Cato says, despite the looming dread.

The Chapter Master nods stoically, "I chanced upon an area reeking of Astartes sweat and... intercourse."

When every word may damn you, it is better to say nothing at all. And Throne, he can't bring himself to speak regardless of the fact; because his balls are in his throat. Even if it sounds as though Calgar's largely oblivious to the truth that the Astartes is him—Cato Sicarius—and although he is partially thankful he's in the clear; if Calgar's got your room identified as the source, you're in the hot seat. Every facet of your little existence would be so over for you it's almost unfathomable. Even if you escape the judgement of the Legionnes, you would be hunted down by the Assassinorum, in and beyond any Imperial system; fuck, he's going to have to smuggle you—

"I was sequestered elsewhere urgently, and I did not chance where it was coming from," Calgar continues, "But I know it occurred somewhere in the northeastern apartments."

Cato fights for his life not to sputter out a relieved sigh and buckle at the knees, boneless on the floor.

The ventilation systems must have dispersed the smell, which would have thrown off Calgar's vomeronasal organ.

He rejects most aspects regarding godhood placed upon the Master of Mankind ever since his agonising jaunt in the Warp, and from his conversations with Guilliman—but surely the Emperor must have leaned over on His throne and pelted a holy, righteous wrench at Calgar's big nose that morning.

The Emperor protects, albeit when He comedically feels like it.

"I will keep an eye out for... un-sanctioned behaviours."

"Report them to me, or Guilliman, should you find anything—no chaplains," Calgar says at last, and comes to a halt in a fork in the hallway. "Nonetheless, keep your wits about you—I must get going."

Cato blinks as Calgar rounds on his big heel, "Another vox-haling?"

"No," he sighs. "A meeting, for the next six hours."

"With the planetary governor?"

"No," Calgar says again, face completely dead-pan like a corpse, "With my cot—and if anyone needs me, tell them to piss off unless Guilliman's dying. Again."

Then he shoots him that wry, amused side-eye once more and stomps off down the adjacent passage.

Cato stands stunned in the hall for a brief time, genuinely flabbergasted.

Then he's a trans-human on a mission, thundering down the corridor—his mind immediately concocting several protocols to prevent the previous situation occurring again.

Firstly, the instant he gets to his quarters, he's going to stuff his incense burner into the ventilator grate.

Sound won't be an issue, he knows his chambers are proofed—surely not because he's woken screaming in that room without anyone saying anything. But that's besides the point, because the only screaming that's to be happening is his final plan of action; namely that, lastly, he's going to slide into you and have you crying his name—

Cato doesn't even consciously remember arriving at his door, nor coding in his numerals and doing the same behind him; but he's certainly in the present when he sees you.

Something in his chest lurches to a halt at the sight of you tucked in his sheets, the thundering of his twin heartbeats slowing and easing to a lulled calm.

There's less candles in his room than yours, but what little of your hair that peaks from beneath the blanket is bathed in flickering, warm light when he approaches.

His helm's lying against you atop the thin cover, and you're snoring softly.

Cato nears, and—with nobody to judge him, including you, simply stares.

Throne, he could live this scene out every day of his life and never tire of it—but matters need attending before he can bask in the domesticity.

Dutifully, he grabs his incense holder and follows through with his plan of action.

He doesn't intend it, but he wakes you at some point while jamming the vent back into place; and you groan softly, rubbing your eyes as you stretch and sit up.

The sheets over you slip away as you do, and he daftly fixes his haze at the drowsy, stark-naked Ambassador in his bed.

"...Cato?"

He swallow the proverbial bolt round lodged in his throat and grunts.

"When..." you pause to yawn, "When did you get in?"

It takes him a second to register the question with how intensely he's focused on ogling your tits, but eventually "...a few minutes," leaves him as an answer.

You blink lazily and harrumph, then slump back—and he's sure it's intentional, because the way your body curves with the motion is almost like you're presenting yourself. The sheets are low on your hips—not low enough that he can really take an eyeful, but the temptation of it raw and syrupy in his mind. What he can see is the warm, soft skin of your navel and stomach offered up to his roving gaze like a hunk of meat. It's bait, and it's obvious, and he's a slavering, starved dog in that instant.

He sits himself on the edge of the thin mattress, kicking off his sandals—and leans over you, breathing controlled but fast.

He splays a palm on your side, dragging it up, tracing.

You fuss a little, wanting.

He manoeuvres himself atop you, and you pout, as your elbow digs into the mattress.

He can tell in some fey way you're about to comment on the state of his bed—or rather, the lack of a real bed. Well, maybe not fey, it's mere prediction given your habit of complaining. You've probably been stewing on making a remark about it the entire time you've been dicking around in here. There's no headboard, no duvet. It's closer to a big, thin cushion on a fold out, bolted to a hinge on the wall at the top end.

You grumble, "This is the worst bed I've ever actually lain on," and there it is—the nagging, the backtalk.

"My mattress on Talassar is far nicer," he hums, nosing into the crook of your neck and sighing contently.

Your voice is barely a mumble as you say, "Well, we're not on Talassar—that's for sure."

"We could be," Cato mouths against your skin as he ventures lower.

"What?" You sit up a little and displace him enough that you can meet his gaze, and your eyes lock onto his in a hasty, focused manner—then Cato feels translucent again. As if you can see him for everything he is: prideful and doltish, disgustingly predictable—you've got him eating out of your hand.

"We... we could go to Talassar," he blurts out, one of your breasts against his chin. Then he ducks lower—planting a kiss just above your bellybutton. His voice comes out muffled against your skin, swallowing thickly, cotton-mouthed. "I'm sure I could... find an excuse, logistically."

The look you're giving him is just as flushed as his own face feels.

Cato Sicarius, High Suzerain of Ultramar, babbling—once again. Reduced to an illiterate, juddering wreck. His Astartesian dignity, honour and status petering to nothing. You have him swooning, on the back foot. Earnest and vulnerable—Throne, it makes him hot under the proverbial collar.

Cato stalls for a second, pursing his lips before digressing, "I could... I could petition an excursion to Glaudor to Guilliman, and then... arrange docking at Perusia."

Why does he feel so heated talking about this? Why is he, a several hundred year old, trans-human killing machine, flustering saying these things out loud?

"I don't actually know much about Talassar, aside from—well, aside from Guilliman's assigned readings on the Void Tridents, really."

Cato huffs, "I am distantly related to their Lord Commodore, Theodro Vethrus."

"Really? Huh..." you squint, trying to parse out his expression, "So do you... like him?"

Cato nods, "He's competent."

"High praise from you," you laugh softly, and wriggle yourself down—closer to eye level with him. "So what w-would we do? On Talassar, I mean..."

He breaks eye contact and stares at your lips instead, rearing up from you a little, "Well, there's a large hinterland that's quite nice in spring when it's not raining... and my Ancestral seat, on the coast. People sometimes swim and such, there—"

"I've never actually swam at a beach, before."

Cato harrumphs, "Really?"

"Never," you pout.

He smiles softly, "That can be remedied."

From the higher rooms of his duchy's fortress, you can get a good look at the long isthmus that sometimes peaks out from afore the sea walls when the waves calm down bi-yearly.

It's nicer on the other side where it's too small of a cove to support vessels, where the submerged canyon redirects the immense tidal forces sidelong.

You can swim in the carved rock lap pool, like he used to.

Because he's not about to run into the waves with his Tempest Blade should one of Talassar's less hospitable locals swim under the marine nets.

That, and to hell with picking the sealant-putty out of his interfacing ports. The annoyance of that is almost as bad as to be without it, and chock full of sand at exposed nerve points. With that mental deliberation settled, he lays both palms flat to the mattress supporting him either side of your shoulders, and raises a brow when your hand touches his chest.

Absentmindedly, he weighs the pros and cons or giving you the leeway to continue groping; it feels nice—but there's an aspect of mischief to your eyes he finds suspicious.

You start squeezing at his pectoral, fingers bearing down; watching the dense muscle contort and bulge.

"You really ought to bind these," you hum abruptly.

He scowls down at you, "I am not binding my chest."

"Why not?" You retort.

Cato sniffs derisively, "They are not breasts."

"Riiiight..." You drawl, dragging out the word still pawing at his left pectoral. "In my professional opinion, they seem pretty breast-like to me."

"They are not. Fucking. Breasts," Cato snarls, enunciating himself sharply while puffing up.

"No need to get defensive," you trail off, eyebrow quirking up slyly; laying the faux-pas down heavily, purposefully trying to irritate him by nipping at his metaphorical heels. "It's just that—well, even though they're hairier, they do feel simi—"

"That's enough talking out of you," he says, and promptly seizes you by the chin with his mitt, closing your mouth with his hand and effectively silencing you.

But stifling you had not wiped the smug, leering smile off your face. Yes, he can fucking feel it, you little bitch.

"You aren't funny," he hisses.

You grunt at him, huffing and puffing through your nose as you attempt speech even though your maw is held shut.

"Don't say something stupid," Cato frowns, and loosens his hold enough for you to get a few words out.

"I'd wager you could lactate w-wuh—with—" you race to say, thrashing as he quickly manages to shut you back up with his palm.

Cato tries not to grumble at the fact you're wheezing hysterically through your nose.

"Every time I think you are above something, you find a way to sink lower."

In response, you start thrashing, writhing enough in his grip to get four single words out from between his big fingers, "Sink—i-into your–cl—uh–eavage—" you manage to sputter, laughing behind his hand.

"I'll sink into you in a moment, if you do not stop," Cato growls openly.

You go still almost immediately, and whine against his palm.

"Really," he sneers, flabbergasted as he pulls his hand away and raises a brow, "Are you getting off on this, you degenerate?"

The comment clearly also stirs something in you, because then you're swatting at his face—missing, yes—but the effort still infuriates Cato to no end.

He rears back in avoidance, still keeping you nice and muzzled by his palm, but you manage to clap a hand around his mouth.

You push at him and squirm, fussing.

Then he inhales.

It's a little surprising his nose finds your fingers smell of molasses, and that means slick—the lingering hormonal melody of 'please?' is so blatant it's almost pathetic.

Cato raises an eyebrow and moves his hand from your face to ensnare the one you have on his, keeping it close.

"Is that why you're being such a scathing bitch? You're just impatient?" He scoffs, purposefully trying to taunt as he sniffs them again, just to be sure—and then licks across the underside of your pointer and middle, "Were these not big enough to entertain you while I was gone?"

You whine, flushed red with embarrassment, and try to wretch your hand away pointlessly.

A belated snort escapes him and he gives you a long, judgemental glare, letting you boil in your own shame.

"Don't start," you huff, petulant.

Cato huffs darkly, "I didn't say anything."

You frown knowingly—and his head descends, lower and lower.

You're all too willing to let him arrange you near his face.

Sure, you wriggle and flush and grumble at him as he makes sure to make a dramatic gesture of the act, but you're eager—and he knows it.

With an Ambassador's plump cunt to his mouth, Cato can't complain. But you certainly try to, despite the juddering thighs squeezing fruitlessly against the sides of his head. It's hopeless to try to fend off an Astartes, especially like this.

"C-Cato, just—"

He rolls his tongue over your clit again and again, delighting in the blissful hormone feedback lighting up his brain and the sounds you're making adding to it.

Some part of him'd be content lapping at your swollen nerve for hours, until you're a boneless mewling wreck. Tormenting you, letting you beg for him while he just roils in the simple goal of getting you to your end a dozen or so times.

"Please, just f-fuck—" you sob, squirming as he laughs against your sex at how toothless your frustration is. "Fuck m-me, Cato, stop being a-a—"

He drags over your clit again and feels your hamstrings tense, a fresh surge of slick wetting his chin.

"I'm—I c-can't," a shuddering whine leaves you, desperate.

The air practically vents out of your lungs like you're winded as he sucks; until you're so terribly close, all he'll need to do is bottom out in you to make you cum.

And that's exactly what he does.

He organises your legs off his shoulders and about his mid section as quickly as he can manage and then—

"F-f—fuh—uck," You writhe, head thrown back while you squirm at the heavy press of him rocking inside you, making your breathing stutter for a second. It's the familiar, obscene view of watching the massive slab of cock press into a cunt that's almost too small for him. But given the fact you take it so well, who's Cato to deny you? You love it, and that's the real thrill. A surge of pleasure sends you bucking; legs moving mindlessly where they're hooked over his hips, but he keeps still, simply letting you suffer your end on the thick length of him—all the while enjoying the feeling of being stuffed in you the whole ordeal.

It's only a quick orgasm, but damn if it isn't a hell of a show.

You're panting deliriously, trembling on his cock; and Cato's about to start drooling at the tightness he's being treated to.

When you stop trembling around him, you fight to steady your breathing—huffing out; "I—I ought-t-ah... squeeze you o-out."

"You'd need a dozen Dreadnauts to drag me loose right about now," he snorts and tips his head close, nudging his temple to yours a second later before smirking proudly.

The heavy swell of his balls sit flush against your ass, and you arch up, scrambling to pull him down into an embrace.

The small hands on his back are a nice counterpoint, and he moans when your fingers glide up to his shoulder; trailing the side of his neck before cupping his cheek. You pet him against the slightly grown out grain of his stubble with a skrrch skrrch, and he hums contently—and when that little hand rises to his pet his hair, it's sublime.

Your touch shifts away and he grumbles.

"I didn't tell you... to stop, damn it."

"So you are enjoying y-yourself, hm?" You smile, cupping his jaw and petting slowly.

"I don't... don't know what you're talking about, woman," he lies, nigh beside himself; pressing his bulk against you while pawing and groping at whatever he can.

He'd try for one of your tits in his mouth if the angle he's currently reaming you out at didn't make it impossible.

You work kisses across the high point of his cheek and down the heated column of his throat; seemingly emboldened by the dulcet, appreciative hums and rumbles that escape from Cato the entire time.

Doused in affection like this, he struggles to form sentences, damn it all.

He lets his head rest close, assailed with honest desperation.

"But, I..." he starts quickly, feeling a weight in his chest. His brain wants him to finish with a whole other word he refuses to even think of; because even if he's itching to say that he—he loves adores you—he's too stubborn to say it without sufficient prodding; but there's an arrow of longing lodged in his gullet and thankfully it doesn't dare to leave his mouth. "But, I do enjoy... you."

The prettiest whine escapes you in answer, and the flutter your tight cunt around him proves that for once, he's somehow said the right thing.

You swallow thickly and dither for a second, genuinely flustered but still able to get the words out, "I-I enjoy you, too."

A heady rush of heat fans across his face as he tries to properly process the information. The road travels both ways, and everything is serene, he's happy—you're happy, and that's all he ever needs. The duty and the honour, and the courage, seem inconsequential to it all in that moment.

He turns and kisses you swiftly, before leering away.

You rear up trying to close the distance again, but then Cato finally thrusts—and your eyes swim in their sockets, thighs shaking, mouth open with the heady gasp that leaves you.

So he nears, and gives you the other kiss you were eager for.

It's far messier than the former; his big tongue sticking in, dragging across yours and stifling you, saliva smearing down your chin as Cato practically laps the moans out of your mouth.

When he arches back at last, you're flushed and red at the lips, fluttering your lashes at him; eyes falling half-lidded under his gaze.

"C-Cato, move," You whine, imploring, and there's another eager clench around him when he obligingly ruts forward.

Cato can see the lurid glee on your face as your focus shifts suddenly to the point you both meet. Folded under him, it's given you a perfect vantage of the slab-of-meat that is his cock absolutely jammed down to the base in your guts.

You shimmy a bit and moan, "M-More?"

The scoff that leaves him is disbelieving, but he's well aware you're goading him to really set about fucking you insensible.

"If I fucked you as hard as you liked, you'd be getting augmetic hips tomorrow," he snarks, punctuating his point my pushing forward a little, so he's jammed riiiight against the soft ring of your cervix.

A soft gasp is all the receives for a second before you're suddenly grinning, "You're n-not that big."

It's so blatantly a lie he doesn't even dignify it with an answer. Instead, he shifts back a hint so only a third of himself stays inside you, letting you grow irate at the denial.

"I w–uh-was joking, Cato... please, don't s-stop," You whimper mournfully, raising yourself a little in attempt to coax him to slam in... and suddenly, there's a small hand on his flank.

Cato ignores it, focused on getting some much needed humility out of your darling mouth; then the hand claws at his rump.

"Needy bitc—" His would-be snarky sentence cuts short as he jumps a little, surprised, and clenches his rear; causing him to buck forward, sinking down to the hilt in you.

The thrilled gasp you make is priceless, and the shivering heat around his cock is sublime—but damn you for using that instinctive muscle reaction on him—you clever little bitch.

"Stop grabbing my ass," he grumbles, scowling down at you.

A crooked smile graces your lust-dumb features before it contorts into a flushed keen—surely not because Cato grinds deep to wipe the smirk off your face.

"This ought to keep your hands busy," He chides, rearing back and reaching sidelong for his discarded helmet on the far side of his cot.

You eagerly take it into your embrace, and Cato's impulse control violently derails seeing your tits sandwiched to the side panel; the white and red plume brushing your cheek—and you looking up at him with wanton lust.

Oh, Throne of Terra—that looks...

Cato swallows the saliva that suddenly over-accumulates in his mouth.

It's lecherous, and a glaring hypocrisy to everything the Legiones Astartes stands for—but there's something painfully enthralling about the visual that riles him up to strain at the bit like a warhorse.

Throne, he wishes he could fuck you in full-plate; just to see you drip and squirm, the adamantine of his thigh plating against your tender rear—the gooseflesh cold ceramite earns out of you to contrast the big hot slide of him into you. If only there was a way to keep the comfort of familiar war-gear upon him and the bliss of your soft skin on his simultaneously.

But he's got more than one round in him, and you've signed the warrant to be fucked to hysterics with all your insufferable antics earlier, no matter how cute you're acting now.

He's not going to last long.

Not like this.

Not with you so painfully eager, and pretty, and warm, and sweet.

He can't help acting on the urge to absolutely plough into you like his life depends on spilling inside.

"Ca–ah—to, Cato, C-Cato—" you drool, eyes shut tightly, fingers white with the exertion of keeping a grip on his helm's respirator. Each time you cry out his name it's followed by the sticky plap-plap-plap of his balls against your rear, and it's enthralling feeling you twitch and cramp on his length in rhythm with each stroke.

"Aren't you such a good little fucktoy," Cato pants, grinning when you nod on instinct. "Holding an Astartes' helm for him... while taking his cock."

A strangled 'y-yes' escapes you, breath fogging condensation against the cold steel of his helm.

"Perfect," he grunts, "My perfect... little whore," gritting his teeth, "You'll let me fill you, won't you?"

Another gorgeous few bleated notes of 'yes, y-yes, yes' meet him in answer.

"You want it here?" Cato hisses, breathlessly punctuating himself with a grind, "That's it... that's what you want?"

And that comment apparently does you in at last.

The pathetic little sob that pairs along with your frantic nodding makes him salivate like a rabid dog.

Your thighs judder as he pulls back to slam in, fruitlessly trying to lock at the ankles around the wide span of his hips; vainly attempting to keep him still—squeezing tighter and tighter as he keeps driving home into you—and the feeling is ecstasy, much like the view. You're so red across the cheeks it's almost the same colour as his plume, and you're hugging his helmet close, making the sweetest hiccuped sobs of pleasure against it.

He grits his teeth at the tightness that rewards him for pushing you to finish, helpless to it doing the same. Rutting into you, filling the eager hole he's sheathed in.

Cato slumps forward, shivering; careful to not squish you and his helm beneath his bulk despite the daze of him emptying a load in you—keeping pace even when the stimuli becomes unbearably tender and your heels dig into his flanks.

Heaving, he halts at last after the pleasure begins to really hurt, and meets your hazy gaze with a long, content sigh.

"C-Cato," you start softly, and nose against his cheek.

"Yes?" He begins in an airy tone, looming close to your ear and letting his exhale taper off into a long, curious hum.

"Your helm's d-digging into my ribs..." you cringe, and he immediately lifts himself away with a strong hand and pulls his helmet away and to the side.

Redness in the vague outline of the ceramite is imprinted on the soft skin of your side and he tuts, hand tracing the minor injury.

Kneading the area a little, you start to squirm, and Cato's suddenly hyperaware he's still inside you; and looks down.

He's fucked your combined fluids into a frothing mess.

With an air of unimpressed amusement, you snort at the show he makes of pulling out—he grabs you with a mitt on the underside of each thigh, functionally spreading you as inch after thick inch drags free so slowly it's almost jarring just how much of him you fit. The flushed head of his cock pops out, dripping a final fat rope of cum across your vulva; and then your overfilled insides start leaking more.

"Still got the implant?" Cato queries, using his thumb to pull your labia aside and eye just how deep he's emptied into you.

"Yes," you snicker weakly, "Y-Yes, I do—why?"

"It's a simple question," he tuts.

"I know w-what you're really asking, Cato."

He raises an eyebrow, "It's got nothing to do with the fact you're hard to avoid finishing inside."

A laugh leaves you like a bark, "You've never tried to a-avoid it."

"You'd throw a fit," he shoots back, and shuffles over to lie beside you on his back.

With a disgruntled huff you retort, "H-How would you know?"

"I remember your opinion on a certain... 'theoretical hypothetical scenario' quite well," Cato says slowly, and prides at the flustered smile you fight to hide in his peripheral vision.

"I... I stand by that statement," you sigh, still half-smirking.

He pouts, "You do, do you?"

"Yes," you huff, "Because now there's the t-temptation of leave to a seaside paradise on the proviso of being gravid," you say pointedly, and roll onto your side to face him—worming closer until your cheek rests on his pectoral. "Which becomes more tempting by the minute."

"You lazy little shit, I never said you had to be pregnant to get there," he scoffs, grinning, sitting up and resting his back to the wall. "Besides, I can assure you Guilliman's homework will find you even on a barren death world."

"I'm sure I can come up with something," you say, glaring at him with a conspiratorial smile. "And what was that about me not having to be knocked up to get this vacation?"

"The stipulation is I'd have you squirming on my lap daily," Cato rumbles, eyeing you arranging yourself to settle atop him. "Hourly, even; and the side effect of that may very well be a procreational one—"

"Such an egalitarian bargain," You snicker softly, saddling yourself on his hips instead of remaining prone—lifting your legs, straining to splay yourself wide enough to let him slot between them. "You're a better statesman than I thought, Commander Sicarius."

He rumbles a smooth subvocal sound of assent, and the big palms on your hips slide to cup the flesh atop your thighs.

The simple feeling of your warm skin pressed to him, and he is panting softly through his nose already. You kiss him then, with a tender sigh—more a sweet thing than a desperate scramble.

Cato stares when you pull away, keen eyes lingering on your own as you look up at him.

Something about that look plays havoc with his mind, and your next words double down on the heat in his blood, "Does the Grand Duke want for heirs so badly?"

"Fuck, yes—well, no—but... should one of your gene-stock occur by chance, who am I to object," he jumbles his words a tad when you reach down to hold his cock straight.

Throne, he wants it; he really does. Even if it's more likely considered a luxury well beyond anything he deserves, he wants you beside him in whatever way, shape, or form you'll allow.

"So," you snort, and the thick head of his length catches at the rim of your still-dripping cunt, "I'm to be an infant factorum?"

"Duchess," he groans, bristling at your soft lips against his cheek in unison with you sinking down, down, down to the hilt on him. "You're to be... a Grand Duchess, moron."

The languid sigh you make when he's buried in you is so content he's genuinely giddy as you ask, "I-Is that so, Cato?"

"You're going to adore every second of it," Cato rumbles softly, palming your ass. "Spoiled little heifer, that you are."

You make a strangled sound at the harsh grope of your rear and smile against his jaw, "...what's a heifer?"

"A female bovine that's never calved," he expects a slap for that—and yet it never comes.

You lean away, looking deeply unimpressed, and he sulks a little because it's not the reaction he was after. But it's a reaction nonetheless.

"Why do you, as an A-Astartes, even know that?"

"When Guilliman's mood ebbs to a trough, he lectures me on farming techniques," he says offhandedly, "He does so for hours."

Cato feels strange talking of his Father, the Lord Primarch, when his balls are currently smooshed against your perineum and his cock is playing whack-a-mole with your cervix.

"Would t-that make you a male bovine, then?"

Cato considers for a second before arching close to drag his tongue across your throat, grinning.

"So this i-is a breeding attempt b-by you?" You laugh with a daft, pleasured sort of delight and lift yourself a little, fucking yourself on him at your leisure.

"Yes," Cato pants, and rolls his hips upward—meeting you in the middle.

The contact makes a lewd plap along with a mixed combination of his moan and yours.

"W-Well," you sigh, "You're really trying—ah—aren't y-you, Cato?"

"For once," he rasps, mouthing a nice big bruise onto the soft skin on the side of your neck, "Keep talking."

"S-So, how m-many do—" you start meekly, stuttering a little with hesitation; your mouth to his ear. "How many do y-you want?"

The question makes Cato's head spin.

A sound that he can only assume is a braying moan escapes his gullet, because all his focus is cross-haired on the implication you've just given him on a platter.

"You're... you're going to get that implant removed next cycle," Cato pants, raring. "And," he bites out as he struggles not to just give in to the moan trapped in his throat and forsake words altogether. "You'll let me... let me breed this eager cunt of yours, won't you?"

The shaky gasp that leaves you in answer is divine, and Throne, aren't you the perfect little wife whore.

Then you nod, and that fucked-out smile is the most gorgeous thing Cato's ever seen.

It's conjecture, it's fantasy. Because Guilliman's going to skin him if anything like that ever gains actuality—and he may still very well be chemically sterile, after all of this; but it feels right to indulge in that impossible want at this instant. He'd take you as a bride, by the sea—in the high courtyards that look down at the great harbour. He'd have his pretty little wife, maybe a dozen bairns as stubborn as himself and as insufferable as you—and everything'd be perfect. He doubts you'd allow that many, but it's a discussion point. He'll barter—hell, who's he kidding. He'll take anything, even if it's just the two of you.

Whatever you'd ask he'd give; because in the end, he'd enjoy nothing more than to have you with him—and whatever boon might come from that conjunction—something made out of love, that he's not supposed to have.

He takes a firm hold of your hips on either side and bounces you, managing to steal a kiss on the up-lift and ripping a moan out of you on the down-pull—again and again; until you're squirming, slumping forward, squeezing on his cock as you're forced into a racketing orgasm.

Overwhelmed, you all but squeal, scrambling at the wide expanse of his shoulders in an effort to lock him closer, clawing at his deltoids.

It's the last push he needs.

Cato empties his balls right where you want it, groaning and heaving in desperate gulps of air as he slumps back against the wall; dragging you with him.

Your head rests limply against his shoulder and you wriggle, overstuffed—taking every drop.

He grits his teeth as each shudder milks him dry, arcs of pleasure lighting up his nerves.

It leaves him huffing and puffing into your nape, grumbling to himself.

"Perfect," he whispers, nuzzling against your neck. He can feel the sticky heat of his cum dripping out of you and onto his thighs and balls.

Cato supposes if this is what de-facto baseline marriage is like, it's not half bad.

#cato sicarius x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #cato sicarius #warhammer 40k #ultramarines #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer fanfic #writing #calgar omg hiii #oughgh theyre happy and cute and im going to hit cato with a steel chair after this #my little scrunkly #cato sicarius my favourite cringefail husband #giant asshole wife guy #if the breeding thing wasn't obvious enough by the fact he oogles his load EVERYTIME im EVERY CHAP LMFAOO #HES FINALLY ADMITTED ITTTTT #ambassador please do not let him he will make your kids duel endlessly

266 notes · View notes

takes1 · 9 months ago

Text

p. 4 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

thank you so much @v15aexe for giving me that suggestion! i tried my best to honor it and make it feel as organic as possible! and thanks to everyone who's supported this little series :) next part should be heavy nsfw. lmk if ya'll want any other series/characters in my requests

warnings. sfw somehow again idk how this keeps happening to me. minors DNI

details. sfw? / build-up to nsfw / PDA / during: training camp arc / first kiss / jealous!tsukki / stupidshima / needyshima / suggestive petting / kuroo rizz / hand holding / unspoken feelings / communication / obsessed tanaka/nishinoya / 2k words

🤍 kei series. part one / part two / part three / final part / reply and get added to the taglist to get notifs for the last part!

more links. my ao3, my other stuff. request box. haikyuu collection

Tsukishima couldn't believe that it was so dark outside when he left the gym. This training camp would be the death of him.

Dreary and a bit dehydrated, he stepped to the doorway and looked at the surrounding gym-trailers, envious of all the ones that were dark and unoccupied.

His eyes naturally landed on one that was still in-use, though.

Kuroo, who had left early for unspecified reasons, was chatting you up with an unmistakable rizz charisma at the entrance.

You (the now-specified reason) looked downright delighted to be talking to him.

Tsukishima bit the inside of his cheek, heart racing, and barely noticed Bokuto's heavy shoulder slap on the way out of their gym.

"Yeah," He gave a half-cocked, hardly engaged smile and it fell right away.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder for a moment with a confused look- he said nothing to warrant a 'yeah,' but the thousand-yard stare across the kid's face was enough for even him to understand it was out of his paygrade to pry. He continued walking back to his own lodging, quickly becoming absentminded once more.

His immediate reaction at this discomfort was to roll his eyes, put his shoes on, and step out onto the concrete, facing the way back.

Your sweet laugh rang in his ears as he did this.

He looked back, and the older, better in now every way version of himself was brimming with pride that you found him funny.

His dignity couldn't take another beating today. He'd never be able to look you in the eye if he let this one go.

A newfound swiftness in his legs carried him three trailers down to where the light was pouring out into the dark night, blocked only by now: three shadows.

"-that was real sexy-- U-hum, admirable when you told your team off like that today," His fake 'slip-up' had you blushing from ear to ear, hands folded neatly in front of you.

The sly way he lowered his voice to just above a mutter was reminiscent of pillow-talk. He was undeniably smooth and radiated confidence. Even the successfully casual manner in which he leaned against the doorway to both get closer to you and to come across as more conversational.

You corrected him, pushing down his hand; he was about move some of your hair, so you moved it yourself.

You were keeping a polite distance both physically and verbally, "If this is your way of getting intel, you'd be barking up the wrong tree."

Unfazed, he took your hand in his effortlessly, "The only intel I need is your number."

When you took a breath to deny him that for the fourth time, you jumped at Tsukishima's haunted appearance just coming into the light.

Kuroo looked back and nearly jumped out of his skin with an uncool yelp- he quickly covered it with a, "Fuck--! Four-Eyes! You scared the absolute shit out of me."

He caught his breath, holding his chest, "You look like a damn ghost."

You laughed, sharing an entertained glance with Tsukishima, but saw that he was much less delighted to be standing there.

He crafted something on the spot, monotone and sounding just as disinterested as usual, "Coach needs you back at the dorm. It's getting late."

"Oh," You threw a look back to Hinata and Kageyama, who were still practicing, "I was just making sure these two got back in one piece. And- at a decent... time."

You checked your watch and realized it wasn't exactly a decent time anymore.

As you called out to the two still inside, Tsukishima and Kuroo stood in front of each other and crossed their arms with identical scowls.

Kuroo knew that face well. He'd seen it many times with other guys. The 'Go Away, Stop Talking to Her' stare. But he'd place good money on the fact that Tsukishima didn't even know it was a thing.

Even though he was just a freshman, and even though you were too damn good-looking to be Karasuno's manager, and even though he scared him- he took pity on him.

So he let up, but not without one last punch.

"I hope Bokuto grilled you enough while I was gone," He smirked, "You'll need to step it up for tomorrow's match, Tsukki."

There was a slight drop from the gym to the concrete. Tsukishima held his hand out for you to hop down with, and with a look he didn't return, you decided to take it and fixed your shoes.

"I plan to."

You felt a chill between them and had zero desire to intervene. Kuroo seemed to give a subtle, proud smile.

"Good."

The walk back was dead silent. It was slowly suffocating you, nagging at you like flies to just say something about what happened between you.

The pace wasn't fast, but it wasn't slow. And the accommodated lodging wasn't too far off from the lined-up gyms, so you both felt the opportunity growing smaller and smaller.

"It's nice seeing you stay for solo practice."

He said nothing.

"And- you've been getting better."

He scoffed, "Tell me that when we're not hitting penalty sprints after every match."

You smiled. It was quiet again.

"I will."

He looked down at you, brows raised, softer now. He realized how mean he sounded and couldn't take it back. There were a lot of things he couldn't take back.

That feeling helped him not shut down your candid question.

"So, what was that? Back there?"

His response was careful and slow. You were waiting on your toes for each following word.

"I guess-... I'm- surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"That you'd-- entertain that. You're not the type."

"You should be more careful putting girls in boxes, Tsukki-" The nickname just slipped out. You felt your face get warmer.

He stayed silent, though. You couldn't read him no matter how hard you tried.

You continued, treading lightly, "I... I don't know, it is nice being fawned over. It's flattering, at least."

The "Yeah," he choked out sounded like he'd gotten stabbed through the middle with a serrated knife- and you just twisted it.

"Much easier than having to deal with some jackass that doesn't know how to talk to me."

A surprised half-laugh, half-scoff left his lips at your brash comment.

"Really." He rolled his eyes, heart sinking, and regretting just about every moment between you. Especially that out-of-body shit he pulled back there.

"But," You leaned to look at him and found it nearly impossible.

He was staring at the sky. He really did look in pain.

"I wouldn't say I prefer it," A smile crept over your lips, a small laugh at how absurd your own words sounded, "It's not interesting enough."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his jaw worked. He was already at rock-bottom, so there was nothing to hide.

Another sigh-laced response, "What... would you prefer?"

The shared dormitories were approaching closer. You began to mosey, your footfalls with more time between them, smaller distance, in the hopes that you could steal more time alone. It was such a warm night and you were craving to get under a fan, but sweating out in this muggy, paved path had steady-growing appeal.

"Tall," You started to list, struggling to keep a nervous, yet amused grin down, "Blond,"

He finally looked down at you.

His eyes were glossy under his glasses. There was no such smile on his face, but his chest rose and fell faster.

"Intelligent, but-," You stopped and he followed your lead without a moment's hesitation. The pause felt right because now, the street light next to your housing was setting between you in a warm, flickering glow, "Somehow incredibly stupid."

An unfiltered laugh broke his melancholic silence and it was the most beautiful sound you could've asked for.

"Mean," You felt inclined to include through his bout of relieved laughter, "But- secretly really thoughtful, and sweet. And a really cute laugh."

You giggled with him, giddy and incredibly apprehensive as you took his hand. He laced his fingers through yours and your tummy started to dance with a billion butterflies.

Another tentative, gentle hand found its rightful place on your waist.

"I'm sorry," He muttered, "About... everything."

Crystal clear feelings of guilt flashed across his face, despite holding you, your admission, and his reparations today. His insecurities really did manage to worm their way back in.

"I thought it was pretty clear that I forgave you," You grinned, squinting up at him, "But since you're so stupid-,"

He smiled and looked away, shy.

"I guess I have to tell you directly that," You grabbed his chin to force him look at you, "I forgive you."

Those eyes were beyond complex. His charged, but needy stare sent a shiver down your spine and made your knees so weak that you were appreciative he pulled you closer to his chest.

You knew he didn't know how to kiss.

So you made the first move- a soft hand to the side of his face to guide him down, and a gentle, barely-there, slow peck. He started to kiss back, but it was over before he got the proper chance to try.

"One more," He breathed, the tiniest smirk covering a bottomless desire for you.

He could hardly form a kiss through his smiling, you weren't sure if he was really even trying on the second time he asked for another.

You leaned up for a third, hand at last unlacing from his, and slid to the base of his neck for a subtle pull for control. A deeper, much better kiss ensued as the result of this direction.

That unsure hand on your waist gripped harder with growing certainty- his thumb wrapped forward around your hip and squeezed, sending a shock throughout your body that left you tugging at the roots of his hair.

"Mmn," You buzzed against him and, a bit breathless, sucked a small, red spot to his jaw when you couldn't keep kissing him anymore.

"Ye-ah-" You seethed, brow knotted, "We can't do this here."

He was panting at the loss of your touch and your pretty voice. He nodded dumbly but didn't move.

You carefully guided his hand off of yours, holding it for a moment, and smiled at his dazed expression for all it was worth.

Your timing couldn't have been better. Just as you climbed the first steps to get into the building, Tanaka burst through the door in a fury.

"(Y/N)!! Where were you?! I'vebeenworriedsick!" He cried, only just barely drowning out the rapid, thundering of footsteps (interrupted only briefly with a crash and resulting shout) from your other personal fan, Nishinoya, who burst through the door in an identical fashion-- "Thank GOD!"

They both collapsed against you, not even giving you the chance to register their incessant noise.

"Jesus," You wheezed at the absurd weight of them both.

Tsukishima went completely unseen for the second time that night.

"Get off, both of you!" Daichi's disembodied, reprimanding voice called from upstairs. He certainly couldn't see them, so he must've just known.

With great, exaggerated labor, they did as told, but didn't drop the subject.

"You've never been out so late before!" Nishinoya exclaimed, taking both of your hands in his with big, dinner-plate eyes. It was only 9:30.

"Well, you have Tsukki to thank for getting me back safely," You joked, much quieter than them, heart light on the heels of a good kiss and in the company of good friends.

They looked around before spotting him, generating an amused smile on your face, and shook both of his hands at the same time, thanking him many times for his service.

"He saved me from Kuroo," You added with a playful glance back to Tsukishima, now free to walk in with them out of the way.

Now he was the one bombarded with questions as you slipped your shoes off in the doorway.

taglist:

this has been so nice writing! thank ya'll for the support! drop any suggestions for other characters or series you'd want to see in my requests!

@hotvinimon @cyzvx @aloveablechaos @kozumesphone

@beaniedoodz @idiotboys @djmoyolehuani @ilovemymomscooking

@imiqz @vierciale

444 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER THREE ━━ Mia, The Menace

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.6K

❀ ━ warnings: none i think

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: sigh another filler i’m sorry guys next chapter is when things actually start happening ….. also will u guys pls lmk if y’all like this series so far bc i feel like i’ve been writing it so shitty i’m sorry 🫠

THE AIR in Jo’s family home feels warmer than she remembers, thick with the lazy ease of summer afternoons in Boston. She’s sprawled out on the couch in the living room, half in Asher’s lap, her back pressed against his chest. The TV hums in the background, some half-forgotten show playing on low volume, but neither of them is paying much attention to it. Instead, their focus is on Mia, Jo’s eight-year-old little sister, who’s commanding the room as she rehearses her dance routine.

The house feels bigger than it ever does when Jo’s parents are home, their absence leaving behind a peculiar stillness that’s only occasionally interrupted by Mia’s bursts of energy. Her parents are celebrating their anniversary weekend in Maine, indulging in some much-deserved quiet while leaving Jo in charge of their youngest child. Jo doesn’t mind; after all, it’s July—her off-month—and she’s back in Boston for a brief stint of home-cooked meals and family chaos before heading back to Storrs in August. Babysitting Mia, however, is proving to be a full-time job in itself—which Jo probably should’ve expected.

Mia’s energy is endless. Right now, she’s twirling and leaping across the living room, her movements surprisingly precise for a kid her age. She’s dressed in a sparkly leotard and pink tights, her hair tied in an elaborate bun she’d made Jo do before this—because, well, if Jo is good for anything, it’s doing hair. During summer sessions, half the team made her do their braids before practice—Paige especially, the blonde hopeless at doing her own—and Jo knows it’ll only get worse when the season starts up.

Jo tries to keep a watchful eye on her sister, but she can’t help but be distracted by her boyfriend. He’s absentmindedly tracing small circles across the middle of her thigh, and she can feel his heart beating against her back. When she glances up at him, she can’t help but grin at the softness of his smile as he claps along with Mia’s haphazard twirls, the way he leans into the couch—into Jo—like he belongs here. Which, he does. He always has.

“Joey!” Mia calls, her voice sharp and commanding for an eight-year-old. She pauses mid-spin to put her hands on her hips, her small frame vibrating with indignation. “You’re not watching!”

Jo blinks, pulling herself out of her thoughts. “I am watching,” she defends, though it’s not quite true. She sits up a little straighter against Asher, nudging him as if to say help me out here. “You’re doing great, Mia. Keep going.”

Mia narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Ugh,” she groans, glaring at her older sister. “Payton always gives me better advice. You just say, ‘good job.’ That’s not going to help if I want to be the best dancer in the entire world, Jo!”

Jo exchanges a look with Asher, who’s barely holding back a laugh. Payton, Jo and Mia’s older sister, is a professional dancer living in New York City—a career Mia idolizes. Unlike Jo, who’s spent her life on the basketball court, Payton is everything Mis wants to be: graceful, disciplined, and impossibly good at pirouettes. It’s a path Jo has no interest in, which is probably why Mia constantly reminds her she’s the least qualified coach in the family.

“Well, yeah,” Jo says with a shrug. “Payton’s a pro. She’s, like, me in basketball but with dance. I’m just here to cheer you on, don’t really know what to tell you’s right or wrong, Mimi.”

Mia just groans again, even more dramatic this time, launching into another leap across the floor. Asher leans closer to Jo, his lips brushing against her ear as he drops his voice to a whisper. “Tough crowd.”

Jo snorts softly. “You have no idea,” she murmurs back.

Mia finishes her routine with a fluoride, throwing one arm in the air as if she’s just landed a gold medal-winning move at the Olympics. Asher claps loudly, a grin inching across his face. “Amazing, Mee!” he says enthusiastically, though he’d say that even if her performance was outright awful. “You’re getting even better than Payton, I think.”

For once, Mia doesn’t respond with her usual sass. Typically, when it comes to Asher, Mia’s either teasingly threatening him or biting at him or calling him funny names—she’s a menace child if Jo’s ever met one. But instead, Mia actually smiles at the boy, her cheeks flushed pink from exertion. “Thanks,” she says cheerfully, and Jo stares at her in disbelief.

“Wow,” the point guard says, raising an eyebrow, impressed. “You smiled at him. And thanked him. I think that’s a first.”

“Progress,” Asher claims, smiling broadly down at Jo.

Mia, on the other hand, sticks her tongue out at her older sister before collapsing onto the rug, sighing dramatically. “I’m exhausted. Someone get me a glass of water.”

“Get one yourself,” Jo tells her, already pulling out her phone. She scrolls through her notifications lazily, her thumb pausing when Paige’s name lights up her screen.

PB 😱😱

Got a nike event in Boston tmrw morning

Soooo we’re hanging out after

No negotiations

Jo’s lips twitch into a smile.

Ma freshie 💘

obviously

what time?

Paige replies almost instantly.

PB 😱😱

Like noon?

Don’t bail jojo

Jo shakes her head, rolling her eyes to herself. Paige never fails to amuse.

Asher, whose chin is now pressed against Jo’s hair, his gaze on her text. He asks, “So, you and her are really tight now, huh?”

Jo shrugs, because, well, kinda, duh. “I mean, we do live together,” she says, as if that explains everything.

“Yeah, but she’s Bueckers,” he replies, saying her name like it means something. Which, even though Paige would say it doesn’t, it totally does. “That’s a huge deal. She’s, like, insane on the court. Seen all the highlights.”

Jo doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she lets her mind wander to the past month and a half—the morning runs, the late-night shooting, the quiet moments in their shared apartment, the not-so-quiet playful bickering. Paige isn’t just her teammate or her roommate. She’s… something else entirely. Someone Jo can’t quite put into words—an enigma, maybe. “She’s just Paige,” Jo murmurs finally, her voice softer now.

Asher grins. “I’ve gotta meet her sometime. Best introduce me soon, Jo.”

“You’ll like her,” she replies, confidence threading her voice. She can already picture how Paige would probably charm the hell out of him without even trying—she does it to everyone, after all. “She’s… yeah, she’s cool.”

From the rug, Mia sits up suddenly, as if she’s finally hearing the conversation, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Who’s Paige?”

Jo blinks at her. “My roommate,” she responds simply. “You knew that.”

“And teammate,” Asher adds.

“She knew that, too.”

Mia crosses her arms, her tone all business now, ignoring Jo’s last comment. “Is she nice?”

“Yeah,” Jo answers easily. “She’s great. Super chill, really funny.”

“Is she good at basketball?” Mia fired back.

Jo grins. “One of the best.”

“Bet she’s better than you.”

Jo throws one of the throw pillows on the couch at her sister’s head. “Shut up, Mia.”

Mia just giggles, dodging the pillow with ease. Asher laughs, shaking his head as he watches the two sisters bicker, more than familiar with it.

For all her teasing, Jo can’t shake the warm, almost buzzing feeling in her chest. She’s excited to see Paige tomorrow. For reasons she can’t explain, she’s missed her a lot these past couple weeks they’ve been away from campus. It’s probably just because going from basically spending every waking minute with one another to none at all is a little odd.

Probably.

THE JULY sun beats down on Boston, and Paige feels it’s warmth seeping into her skin as she walks along the tree-lined streets near the Commons. The Nike event she attended this morning went off without a hitch, just a casual appearance with some photos and a couple clips filmed that they’ll probably put into an add. But now, she’s got the rest of the day free. The thought makes her grin as she thumbs out a quick text to Jo.

PB 😱😱

All done 😊😊

Where u at?

It takes Jo less than a minute for Jo to reply, sending a pin for a location that’s about a half mile away. Paige starts walking, but a follow-up text rings before she’s even crossed the street.

Ma freshie 💘

mia and i are by the ice cream shop

hurry pls, she’s losing her mind

The next message is a picture of Mia making a ridiculous face, her lips twisted and one eye squinting in mock disgust. Paige snorts out a laugh right there on the sidewalk, the noise startling a couple walking by. She doesn’t care, though. The kid already seems like a riot, and Paige is oddly excited to meet her.

The stories Jo’s told her about Mia over the past month and a half come rushing back: the eight-year-old’s uncanny ability to get under people’s skin, her endless energy, and her knack for saying the wildest things at the worst times. Paige has been looking forward to meeting her, though she’s still not sure if it’s because she’s genuinely curious about the so-called “demon child” or if she just wants to see Jo in full big-sister mode.

When Paige rounds the final corner, she spots them immediately. Jo is standing near a brightly colored ice cream shop, her arms crossed, her face pinched in annoyance as she talks to a smaller figure—Mia, presumably. Mia, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered, her tiny hands on her hips as she talks back with the kind of confidence that only a sassy little girl could muster.

Paige slows her steps, taking in the scene with a grin tugging at her lips. Jo’s wearing a simple outfit—ripped jean shorts that show off her long legs, a tightly-fitted white tube top, and a Red Sox cap pulled low over her face. It’s casual, but there’s something about the way she looks so effortlessly good in it that makes Paige pause for half a second longer than she should.

Her stomach dips unexpectedly, and Paige frowns to herself. Relax.

Still, as Paige approaches, she can’t help but notice the way Jo’s tan skin seems to glow under the sun, how smooth her legs look. Paige shakes her head, forcing her thoughts back on track. Because, seriously, the fuck is she even thinking about?

Clearing her throat, Paige makes her presence known. Jo turns, her annoyed expression instantly replaced by something brighter—her eyes lighting up, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“Hey, JoJo,” Paige greets teasingly, the nickname rolling off her tongue before she can stop it.

Jo’s grin falters for half a second, and she slaps Paige’s arm lightly. “Quit calling me that.”

Paige smirks. “Nah.”

Before Jo can retort, Mia steps forward, her curious gaze fixed on Paige. The little girl is smaller than Paige expected, with a mop of dark curls and big brown eyes that seem to take in everything. Paige crouches down to her level, offering a hand.

“And you must be Mia,” she says warmly. “I’m Paige.”

Mia doesn’t take her hand right away. Instead, she gives Paige a long, exaggerated once-over, her gaze hard as she studies her. The blonde tries not to fidget, but it’s hard under the little girl’s piercing eyes. Jo wasn’t kidding; Mia’s got this quiet intensity that’s a little intimidating, even if she’s only eight years old and Paige is twenty.

Finally, Mia breaks into a grin and giggles as she takes Paige’s hand. “Hi,” she says, her voice lilting.

Paige relaxes, smiling back easily. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard lots about you.”

Mia tilts her head. “From Jo?”

“Yeah,” Paige remixes with a grin. “She talks about you all the time.”

Mia beams at this, clearly pleased, while Jo mutters something under her breath that Paige doesn’t catch.

Paige chuckles a little as she stands. “Sooo, ice cream, right?” she asks.

Mia’s eyes light up and she grabs Paige’s hand like she’s known her her whole life rather than a minute or two. “Yes! Best ice cream in Boston!”

Jo snorts, falling into step beside them, shoulder brushing against Paige’s lightly. “She says that about every ice cream place we go to,” she mumbles, though there’s an undeniable softness in her tone.

“It is the best,” Mia insist, her voice full of conviction.

Paige grins. “Guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

The moment they step inside the ice cream shop, Paige is hit with a wave of sugary air and the sound of chatter. It’s buzzing in here, bigger and more crowded than she expected, almost every table occupied, with kids laughing, parents corralling them. The line snakes almost to the door, and Paige glances down at Mia, who’s still clutching her hand tightly.

“Looks like this place is the best,” Paige observes, smiling down at the little girl. Mia beams back up at her, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Told you!” she chirps, voice triumphant.

Paige can’t help but laugh softly. She glances over at Jo, who’s scanning the menu above the counter. The sunlight streaming through the shop window catches on the stray wisps of Jo’s hair that escape from under her Red Sox cap. Paige tries not to let her eyes linger too long on the curve of Jo’s jawline or the way her tube top leaves the expanse of her collarbones and neck exposed.

Jesus Christ, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with herself today.

The line moves slowly, but Paige doesn’t mind. Mia fills the time with a steady stream of chatter, never letting go of the blonde. She tells her about her favorite ice cream flavor (superman), her least favorite vegetables (brussel sprouts), and their family dogs (a dachshund named Dory and a golden retriever named Murph).

Paige listens attentively, nodding and laughing at all the right moments. She’s used to this—her own siblings are just as chatty, and she’s always been good at humoring them. There’s something comforting about Mia’s unfiltered enthusiasm; it reminds Paige of home in a way that makes her chest ache just a little.

As they inch closer to the counter, the line passes by a display of candy shelves, and that’s when it happens. Mia freezes mid-sentence, her eyes locking into something with the kind of laser focus that only a kid ready for a sugar high can muster.

“Oh my gosh,” Mia breaths, pointing to a massive rainbow-swirled lollipop almost as big as her head. She finally removes her hand from Paige’s to start tugging at Jo, begging, “Joey, please, please, can I get it? Please?”

Paige blinks a little at the nickname. Joey. She’s never heard anyone call Jo that before—she thought the only one she had was the one she hates that the whole team’s started using for her (JoJo). But Paige thinks Joey’s cute. In fact, she files it away in the back of her mind.

“No. Definitely not,” Jo says immediately, shaking her head down at Mia.

Mia’s face scrunches up in exaggerated disbelief. “What? Why?”

Paige glances between them, finally seeing what Jo meant about Mia being a demon child. The girl’s dramatic flair is something else entirely.

Jo sighs heavily. “Because the last time we were here, Mom bought you one, and you threw it up on the way home. It was gross, Mia.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Mia whines, still eyeing the lollipop like it’s the holy grail.

“It was that bad,” Jo counters.

“But it tasted sooo good,” Mia insists, dragging out the words as she tugs at Jo’s arm again.

Jo raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Did it taste good when it came back up?”

Mia stops short, her small face scrunching up in thought. The gears are clearly turning in her head as she considers this. And just as suddenly as the argument started, Mia lets out a resigned sigh and steps away from the candy display.

“Fine,” she mumbles, sounding defeated.

Jo smiles to herself, clearly pleased, and Paige has to bite back a laugh at the entire sibling interaction.

“Nice save,” she says under her breath, leaning slightly toward Jo as they start moving forward in line again.

Jo glances at her, their faces closer than usual, though she doesn’t seem to notice. Her smile just widens as she responds, “You learn a few tricks when you’ve been stuck around her for eight years.”

Paige chuckles softly, watching Mia bound up to the counter like she’s on a mission, finally their turn to order. The little girl presses her hands against the glass case, scanning the vibrant tubs of ice cream with a dramatic level of intensity.

“I want Superman!” Mia declares, her voice brimming with excitement as she points at the swirled red, yellow, and blue ice cream.

“Please,” Jo adds, giving the employee a small, apologetic smile as she nudges Mia’s arm, giving her that older sister look that Paige can tell means—use your manners. The worker scoops a generous amount of the ice cream into a cup and hands it over the counter. Mia accepts it like it’s a trophy, her eyes and grin wide as ever.

“Can I just have a scoop of cotton candy, please?” Jo asks, her turn now, her voice casual like she’s not about to commit a culinary crime.

Paige can’t help but scrunch up her nose at the brunette’s order. Nasty. She doesn’t say anything—yet—but she stores the information away for later mockery. The worker hands Jo her cone, a garishly bright pink and blue swirl that makes Paige wince just looking at it.

When it’s Paige’s turn, she doesn’t even hesitate, ordering mint chip—her absolute favorite.

They pay quickly, before stepping outside into the warm air, each armed with their chosen flavor. Mia’s already half-covered in Superman ice cream and Jo has her head tilted slightly to avoid dripping the cotton candy monstrosity in her hand.

Paige glances at Jo’s cone and makes a face. “Cotton candy is crazy work,” she tells her, incredulous.

Jo raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What’s wrong with cotton candy?”

“Everything,” Paige answers, gesturing at the cone like it’s personally offended her. “It’s basically sugar-flavored-sugar. It doesn’t even taste like real cotton candy. It’s just—” She shudders dramatically.

Jo narrows her eyes at Paige’s cone in retaliation. “Says the person eating frozen toothpaste.”

Paige gasps, her hand flying to her chest in mock indignation. “Excuse me, mint chip is a classic. It’s refreshing. It’s balanced. It’s—”

“Minty,” Jo interrupts, wrinkling her nose. “Which is gross.”

“It’s not gross! You’re gross,” Paige fires back, grinning despite herself.

Mia, who’s been watching the exchange with wide eyes, suddenly pipes up. “Okay, I’ll decide!” she declares. She scoops up some of her Superman ice cream for good measure before pointing her tiny spoon at Jo’s cone. “Joey, let me try yours first.”

Jo bends down slightly to hold out her cone, and Mia takes a small bite. She lets it melt in her mouth, her face scrunching up like she’s debating a complex equation. Finally, she nods. “It’s okay,” she says, though she doesn’t look thrilled.

Jo looks affronted. “Just okay?”

Mia shrugs nonchalantly before turning to Paige. “Now yours!”

Paige kneels slightly to hold out her cone. Mia eyes it suspiciously. “Why is it green?” she asks, sounding almost fearful.

“Don’t worry ‘bout the color,” Paige tells her, waving off the question. “It’s good. Trust.”

Mia hesitates for a second longer before scooping up a tiny bite. She puts it in her mouth, and her face goes still. For a moment, Paige wonders if she’s about to spit it out, but then Mia’s eyes light up.

“This. Is. So. Good!” the eight-year-old squeals, practically bouncing in place.

Paige grins, holding out her hand for a high five. “Told you. Welcome to the winning team.”

Mia smacks her hand enthusiastically, ice cream forgotten for a moment. Jo, however, is standing off to the side, arms crossed and pouting like a kid who just lost her favorite game. Paige glances at her and immediately starts laughing.

“Oh, don’t be mad,” she teases, nudging Jo’s arm.

“She’s supposed to be on my side!” Jo grumbles, glaring halfheartedly at Mia. “I’m your sister!”

Mia sticks her tongue out at her, clearly unbothered. “You’re just mad because you have bad taste.”

Paige nearly chokes on her ice cream, laughing so hard she has to steady herself against a bench they’re stood next to. “Dang, Mia!”

Jo shakes her head, though the corner of her mouth twitches upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you little menace,” she mumbles, ruffling Mia’s hair.

Mia slaps her hand away from her head, beginning to bicker with Jo. Paige watches, quiet now as she bites into her cone. She finds herself unable to look away, a strange warmth blooming in her chest.

See, whatever that is, has to go. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t understand it in the slightest.

It just—has to go.

THE LIVING ROOM feels cozy in a way that Paige hasn’t experienced in a long time. It’s not her home, not her couch, not her family, but something about it wraps around her, soft and warm. The overhead light is off, leaving the room bathed in the dim glow of the TV. Colors flicker against the walls, shapes shifting across the furniture. Paige doesn’t know what movie is playing—something animated, she thinks—but it’s barely background noise at this point.

Jo sits a few feet away, her back against the armrest of the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent slightly. Mia’s curled up fast asleep in her lap, her little head tucked under Jo’s arm, one of Jo’s hands running lazily through the little girl’s hair. The motion is slow and deliberate, like second nature, and it’s strangely captivating. Paige finds herself staring, watching the way Jo’s fingers disappear into soft brown curls, touch gentle.

Paige hadn’t planned to stay this long. After Mia had declared mint chip her new favorite ice cream and told Paige she could officially call her Mimi—a nickname that only her absolute favorite people can use—they’d hung out all day, walking around the Commons, then shopping, then getting dinner. After that, they were meant to depart, Jo and Mia going home, and Paige going back to her hotel. But then Mia had looked up at her with those big, pleading eyes, practically begging Paige to come back and watch a movie with them. And Paige is terrible at saying no to kids.

So, she came home with them, to their house which sits right on the outline of the city. The house isn’t massive, but it’s nice—nice enough for Paige to have faintly wondered how much money Jo’s parents make. But it’s still welcoming and cozy, and Paige feels comfortable here. She also likes that she’s got to see all the photos around—the ones of Jo when she was little, some more recent ones that Paige can guess are apart of her senior photos, and a couple of her with her sisters.

The only one that she didn’t enjoy seeing was that one. A nicely framed picture of Jo and her boyfriend sitting on the shelf directly to Paige’s right. They look happy in it. Too happy, in Paige’s opinion, though she doesn’t know why it bothers her so much. Maybe she’s got some sort of jealousy deep down in the part of her heart where her commitment issues aren’t veined around, an envy toward a stable relationship like that. But either way, there’s no reason for her to care. And yet, she doesn’t like it.

Paige shakes the thought away, focusing instead on the conversation. She and Jo have been talking quietly since Mia fell asleep, their voices hushed but easy. It reminds Paige of late nights back at their shared apartment on campus, how they’ll end up in the kitchen at the same time and somehow talk for hours without meaning to. Paige likes those moments more than she’ll ever admit, and this feels no different.

Their conversation drifts, flowing naturally, until Jo starts talking about her sisters. “I admire them, you know,” she says softly, her hand still moving through Mia’s hair. “Payton, especially. She’s… well, she’s incredible. Mia thinks she walks on water, and honestly, sometimes I do, too.”

Paige tilts her head, curious. Jo’s voice has a different quality now—still soft, but there’s something else underneath it. Not sadness exactly, but something close. “What about you?” Paige asks. “You’re incredible, too. And Mia clearly adores you.”

Jo smiles, but—for once—it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, but it’s different. Payton’s a dancer—like, a real dancer. She’s in New York City, with the ballet there. And that’s what Mia loves. That’s what they both love. And, y’know, they connect over it. It’s dance; it’s their thing.”

Paige frowns, the words sinking in. Jo rarely talks like this. She’s always so happy, so upbeat, so wrapped in sunshine that Paige sometimes forgets there might be anything else underneath. “You don’t feel connected to them?” she asks, her voice a little quieter now.

Jo hesitates, her hand pausing in Mia’s hair for just a second before continuing. “Not really,” she admits. “I mean, I love them, obviously. But… it’s hard sometimes. I’ve always been the odd one out, you know? The one who plays basketball while they dance. Sometimes it just feels like we’re on completely different planets.”

Paige doesn’t know what to say at first. She’s surprised—stupidly so, maybe, because she’s never considered Jo might feel this way. But, if she thinks about it, it makes sense.

“I get that,” the blonde finally says, soft but steady. “I mean, I’m so much older than my siblings that it’s hard to connect with them sometimes, too. But… for what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing. And I know Mia does too—whether she says it or not.”

Jo looks over at her then, and for a moment, Paige thinks she might forget how to breathe. There’s something in Jo’s eyes, something raw and unguarded, and it makes Paige’s chest feel tight. “Thanks,” Jo says quietly, barely a whisper.

The moment feels too heavy, too close, and Paige decides to lighten the mood. “So,” she says, changing the subject, her small smile curling into more of a smirk. “Mia calls you Joey?”

Jo’s smile returns, softer this time but more genuine. “Yeah. My whole family does. It’s a much better nickname than that JoJo Siwa shit y’all have come up with.”

Paige laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t shit on the JoJo nickname. It’s iconic.”

Jo raises an eyebrow, her smile turning teasing. “Iconically bad,” she corrects.

“Okay, fine,” Paige says, pretending to think. “But I like Joey more, too. It’s cute. Maybe I’ll start calling you that instead.”

Jo shrugs, but her smile widens just a little. “Anything’s better than JoJo.”

Paige grins, leaning back into the couch, though—for whatever reason—her heart starts thumping a little faster. She doesn’t know why she feels the way she does around Jo sometimes—why moments like this stick with her longer than they probably should. But for now, she doesn’t let herself think about it too much. Instead, she lets herself enjoy the quiet, the warmth of the room, and the easy rhythm of their conversation.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige buckets #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb #wlw #lgbtq #nobody gets me

213 notes · View notes

marshmellohi · 6 months ago

Text

Links Meet AUs List

A lot of AUs get lumped together with Linked Universe, so I wanted to make a list comprising any and all original Links Meet AUs I could find! Please let me know if I’m missing something, you want your AU to be removed, a link is broken, or if you know an AU’s status so it can be moved to the correct dedicated category.

DISCLAIMER: Please pay attention to the content warnings on some of these AUs! I haven’t personally read every AU so I don’t know what some contain, but if an AU has something you don’t vibe with, there are more than plenty of others that you will love on this list! Please be respectful and kind to everyone! This list is both for archival purposes and to appreciate the creativity of the community!

Additional Notes: Some AUs have dedicated Tumblrs, some can be found through original tags, some are only on ff.net or ao3, etc. I have a separate list for AUs limited to Discord/DMs that I have not included here unless I receive permission to do so! Also, if something is separated by ||, that means that theyre 2(+) separate AUs by the same creator in the same tumblr… if that makes sense LOL. This list is Always Updating so be sure to keep an eye out for any new AUs!

PUBLIC

• A Link to the Present

• Across the Galaxy

• Ageless Soul

• Bonus Links

• Branching Timelines

• Chain as Cryptids

• Chained Spirits

• Chains of Time

• Courage of Ages

• Culture Shock

• Deuy’s Links Meet

• Dimensional Links

• Dreamverse AU || Identity Fraud AU

• Echoes of Courage

• Exodus

• Fallen Heroes

• Garden of Heroes

• GodLinks

• Hearts Linked Together

• Heroes Spirit

• House of Heroes

• Kings Comic

• Limited Hero

• Link and the Links || Soldier Poet King

• Link Between Links

• Link Rejoin

• Linked Across Dimensions

• Linked Arena

• Linked By Illustrations

• Linked Dreamscape

• Linked End

• Linked History

• Linked Keys

• Linked Maze

• Linked Spirit

• Linked Through the Centuries

• Linked Universe

• Linked World

• Link’s Fun Road Trip

• Little Links

• Magic’s Wake

• Meowmix’s Linked-verse Journey

• Minas Linkverse

• Monstrous Fusion

• Names of Courage

• Realms of Hylia

• Recalled

• Rifts in Time

• Sister’s Linked Meets

• Suncaster

• Tangled Chains [Lou]

• Team Timeless

• That Broken Promise

• The Hyrulian Valhalla Saga

• The Links We Share

• The Phantom Timeline

• The Sacred Realm

• Too Many Links [Zee]

• Train Whistles and Wedding Bells

• Unchained AU

• Winter Links AU

PRIVATE

AUs where the info is limited to Discord, DMs, and/or friends. Not typically published/shared publicly. Permission is asked to acknowledge these AUs here before posting.

• A Linked Week

• Fractured Timelines

NON-LINK BUT THEY STILL MEET

Crossovers with Zeldas, Ravios, Ganons… pretty much the exact same thing but with other characters.

• Lots of Ravios

• LU Ravioverse

• Strangers Across Eras

• Voice of Wisdom

• Wielders of Wisdom

LINKMEET LITE

Links meet, but it’s not the focus of the story/in the background (example: a world where all the links exist at the same time but the focus is on one specific character/the others dont come up much)

• Father of Time

• Royal Reads

INACTIVE/DEAD

An AU qualifies for the inactive category when: 1.) its been 2+ years since an update and 2.) it’s unfinished; or, 3.) the creator explicitly stated that they were discontinuing it. LMK if one still has a pulse!

• Into the Zeldaverse

• Link and the Links

• Linked By Time

• Linking Together

• Misfortunate Monsters

• Tangled Chains

• Zelda in the Multiverse

UNSURE/MIA

AUs where I am unsure of the status and thus need to contact the creator, the creator’s deciding where to go with it, or I can’t locate the original page. This is mostly for me- consider this kind of like a ‘to do’ list. Any insight is welcome!

• Bagel’s AU (N/C)

• Birdo’s AU (U)

• Cotty’s Linkverse (N/C)

• Chain Reaction AU (Nuked)

• Factorial’s AU (N/C)

• Fortu’s AU (N/C)

• Hyrule Bound (N/C ; Iirc there was a fanfiction but I can’t find it anywhere)

• Link Madness’ AU (N/C)

• Minty’s Linkverse (U)

• Missing Links in Time (U)

#legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #link meets #link meets au #tloz #tloz au #zelda au #legend of zelda au #link meets au list #jaymellos link meets list #link meets list

325 notes · View notes

jayke0 · 10 months ago

Text

A Pleasant Surprise

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem reader

Summary: Steven has had something on his mind for a while now, and finally he divulges his fantasy to you; degrading was certainly not on your playing cards.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: sub!Steven, dom!reader, “mommy” title, degrading, grinding, cumming in pants, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 1,441

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

………......................…………………………………….

When Steven had come to you with a “fun idea”, you'd expected something along the lines of ”naive uni teacher gets fucked by his student”, but this was so much better.

“Love? I have a, uh…suggestion,” Steven calls from the bathroom between brushing his teeth. “Well, it's more of a proposal, really.”

“Yeah? Go on.” You're sitting in your bedroom reading some gruesome crime novel that Marc seems to have a real distaste for.

You hear the water running briefly before your boyfriend joins you in the room, warm morning sun streaming in through the cracked curtains and casting a soft glow over his face. “I mean, we don't have to do it now of course. I know you're reading and all that, and I have to get to work in a bit–.”

You close your book and pat the edge of the bed, making him instantly respond to your gesture by placing himself down. “I'm all ears, sweetheart, lay it on me.”

Blood rushes to Steven's face as he actually thinks about saying it outloud, feet shuffling a little on the creaky floorboards. The words feel stuck in his throat now that he has to speak them, despite the fact he'd thought about the whole image on numerous occasions... and in great detail.

“Heeyy c’mon,” your hand brushes his arm, and you move closer to him to wrap your arms fully around his, crinkling his blue floral shirt. “You know I can't read your mind, Steven… Though I wish I could, that'd be super fucking helpful, then the other two couldn't lie to me.”

His chuckle makes you smile and you feel him draw in a long breath.

”I wanna like… grind against you… and I want you to mock me for it, u-until I cum… in my trousers…”

The pauses between his words are almost comical, but you look up at his face and see that he's completely serious, looking at you with wide eyes and waiting for an answer.

“Oh! Right.”

“Ah, Gods! No no... no no no no no, forget it–.” He frantically shakes his head, his hands doing the same as his face scrunches. “It's weird, I'm sorry, pretend I never said anything. Me and my big bloody mouth.”

“Steven,” you say between giggles, hand resting on his soft face to pull his gaze towards you. “It's not weird, silly! I just didn't expect you to be the one that's into degrading.” Careful not to fall back off of the bed, you climb onto his lap, thighs either side of his as you examine his expression, how gorgeous he looks with his brows knitted together and his unruly curls that Marc would definitely be gluing down with copious amounts of gel right about now.

His chest deflates as he lets out a soft sigh, resting his head on your chest out of embarrassment while you link your arms around his neck to run your fingers through the long curls at the back of his head. You feel his hands graze up your back, gliding under your night shirt and making you shiver with the warmth.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“No! Well…” he pauses, “yeah, but not in a creepy way.” The man lifts his head and looks up at you with those big doe eyes, and you watch them close as you start rolling your hips down on him slowly. You're only in your underwear underneath that shirt, but Steven is fully clothed and ready for work… or at least he would be, if his eyes weren't fluttering shut and arousal wasn't growing in his tummy.

“I promise you, darling, I like your idea.” You reassure him with your hips drawing slow circles against the material of his trousers, creating a delicious friction. “As long as you tell me if it's too much, alright?”

The bed creaks a little with your grinding before he looks up at you, nodding with a kind of desperation in his eyes that lights a fire in your gut.

“You promise?”

“Yeah love, yeah I promise.” He says, his voice a little more whiny.

You don't bother yourself with working out the psychological reasons for why your boyfriend enjoys being degraded about how long he can last, chalking it up to his masculinity, despite your reassurances that he's just as much of a man as his other two alters.

“You've got 10 minutes, think you can do that?”

Steven groans at your question, since both of you know all too well that 10 minutes is more than enough time. Still, he nods, big puppy dog eyes looking up at you and begging you to divulge in his vision.

A smirk creeps across your face when you see those glassy eyes, your gaze trailing down to the blush dusting his cheeks and the straining muscles in his neck.

“God Steven, I love the way you look at me. Look at those big soft eyes, all for mommy, aren't they?”

He lets out a whimper with the use of that title, his cock stirring in his trousers and reminding you of the thin barrier that's stopping you from grinding on the rough material of his slacks all together. The man doesn't take his gaze off of you; he drinks in every one of your features as if he's seeing you for the first time.

Rocking his hips up, he pants.

“Yes mommy, all for you, I'm all for you.”

“That's right, sweetheart, those desperate eyes are for me. that dumb little face is mine.” You lean forward and nip his bottom lip, soothing it afterwards with your tongue as he gasps and bucks his hips.

“I can feel you twitching, baby. You just can't help it, can you? Always getting so worked up and hard when I'm around, maybe I should put this pretty cock in a cage, what do you think?”

Steven's shoulders drop as he leans forward into your neck, biting and sucking any skin he can get his mouth on while his hot breath and whimpers raise goosebumps over your skin.

The suction he had in your neck is broken as his head is suddenly jerked backwards, your grip tight in his hair and making him whimper pathetically.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he tries to suppress his moans, his head nodding wildly. “Yes mommy, I'd– agh–I'd love that.” His hips buck again.

“Mhm.. then you'd at least last longer than 5 minutes, you'd actually be able to fuck me properly.”

Steven's mouth hangs agape, his eyes now squeezed shut as his grip on your hips tighten and he guides your hips down on him harder, wanting more, anything.

“Sh–it… Ah- Feels so good.” His eyebrows knit together in a beautifully strained way. “More, gimme more–.”

You tut with a small smirk on your lips, rocking back and forth to coat his trousers in your own arousal that's seeped through your underwear.

“Oh, look at you, you gonna cum in your pants, baby? Gonna prove how pathetic you are to mommy?” You feel the muscles in his shoulders and back tighten. “C'mon sweetheart, cum for me, ruin those pants.”

Sweet moans and whimpers tumble from the man's rosy lips as he finally lets go, staining his boxers enough that you feel the wetness as it soaks a spot on his trouser leg.

His grip on your hips loosens, but he doesn't stop whimpering, soft babbles and huffs escaping his throat as he calms down. You stroke his head, combing your fingers through his hair as your hips slow. “Good boy, you're such a good boy, Steven.” You smile brightly at him, despite the fact his eyes are still shut.

They only flutter open when he feels your hand stroking his cheek and tilting his head down.

“Are you ok, baby? How do you feel?”

His cheeks are flushed bright red still, beads of sweat sitting on his forehead from the warmth of his button-up shirt. A smile cracks across his face as he nods shyly, “I'm ok– great, yeah.. I'm great, actually.”

“You sure? I didn't hurt your feelings, did I?”

He shakes his head and tilts face to kiss your palm. “No, you didn't, love. I promise.”

His eyes drift down to the wet patch on his trousers, your eyes following as you chuckle softly.

“Should probably change…” He mumbles while resting his head on your shoulder.

“Yeah, that's probably a good idea.” You place a kiss on his neck as you embrace him, ignoring the fact that he will most definitely be late to work… again.

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mooksmouse @cupidysm

#moon knight #moon knight system #moon boys #steven grant #moon knight smut #steven grant smut #oscar isaac characters #steven grant x reader

581 notes · View notes

love-belle · 2 years ago

Text

you're losing me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she's losing him and he's not fighting for her either.

for when you lose someone you thought you'd spend your lifetime with. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader

sequel - i hope i never lose you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - my heart broke while writing this :// still, i hope u like it!! lmk if u want a part ii though i'll write it anyway. i love you, thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, lilymhe and 2,628,926 others

yourusername when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

9,926 comments

username MOTHER?????

username max :///

username if they break up i simply give up, it's that easy x

lewishamilton sending you hugs and love from me and roscoe ❤️

-> yourusername missing you both ❤️

username guys............what if they did b word u word ?

-> username don't spread lies 😘😘😘

-> username they break up and i stop believing in love ☺️

lilymhe i could be a better boyfriend just saying 😮‍💨

-> yourusername you're already my wife 😘

username we really went from "the first flowers he ever brought me became my favourite" to "when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst" huh

username im just gonna ignore this!!

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 897,628 others

maxverstappen1 pole position!!

very happy that we managed to put the best bits together for qualifying today! great work by everyone in the team redbullracing & hondaracingglobal 👏

looking forward to be racing again tomorrow 👌

7,972 comments

username NO Y/N????????

username im delulu

username is it just me or did he not seem really into it like idk

-> username if me and my fiancée broke up i'd be the same

danielricciardo proud of you mate! 👏

username need y/n to comment rn so i can be at peace

username nice prank guys 😐😐 REALLY funny 😐😐😐

username NO BC THE WAY HE ALMOST MENTIONED Y/N WHILE TALKING TO A REPORTER BUT STOPPED HIMSELF

-> username NO BC MY HEART BROKE SEEING

-> username they're really over huh

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by f1_wags, formulaone.updates, maxverstappen111 and 78,926 others

f1newzzz formula one driver, max verstappen and singer/songwriter y/n y/l/n called it quits on their engagement, source close to the pair claimed. "they just wanted different things, their goals weren't aligning," the source explained, "marriage had seemed like the picture perfect ending at that time, when max had proposed, but in the long run, they both would've been very unhappy." though the exact reason for their split isn't very clear, many speculate that it was actually verstappen who ended their 11 month engagement. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

479 comments

username ur telling me that the woman who wrote "your past and mine are parallel lines, stars all aligned and they intertwined" about her man wanted "different things"??????? ok.

username max i just wanna talk ☺️☺️☺️

username no bc they were so in love everyone could see it

username she did not write "i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw u" for u to write this fucking shit post

username "she's been my rock, my biggest supporter, my proudest fan and im very grateful for her, forever will be. i don't deserve her and i don't know what good i did to have her in my life but im very glad i do" NO WAY HE BROKE UP WITH HER

username idk man if u write 3+ albums about someone and stuff like "all that u ever wanted from me was sweet nothing" or "all's well that ends well to end up with u" the universe should it impossible for u to break up

username just a daily reminder that u should drink rat poison before falling in love bc it never works out

username the day i stopped believing in love

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, lilymhe and 2,865,628 others

yourusername you're losing me is finally yours. this is easily the most vulnerable, heartbreaking, raw and personal song that i have ever written and sharing it with you all is like sharing a big piece of myself. you are, at some point in their life, at a place where you're begging someone to love you the way you love them and i think that's a saddest thing someone can do, i've been there. this song is a messy compilation of my feelings, my thoughts and the enigma in my mind, i hope you like it. and finally, to that one person, thank you for being my forever. it was real.

16,829 comments

username I WOULDN'T MARRY ME EITHER A PATHOLOGICAL PEOPLE PLEASER WHO ONLY WANTED YOU TO SEE HER

username the way we went from "i'd marry u with paper rings" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username DO SOMETHING BABE SAY SOMETHING

danielricciardo in awe of you and your talent 🤍🤍🤍🤍

-> yourusername danny i heart you

username no bc what really hurts is that throughout her albums and songs she's always been like "i can't wait to marry you!!!!" like from lover and paper rings and now it's hinted that max didn't wanna marry her and the way she's trying not to blame him by saying "i wouldn't marry me either"

-> username "she would've made such a lovely bride what a shame she's fucked in her head" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username the way that some people were saying that they got married secretly and the whole time they were broken up and she still continued to act like everything was fine like my heart's hurting for her

username "thank you for being my forever, it was real" IM CRYING IH NY GKD

carmenmmundt the most talented person i know 🤍 i love you so much y/n/n

-> yourusername you own my heart 💌

username the 1 is gonna start hitting different now

-> username "it would've been fun if u would've been the one"

username her heartbeat in the song i died.

username thinking about "he didn't try at all though" vs. "do something babe say something"

#f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #fake instagram imagines #social media au #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x fem!reader #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen imagines

3K notes · View notes

harryspet · 1 year ago

Note

oki so content warningish? ignore if u want ofc! the link is to a girl taking two fingers in her mouth/ finger sucking but not really? like the guy kinda just shoving them idk :<?

https://www.tumblr.com/solvsol/736569456856301568?source=share

just a request of mean/ dark rafe with this sorta thing? ofc ignore if ur uncomfortable! lmk if u want me to specify more

[warnings] dark!rafe x reader, NONCON, rough oral sex, face f*cking, mouth fingering, saliva, gagging ... etc. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Rafe would definitely do this, and he's definitely a head pusher when it comes to receiving oral! i barely edited this sorry :)

You drank too much, everything happened too quickly, and now your first time with Rafe wouldn't happen in the way that you imagined. You were so grateful for the attention he was giving you at the bonfire that you accepted every red solo cup he passed to you. You hurried and finished each drink every time he said, "Awe, I thought you could keep up with me, Y/N? You don't want to have fun?"

Now you were in the back of his truck, sloppily kissing in the confined space. Rafe's hands were everywhere, but he paid close attention to your breasts, grabbing them in his large hands and rubbing his thumb over your nipples. When your lips parted to moan, he just shoved his tongue deeper into your mouth. You couldn't breathe and that only added to your dizziness.

You pushed at his shoulders and realized how solid he was, how much naturally stronger he was than you. Pressed against the back door, Rafe pushed your legs apart, "W-Wait," You struggled to say. You repeated the word until your talking began to interrupt Rafe's ability to kiss you.

"What?" Even in the darkness of the car, you saw Rafe's empty, expecting expression, “You can’t say no now; I’m already hard.”

“No, that’s not – I mean,” You did want him to stop but the look in his eyes and the fact that he hadn’t pulled any further away from you made you realize that wasn’t an option, “Can we – Can we go slower?”

Rafe took in a breath, almost seeming frustrated. He looked you over, your top pulled low and your hard nipples poking through your shirt, “Shit,” Rafe whispered, sitting back in his seat. Shaky hands ran through his dark blonde hair, and his right leg bounced as he thought something over. He didn’t think for too long before reaching down to undo his belt. His bulge was already noticeable, too; his khakis were leaving nothing to the imagination, but you couldn’t help how your eyes widened when he fully pulled himself out of his briefs, “You did this to me, you know. You can use your mouth. Take care of me.”

You already knew this was the better idea, and you nodded your head. Another time, you’d both be sober and could have a romantic time. In a bed, preferably, after Rafe asked you to be his girlfriend.

He reached and grabbed your wrist, pulling you over to the other side of the truck. You got on your knees, wrapping your dominant hand around his base, feeling exactly how hard he was. Unexpectedly, Rafe grabbed ahold of the back of your hair, forcing your face down. You did what you thought you should do, stroking his base while lubricating the tip. You swirled your tongue around, tasting him before you took more of him in your mouth.

Rafe’s hand was lifting up your skirt, roughly grabbing your ass, as he slowly pushed your head further down. You started to gag, taking more of him in than was comfortable, but Rafe only smacked your ass, not allowing you to come up for air. Soon you were panicking, pushing at his thighs until he let you come up for air. You pulled away, tears fell, and you coughed as you tried to catch your breath.

“Have you ever done this before? You’re already gagging, and I’m only halfway inside your mouth.” You looked at him through blurry eyes.

“That-That hurt, Rafe” You spoke hoarsely.

“Hey, hey,” He grabbed ahold of your face, pulling your face closer to his, “You need more practice. You won’t learn how to take my dick any other way. C’mere.”

Again, his grip was tight on your hair. This time, he pushed his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. Your wide eyes looking at him made him smile, although there was still an emptiness behind his eyes. Slowly, he pushed his fingers in and out of your mouth, his gold ring touching your lips. Every time you gagged, he shushed you and often would just shove his fingers further, “You’re not going to throw up, don’t be so scared,” He said, “You can do it; I know you can, fucking slut.”

Your eyes started to close, but he snapped at you, “Watch me. This is my mouth now. I can do whatever I want, right?”

You couldn’t respond as he pushed his fingers deeper. When he could push his fingers deep, and you didn’t gag, he stopped, “There you go,” Rafe pulled his fingers from your mouth, wiping the saliva all over your cheeks before he pinched your cheeks within his hand, “I knew you could do it, Y/N.”

Tears were falling from embarrassment, and you wanted to hyperventilate, but Rafe bent you back over his lap moments later.

send dark!alpha!rafe concepts/ideas if you have them :)

#dark fic #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron drabble #anon ask

857 notes · View notes

writingmeraki · 9 months ago

Text

secret!agent mingyu husband texts pt 2 !

! pairing : secret agent mingyu x secret agent reader, husband mingyu x spouse reader.

¡ genre : humour, cheesiness, fluff, is random a genre ?

! warnings : cussing, lmk if anything else needs to be added !

¡ a/n : see I have no other explanation other than brainrot and a bit of a writer's block so rn this is what I could come up with as of the moment ? i hope u like these as much as part 1 hehehe enjoy <3 ( also wonky cropping blame blr 😃)

part 1 !

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @etherealyoungk ( specifically for secret agent gyu hehe )

( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)

feedback is always appreciated 💌 !

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours.

pics mostly found on pinterest.

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !

268 notes · View notes

fake-bleach · 2 years ago

Text

deserve it | (pre-outbreak) joel miller x reader

summary: Joel can't stand his wife who constantly lies to him about her whereabouts. You decide to make him forget about it.. even if she's already on the phone with him.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: (18+ only!) filthyyy smut, oral (m receiving), roughhh, slight mean joel, dirty talk, praise, facefucking, choking/gagging, use of pet names (baby, honey, girl, etc), cheating but not rly..?, happy/soft ending? :) lmk if i missed anything lol

drabble for b <3

(thank u for the suggestion love, hope i did it justice!)

ao3 link | masterlist :)

read part 2 here!

"Sorry, Joel.. Had a meeting with the, uh, clients.. today after work.."

On your knees in between his large thighs, Joel's hand grips onto your hair tightly, holding your head securely as he encourages you to continue taking his cock deeper down your throat. Your eyes tear up as he grunts quietly into the phone held by his ear, responding wryly.

"Right.. that's the, what, fifth meeting this week? Sure, you keep tellin' yourself that.." Joel chuckles out, his eyes rolling back with a mixture of annoyance from his wife, and the immense pleasure that your throat choking on him was providing. His hold lifts your head back up so you can gasp for air, his stare fixed onto your teary eyes as you look up at him with your fucked out face.

Keep reading

He smirks down at you while caressing your hair affectionately, moving his thumb down to your bottom lip to push it forward for you to suck on it as if it were his cock again.

"That's it, baby.. Just like that." He whispers to you, completely aware that you weren't the only one who heard that.

His wife's aggravating voice fills his ear, "What was that, baby? Who.. is someone there with you?" She asks, her voice mixed with confusion and shock.

Joel just lets out a faint laugh, shaking his head. "Nah, hon.. Nothin' important.. not to you anyway," He states, breathing in sharply through his nose as you remove his thumb from your mouth, bringing your lips back down to wrap around the tip of his hard cock, sucking it in gently. You caress his balls with your left hand, the other wrapped around the rest of his dick to stroke it excruciatingly slow, forcing a low groan out of Joel's throat.

"You know what? Don't bother comin' home tonight, anyway. I'm busy with somethin' more important.. just like you are."

The tone in Joel's voice is mean and cruel, implicit in his intentions on calling out his wife's infidelity, but he doesn't give a fuck if it hurts her feelings or not.

Especially not when he's too busy focused on you.

Her gasp is loud and lucid, audible enough through the phone to make you hear it too. It just encourages your movements even more, making you smile around his thick cock as you push your head down to take him deeper down your throat.

"Joel? What do you mean by that? I don't know what you'r-" She asks, but before she can even finish her sentence, Joel just cuts her off, hanging up the phone to focus on your hot mouth on him, your wet tongue bringing him to absolute ecstasy. He throws it to the side of the couch, unable to care to pay attention to it any longer.

Moaning around him, Joel's hand grips onto your hair again, shoving your head down as deep as you can go. Your eyes roll back to your head, gagging around his cock as the fat tip intrudes your throat, making him groan out.

His pants and grunts become louder, heart racing even faster as he feels your throat convulse and clench around him, "Fuck, yeah.. Choke on it. So fuckin' deep, baby.. Such a good girl lettin' me fuck this throat. Dirty, dirty girl.."

His filthy words make your ears and cheeks burn, tears flowing down your face as you let him use your mouth and throat just how he wants. Once he feels you've had enough, he pulls you off of him, praising you with gentle caresses from his thumb on your cheek.

"Too good for me, honey.. You gonna make me come? Gonna let me come down this pretty throat?" He questions you, moving the hand that was just on your cheek to gently squeeze your throat, making you gasp out for him.

Nodding your head instantly, you moan out, loving the feeling of his huge hand wrapped around your neck. Your hand moves up to hold onto his wrist, grunting out and pleading, "Mmph.. Y-Yeah, Joel.. Fuck, come down my throat, please.."

He just chuckles and squeezes your neck tighter, getting better leverage to move you how he wants. His grip brings your head back down to his cock, making your lips reach just by the tip of it.

"Better work for it then, honey.. Show me just how much you deserve it." Joel encourages you, his dark and intense gaze making you tremble under it and his touch.

Wasting no time, you take him in your mouth, immediately bobbing your head up and down, sucking him off as you moan from the taste of it. Your eyes shut tightly, relishing the feeling of his heavy cock on your tongue.

Joel's grunts fill your ears, spurring you on, the grip on your hair tightening the closer that he gets. "F-Fuck, baby.. Best fuckin' throat I've ever had.. Those pretty fuckin' lips wrapped around me, fuck!" He moans out, lifting his head up as he shuts his eyes, your tongue becoming too much for him.

You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, making you moan loudly around him as you deep throat him, his thick head intruding the back of your throat. Your movements never relent, wanting to bring him to the edge the best he's ever had.

His eyes shoot open to stare down at you, his hand starting to take full control as he moves your head up and down his cock, chasing his own release.

"Look at me, honey.. Look at me while I fuck your throat. Look at me.." He demands you, his rough movements and the tone of his voice forcing your eyes to open up and look into his own, "Atta girl, so damn pretty for me.." He coos, your eyes watering at him using your throat to his liking.

He laughs faintly, grinning at you while he looks at the tears about to fall. "You gonna fuckin' cry, baby? Cock's too big for you, huh? Y'can take it.. M' almost there.. Just a lil' longer.. Wanna cherish this pretty fuckin' mouth.."

You just nod at him, barely able to even move your head because of the control he has over you. Tears stream down your face as he shoves your throat down his huge cock over and over again, your eyes wide open to follow his orders.

Arousal runs down to your core as his cock twitches in your mouth, indicating that he's almost there. You suck on him hard, trying your best to help to him as much as you can, causing Joel to grunt and moan the loudest he's ever been.

Your mouth pushes him to the edge, bringing your head all the way down to the base of his cock. Without any warning, you feel him flex and pulse in your mouth, filling your throat completely.

"F-Fuck, fuck, baby! That's it, lettin' me fill your throat so fuckin' deep.. Good fuckin' girl.”

His cum coats your throat as you moan around it, swallowing him like you were desperate & meant for it.

But, to be fair, you were.

Coming down from his high, he immediately pulls your head off of him, smiling and looking down at you with pure affection, his demeanor immediately becoming kinder.

He grabs onto your hands, pulling you up and gesturing you to sit up on his lap, wanting to be close to you. "C'mere, baby.. Did so good for me, sweetheart. Thank you.." He whispers in your ear, the praise making you blush as you straddle his waist, your hips pressed against his as his hands move to grip onto them.

He pulls you in for a messy, yet warm kiss, making sure you know just how proud he was and how much he appreciated what you had done for him.

Once you break away from the kiss, you giggle and stare at him with a smile, "Don't have to thank me, Joel.. You deserve it. Nothing but the best." You say to him, the gentle tone in your voice making him grin back at you.

"Don't know what I'd do without you, honey.. Can't wait for you to be mine already."

wanna be on a taglist? fill out the google form in my pinned post!

reblogs are appreciated <3

send me requests & i might write it for you! :)

#joel miller x reader #hbo joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #tlou smut #tlou fic #my writing #fake-bleach

3K notes · View notes

kakujis · 1 year ago

Text

what do i call you?;

summary: oliver thinks you'll be easy, just like the other girls he's slept with. but things are different when you don't cave in like he wants. pt 1 | 2

warnings: college!au, afab!fem reader, fratboy!oliver, wildcard!kunigami, this one is a bit angsty, oliver is actually a big softie, situationships, implied fwb with kunigami + karasu, one sided pining (oliver), oral f!receiving, praise, pet names, p*ssyjob, swearing, mentions of drinking, reader is confused on her feelings, if i missed anything lmk, around 7.1k

an: this took me literal months... send help. well, it's finally here! after months of sitting in my drafts half written, i was able to finish it. if the smut is bad, i'm sorry idk how i did it before LMFAO. thanks to zen for letting me ramble about this in their dms for months. tbh i think this is the longest fic i've written so far and ofc it's about this guy LOL. also, i may or may not have a mini playlist for this so lmk if u any of u would like the link :>. resident of: @enchantedforest-network

the first time you “meet” oliver aiku, it’s the morning after you were a drunken mess on your best friend’s back. it’s not that he’s surprised to see someone that isn’t sendou shuto in his kitchen, it’s the fact that you’re not walking out yet. instead, you fix yourself a bowl of cereal, barely paying any mind to the brunette watching you. before he can speak you leave, padding back to sendou’s room.

the second time happens when he catches a glimpse of you in the library with karasu tabito. your arms hanging around his shoulders in a back hug, as you peer down at his laptop. he notes the proximity and nonchalant demeanor of karasu, typing away while he talks to you about his latest class, even with your cheek pressed against his. maybe you’re his girlfriend, he thinks, before shrugging and moving on.

the third time happens when you stumble down a hallway at a party, bumping into him as you giggle out a quick, “sorry!” but kunigami rensuke isn’t far behind, grabbing your hand and scolding you before he offers an half assed apology as well. he doesn’t think much of it, preoccupied by his own date, until he sees kunigami pick you up as you babble in his ear about something.

the official meeting is when you’re having a movie night with sendou at his dorm again. your head lays in the red head’s lap, texting your friends as you give distracted “mhm”s to whatever sendou’s saying.

“are you even paying attention?” sendou asks, eyes flickering between you and the screen. before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“sen, i really don’t care about whichever gravure idol you’re into right now.” you reply, before your lips curve up into a smile at whatever text you’re reading.

for once, he’s unsure what this feeling is inside him. is it jealousy? awe? he can’t pinpoint the reason why his dual toned eyes always trail to you, taking in your pretty form. but he’s oliver aiku, he could probably get into your pants if he tried hard enough.

he slides down onto the couch, slinging an arm over sendou. “whatcha watchin’?” he’s not really paying attention to what’s on the tv, their voices muffled as he notes your form through his peripheral.

the red-head shrugs, “some romcom that she picked out and isn’t even watching.” he pokes your head, “at least introduce yourself.”

“mm?” you hum, moving your phone away to peek up at oliver. from the way you’re positioned you’re viewing him upside down. you readjust, twisting and pushing yourself up onto your knees, leaning over with one outstretched hand. “hi, i’m y/n.”

“you’re blocking the screen!” sendou exclaims, but you don’t move, eyes locked on the brunette across from you.

oliver tries his best not to leer, really, but he drinks you up with his eyes. it’s hard not to since you’re wearing a shirt that’s clearly too big with the way it falls off one shoulder. he thinks you’d look pretty underneath him and wonders if you make even prettier sounds.

he reaches over to shake your hand, to sendou’s dismay, and maybe it’s cliche but he swears he feels a spark for the very first time. it’s something that gets his heart racing, something new and exciting.

“i’m oliver, nice to officially meet you.”

the upcoming months blur and melt into each other, there’s not much to be noted. beyond you coming over every so often to hang out with sendou, what is there beyond soccer practice, classes half paid attention to, and meaningless hookups? frat parties? sure, you both attend them. with each other? not necessarily.

no, you continue to evade oliver aiku’s grasp.

“i can’t,” the text reads, “i promised to go with kunigami.”

he frowns, before typing back: “maybe next time then?”

“maybe.”

it’s fine, he thinks, fixing himself another cup of alcohol. he’ll find another girl, it’s easy. but even the ones he’s been with before, the ones who always answer his texts for a quick fuck are starting to bore him.

it doesn’t help that when you arrive you look so good or that you excitedly greet everyone with a smile and a hug. his hands always linger on the small of your back until you pull away, scampering back over to your date.

it’s confusing, you swear up and down that you aren’t dating kunigami, but anyone would think you’re with him. especially when your arms are always laced around him, body pressed against his as the two of you talk. he’s always wondered what you could possibly be talking about, kunigami isn’t much for words let alone full blown conversations. but maybe he’s like oliver, fallen deep for how easy it is to talk to you.

seconds tick into minutes, which turn to hours and before either of you knows it, you’re tipsy, lips curled into a smile as you giggle and shout while your friends play beer bong. he leans against the wall with sendou, trying his best to not stare.

“you could try talking to her more.” his friend says, breaking the silence between the two. “or are you just gonna stare at her forever?”

“is she with kunigami or not?” he asks, ignoring the question, “every time i ask her out i get turned down.”

“yeah, i dunno either, she doesn’t really answer that.” sendou replies, taking another sip of his beer. “i think she’s just messing around, if that helps.”

if that helps - oliver is pretty sure it doesn’t, but he knows sendou isn’t going to tell him everything. still, the vague response pisses him off.

there’s also the fact that the two of you have similar friend groups and that you’re a clingy drunk that throws him off. when he finds you in kunigami’s arms again, dozing away in the crook of his neck, the grip intensifies on his cup, indenting the red plastic. his close friends notice it too, the weight of his stare is heavy as if there’s on a spotlight right where you’re sitting.

but he puts the facade back on when another girl approaches, a welcoming distraction. she’s cute and he recognizes her as being part of his fraternity’s sister sorority. unfortunately, he just can’t focus on her and what she’s saying. his eyes continue to flicker back to you, hot jealousy continuing to bubble in his stomach when he sees kunigami’s hand rub circles on your inner thigh.

the girl is still talking and he’s doing his best to at least nod when she finishes a sentence. but the final straw is when you sleepily smile at kunigami, as he reads your lips, ‘that tickles!’.

“hey,” he interrupts, grabbing the closest friend to him, “could you excuse me for a second? by the way, this is sendou.”

it was brief but for a moment, sendou felt it. the too tight grip on his shoulder and the nails digging into his skin through this cotton tee indicated one thing: jealousy. but before he can speak, oliver’s maneuvering his way through the crowd with a one track mind.

when he makes it over to you, your grip on kunigami’s shirt is so tight as his hand continues snaking it’s way under the hem of your skirt. you’re not sure if the heat is coming from desire or the alcohol swimming through your veins. your gaze is something oliver’s seen before with countless other girls, it’s sweet, but laced with want.

“hey, pretty girl.” he says, voice cutting through the air like a knife.

you tear away from kunigami’s gaze, smiling cutely when you see who it is. “oliver~ hii,” you sing, twisting a little out of the ginger’s grasp to reach your arms out towards him. “come, come.”

his heart thumps against his chest and he moves closer to bend down and give you a side hug. “what’s up?”

“mm, nothin’,” you chime, tilting your head to the side, “just hangin’ out, right rennie?”

rensuke nods, but his eyes are locked on oliver, clearly annoyed at the interruption. his arm finds it’s way around your waist, pulling you closer.

as fast as you make oliver’s heart race, you’re just as quick to make it drop. it’s a nickname and nothing more, right? so why does it feel like he’s going to throw up? something that sounds sweet on your tongue feels sour on his.

there’s something beyond the disdain that he hides behind his forced smile and if oliver's one thing, it’s petty.

“aren’t you a little too drunk, y/n?” he asks, grabbing your arm before pulling you up, maybe it’s the irritation but he almost yanks you out of the ginger’s grip.

it catches rensuke off guard as you stumble up and out of his lap. you’re shaky on your feet, but oliver’s there to replace not only kunigami but any thought inside your pretty head.

if you weren’t so drunk you’d probably notice the hammering of his heart as you wrap your arms around his neck for stability.

“carry me?” you slur and he nods, chest swelling with pride because tonight he won.

“of course, wouldn’t want anyone takin’ advantage of you.” he smirks, leveling his gaze with kunigami.

if he was being honest, he would probably lose if he got into a fight with him. yet, the sweet satisfaction that he can hold onto in this moment overtakes that thought. with your head on his shoulder, you start to doze off, missing the way kunigami stands with balled fists.

“what do you think you’re doing, aiku?” he starts, before moving forward, but oliver steps back.

“making sure y/n’s alright,” he says, “besides you were pretty touchy just now.”

“cause she’s my date.” he states, starting to get irritated with how every step he takes forward oliver takes another back.

“and she’s had too much to drink, right y/n?” you mumble something incoherent and oliver nods. “see?”

the air is tense. not only is oliver edging kunigami on but the group playing beer pong has noticed and quieted down. before things continue to escalate, karasu swings by, wrapping an arm around the wildcard’s shoulders.

“oi, rensuke we need someone to fill in fer otoya.” he says, eyeing oliver as well. if only he could laugh at the irony.

if it isn’t number one and number two. he thinks, recalling the amount of time he’s seen you, arms linked with karasu’s as you wander the halls to your next class. but three is the luckiest number, or so he’ll hope. and besides, hierarchies can always change.

rensuke’s quick to shrug the crow off, the scowl on his face ever present, but tabito doesn’t seem to mind. he’s too focused on the sleeping girl in oliver’s arms.

“well, i don’t really feel like fighting today,” oliver continues, “so we’ll be on our way.” he walks off before the other two can get a word out, nodding to sendou who seems pleased to talk to someone about himself.

there’s only the sound of the shoes on pavement as oliver walks you home. nestled in his arms, you sometimes perk up to mumble something incoherent or make a noise in his ear. he doesn’t mind, the campus is nice and quiet at night.

“oliverr,” you slur out, “where are we goin?”

“home, princess.” he answers, making sure to call you all the nicknames he wants.

“your dorm?” you ask and he swears the red tips of his ears are from the cold. but it’s not cold at all, it’s the middle spring semester.

“if you want?” he jokes, before quickly adding, “nah, yours.” he’s told himself before that if he waits it out, he’ll get to you. but it’s been a few months of this back and forth, where you feel so close yet so far.

“we can’t go to my place!” you whine, “i forgot my key.”

“and where’s your roommate?” he asks, stopping, because he’s realized another thing. he doesn’t even know where your dorm is.

“at the party,” you pout, before pulling away and looking at him. “you’re cute, oliver. you should date her.”

he gives a dry laugh, heart only semi-crushed. you think he’s cute. he’ll take it, especially when it’s beat accelerates further when you push his bangs back.

“sweaty.” you note, before wiping at his brow.

“hey,” he says, knowing that a blush has crept onto his cheeks, “stay on track here. where am i taking you tonight?”

“your place.” you furrow your brow. “how many times do i have to say that?”

“sorry! just making sure.” he says, shrugging before resuming the walk. it’s not too far off course, if there ever was a course to begin with.

you settle back into place, head on his shoulder, and humming to yourself. oliver appreciates the music.

“not gonna take my offer, eh?” you ask, breath tickling his neck. “she’s pretty, funny, but not as funny as me, remember that.”

“i don’t think i’ve met her before, have i?” he asks, scanning his mind of recent memory. truth be told, he can’t recall you showing up with anyone that wasn’t a guy on the soccer team.

“hm? you know everyone.” you counter.

feigning innocence, he asks,“do i?”

“maybe its because you’ve met soo many girls, you don’t remember her.” you retort and he winces inwardly at the disdain clear in your voice.

“c’mon now,” he says, “i really don’t know that many.”

you hum, “mm, i bet if i didn’t show up as often you wouldn’t remember me-”

he’s quick to cut you off, “not true.” it’s too early to say he loves you, maybe infatuated is a better word.

“if you say so,” you sigh, mind still buzzed and muddied. “are we there yet? i’m sleepy.”

“just up the stairs,” he mutters, “feel free to fall asleep.”

when the two of you arrive at the dorm, you’re fast asleep. he tries to move you onto the couch but you continue to cling, grumpy moans coming from you as he tries to pry you off.

“you’ll kill me if you wake up in my bed,” he mutters, so he carries you off to sendou’s room. “here, it’s sen’s bed.”

“don’t go, i need to cuddle with someone,” you mumble, words still slightly slurred, “til sen comes back at least.”

he stills, knee sinking into the mattress, one hand on your back the other on the bed to steady himself. “you’re gonna kill me when you wake up.” he murmurs, but suddenly the perfume you’ve wearing smells really good. so does your hair and even the skin sticky with sweat is appealing. he wants to stay.

“noo, i won’t,” you whisper, the scent of alcohol still heavy in your breath. “promise.”

“…you want me to stay that badly?” he jokes, inwardly cursing at how easy you make him crumble.

he swears his heart nearly stops when you giggle out a “yeah.”

he settles in, maneuvering the two of you so that you’re laying on his chest. you fall back asleep quickly, nuzzling into him while your arm is splayed across him.

it’s comfortable, he thinks, different from the other girls who get up and leave him after sex. not that he ever asks them to stay, actually preferring it when they leave. but he didn’t realize that someone could actually feel this good in his arms.

“i think i’m actually falling in love,” he scoffs in disbelief, before throwing a palm up to his forehead, a grin plastered on his face. “goodnight, princess.”

he’s not surprised that you left before he woke up that morning. what’s actually surprising is how you seem to avoid him more lately afterwards. at least before you’d throw a few snarky remarks his way and listen to him talk for a bit before you’d inevitably wander back to your phone.

it’s been about two weeks since that night and oliver’s got the message enough to leave you alone for most of the time you’re over. even when you come over for a movie night, he’ll try to keep his talks to you at a minimum. sometimes inviting over another teammate to fill up the awkward silences.

even before the incident, he thought that maybe there’s a reason for it. a reason that he contemplates more one day as he watches you from the corner of his eye. there’s a reason why you’ll lay in sendou’s lap and not his, why you’ll hold hands with your other friends and not him, why they get meals while he gets scraps.

he’s got it half right. there’s been too many texts from sendou asking how to get a crying girl out of his dorm, too often have there been “and that’s another one out the dorm,” calls.

there’s a reason you keep him at arms length, why the most affection you’ll do is give him a quick hug. but he feels that you’re chipping down ever so slightly with each hang out, each party, and each “goodnight.”

is that why tonight you don’t follow sendou to his room when he says goodnight? why you awkwardly fiddle with your hands, something he’s noticed you do when you’re nervous. he misses you and he feels a little more ambitious or perhaps insane for thinking that you might miss him too.

he clears his throat, prompting you to peek at him from his side of the couch. “you goin’ to bed?”

to his relief, you shake your head answering, “not yet, you?”

“depends. you want company?” he asks, sliding over to where you’re sitting.

you giggle, something he hasn’t heard from his end in weeks, giving in to his little game. besides, no one else will text you back this late at night, “i don’t know, do i?”

he grins, “i think so.” emboldened, he glides his hand underneath your blanket, before he presses his hand against your thigh. he waits a second to see if you’ll stop him, but you don’t.

his hand trails up until it’s dipping past the waistband of your shorts. he smirks when he feels the wet patch on your undies, “and here i thought you didn’t like me.”

your breath hitches slightly, “what do you mean? i’m always nice to you.”

“thats debatable.” he mumbles, slipping your panties aside to ghost his fingers up and down your slit. “especially lately, you don’t even wanna look at me.”as he’s about to sink a finger in, you jolt forward, grabbing his wrist.

“wait!” you gasp, chest heaving. he stops, just like you ask, never having seen you so flustered before.

“waiting.” he says, doing his best to not have his mind too muddied by the heaviness in his pants.

“i don’t want to.. um, i don’t think we should fuck.” you stumble over your words, unable to take your eyes off his hand.

he blinks, “okay.” he won’t push it. retreating, he tries to sit back, but you don’t remove the grip on his wrist. “uh, are you gonna-“

“we could… do other things though.” you mumble, but you release his hand and push it away anyway. “actually, nevermind.”

he grins, finally getting it. “so you want me to finger you, is that it?”

“do you have to put it that way?” you groan, laying back and covering your face with your hands.

“finger fucking?” he jokes, but he’s slinking back forward, his hand traveling back to it’s rightful spot.

you groan again, but not without spreading your legs for him and he smiles.

“not gonna talk to me?” he continues, one thumb slowly stroking your cunt through the fabric of your panties.

“do you want me to change my mind?” you answer, muffled by the sleeves of your hoodie.

“please don’t,” he laughs, before tugging at your clothing. “can i?”

you nod again and he’s quick to pull them off. it’s his turn to lose his breath, lost in how pretty your folds glisten for him.

change of plans, he thinks as he levels himself down onto the bed.

“oliver?” you call, peeking through your fingers again.

“as long as we don’t fuck right?” he asks, licking his lips and you can read the anticipation clear on his face. but he’ll wait for you to say yes, like a dog on a leash.

you nod again, the both of your hearts hammering as you do and he dives in. he starts slow to savor it, his tongue moving with long languid strokes between your folds.

he knew you’d taste good, but not this good. even better are the noises you make, well the ones you’re trying to hide. he glances up at you, your face contorted as you bite down on the sleeve of your jacket. a heavy blush creeps onto his face, you’re so pretty.

you arch your back as he slides his tongue over your clit, bringing his fingers up to prod at your opening. he continues to work his tongue over your already swollen clit, suckling out mewls from your lips. when he sinks his fingers in, your jaw drops as you gasp out a “fuck!”

covering your mouth again, you whimper as he picks up the pace. he wants to hear that pretty voice again, so he curls his digits up inside your gummy walls and to his delight, you sob out again.

by now he’s realizing he actually has shit self control. pushing your clothing up, he pulls off your already swollen clit, readjusting himself as he starts to leave sloppy kisses up the expanse of your belly.

“i wanna hear you, i wanna see you,” he mumbles, latching onto your neck and sucking in a mark. “besides, sendou’s asleep.” he actually has no clue if his best friend’s asleep, he’s just so high on you that he doesn’t care.

“take me to your room then,” you whimper, conceding, breathless and squirming. he smiles against the crook of your neck before removing his fingers from your cunt. he picks you up fast, scooping you up as you tremble in his embrace.

he practically sprints to his room, slamming the door shut before throwing you into his bed. you scramble to take the rest of your clothes off. he wanted to see, remember?

you tug on his shirt, it’s only fair if you take your clothes off that he does too. “hey… take this off.”

“i thought we weren’t fucking?” he laughs, but you raise a brow.

“do we need to fuck if we’re naked?” you scoff, but in reality, you feel a bit too exposed.

he grins, shrugging, “nah.” then he’s quick to take off his own before pushing you down. “let me finish eating, yeah?”

you settle back, sighing out a breathless, “yeah.”

with your legs spread so nicely, it’s easy for him to get back to work. he spreads your eager folds with his thumbs, admiring your pretty pussy before spitting down a lob of saliva. you jolt at the feeling, but he uses an arm to keep you still. he has work to do. his tongue begins lapping back at your folds before diving into your cunt, slurping at the arousal leaking onto his sheets.

oliver’s not typically a giver, maybe having only given a couple times in all of hookups. but this was different, he could probably eat you out for hours if you could stay a twitching, mewling mess underneath. perhaps he was starving, growling as he pulls you in even closer and you find your hands in his hair.

as his name leaves your lips like a chant, he continues to tongue fuck you, your slick trailing down his chin. your core burns as you grind onto him, chasing after your release, his stubble lightly scratching across your skin.

he switches, latching back onto your clit with nimble fingers working their way inside you. “cum for me, baby.” he murmurs, curling his fingers up again just how you like it. “you’re so fucking good for me, you know that?”

“s-shut up,” you sob, but the praise hits in all the right places as you arch your back. another indication that you like it is the harsher pull on his strands, a string of obscenities leaving your mouth.

“aw, i’m just tryna make you feel good,” he muses as he hears your first frustrated noise from pulling away. “close huh?”

“oliver, please.” you whimper, brow furrowed as you gaze down at him. you’re so close, but just his fingers scissoring you isn’t enough.

he tilts his head, “please what?” he asks, and you wonder when he got so fucking bold. “use your words.” maybe it’s the blood rushing straight to his head that’s got him out of sorts, but for the first time he’s got you where he wants you. he may be the one caged between your thighs, but you're the one that’s stuck in his web, begging for release.

his fingers continuously moving in and out of you makes your eyelids flutter, especially when he picks up the pace. “i wanna cum, please,” you beg, “please, please, please.”

he laughs out an “that wasn’t so hard right?”, before he’s back onto your bundle of nerves. he seeks out the friction of the bed for his own pleasure, his cock hard and heavy as he grinds out against the sheets.

right now though, the focus is on you. the focus is the way your thighs clench closer together, boxing him in, letting him know when what he does is good. it’s the way you greedily grind up into his face, tumbling his name off your lips like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

you finally burst when oliver murmurs, “so fucking good for me,” his breath hot on your clit. he finger fucks you through your orgasm, continuously praising you, “good job, beautiful, that’s it.”

you pant, pushing at his hand when you’ve started to get overstimulated. he slips out, but pushes you back when you start to reach for his cock. you watch with doe eyes as he smears your slick across his cock, stroking himself.

“keep your legs open.” he says, eyes lidded. “i won’t fuck you, don’t worry.” he reassures when he sees your eyes widen more.

you comply, still slightly twitching from your orgasm, when he settles himself between your folds again. he’s not far off, not when he’s been drunk off the sound and taste of you. but the wetness between your folds has his head spinning. he slips so easily between them, he wishes he could just slide into you, but he’s good at keeping his promises.

he uses one hand to keep his cockhead pressed firmly against you. you think it’s messy, his hand covered in arousal, precum, and saliva but you’re both a little mesmerized by the scene. the two of you make eye contact and he breathes out, “you’re so beautiful.”

“stop complimenting me,” you pout, before you’re pulling him down to rest his forehead against yours. “or else i’ll kill you.”

“i thought you were gonna say you’d fall in love with me,” he muses, lips barely ghosting over yours as he continues to rut in between your folds.

“in your dreams, oliver.” you murmur, but you tilt up and kiss him anyway. you taste yourself on him but can’t seem to care, as his tongue slips in to intertwine with yours.

that’s enough to set him off, shuddering as he comes undone on your belly. white hot ropes paint your skin and you pull away, lips swollen. you fall back on the bed, the only sound the two of you panting.

oliver lays down next to you, staring at the ceiling. he brings his hand up, staring at his sticky fingers covered in fluid.

“gross,” you cringe and he peeks over at you. “clean me up?”

“sure.” he’s quick to get up, grabbing a box of tissues by his bed.

“all men are the same.” you groan, but there’s a smile dancing on your face.

“yeah, this is the brand sendou and i prefer.” he jokes and you smack him playfully. he uses the tissues to clean his hand first before moving onto you, scooping up the remnants of what just happened. he pauses when he moves lower, looking at you.

are we… anything? he wants to ask, but he bites his tongue when he notices you staring back. he cleans up the rest, before asking, “so, what now?”

“i’m gonna shower, that’s what.” you say, pushing yourself up and grabbing your clothes. you don’t put them on, there’s no point since both the guys in this dorm have seen all of you.

as you turn the knob to leave, he asks, “can i join you?”

you scoff, shooting him a look. “absolutely not.”

he figured you’d say that.

it’s only 8pm on a saturday when sendou’s phone blows up.

“sorry,” he says, reading the letters of your name across the screen. “i gotta take this.”

it’s a rare night in, oliver’s own phone buzzing with “where are you?” texts from his friends. he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you, the way you squirmed and moaned for him was enough to set him over. falling further into the sticky web of your hold.

when sendou walks back in, the expression on his face is mixed with concern and confusion.

“something happen?” oliver asks, pausing the movie.

“uhh.. yeah i think so.” sendou answers, scratching the back of his neck. “i think y/n’s coming over.”

there’s confusion washed over the brunette’s features. he’s not sure why this visit is so concerning, you’ve changed your mind before. saying no to movie night yet coming over unannounced anyway.

sendou sighs, “don’t freak out when she gets here.” he’s not an idiot. he’s seen basically every spare glance that oliver’s thrown your way, the schedule modifications to come home more often to see you, the way his smile lingers on you when you do almost anything. he sees the way oliver deflates when you’re with someone else, it’s quick when it happens, almost uncatchable.

“and why would i do that?” he’s joking, but the knot in his stomach is turning. what is it? you’re coming over to tell them all about your great fuckin’ date with rensuke? even after almost sleeping together, you still ran right back to kunigami when he called for you.

sendou rolls his eyes, before repeating himself, “seriously. don’t.”

oliver throws his arms up in surrender, “okay, okay.”

when do you barge in you’re in the same hoodie you wore the night you came undone under oliver’s mouth. the nervous smile on his face falls when he hears you sniffling. when the two of you make eye contact, your puffy red-lines eyes looking into his, he feels something break.

you blink, and then you blink again, as you try to fight back the tears that eagerly wish to spill. instinctively, you tug at the sleeves of your sweater trying to self-soothe yourself. you try to speak multiple times, only to stop and let out little huffs of air. it hurts too much.

sendou speaks first, gently rubbing your back as he guides you over to the couch. “hey… take some deep breaths.” you shake your head, balling your hands into fists as you continue to cry.

“want me to leave?” oliver asks, as much as he doesn’t want to, he knows you’re more comfortable when he’s not around. to both his and sendou’s surprise, you shake your head again, reaching out to him with trembling hands.

he sits closer and you lean down to lay in his lap, “l-let me cry here.” you mumble, grabbing his hand and placing it on the top of your head. “rub my head.”

oliver can’t help but laugh a little bit, “sure.” he nods over to sendou, whose eyes could possibly launch from their sockets. “hey, you heard her, rub her back.”

“pretty sure she said ‘head’” he retorts, but starts doing it anyway. while sendou’s eyes wander the room, sometimes glancing at the remote wondering if he should start the movie back up; oliver’s are glued on you.

he cards through your hair, eyes soft on your hiccuping form. he thinks you feel like his girlfriend, maybe if someone else saw, you’d look like it too. maybe he’ll ask sendou later. it’s a few more moments of your sniffling before you finally speak.

“do you guys think i’m stupid?” you ask, reaching out for the remote and turning whatever movie they had playing on.

“sometimes, yeah,” sendou answers and both you and oliver are quick to smack him. “ow! i thought you wanted the truth? and why the hell are you hitting me?!” he exclaims, one finger pointed towards the brunette.

oliver shrugs, “because you said something stupid?”

“i agree,” you sniffle, but there’s the smallest hint of a smile on your face. “you’re supposed to lie, idiot.”

“if i lie will you tell us what happened?” he asks, leaning back against the armrest.

“don’t even have to lie, i’ll just tell you.” you sigh, lowering the volume down on the tv. you start to tap on oliver’s knee since you’re nervous, but he continues to play with your hair.

“so you know how rensuke and i were… thinking of being something?” you start. you feel oliver’s hand pause when you say that, but he starts back up again. “anyway, he called it off today. he gave me an ultimatum that i didn’t wanna take.”

“which was?” sen asks, brow raised.

“i couldn’t see you two anymore.” you answer, “like i wouldn’t choose my best friends?”

“since when is oliver your best friend?” sendou asks, perplexed.

since she came on my face in my bedroom, he muses, but you answer with a “since i decided.”

“are you guys doing shit behind my back?” the redhead asks and the two of you look at each other.

“no,” you say, face heating up as you stare into pretty dual tone eyes, “we don’t do anything.”

not only is the blush on his face clearly visible, but so is the smirk. “not a thing,” he agrees. “if anything, we just… chill.”

you mouth out an “oliver!” but he shrugs, before using his thumb to wipe at the remnants of tears on your cheek. if you weren’t trying to hide from the current accusations, you’d probably just keen up into his touch.

“i don’t wanna know.” sendou groans, breaking the two of you out of trance. he gets up, turning the tv off and flickering his gaze towards you. “sleeping in my room tonight?”

you swallow, before nodding again, finally tearing your gaze away from oliver. “yeah, i’ll be there in a sec.”

you sit up as sendou leaves, the click of his door indicating when the two of you are alone. you feel vulnerable. you pull your knees up, hugging them, before you start to talk.

“i really liked him, y’know?” you mumble, “but i never really got the same vibe back.”

oliver’s silent, arms crossed and head thrown back as he stares up at the ceiling. he doesn’t particularly care to hear just how much you liked rensuke, but he’s not about to leave now.

you continue, “i think he wanted someone to blow off steam with, which isn’t bad, but… i wanted him to actually like me. like-like me, not just to be thrown away later on. i thought he could be my first real boyfriend.”

“why are you telling me this?” he asks, trying to keep his tone neutral. “wouldn’t you rather tell sen?”

you shake your head, looking back at him slightly. “no, i like talking to you more. about this stuff anyway, you seem to actually listen to me. sen’s not bad, but i dunno, he doesn’t really give me sound advice.”

“what’d he tell you to do last time?” he asks, semi-agreeing already that sendou really isn’t the best advice giver.

“sleep with karasu.” you deadpan, inwardly cringing at how awkward that interaction was.

“and did you?” he asks, voice a little ptiched.

“no! everyone thinks so, but no.” you failed, thankfully, unable to actually go through with it. but you made a friend with tabito, one that listens to your ramblings when you visit.

oliver sits up a little and you snap your head back forward, embarrassment eating at you. “did you two… do anything?” he’s started to realize something.

you shake your head again, hoping he doesn’t notice how feeble you feel. but he can’t notice that because he feels like he’s on cloud nine. “have you slept with anyone?” he asks, heart pounding.

what comes up must always come down and to his dismay, you nod, mumbling out a name that leaves him slaw jacked. “sendou. like, twice…. why am i sharing this information with you?”

“seriously? sendou?” he’s not sure whether this means that his friendship has ended, but it does maybe make some sense that you’re so comfortable around him. beyond best friends, anyway.

you spin around, “listen! it was when we had just graduated high school. we’d never slept with anyone before .. so, seriously, why am i telling you this?!”

he won’t lie, the panicked look on your face is cute, so much so that he’s a little less pissed off. “okay, okay. i get it,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you don’t have to tell me anything else.”

sometimes, you don’t understand how oliver can be so sweet, but you sure are grateful for it. you smile at him and his heart melts a little. it’s so much better when you aren’t crying.

he pats your head before getting up.

“oliver?” you call, but he smiles at you and it’s your turn to feel your heart flutter.

“you should get some sleep,” he says, “it’s late. you want water before you go though?” padding over to the kitchen to fix you a glass of water.

you nod, “mhm.” before getting up yourself and following after him. he hands you the glass and he thinks it’s strange. the first time you stood in this kitchen, you didn’t even look his way. but now, you look at him clearly. sure, it’s not the ideal situation and you are leaving to go sleep in another guy’s bed, but it’s enough.

one step closer to you is worth it. it shouldn’t be long now, he thinks, you’ll be his in due time. but he doesn’t notice the confusion on your face when you grab the glass. the moment your fingers touch you feel it too, that all familiar pull, the one you were trying (and failing) to avoid. you duck away when you move towards sendou’s room, hoping he can’t hear the way your heart pounds within your chest.

it can’t be him.

“that fucking stings!” oliver hisses, instinctively pulling away from you.

you frown, “i don’t know why you went to me and not like, the campus nurse or a hospital.” you recenter his face, gripping his chin between your index finger and thumb.

“why would i go there when i’ve got my guardian angel here?” he teases before wincing again as you press the cloth to his busted lip.

“i’ve got to stop the bleeding,” you mumble, ignoring his comment. oliver thinks you look so cute when concern paints your face, he’d kiss you if you let him, despite his lip. “i still can’t believe you did that.”

“did what?” he asks.

“get your ass beat,” you snort, removing the pressure from his lip before handing him an ice pack. “here.”

“he made you cry, like i wasn’t gonna beat his ass?” he counters, correcting you and if he could pout, he would.

“oliver. that was weeks ago, no one asked you to do something so stupid,” you sigh, swiveling around to look for bandages. “there was no point.”

“no one asked you to date stupid guys,” he retorts, but man does it hurt. more than his lip or his bruised cheek, the fact that no matter what you won’t look at him the same way you do others.

“i just don’t get why you’d do something so dumb.” you say, closing the medicine cabinet while holding a box of band aids. you’re so nonchalant about it it’s infuriating. why don’t you get it?

he blinks, before scoffing, “what am i to you?”

“you’re… oliver.” you say, tensing, suddenly not liking the direction this conversation is going.

“that’s it?” he almost can’t believe it, that after everything, he’s just still oliver.

“what do you want me to say?” you sigh, voice coming out a little irritated. you’ve never done well with confrontation, especially not when it comes to feelings like this.

he sets the ice pack down before continuing, “that i’m important to you, more than just some dude you string along for fun.”

“what are you even talking about?” you exasperate, because really, what does he want? he knows you two aren’t anything, nothing more than friends and yet he tries so hard. so hard it makes your head spin, so hard it makes you sometimes doubt your own judgment on him. but you refuse, you’ll continue to listen to that little voice that tells you: no. not him.

“for fucks sake, can’t you pick me just one time?!” he yells, slamming his hand on the counter and you jump back, “not karasu, not sendou, not fucking kunigami. don’t run to them. run to me. can’t it be me?”

“y-you’re crying,” you deflect, trying to look anywhere but him because if you look at him, you’ll want to hold him. you’ll want to give him, tell him that maybe you two could try to be something. you don’t even argue that kunigami isn’t an option anymore.

“i don’t fucking care.”

“and i don’t know what to say.” you answer, eyes glued on the box in your hands.

“just say the word and i’ll be yours. fully and wholly, i’ll give you everything.” he says firmly.

but you stay quiet, awkwardly fidgeting with the box in your hands.

“…please?” it comes out soft, whispery, and most of all desperate. a plea that comes from deep within because at the end of it all, he loves you.

but there’s nothing from you, it’s radio silence. it’s the quietness after midnight on a tuesday when the rest of campus is deep asleep. it’s nothing. and for a brief moment, he’ll accept it, because it’s harder for him to sit in this continued rejection. he’ll accept that right now, you don’t want him.

he gets up, pushing past you not even bothering to wipe the tears that trail down his cheeks. and he thinks, maybe even a small bit of him prays, that you’ll stop him.

but you don’t, staring at the tiled floor as he leaves, and oliver feels his heart shatter into tiny glass pieces. should he still hold onto “maybe”? maybe someday you’ll want him too? maybe someday you’ll be his exclusively? or should he give up, call it a day, and speed dial one of the girls in his phone?

he doesn’t know.

#oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku smut #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #oliver aiku x you #oliver aiku x y/n #pibby writing

536 notes · View notes

juyeonszn · 1 year ago

Text

PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER (PT. 2)

PAIRING kevin moon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 5.60k

GENRES angst ﹒little bit of fluff ﹒little bit of smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader is better than me cause i would not let kevin do all the shit he’s done 😭, ANYWAY i digress, this part is very reader-centric — whereas part one is very kevin-centric, inner turmoil goes absolutely crazy, most of this fic is reader putting kevin in his place and him realizing how big of an asshole he truly is, mentions of injury (past tense), mentions of insecurity, lots of arguing, reader cries at one point or another, the smut places a very minimal role in this, but unprotected sex, public sex (the auditorium dressing room), no foreplay but wtv we fall like soldiers in battle, pussy job lowkey (high key…), creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

SUMMARY it wasn’t like you and kevin hated each other. in fact, you quite admired him despite his somewhat indifferent attitude toward you. well, now that you’re paired up for the last dance of the year, you guess it’s the perfect time to find out why.

MORE oh my god. it’s finally fucking here. A MONTH, 2 SICKNESSES AND MANY MANY STRESSFUL NIGHTS LATER— part two of princess and the pauper is here!!! i’m so sorry to those of u who have been itching and waiting on me to get ‘er done,,, it’s been an ordeal to say the least, and while it’s nearing the two month mark since the black out or back out collab was announced, SHE FINALLY FINISHED!!! for once i saw something through omg i can sleep peacefully and work on my other wips without guilt now… 😭 ALSO THANK U SO MUCH MAYA @/kimsohn FOR PUSHING ME THROUGH THIS and for making me thug it out bc without u it definitely would’ve taken much longer to finish 💔 please dont forget to read part one and the other fics in the series if u haven’t!! both are linked below! and as always, pls reblog if u enjoyed <3

PART ONE | SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr @sunwooverse @kimsohn

TAGLIST @millksea @deobibbang @deobi0412

Never in your life have you felt so… Confused.

It wasn’t just confusion that settled deep in the pit of your stomach. There was a sharp pain there too, like someone stabbed you and twisted the knife. That was probably the best way to describe what you were feeling. You were bleeding out, and no one was coming to save you.

Kevin wasn’t answering your calls. He wasn’t answering your texts. He ran out of the lecture hall as soon as class was over, never giving you a moment to speak to him. It was making you nervous.

You still had half of a dance to choreograph and a fuck ton of pressure riding on your back. After the last performance you and him did together, you’d have a lot of eyes on you. It most definitely wasn’t your fault that he dropped you. How many people willingly want to acquire a broken ankle? The crutches were a bitch to maneuver around with. But like every single thing that’s happened in the three years you’ve known Kevin Moon, he’s managed to place the blame on you like it was.

It was crucial that you make amends with him even if it was momentarily. Your final grades were dependent on your performance. If he couldn’t get his shit together for at least that, he was a lost cause in your mind. Not even your professor would be able to refute that fact. Actually, nobody would be able to refute that fact.

Your lips form an O as you blow the steam away from your coffee, pulling out your phone to try Kevin’s phone once again. The line rings a few times before going straight to voicemail like it has the past couple weeks. You kiss your teeth, tying your sweater around your waist as you slump in your chair. The baristas at the campus cafe were probably sick of seeing you sitting in the same high-top counter spot since the incident with Kevin in the studio.

“Y/N?”

Ji Changmin appears beside you and you click your phone off, so he wouldn’t see his friend’s contact on the screen. You give the Early Childhood Dev major a weak smile.

“Changmin! What’s up? How are you and your girlfriend?” You hope he can’t recognize the distress written all over your features. You highly doubt it, though. You can feel the wrinkles pulling at your skin.

“We’re good! How’s the showcase performance going with Kev?” He asks like he knows something you don’t. When your lips fall to a thin line, an all too familiar grimace, he sighs a knowing sigh. “Do I have to smack some sense into him?”

“Not gonna lie, yeah, you do. He’s being really fucking difficult and like half of our dance is unfinished. I can’t even get a hold of him, so I’m starting to lose my patience.” You express your annoyance. The border between complacency and free-will was a lot slimmer than one might think. For example; your feelings when it comes to Kevin Moon.

You don’t expect to get a returning call later that night when you’re washing dishes after dinner.

In fact, you don’t even hear it at first, too absorbed in scrubbing the staining out of your bowl. It’s when your roommate yells out to you, that you snap out of your reverie, albeit dazedly. You dry your hands on a nearby tea towel, hitting the green answer button without a second glance at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your heart catches in your throat. You recognize the owner of the voice practically by the first breath into the receiver alone. It’s actually kind of unhealthy how quickly it took to realize who was on the other end. You swallow heavily, praying he doesn’t hear the gulp.

“In the latter part of the afternoon, I believe. Why?” You try not to sound hopeful. That’s one thing you’ve learned being in the same vicinity as Kevin Moon. You could never be too expecting, because it would only lead to disappointment. And you’d dealt with enough of that the past few years.

“We need to finish this fuck ass choreography,” he grunts, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue. “I’ll meet you in the same studio at 4.”

He doesn’t let you get anything else in, hanging up swiftly. You deflate as you set your phone back on the counter. All you had to do was push through these next couple weeks, like you always have when it came to him.

That should be a piece of cake, right?

Wrong.

“No, that looks stupid.”

You grit your teeth, swiping the back of your hand on your forehead. You’d been inside of this studio maybe 30 minutes tops, and you were on the verge of strangling Kevin. With as long as you’d been putting up with his shit, you thought getting through this wouldn’t be as rough as it’s been. But if there was one thing Kevin Moon had, it was pride.

“We don’t have time for you to nitpick right now. Let’s just finish the choreography and clean it after.” Your hands rest on your hips, nostrils flaring.

“If we clean as we go, we’ll have more time to drill it into our systems and get down muscle memory. It’ll be a stronger performance.” He argues. You roll your eyes as you turn away from him, taking a water break to calm yourself. “Why do you have so much fucking attitude today? You were the one preaching to the choir about me making things difficult. It seems the tables have turned.”

Usually, you were pretty good at keeping your frustration at bay when it came to Kevin’s remarks. You liked to think it was because you were down bad for the guy, despite him always wanting nothing to do with you. But as of late, (Read: Since your performance of Princess and the Pauper) every little comment he’s made has managed to crawl under your skin like a damn parasite. You were beginning to get real sick of it.

“God, you’re so—“ You interrupt yourself to groan, fingers curling into fists. “You’re fucking insufferable. Do you know that? I’ve been bending over backwards to ensure we aren’t kicked out of the goddamn program and you don’t even fucking care. Over what? A kiss that you initiated?”

Kevin is stunned into silence, not at all prepared for you to blow up on him like that. After all, that razor thin line between complacency and free-will had yet to be crossed. And well, it appears that you just crossed it. You whip around toward him, pulling down the collar of your t-shirt to reveal the faintest of bruises that still remains from your impromptu act of intimacy.

“I’ve had to look at this every day for a week and all it’s done is make me feel shitty, ashamed of something I didn’t even start. Now I need you to stop acting like an ass and get it together so we can finish this and perform the best dance this university has ever seen.” Your chest is heaving up and down, similarly to when you made out against the mirrors last week. Except this time isn’t out of breathlessness, but rather anger and exhaustion.

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave the hickey on the base of your throat, something undetectable swimming in them as he stares. You can’t read the emotions swirling rampantly in his irises, a mixture of too many blurring into one another. Honestly, it’s funny. It’s funny that it’s taken you this long to get him to shut his mouth for once.

So you laugh.

It’s a snort at first, an off handed projection of how comical the situation has become to you. But then it metamorphoses into a small giggle, which leads to full scale laughter that has you hunching over your knees and wiping away tears. This whole thing is stupid. Absolutely fucking stupid.

“What are you laughing at?” His eyebrow raises in question, broken from his weird trance.

“I just can’t believe it took three years for me to shut you up,” you shake your head slowly, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm. “You’re always the one who can’t stop talking.”

Kevin deadpans, mouth pulled pin-straight as his expression drops. “You’re so unserious.”

As the height of your laughter reaches a valley, you collapse onto the ground, resting your back against the mirror. You take another long sip of water before sighing. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. Trust me, I know. But, we’ve gotta set aside our differences just this once. Please, for the sake of the department.”

“Fine,” he murmurs, plopping down beside you to stretch his back. “Let’s finish choreographing so we can start cleaning it up.”

It’s a victory in your book, and probably the most obedient the Pisces has ever been. Maybe this wouldn’t end in complete disaster like you assumed it would. It turns out Kevin Moon wasn’t entirely brainless and knew when he was wrong. Sometimes. Maybe. We’ll see.

You shut your eyes and visualize what you’ve choreographed so far, going over the moves in your head to see if the rest will come to you like a prophecy. It’s wishful thinking, but with how much you’ve accomplished since setting foot in the studio, you’re willing to try anything. The track would be nice for elements of hip hop style choreography, but you knew the audience wouldn’t eat it up as much as they would the route you’re currently taking.

Driver roll up the partition, please…

The song plays through the speakers and you watch as Kevin stands to run through everything you have. You’re entranced by his movements, the flow of his body on certain points. It’ll look ten times better once you’re doing it with him, costumed and performing it perfectly in front of a crowd. You can picture it now, the gentle but controlled glide of his hands along your arms when Beyoncé sings “We ain’t even gonna make it to this club”. He was right. You very well might be seduced by your enemy.

“Should we use props?” You suddenly voice, eyes narrowed in thought. He hums.

“That’s… not a half-bad idea, actually,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “What did you have in mind?”

“A chair, maybe,” you look away from him, placing your focus on the way your toes alternate between a tendu and relaxed position. “That could take up a good chunk of the choreo.”

Kevin stalks over to the supply closet in the corner of the studio, pulling out a folding chair. He puts it in the center of the room gently, careful to not scratch up the wooden, lacquered flooring. You spend the next couple of hours brainstorming through numerous versions of the dance. While it was a lot easier than your past practices, there were still the occasional argument over which movements looked good and whatnot.

At a certain point, everything becomes cohesive and the end is near. You gulp down some water as Kevin does some random choreography. It’s then that it comes to you, like a vision from That’s So Raven. You practically drop your water bottle, scrambling to your feet and stopping him. Your breath is heavy from fatigue and you’re slightly afraid of even suggesting this, but it’s exactly what this dance needs. It’s exactly what everyone wants to see from the two of you.

He pauses the music and gestures for you to get on with it. You push down the lump in your throat, scared of rejection. But maybe he was smart and he would agree that this is what you have to do. “What if we did a lift?”

You see the hesitation swirling in his eyes and you raise a finger before he can shut you down entirely. “Nothing crazy like… um— you know— Princess and the Pauper, but something smaller. Something… sexy? Like, Dancing with the Stars type beat.”

When he shrugs instead of outright dismissing your idea, you know you’ve won. He nods slowly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Okay, sure. But we better clean up everything else fast so we can perfect the lift.”

The two of you take another three hours running the entirety of the choreography, ingraining the moves into your brains and muscles. You still had a bit until the actual showcase, but your priority now lies with the lift. If you nailed it, the entire department would very well grovel after you in reparation for all of the slack you got after Kevin dropped you. Hell, the entire university would kiss your feet. This was your redemption. In more ways than one.

You both decide to call it a day at around 9:30 PM. Your hands reach for your belongings and then you halt yourself, a thought coming to mind. While you had him in this weird state of obedience, you figured it was as good a time as any to ask the question that’s been weighing on you for the past few years. Your fingers swipe away the sweat beading around your hairline.

”Kevin,” you start, voice a lot softer than before. “Why do you— what did I do to make you dislike me so much?”

He’s caught completely off guard, eyes widening in surprise. If he was anticipating you to say anything else prior to parting ways tonight, he didn’t think this would be it. He’s actually a little off put that you hadn’t asked him this already in the span of your definitely-one-sided rivalry. He takes a large gulp of water.

”I’d call it indifference, not dislike,” he corrects after a pregnant silence. “It’s really fucking stupid thinking about it in hindsight. I don’t know if you remember this time, way back in our first year, we ran into each other at the campus cafe— literally, might I add— and you spilled your coffee all over this white shirt of mine that Changmin had gotten for me as a birthday gift. I only recently found out that it wasn’t as expensive as he made it out to be.”

You blink at his admission, processing his words as thoroughly as possible. You don’t know what you wanted him to say. You weren’t even sure if there was a concrete reason for him to be so fucking mean to you all this time. And now that you know, you come to the conclusion that Kevin Moon isn’t as smart as you’ve painted him out to be in your head. He’s actually a gigantic idiot. Because who in their right mind goes through these lengths to form a distance between the only other person on par with their talent?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re bursting into another fit of laughter. Kevin falters at your reaction. He was waiting for you to blow up on him, to scream in his face for causing you so much pain and unnecessary drama over something so silly. So when you do none of that, when you start fucking laughing like a damn hyena, he feels dumb. Like his entire college career has been built off of nothing.

”This is so—“ you pause to gather your bearings, wiping away the tears that managed to escape. “We’ve spent so much time going back and forth over some spilled coffee? Surely you’ve realized how insane that is at some point.”

”It took a lengthy argument with Changmin, but yeah, I did,” he nods, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, finally getting your things together. The two of you bid each other an awkward goodbye. Neither of you knew what to make of your relationship now that things had been partially sorted through. There was a fuck ton of baggage that still had to be sifted, but at least you had an answer.

That was enough to push through this showcase performance. You think.

You’re nervous.

Never in your entire life have you ever been this nervous for a performance.

You grew up doing musical theatre and dancing, it’s always been the one constant presence you could rely on. But standing here, backstage at the showcase, you think you’re going to throw up. Your palms are clamming up uncontrollably and your chest feels unbearably heavy as you watch the quartet doing a contemporary piece to some ballad you couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. There were still a couple groups before you.

Not even when you had to perform fuckass Princess and the Pauper were you this anxious. You wince, trying to stop the incessant bouncing of your leg. Your weight keeps shifting from one hip to the other. As a seasoned veteran, you don’t know why you feel this way. Maybe it had to do with all the pressure riding on this very dance. Every single eye in that crowd was going to scrutinize your every move on that stage.

“Calm down,” a voice whispers harshly from beside you. “You’re making me nervous.”

Kevin wraps his fingers around your wrist, stopping the annoying tap-tap-tap your own were doing against your thigh. He gives you a look, and you sigh. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

That’s a lie. Not only was the high expectations from the entire school getting to you, but so was the fear of history repeating itself. He knows this, it was inevitable. After what happened the last time he was tasked with lifting you, it was only natural.

”We’ve drilled this dance hundreds, if not thousands, of times, Y/N. We’ll do just fine.” Kevin assures you.

His hand feels foreign holding yours, like it was illegal for his skin to be touching your own. You feel your lower lip quiver, a sense of trepidation that you’ve never once felt creeping down your spine. Your mind was spiraling, and quite honestly, Kevin being so close was making it worse. All you could think about was him dropping you again, leaving you in the middle of the stage with a broken leg and a broken heart. You release a shaky breath and he turns to face you.

Your eyes widen and he searches your face for any disingenuity. When he finds his answer, he brings the hand that was holding yours up to cup your cheek. He’s cautious, afraid he might break you like he always does. He waits for you to shove him away and to yell at him for being a fucking coward.

You don’t. You stay still, hoping he follows through with what you think he’s about to do. And then he does.

It’s such a featherlight peck of his lips on your own, you almost don’t even register. But sparks shoot from the source all the way to the tips of your fingers. You feel as if you were dealt a static shock of electricity, your whole body buzzing from the small kiss alone.

He pulls away just in time for the stage manager to inform you that you’re next. Kevin rolls his neck jogging over to the wings to patiently await your performance like he hadn’t just kissed you a moment ago. You blink dumbly, two fingers coming up to touch where his lips had been. Sure the nerves were gone now, but the sensation of butterflies swarming about in your stomach easily replaced that. What the fuck was his problem?

“Our last performance is one I’m sure all of you have been waiting for. Kevin Moon and Y/N L/N with Partition!”

Before you know it, you and Kevin are in position, your body squared upstage and his to the crowd. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist and his steady breathing on your nose. The spotlight switches on, the heat of the lighting warm against the side of your face. It’s silent in the auditorium, but it rings in your ears. You could do this.

Let me hear you say ‘Hey Miss Carter’…

You move on reflex, muscle memory kicking in instantaneously. Each circle of your hips, every turn you make— a fouetté here, a pirouette there, a couple coupes, each roll of your body. But what really gets you is the long brushes of Kevin’s skin on your own. You’d practiced with distance between the two of you. There was a tension that had been there for years. Now it’s all coming to a rolling boil, a new uncharted tension that every single member in that audience could see.

And then comes the lift.

You, along with everybody in the auditorium, practically hold your breath when Kevin’s hands grip your hips. He raises you above him with all of his strength, completely focused on you and only you. You shut your eyes and feel the moment, like, really feel it. Your body is relaxed, the Dirty Dancing-esque lift bringing the whole performance together just like you knew it would. The only difference from the movie and real life is the fact that you’re flipped, your backside to Kevin and your chest to the ceiling.

Your eyes flutter open, the spotlight all but blinding you, and you finally feel content. Like everything has fallen into the right place for once in your life. Especially so when Kevin sets you down gently and you finish your dance with the utmost confidence.

The crowd erupts into a roaring chorus of applause, going as far as giving you a standing ovation. Holy shit. You pulled it off. You actually managed to pull it off.

Your face feels like it might split from how big your smile is. You and Kevin bow, walking off stage. You’re entirely too happy right now, a newfound energy overtaking you as you trail behind him.

“We did it!” You cheer as you follow him towards the dressing room where your things are. You’re the only ones left backstage, everyone else filtering out between performances. Kevin doesn’t give you much of a response, just a small nod of acknowledgment. Your smile falters. “What the hell is your problem?”

”Nothing, Y/N, fuck. Can you just mind your own fucking business?” He snaps, turning around to glare at you just as the door slams behind you. You instinctively flinch at both loud noises. His features soften but you take a step back from him.

You aren’t sure why you’re surprised. This isn’t anything new. Kevin has always made it crystal clear that he wasn’t your number one fan. Being neutral for your performance wasn’t enough to repair all the holes in whatever your relationship was, and you should’ve known better. You shouldn’t have let your guard down so easily. You should’ve expected this. Old dogs can never learn new tricks.

But Kevin’s scared. He’s afraid of letting you in after all the mess he’s put you through. The only thing he’s good at doing is hurting you, over and over like there was a prize that came out of it.

”Look…”

”No, you listen to me,” you swallow heavily, tears already tight lining your eyes. “Kevin, I have taken so much shit from you. Over these past few years I have just sat there and let you unload all your fucked up insecurities onto me. Have you ever wondered why? Have you ever thought to stop and think about why I let you be so mean to me without even questioning it?”

He says nothing, just stares with his lips parted. They open and close like a fish out of water, words there at the tip of his tongue but refusing to make their escape. And then one of your tears rolls down your cheeks and he’s directly in front you, his heart on his sleeve for the first time since you’ve met him.

”Why?” The simple question is so quiet, you almost don’t hear him. But his eyes hold so much hurt, so much anguish that you’ve never seen in a person before.

“I’ve had feelings for you for so long, it’s actually starting to ache. You’ve only ever seen me as this thing, this obstacle. And I’m afraid that that’s all I’ll ever be to you, because you won’t let me be anything else. You won’t—“

”That’s not true, Y/N,” Kevin sighs, looking off to the side, away from you. “I just— it’s complicated. It’s more than just being rivals.”

”So help me understand,” you frown. “Let me in, please.”

”My entire life I’ve had to work to get to where I am. I’ve fought tooth and nail to be as good of a performer as I am today. There were so many hoops I had to go through to even get into this program and— and I thought I’d finally become the best I could be. I thought that there was no way anyone could ever be better than me. And then you showed up. You and your pretty smile and your natural ability to be the best at everything you do. It was like you were the real life manifestation of all of my critics, of every challenge I faced to get here. Where I had to practice day and night to perfect something, it just came to you like second nature. During Princess and the Pauper, when I dropped you, it truly was an accident. But we’d spent so much time nailing it, that it— I just made myself feel better by saying it was your fault. ‘How could it have been my fault if I perfected it?’ I was jealous and petty and it was just easier to blame hating— to blame my indifference on you spilling coffee on my stupid shirt. For that, I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what you were waiting to hear, but it wasn’t that. Your tears turn into full on blubbering, because what the fuck? That’s so much burden for someone to carry on their shoulders for three years.

“Why are you— why are you crying?” He flounders, reaching up to swipe away your tears.

“I wish I knew… I wish I could’ve helped you somehow,” you sniffle. “Kev, I’ve always admired you and your work ethic. I hoped one day I’d be half as disciplined as you, half as determined.”

He blinks. You’re both dumb, aren’t you? Too focused on the wrong things. You both could’ve been a lot less hateful, a lot less miserable, had you just spoken your differences out. This entire rivalry has been completely one sided, but also built off of plain stupidity and ignorance. He supposes it’s not too late to make amends if you aren’t running in the opposite direction despite everything he’s put you through.

Kevin leans forward, hand still pressed to your cheek, and connects your lips softly. He’s testing the waters, making sure you’re comfortable before he continues anything. When you don’t back away just yet, he adds more force, deepening the kiss like a man starved. You whine against his lips.

This is what you’ve been wanting from him. More than what he gave you before your performance, but not what happened in the studio a few weeks ago. This desperation isn’t abashed lust, it’s unbridled affection— it’s everything he’s holed inside of himself for years, unwilling to let it see the light of day until now. If you were to label anything as perfection, it wouldn’t be a dance or a moment on stage, it would be this. Just you and Kevin finally bringing yourselves together in the most intimately emotional union.

He pulls you closer to him, hands sliding down to grasp at your waist, bunching up the thin fabric of your leotard. You can’t help but bury your fingers in his hair, tugging when he nips at your lower lip. A gasp permeates the air when his mouth travels south, along your jaw and down the side of your neck. He bites and sucks the tender skin at the base of your throat, ensuring he leaves his mark on you. This time isn’t careless, this time he has purpose. He wants everybody to know that you’re his, that you’re the only person insane enough to put up with him.

Your breathing is shaky when you reach behind you to lock the dressing room, dragging him over to the long vanity adjacent to you. He slots between your legs when you hoist yourself onto the surface. He pecks your lips and pauses his movements, rubbing up and down your thighs. In the dim, yellow lighting of the room, you look so gorgeous. He’s always thought you were beautiful, the most stunning thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, but he’s repressed it for so long. He wants to take his time staring at what he’s avoided.

”You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, kissing you again and again and again. “I don’t think I can last long with you.”

“Can we skip the foreplay?” You ask, bottom lip jutted into a pout. “Need you to just fuck me like you mean it.”

Kevin’s forehead falls to your shoulder with a groan. “I don’t deserve you,” God, he’s such an idiot for holding out from this. You should’ve been given the world and so much more. He has a lot of lost time to make up for. He kisses your shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

You don’t waste another second, slipping your arms through the sleeves of your leotard. He has to bite down on his tongue when he sees that you’re braless, fingers going slack as they unbutton the rest of his silk shirt. You shimmy out of the one piece, left in nothing but the fishnet stockings you wore underneath and your lacy panties. Kevin thinks he must’ve done at least something right in a past life to experience this.

Your eyes sparkle as you look up at him, undoing his slacks and kicking them down his legs with your feet. Something takes over him when he rips a bigger hole in your stockings, pushing your underwear to the side. His thumb glides through your folds with ease, your slick providing enough lubricant. He pushes your lower lips apart while you busy yourself shoving his underwear to his ankles.

His cock slips inside of you with less friction than he would’ve thought, but he doesn’t complain, screwing his eyes shut as he acclimates to the feeling of your walls surrounding him. You moan, such a soft sound that he nearly loses his balance.

“You feel so good, baby,” he coos, digging his fingers into your hips as he rocks his own. “You’re so so perfect.”

The praise is too much for you, given the circumstances. Your brain is already cloudy, stuffed with what could only be described as cotton. You watch with half lidded eyes as he begins to piston into you at a faster speed. This all feels like a fever dream, something that was only possible in your craziest fantasies. Even then, it seemed unlikely.

“‘M close, Kev,” you whine, unable to stay still and attempting to match his thrusts.

“Already? We’ve only just started, gorgeous.” He laughs, but it’s breathy, strained from the exertion of his body. You hardly have the strength in you to be embarrassed about it, especially since he’s seen you in much worse situations.

You nod frantically, snaking a hand between you to circle your clit with nimble fingers. Kevin halts you and pulls out momentarily, sliding his cock between your folds like it was your hand. The tip catches your sensitive bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you dizzier than you already were.

He presses back into you with ease, resuming his sloppy but animalistic pace. He uses his thumb to continue your handywork, your cunt fluttering around him needily. You’re both losing your sanity quickly, both going batshit insane over the bare minimum. You’ve just needed this for so long, yearned for this moment for a humiliating amount of time.

Your moans start to rise in pitch and he groans. “Fuck, baby, you can cum for me.”

He could cry, he thinks, when your back arches and your legs shake with your orgasm. It hits you like a freight train, triggering his own release just as fast.

You stay like that for a bit, regaining yourselves and comprehending everything that’s just happened. So much for the whole hating each other narrative.

“What does this mean for us?” You suddenly ask, arms hooked around Kevin’s neck. You’re still connected by your lower halves, but he makes no effort to pull away. Part of you likes it that way, it gives you hope that this isn’t a one time affair.

“It’ll be hard for things to change overnight,” he says, massaging your sides. “We have a lot of unresolved issues and insecurities that we still have to push past. But I’m willing to do that with you. I want to take a chance on us.”

Your lips pull into a smile, an expression you don’t think you’ve worn around him genuinely in the years you’ve known him. “I do, too.”

“It’s kind of ironic that it was a performance that tore us apart and brought us back together, don’t you think?” He laughs.

“And we fucked in the dressing room…” You add, glancing to the top corner where a security camera is stationed.

“Maybe we should get out of here before someone checks the footage,” he suggests. “Tau Beta Zeta is conveniently hosting our end of semester party tonight, do you wanna be my plus one?”

“I would be honored.” You grin, pecking his lips tenderly.

Perhaps happy endings existed after all.

#deoboyznet #the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz kevin #tbz kevin #kevin moon x reader #kevin moon smut #kevin x reader #kevin smut #moon hyungseo #blackoutorbackout🍻#juyeonszn

157 notes · View notes

spidrstar · 2 years ago

Text

HE AINT SHIT pt 2.

★ pairings: aged up e!42 miles!morales × latina! reader

★ slowburn? characters are 18+ in this story they're in their mid twenties.

★ warnings: as i write this story some parts will be slightly suggestive, if that bothers u dni..

★ a/n: now THIS, this one i put a lot of effort into ☠️ 3k words long.. btw i already had most of chap 2 written out so i will not be putting this series on hold but i won’t be having a schedule bc i know i wont follow it. Again sorry for the hold up y’all my motivation went poof ily and lmk what y’all think abt this chap. sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger 😊

★ p.s i'll be adding a link to a playlist i made that you could listen to when reading abt miles Imk what y'all think.

★ summary: You end up going to your ‘apology date’ and things go south. You wanted to spend your time eating snacks when angry but ran out, so you left and went straight to the market then you met someone unexpected.

★ previous, part 3

mwah

“…almost fell in love with you

After the club last night.”

- lovely : sonder

With groggy eyes, you found yourself zoning out, you had woken up 20 minutes ago because you were hungry. You had the worst headache ever, and all the memories from last night flooding into your head wasn’t helping either.

‘I don’t know what I was thinking, giving him my phone. Whatever, I just won’t text him.’

You stretched and yawned once again shutting off the music you fell asleep to, getting up standing in front of your mirror you noticed you had the same clothes on from last night. The sight of yourself made you sigh in exhaustion, you looked like a disaster and didn’t have energy to get all pretty today.

You lifted your dress off of yourself and sat back down on your bed in the set you had bought specially for your date that failed last night. The thought, only making you wince with closed eyes, you remembered yourself falling into bed as soon as you got home crying yourself to sleep with music playing to help. You sighed and went on your phone, you realized you never answered Kole and you wanted to keep it that way ‘til later.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with him especially after what he pulled last night. Honestly, you didn’t really care if you both went the whole day without talking to each other. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t losing feelings for him, sure you’d been together for 6 months and duh you loved him he’s your boyfriend.. you just.. weren’t sure you loved him as much as you did before. Kole rarely did anything special, he stopped giving you sweet things ‘just because’ he didn’t compliment you as if he was still trying to get with you.

None of that.

He acted as if his goal was to just get with you, not keep you happy, not love you, not make you feel special, just get with you. You started noticing it on your 3rd month anniversary. All he did was buy you flowers, no date no nothing. Only reason you hadn’t left him is because you just felt as if you couldn’t. He had been there for you during all your darkest moments, you felt like you needed him in your life. You felt glued to him and if you were to unstick even just a little bit, he made sure he stuck you back to him.

Scrolling through your other notifications you find nothing interesting and upon turning it off, that’s when an incoming call pops up on your screen. You mentally sighed preparing yourself for the incoming argument awaiting to happen.

It was Kole.

It was 2:34 pm and he wanted to call you now? Scoffing before picking up the call, you already felt yourself getting angry.

“Qué quieres ahora, Kole.” 5 seconds of silence seemed to be enough for him before he finally spoke up.

“Listen, baby, I know I fucked up by not showing up yesterday but I had things going on and—“

You didn’t even let him finish before you snapped, this made you laugh. “I don’t even wanna hear it, Kole. All I'm getting from this is that anything is more important to you than our relationship.” You closed your eyes and laid your face into the palm your hand waiting to hear what excuse he had for you this time.

“Nonono, baby listen I promise it’s nothing like that I was just chillin’ with the guys while I was waiting for you to get off work and I fell asleep watching a game and—“

“Don’t- No puedo mas, don’t even finish. Kole, I'm fed up.” here we go, you had to stand up for what you were about to say already feeling yourself tense up at the anger you were feeling.

“You know, I made sure I asked for a day off tomorrow thinking we were gonna have the best night of our lives like you had promised. Do you know how much effort I put into getting ready yesterday? You never think about anything but yourself. I made sure to buy new clothes just for you, and here you are telling me you were too busy watching games with your friends while I spent more than 2 hours preparing for our date? Are you fucking serious right now?”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying and the silence on the other line was more than enough confirmation for you to continue speaking, you let out a short laugh, tears already forming from the anger you felt. “This just goes to show how little I mean to you. I cried, Kole. I cried over and over again last night because of you.”

Kole knew he had hurt you, never in your whole 6 months of dating him had you gotten so frustrated to the point where your voice started shaking. He knew he messed up, and bad. The silence on the other line only hurt you more, your response only being a couple of sniffles.

You heard him sigh preparing to speak, “Listen baby, I know I messed up. I truly wish I could show you how sorry I am. I never meant to make you feel this way and you know I would never do this to you on purpose, I—I’ve just honestly been so stressed and wanted to let loose with the guys. We drank a bit and I got sleepy, and I know—I know that is not a good enough excuse to not show up. And I could've at least left you a text. I know that. I just—..I swear this time I'll make it up to you, Y/n.”

You frowned and sighed. As much as you really wanted to forgive him and just ‘go back to normal’ you’ve been letting this slide too many times. You knew all the times he had given you a speech almost exactly the same as this one, he was bullshitting you. You remember it clear as day, when you found multiple dating apps downloaded on his phone he gave you the most shitiest apology. He never really meant it; he just wanted to make sure you were stuck and didn’t leave him.

“I don’t know, Kole. I really don’t know what to think of this anymore—“

“Y/n, please. I know I messed up, just give me a chance to make it up to you.”

You sat there really considering it, and you came to a conclusion that if he really messed it up this time then that would be the end of this relationship. “Alright Kole, fine. Pero te lo juro if you mess this up we’re done.”

“Thank you, thank you. I love you so much baby and I promise I won't mess up. Meet me at our favorite coffee shop at 4.” and with that he hung up.

You had lost almost all your faith in your relationship, so you figured today you weren’t going to put in much effort since you just wanted to enjoy your day off in bed. You stood up from your bed again and grabbed your towel heading to your shower.

It was 3:17 pm and you had only just started putting on clean undergarments, you knew by the time you left you would be there late but at this point that was the least of your worries. You sat in front of your vanity doing your skincare routine when you noticed a dark spot on your neck, wondering what it was you looked closely.

A hickey.

You gasped grabbing your makeup sponge and some foundation trying to conceal it so your boyfriend doesn’t think of anything. But to no avail, you failed. It was still pretty visible. This is the moment when you really started panicking, you got up from your desk rummaging through your drawers searching for a turtle neck and when you found one you sighed in relief. You thought for a second letting your heart beat slow down.

‘Miles, ese estupido.’

You put the turtle neck on along with some sweatpants, slipped on your uggs and fixed up your hair only slightly since you had slept with a bonnet on. It had just hit 3:34 pm and you still weren’t ready, a few pumps of your bath and body works perfume and you got straight to your makeup. Sure you weren’t going to put in much effort, but you still wanted to wear just a bit of mascara.

You got up from your desk, grabbed your keys and let Kole know that you were on your way.

As you made your way out the building it hit 3:56 pm, still no text back from Kole. You weren’t surprised to say the least. To pass some time you decided to walk, and since the coffee shop wasn’t far. You also didn’t want to lose your parking. You slipped on your earbuds listening to some music on your way there.

Self Love; Metro Boomin & Coi Leray.

“came to the city for the love

got her hurtin’ now”

By the time you got to the coffee shop it was 4:08 pm, Kole hadn’t texted you back nor was he inside. You stepped in the shop and got in line wanting to order a snack so you wouldn’t starve while waiting. You chose your favorite, a glazed donut with some hot chocolate. You decided to pick a warm snack since it had gotten a bit windy outside.

You got your order and sat at your usual spot in the corner, taking a bite out of your donut. You decided to go on instagram to cure your boredom. You opened the app and clicked on the explore page button, you watched a few reels and quickly got bored again, swiping to the right again trying to find something interesting you stumbled across a post with more than 4k likes. You hummed in amusement scrolling through the pictures.

Pressing onto their page you realized who it was, Miles. Intrigued you stalked his page, all his posts having more than 2k likes. You observed them closely, and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t insanely attractive. You paused annoyingly remembering that you were still in a relationship and that you were mad at him for leaving a hickey on you. You glanced at the time again and it was 4:23 pm. You sighed, and got a notification from your weather app stating that there was going to be a crazy rain storm happening in about an hour.

‘Seriously? The one day I decided not to wear a sweater.’

As if on cue kole barged into the coffee shop in a hurry to see you.

You looked up at him with a dull look on your face, “Hi baby, I'm sorry there was traffic and I forgot my keys inside—“ Interrupting him you loudly sipped on your hot chocolate, signaling him to shut up with his excuses already. He sighed in defeat and sat down, “Well it doesn’t matter, you’re here now aren’t you?”

You flashed him a fake smile and you placed your cup down on the table and cleared your throat not sure what to talk about, “Sooo.. you gonna order anything or?”

“Oh, right. Do you want anything, love?” Slightly cringing at the nickname he gave you, “Yea another glazed donut would be nice.” And with that he headed towards the cash register ready to order, you took this as a chance to hop back onto your phone and look through Miles’ instagram posts.

You thought for a second, and pressed onto the ‘follow’ button. Disregarding the fact that you were still with Kole you exited out of the app.

‘Oh well, he follows many girls anyway and it’s not like we’re going to see each other again, especially after what he did.’

Kole came back with your glazed donut, he sat down and tried his best to make interesting conversation and most of the time you gave dry responses because he was just so.. how do you put it?——Boring. Usually it wasn’t this hard to catch your attention and have you entertained, but you genuinely wanted to leave.

“So yea, the game yesterday was awesome and oh! Max almost threw up because he ate 3 full boxes of pizza, can you believe that?! It’s crazy.”

You stared off across the cafe, so clearly uninterested and done with Kole. “Out of all the things to talk about, you chose to talk about what you were doing while I was waiting for you at the restaurant.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Oh cmon, don’t do that. The whole point of today was for me to make it up to you and you’re making it difficult.” He pouted, and this only had you feeling even angrier.

“Yeah well, it’s hard not to when you’ve done this four times already.”

He sighed and as he was about to speak that’s when both of your phones vibrated against the wooden table, you turned your attention to his screen first.

Incoming call from Madison.

“I-I gotta go babe. I promised my friend I would help her move into her new place. ” He then placed a kiss on your cheek quickly and rushed out. You sat there in disbelief as to what had just happened.

‘So not only did he show up late to his little apology date, he also ditched me for some other girl.’

You scoffed and stood up from your seat angrily deciding you were finally going to break up with him. You stared at the screen of your phone acknowledging what your notification was, Miles had followed you back. You ignored it, not thinking anything of it.

You angrily walked down the street and headed to the supermarket before going home to distract yourself, you needed to get some stuff for the house anyway.

Only two blocks away from the supermarket you started feeling a few small rain drops on your cheeks.

‘Great, now I'm gonna be soaking wet. Could this day genuinely get any worse?’

You quickly rushed into the supermarket a bit damp and grabbed a shopping basket to your left.

You head towards the snack aisle remembering you had finished your last tub of ice cream last Friday. You scanned through the aisle looking for more options and as you were slowly walking sideways squinting your eyes you bumped into someone.

“Oh- I’m so sorry i wasn’t watching where i was goin-“

Before you finished you managed to turn around and see who the person was, as if the smell of his husky cologne wasn’t an obvious giveaway.

It was Miles.

“We meet again, hermosa.” He grinned at you in amusement, eyeing you down and of course, he still looked as beautiful as when you first saw him, nothing new. You rolled your eyes mentally and just stared at him wanting to take the ‘sorry’ right back.

“Never mind, excuse me.” You tried to walk right past him trying not to acknowledge his existence. “Wow really? It’s like that now?” He asked with hurt in his voice sarcastically, you shut your eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Dealing with Miles was the last thing you needed right now, especially after your little fiasco with Kole.

“Miles. Quítate del miedo o te quito yo.”

You spoke seriously without making eye contact, this only made him feel like teasing you more. The way you spoke to him in Spanish angrily made him smirk. “Cmon amor, what’s with the attitude? You weren’t like this last night.”

His snarky remark only irked you more, which finally caused you to look up at him. “Yeah well, this is what happens when you think it’s funny to leave hickies on me knowing I have a boyfriend.” You snapped at him and he chuckled lightly lifting your chin up to look at you directly. “You enjoyed it, what's the problem mami? You followed me on instagram too, so I know you were thinking about me, why the sudden change?” He smirked.

His voice so close to you sent shivers down your spine, you felt your body react to his touch and his voice so you quickly swatted his hand away, you clutched your shopping basket and moved past him. “Whatever, and that was a mistake, I'm unfollowing you later.”

He smirked as you walked away, you could feel his gaze on your back and you felt vulnerable, like he was a predator and you, his prey. You reached the cash register with him still following behind, you decided to speak up to try and get him to back off. “Will you quit following me everywhere?” You turned to face him, annoyance written all over your face.

“I’m tryna pay ma, not doin’ it on purpose.” He grinned at your reaction and you just wanted to oh so badly smack that beautiful grin off of his face. “Yeah? Well you could’ve chosen any other cash register, whys the one i went to your choice.” The cashier finished ringing you up and your total came to $23.47, you rummaged through your wallet and paid $20 you soon realized you didn’t have enough and mentally cursed at yourself for being so reckless.

You remember thinking before you left the house that it was best to not take much money since you were only going to the coffee shop, that decision only came back to bite on your ass. You cleared your throat nervously not knowing how to explain.

“I’m sorry.. I uh- I’m missing $4.” You laughed nervously trying to rummage through your wallet once more seeing if you could find at least three or two dollars. Miles noticed this while being behind you. You soon see out of your peripheral vision that he slid $5 to the cashier, you turned to look at him with a look that said. ‘You’re annoying, but thanks i guess.’

You placed all of your items in a bag and walked to the exit hoping Miles would stay behind, but of course since your day already sucked why not make it suck even more? He was right behind you. Pretty soon, that was the least of your concerns once you noticed that it was pouring outside. You groaned in distress palming your face and made terms with the fact that you had to walk in the rain.

You were about to step out until Miles caught on and stopped you. “Woah woah, what are you doing?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. You looked at him as if he was wearing a red clown nose and a wig in confusement.

“Uh.. trying to walk home? What does it look like.” He matched your energy and came right back at you with a smart tone. “To me, it looks like you’re just tryna catch a cold.” You mocked him and soon noticed he was taking off his jacket while speaking. You had a confused look on your face when he placed it over you.

“What are you doing?”

“What? You think I’m bouta let you walk out ina rain like that?” He responded with a raised brow.

“Like what?”

“..Nothing.”

You ignored him and looked straight ahead, jogging out the market doors bag of snacks in hand. You groaned slightly looking up at the sky in annoyance because if even possible, the rain seemed to pour down harder. You noticed Miles was still behind you and turned to stare at him, eyeing him weirdly you then noticed how good he looked even when dripping wet in the rain. His black tee soaking wet, braids fucked up he stared at you through wet eyelashes.

“Miles, why are you still following me? I'm literally going home. Ya vete y déjame en paz, dios mío.”

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I get it you’re mad but just let me at least walk you home. You don’t even gotta go on that date with me either, I’ll leave you completely alone afterwards. Promise. ”

You both stood in the rain staring at each other for a second before you felt sympathy for him, you felt bad for the way you came at him. Yeah, he left marks even when he knew you had a boyfriend but it’s not like you didn’t think he was cheating either. You enjoyed it anyway.. So why not cut him some slack? You turned around and continued walking but before you did, you slightly turned your head to the side to speak to him.

“Fine, but I'm not completely declining your ‘date’ offer. If you respect my relationship then maybe I’ll let you take me out. Not on a date, more like us hanging out as friends.”

You felt bad turning him down completely when you had already agreed to meeting with him, so you gave him a chance bonus points for the sad look in his eyes causing you to give into him. Besides, being just friends won’t do any harm to your relationship.. right?

He smiled following right behind you as you both turned a few more blocks, finally reaching your house. You went up the stairs and stood under the roof of the apartment to avoid the water. You stared down at him shivering in his jacket.

“Soo.. where you going now?” You asked curiously trying to fight back the way your teeth hit each other from the way you shivered.

“Probably gonna walk home, don’t live too far.” He shrugged.

You looked at him in disbelief, walking out this late in the rain with how windy it was would probably be enough to give him the flu. You sighed and stared up at the ceiling for a second before staring at him.

“Miles, come on.”

“What?”

“You’re coming in with me.”

He stared at you wide eyed not expecting you to invite him in, after all that begging for him to stay away from you; inviting him inside your home was the least thing he thought would happen but of course he didn’t have a problem with it. All he did was smirk at you and raise his brows as if to say, ‘you bein’ for real right now?’

“You paid for my snacks, lent me your jacket in the rain and walked me home. It’s the least I could do, besides you’ll get really sick if you stay out any longer soaking wet.”

You walked in making your way to the elevator which only left him smiling, standing behind you at the way you were concerned for his health.

You paused then spoke up again, “So? ¿Vas a venir o que?”

He then walked up the stairs to follow behind you into the apartment muttering a low ‘well if you’re offering, might as well.’

Soon, you were left to contemplate if this was a mistake or not.

Because little did you know, this was gonna be a very long night.

★ translations: Que quieres ahora - what do you want now || no puedo más - I can’t anymore || pero te lo juro - but i swear || ese estupido - that idiot || hermosa - beautiful || quítate del medio o te quito yo - get out of the way or I’ll make you get out of the way myself || Amor - love || ya vete y déjame en paz, dios mío - go away and leave me alone, my god || vas a venir o que - are you coming or what

TAGS:

94 notes · View notes