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pin-k-ink · 2 months ago

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MASKED INTENTIONS ⋆✦⋆ bokuto koutaro

synopsis ➸ bokuto’s halloween party is your chance to finally make a move. you’ve both danced around your feelings for too long, and tonight, you’re determined to make it official—no matter what

tags ➸ friends to lovers, mutual pining, sexual tension, some kuroo x reader, bathroom sex, possessive!bokuto, biting, marking, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, begging, praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, belly bulge, size kink

wc ➸ 8.4k

"Didn't you hear me the first time, [Y/N]-chan? I said I'm throwing a huge Halloween bash this weekend!"

Bokuto's boisterous voice cut through the dull roar of the bustling student center effortlessly. You startled slightly at his enthusiastic declaration, gaze snapping up from where it had been shamelessly roaming over the firm stretch of his pecs straining against his fitted tee.

Feeling your cheeks warm at being caught so brazenly ogling, you quickly averted your eyes and cleared your throat in a vain attempt at recovering some composure.

"Sorry Kou, I was just...uh, admiring your shirt," you fibbed weakly, resisting the urge to squirm beneath his bright amber stare. "But yeah, a Halloween party does sound pretty fun! Count me in for sure."

Bokuto beamed at your agreement, seemingly oblivious to your bashful once-over despite the faint blush dusting his cheeks. That radiant smile of his always did silly, fluttery things to your pulse without fail.

"Of course you're gonna be there!" he laughed richly, slinging one arm carelessly across the back of the sofa behind you both.

You held your breath as the motion made his sleeves ride up further, tendons flexing in that way that never failed to distract you into yearning. Bokuto leaned in conspiratorially, utterly heedless of how his solid frame dwarfed your space so deliciously.

"You're basically the deciding factor on whether this thing goes as crazy as I'm hoping, [Y/N]," he confided in a hushed rumble that had you mentally replaying the words several times into something far more suggestive.

Unconsciously, your stare traced the sharp line of his chiseled jaw, committing every shadowed dip and hollow to fresh memory. How you yearned to brush your fingertips along that enticing path, committed the sensation of Bokuto's stubble to sear into your nerve endings for the thousandth time...

"I mean, you're hands down the most fun AND the prettiest person I know!" Bokuto continued in that same oblivious candor. "No way I'm throwing this thing without my trusty sidekick by my side to keep me honest!"

You barely suppressed a shiver at the casual endearment coupled with Bokuto's undivided attention focused so intimately upon you. A tiny, smitten part of you indulged the wild fantasy of him actually intending that velvet rumble as a subtle overture towards something more than friendship...

"You're such a smooth talker, Kou," you managed after clearing your throat roughly.

Reaching out, you laid one hand over his bicep in a featherlight caress that made his tawny eyes go wide momentarily. Bokuto seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second under the unexpected contact, lashes fluttering adorably. But almost immediately, that huge sunny grin stretched back across his features as if nothing remotely charged had occurred.

"Laying it on thick already to make sure I get the best party partner in crime on my side!" he joked brightly, flexing that tantalizing muscle beneath your palm in a way you were certain he didn't fully comprehend the effect of.

With herculean effort, you dragged your stare up to meet his before your imagination could wander down far more lascivious avenues than mere bicep appreciation again.

"You don't play fair, Bokuto Koutarou," you rasped out, unable to resist a low note of playful accusation despite knowing his flirtations remained entirely unintentional.

But oh, how you wished the heated looks and delicious innuendos he tossed around with such careless charm could ring with deeper meaning behind them - aimed solely at reeling you into the same helpless thrall he'd held you captive within for months.

"Aww hush, you know you love it!" Bokuto laughed again, utterly guileless and irresistibly handsome in that moment.

All you could do was surrender fully to melting into a puddle of longing all over again, unable to deny his searing assessment even to yourself. After all, who else could inspire such debilitating desire in you but your gloriously oblivious best friend?

Pursing your lips in a vain effort at composure, you simply leveled Bokuto with your most sultry stare while his rambling rundown of planned Halloween frivolities continued to wash over your hopelessly smitten senses. No small act of stubborn bravery when his broad palms were suddenly gesturing with such vigor right before your yearning eyes...

"—and I was thinking of going all out with the vampire look this year!" Bokuto exclaimed, eyes sparkling with mischievous excitement. "Picture this - slick cape, ruffled shirt open to show off my eight-pack, maybe even a pair of those fake fangs if I can find some decent ones!"

You bit back a whimper that threatened to slip free, hormones blazing at the enticing mental image he was so carelessly painting. Bokuto, looking devastatingly handsome while deliberately putting his sculpted physique on display in one of those low-cut vampire getups? Yeah, that was a surefire recipe for spontaneous combustion where your overactive imagination was concerned.

"You'd look good enough to eat all dressed up like that," you couldn't resist murmuring in a tone several shades too sultry for mere casual conversation.

Bokuto simply cocked his head owlishly at your heated rejoinder, apparently oblivious to the blatant innuendo dripping from your words. That only made the rakish grin he flashed you in response hit straight to your rapidly fraying restraint like a sucker punch.

"Hah! You know it!" he crowed richly, flexing one bicep with a playful wink. "Can't wait to knock all the thirsty ladies dead when they get an eyeful—"

You had to physically cross your legs in a vain bid at composure when his words somehow grew even more salaciously charged without apparent intent. Mercifully, Bokuto seemed to pause mid-ramble, sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if sensing the fresh current of tension thrumming between your bodies.

"Wait, hold up!" He leaned in infinitesimally closer, rendering his clean, crisp cologne impossible to ignore. "What costume have you got planned to match my vampire vibe, huh [Y/N]-chan?"

Your breath stalled entirely as Bokuto's penetrating golden stare flicked from your face down to your mouth and back again with unabashed curiosity. Unconsciously, you found yourself mirroring the motion of dragging your gaze over the lush seam of his parted lips before catching yourself just in time.

"Now now, Kou," you husked out in your lowest register, unable to resist the flirtatious opening he'd created. "You really think I'm gonna spoil the whole surprise before the main event? Where's the fun in that?"

Bokuto immediately pulled back with a dramatic gasp of mock indignation, somehow filling the scant space between your bodies with that irresistible presence despite the harmless distance. You suppressed a tiny smirk at how easy it was to rile up his naturally excitable nature - especially when it came to any perceived challenge or hint of competition.

"No way, [Y/N]! That's so not fair!" he protested with a rumbling pout, folding his arms across that firm chest you'd been so keen to ogle. "As the guest of honor at this epic bash, I totally deserve a sneak peek before everyone else gets to see you all dolled up!"

His rich timbre dipped into a suggestive burr over those last few words that made every nerve ending in your body prickle with keen awareness. Only Bokuto could manage to sound so utterly innocuous and temptation incarnate at the same time without even trying.

"Yeah?" you couldn't resist dragging out on a breathy exhale, watching the way his eyes tracked the swell of your chest with unconscious focus. "Well then maybe if you're a good boy and take your party planning duties seriously...I'll consider giving you a private show before the main event later."

Your voice definitely sounded far too heavy with promise by the end of that bold declaration. But Bokuto simply threw back his head in another bout of raucous laughter, utterly guileless in the face of your shamelessly smoldering once-over.

"Now you're speaking my language!" he grinned down at you with so much boyish exuberance. "I can’t wait to see you in it!"

Before you could attempt to disentangle yourself from his effortless charisma and get up from the sofa once more, Bokuto reached out without preamble to grasp your hips in both large palms. You immediately went rigid as the sheer strength and heat of him seared through the thin fabric between you, pinning you down with scorching insistence until you were staring up into those blazing amber depths helplessly.

"In fact, better go ahead and show me a little something right now, [Y/N]-chan..." he husked out in a tone of pure sin, tightening his fingers until they dug into your flaring curves possessively. "Just to prove you can really back up all that pretty talk when it counts..."

You choked down a desperate whimper, hands instinctively scrabbling against that broad chest for purchase as Bokuto quite literally stole what little breath remained in your lungs. This man would always be the undoing of you eventually, oblivious charm or not - you could feel it down to your molten core.

Before you could formulate any sort of reasoned response, the shrill peal of the class bell rang out across campus. Body thrumming with unrealized need, you pulled back with a breathless laugh and shifted your hands to brace against Bokuto's chiseled torso instead.

"Easy there, Casanova," you managed to purr around your shallow pants. "I've got lectures to get to before I can bless you with the big unveiling of my costume. Think you can manage to behave yourself 'til this evening without my immaculate guidance?"

The tiniest flicker of disappointment flashed across Bokuto's striking features before he instantly smoothed it over with a winsome grin that kicked your pulse into high gear once more.

"No promises, baby!" he rumbled richly as you stepped out of his searing reach with great reluctance. "Unless you tell me what deliciously sinful look I've got to look forward to later tonight, that is!"

Your bark of wry laughter sliced easily through the thick atmosphere of building tension. Without breaking stride, you simply shot him an arch look over one shoulder as you turned towards the door finally.

"Like I said, Kou - tonight's ensemble stays a surprise..." You let your heated stare trail down the powerful flex of his abdomen in frank appreciation. "But I suppose you'll find out soon enough if you can keep those gorgeous eyes from popping clear outta their sockets around me..."

You punctuated the brazen statement with a shameless wink before whirling and sauntering off to class, leaving Bokuto's dumbstruck expression and one faintly uttered "hey!" lingering in your wake. He and the rest of his thirsty friends were all in for one hell of an evening indeed if you had your wickedest desires indulged.

This time, even Bokuto's famous density might not shield him from the full seductive force of your flirtatious charms being brought to bear...

You surveyed your reflection in the full-length mirror with a critical eye, smoothing your hands over the sinfully form-fitting crimson silk clinging to your every tantalizing curve and dip. The sleeveless cheongsam-style dress left absolutely nothing to the imagination - from the daringly low neckline putting your generous cleavage front and center, to the soaring thigh-high slit that would leave your legs on full display with each strutting step.

A diabolical smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth as you gave yourself one final saucy twirl, admiring the hypnotic sway of gossamer fabric rippling around your hips like tongues of flame dancing. Oh yes...this scorchingly lush ensemble would undoubtedly be more than enough for capturing a certain owl's undivided, stupefied attention in a deliciously compromising way.

The opening fanfare of 'Crazy Bitch' by Buckcherry had you jumping slightly before fumbling for your buzzing phone. You quirked one brow in amusement at the caller ID flashing across the screen - of course Kuroo had set that particular ringtone for himself on your phone.

"You're cutting it pretty close, aren't you kitten?" your fellow troublemaker purred the second you accepted the call.

Despite the familiar edge of mischief in his honey-rich timbre, you frowned slightly at the thinly veiled agitation lacing his words. Which instantly set off warning bells as to the potential status of a certain host you happened to be running fashionably late on at the moment...

"Look, don't get your panties in a twist," you replied dismissively, turning to examine your perfectly tousled hair from another enticing angle. "This ensemble takes a little extra effort to paint on if I'm gonna see any hope of making our dense guest of honor's jaw hit the floor tonight."

Kuroo's laugh crackled over the line in a dark velvet ribbon of sin that instantly catapulted your mind straight into the proverbial gutter. "Oh trust me, princess...there'll be precious little hope of Bokubro keeping his hungry gaze above sea level once he lays eyes on the look you're fixin' to strut in here."

That got your full attention, pupils dilating with keen desire at the mere suggestion of your longtime crush devouring every delectable inch of exposed skin and indecent curves you'd purposefully curated on his behalf tonight. Anticipation ignited molten coils of heat unfurling deep in your lower belly, nearly making your knees go weak in the process.

Before you could launch into wheedling Kuroo for more tittilating details at Bokuto's current state of unraveling, another teasing voice sounded in the background - Atsumu's unmistakable lilt overlaying familiar snarking about keeping things PG. You immediately scowled at the familiar byplay between those unrepentant flirts, mind flashing with crystal clarity on the debauched tableau unfolding at the venue without you.

Well...wasting one more minute on harmless primping was utterly out of the question now. Not when you had the chance to witness Bokuto Koutarou rendered senseless in person dangling so tantalizingly close.

"Sorry guys, but I’m done readying myself for the night," you husked out in a throaty growl of your own. "I'm on my way, and every single inch will be on full display for my owl to sink those pretty fangs into as soon as I arrive..."

A beat of weighted silence answered your searing promise, fractured only by Atsumu's breathless, "Fuuuuck..." and Kuroo's guttural hum of approval somewhere beyond sight.

"Clock's ticking for Bokuto to finally get his sweet comeuppance, huh?" the roguish middle blocker husked out before you could end the call. "Make sure to draw this one out niiiice and slow, kitten...hear me?"

The underlying warning to savor your long-awaited seduction properly tripped a fresh spark of wicked delight lighting up your nerve endings like a powder keg. Grinning brilliantly, you leaned forward until your cleavage brushed the mirror in an absolutely tantalizing tease of things yet to come.

"Oh don't you worry, Tetsu," you purred out in a feathery rasp that would've made any lesser man spontaneously combust. Your smile carved itself into a lascivious expression carved in sin itself as a full-bodied shudder racked your form exquisitely. "Let's just say our dear, sweet volleyball dolt won't know what hell he's wandered into until it's far too late to escape..."

With a resonant laugh that rang out sultry promise in its wake, you severed the call and squared your shoulders towards the dorm door. This was no longer simply a night of yearning for a man's acknowledgment, but a prowl zeroing in on its helpless prey at long last.

And Bokuto, for all his staunchly oblivious charms, wouldn't even know he'd tumbled into your carefully-laid snare until you had him bound irreparably to your thrall.

By the time you arrived at the buzzing venue, the Halloween party already seemed to be in full chaotic swing. Thumping basslines and shrieks of laughter echoed from the open doors, mingling with the smoky tendrils of dry ice fog spilling onto the sidewalk. You paused just outside the entrance, running an appreciative gaze over your skin-tight scarlet ensemble one final time before squaring your shoulders.

Tonight marked the culmination of months spent finessing all your most tantalizing wiles aimed at thoroughly enrapturing Bokuto in every sense. No more playing coy or hedging around the matter at hand - by night's end, that gloriously dense owl would be utterly yours in both body and soul, whether he realized it yet or not.

Squaring your shoulders with renewed determination, you slinked inside with hips swaying in a deliberate beckoning rhythm. The packed venue swallowed you instantly, heady waves of cologne, spilled liquor, and hormones crashing over your senses in a disorienting rush.

After shouldering through the first few knots of costumed revelers, you finally spied your trifecta of troublemakers holding court in one corner - Atsumu in some laughably tight red devil getup, bracketed by Kuroo's wolfish grins and Bokuto's towering frame clad in...oh hell yes.

Your breath stuttered faintly as you drank in the sight of him finally. The deliciously snug waistcoat, crisp white button-down straining against those obscene pectorals, onyx cape billowing behind him in tantalizing wisps...capping it all off, of course, with a pair of delightfully dumb faux fangs jutting over his lush lower lip.

Kuroo was the first to spot your crimson-tinted approach, burning amber eyes flicking over your scintillating form with unabashed lust before a slow, predatory smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He elbowed Atsumu sharply, dipping his chin fractionally to signal your presence. But almost immediately, both boys retreated without fanfare from Bokuto's restless orbit - evidently having deduced your singular intent on this bewitching night in short order.

You prowled closer to where your unsuspecting prey currently slouched, shoulders rounded inward in one of his mercurial funks you'd become so adept at piercing down the years. That stormy, petulant expression looked so deliciously out of place framed by the gothic splendor of his meticulous costume...and so utterly enthralling for it.

No more holding back, you decided with a resolute inhale. It was now or never.

"Well well, what do we have here?" you purred out in your lowest, smokiest register - one you knew full well made Bokuto shiver with unconscious yearning each time. "Tell me, tall dark and sulky...do those fangs actually work as intended?"

Bokuto's head snapped up so fast you actually heard the accompanying crack of bone. Those blown amber irises of his imploded to twin points of blazing intensity when they finally locked onto your approaching figure in earnest. For several charged breaths, he simply drank you in head to toe with slackened jaw and parted lips before answering.

"Wh....[Y/N]-chan?" he managed to exhale reverently, sounding utterly poleaxed in a way that made your belly swoop with heady triumph. "Holy shit, I...you look incred—"

"Don't hurt yourself there, Kou," you crooned before he could devolve into rambling. Closing the distance between you in two deliberate strides, you ghosted calloused fingertips over the lush swell of his lower lip he'd just failed to moisten. Bokuto went utterly rigid as a bowstring at your touch, eyes fluttering like a flayed nerve ending at your unrepentant perusal of him.

Your nail snagged gently over one slightly crooked fang, tugging insistently until Bokuto's mouth parted on a ragged inhale. Releasing his lip from your teasing hold, you took the final step forward until the swells of your bodies brushed together tantalizing.

"A good little creature of the night like yourself should know better than to try tasting anything without proper...invitation first, hmm?"

Bokuto swallowed hard enough for you to track the flexing column of his throat, brain evidently having abandoned every last thread of function and reason at this proximity. You simply smiled, all teeth and sin, relishing the tangible aura of his desire washing over you in hot, lapping waves as you leaned in until the faint wisps of his cologne surrounded your senses.

"So tell me, Kou..." you breathed out against the shell of one flushed lobe, watching him shiver compulsively down to the core. "Do those pretty fangs of yours only work on the willing...or is a taste imminent no matter my answer?"

Those blown amber irises of his locked onto your smoldering stare with the intensity of a physical caress. You felt the air leave your lungs in a shuddery exhale as Bokuto inclined his chiseled features towards you torturously, bodies swaying together as if by sheer magnetic compulsion.

"Only if you want to...baby," he finally rumbled out in a tone lush with the most exquisite promise. His impossibly soft mouth trailed tantalizingly over the curve of your jaw, harsh stubble searing a brand into your softest skin.

You quirked one delighted brow upwards, a shiver of pure power tingling over your nerves at how thoroughly you seemed to have enraptured Bokuto's full, undivided focus in a single heady exchange. The music thrumming through the crowded venue seemed to fade away until all that registered were the harsh breaths sawed between your tantalizing proximity.

Bokuto's nostrils flared as his burning amber stare raked over your body again in a way that should have felt crude, and yet only stoked the molten coil of desire in your core higher. When he finally met your gaze once more, there was no mistaking the reckless, unrestrained hunger blazing in those hypnotic depths.

"You think you're so fucking cute, don't you?" His low rumble lashed over your sensitized nerves like a physical caress. "Swanin' around in that little scrap of nothing, practically begging for me to rip it right off you in front of everyone?"

You inhaled shakily at the blatant possession laced through his gravelly accusation. Bokuto took an indelible step closer, the solid mass of his frame allowing no prospect of retreat or avoidance whatsoever. His broad chest brushed the swell of your breasts with each thrumming inhale, the delicious friction making you shudder despite yourself.

"I see the way you strut and pose and tease the everloving fuck out of me on purpose, gorgeous..." His tongue darted out to lave over that plush lower lip you'd spent countless fevered nights yearning to taste firsthand. "And trust me...I've been dreaming up some wonderfully wicked ways to shut that pretty mouth for good using my—"

"Kou..." you gasped out weakly, thrilled arousal cresting hot and electric through your shaken form.

He reached out without warning, one iron-banded forearm knotting tight around your waist to crush you flush against the uncompromising hardness of his body. Your lips parted soundlessly as his erection branded itself against the softness of your belly in an unmistakable promise.

"So let's cut through all the bullshit teasing and playing coy for once yeah, baby?" Bokuto rumbled directly against the pulse point beneath your jaw, sending your eyelashes fluttering helplessly. "Why don't we finally answer this burning question I've got about what sort of nasty little noises you make when I get you under me...?"

The sheer blistering vulgarity of his murmured temptation made your knees go liquid on the spot. You sagged forward in his unrelenting embrace, shaking hands finding the solid plane of Bokuto's abdomen to brace yourself against as his mouth trailed searing, open kisses along the exposed curve of your throat.

"...Because I gotta be honest, kitten..." he continued in that same unapologetic burr vibrating through you both deliciously. "These last few months of watchin' you flaunt every lush inch while staying just outta reach have been absolutely fuckin' torturous for me..."

One palm slid up from your hip to palm a generous handful of your ass, squeezing with indelicate possession that had you whimpering brokenly into the charged space between your fevered forms. There was simply no mistaking the raw, rapacious nature of Bokuto's desire any longer - it radiated off him in cresting waves of molten sin and domineering command.

"So no more games, no more pretty lil' distractions, yeah?" The silky heat of his mouth ghosted up to trail the delicate whorls of your ear as he spoke, voice gone gravelly and utterly compromising in its carnal promise. "Why don't you be a good girl and show me just how bad you need this wild ride to start already..."

Bokuto didn't bother waiting for your breathless assent before his hands were seizing your hips in a vice-like grip that stole what little remained of your composure. One dizzying spin later and you found yourself pinned between the immovable force of his hulking frame and the bathroom door he'd just propelled you both through.

"This ought to be secluded enough for our purposes, don'tcha think?" he rumbled out against the thundering pulse in your throat, tongue darting out to lap at the sweat beading along your fevered skin. "At least until I've had my first real taste of unwrapping you properly..."

You keened softly at the blatant insinuation, fingers scrabbling at the taut muscle of his shoulders for purchase as his hips angled forward to grind his insistent arousal against the juncture of your thighs tauntingly. The friction sent sparks of electric need shooting straight to your molten core so potently you saw stars momentarily.

"Mmm, fuck you sound delicious already, baby girl..." Bokuto practically growled against the vulnerable stretch of your throat where he mouthed hot, openmouthed kisses steadily downward. "And here I was thinking playing coy and innocent would be the biggest hurdle we'd have to conquer tonight."

One large, calloused palm drifted up to palm your breast through the flimsy silk barrier with unabashed possession. You whimpered at the rough caress, back arching instinctively to present your breasts in silent offering as he teased the rigid peak with the calloused pad of his thumb mercilessly.

"But nah...turns out that legendary sweet little temper of yours was always gonna pale beside this other absolutely ravenous side you've been keeping locked up tight from me, huh?"

His blazing amber gaze found yours once more - reflecting the same barely-bridled starvation surely shining from your own hooded stare as well. The intensity of it made your breath stutter in your chest as Bokuto ducked his chiseled features close until you could all but taste the crisp notes of his musky cologne on your tongue.

"Tell me, kitten..." he rasped out against the seam of your parted lips, finally pausing his thorough mapping of your quickening curves to level you with his full, overwhelming focus. "Does being the center of every last filthy fantasy spinning through my head right now make that greedy lil' pussy ache and throb the same way?"

You whimpered brokenly despite your best attempts at composure, the vulgar poetry of Bokuto's words uttered in that wrecked bass registering at a bone-deep level of bliss beyond even your most intoxicating dreams. Before you could so much as attempt reciprocating his bold impropriety, he surged forward again - all ferocious hunger and searing friction as his chiseled hips slotted into yours with bruising insistence.

"Gonna take that as a yes..." he growled against your swollen mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip possessively before soothing the heated sting with velvet swirls of his tongue. "Don't you worry your pretty lil' head, though...we're gonna get this aching emptiness all squared away in a hot minute, baby. Just the two of us, the way it's been meant to be for a long fuckin' time now, yeah?"

In a dizzying flurry of motion, Bokuto suddenly banded both powerful forearms beneath your thighs and hitched you clear off your feet with a low, satisfied grunt. You cried out at the new precarious angle and the way it left you utterly exposed and spread wide around his thighs, pussy already slickening in desperation against the rigid heat branding your intimate flesh.

"After all..." he continued in that dark, carnal tone that seemed to reverberate through every straining tendon and bone betwixt your frantic forms. "What's the point of giving in to this if I don't intend to fully enjoy myself with you, pretty?"

You choked on a wanton whimper as Bokuto punctuated that decadent promise by grinding up into you sharply - his cock dragging against your drenched folds with devastating friction. One hand left your thigh to grasp your jaw in a punishing grip, angling your features up to receive the full force of his heated intensity unobstructed.

"Open up for me, pretty girl..." he growled when you managed to flutter your eyes back open in a daze. "Got something else I'm just dyin' to unwrap for you now that we're all alone..."

Bokuto paused for emphasis, casting you a downright lascivious grin filled with dark promise as one thumb traced the plump curve of your lower lip deliberately. The vulgar implications danced behind his heavy-lidded stare, lighting fresh trails of heady desire licking through your veins like wildfire.

He snared your dazed focus and simply held it captive for several ragged heartbeats as his grin bled slowly into something fiercer, more predatory. Then with his next words the final threads of your restraint splintered into dust at last:

"Been practicing on how best to use these fangs on your sweet lil' body for weeks now, pretty thing..." Bokuto rumbled with liquid sin sewn through every syllable. "Wanna show you just how sharp they are and how fucking good I can make you feel when you finally give yourself over to me, yeah?"

You shuddered against him at the blatant insinuations woven into the carnal tapestry of his offer. It took an inordinate amount of effort to peel your tongue away from the roof of your mouth and shape the breathless, fervent words clawing their way free from the back of your throat:

"Yes please...!"

Bokuto's answering groan was a thing of pure animal hunger as he sealed his lips against yours once more. One large, calloused palm braced the nape of your neck, holding you fast in place as he ravished your mouth with a ravenous intensity that made you see stars. You whimpered brokenly as his tongue traced the seam of your mouth before delving inside to map every secret crevice and corner with shameless urgency.

You gave as good as you got in the fervent exchange, nails scrabbling at the corded strength of his broad shoulders as you attempted to press impossibly closer. His cock throbbed hot and heavy against your inner thigh as he licked into your mouth like he intended to claim it for his own with each decadent stroke.

It was the sort of kiss you'd only dared dream of for far too long - deep, dizzying, and utterly overwhelming in the best possible sense. Bokuto kissed you like a man starving for his very next breath - devouring you whole and relishing every last delectable morsel until nothing remained except the most exquisite, unquenchable craving for more.

"Fuck, that's it..." he rumbled out against your trembling mouth after breaking the kiss for air. His fangs dragged over the tender skin of your lower lip tauntingly as his scorching gaze bored into you with predatory intent. "Knew you'd be the sweetest fucking treat I've ever tasted, baby girl..."

Your whimper turned into a full-throated cry when his mouth dipped lower and began laying claim to the sensitive curve of your throat once more. Those fangs nipped and teased and suckled at the delicate skin until your entire body was strung tight as a bowstring in his unrelenting grip.

Then without warning, the flat of his tongue slicked a decadent path up the straining column of your throat. You shivered with pleasure when the rasping sensation registered on your hypersensitized nerves - the subtle scrape of his stubble leaving goosebumps in its wake as he lapped up every last drop of sweat dotting your skin.

"Oh fuck..." you moaned hoarsely, hips rocking forward in search of friction. "Kou, please—"

"Gotta mark you up first, baby." His graveled reply ghosted over the hollow of your throat, sending the fine hairs along the back of your neck standing on end. "Need everyone to know exactly who you belong to after tonight."

Then before you could manage a response, Bokuto's teeth sank into the tender stretch of flesh directly over your pulse point.

The sudden pain was a searing shock, stealing the air from your lungs in a gasp. It took you a moment to register the low, rumbling growl reverberating through Bokuto's chest as he sucked and lapped at the bite. He pulled away just enough to lap at the reddened skin and soothe the lingering sting, and then his lips were sealed against your throat once more - suckling and scraping and marking until a full-body shudder wracked your fevered form.

"There..." he rasped against the shell of your ear, breath fanning across the tender, sweat-dampened flesh. "That’s just one of many marks I'm gonna leave behind after tonight, kitten."

The low, graveled cadence of his voice sent a thrill shooting straight to your core as you sagged forward into his embrace. Bokuto shifted his grip, allowing the full length of your torso to mold against his as he continued his decadent worship. Your arms twined around his neck to anchor yourself against the relentless waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"So much more to go before I'm done with you, baby." He nipped and sucked his way down to the slope of your breasts, hands kneading and caressing the ample flesh. "But I think it's time we get started unwrapping you properly now."

One hand snaked around to your lower back and tugged at the knot. It fell away easily, allowing the sleeves to flutter loose around the swell of your shoulders. You bit back a moan at the feel of his lips curving against your skin as he pressed an openmouthed kiss directly over the frantic pulse fluttering just beneath the surface.

"There's my perfect girl..." Bokuto rumbled low as he reached around to peel the garment down just beneath the swell of your breasts. "Show me those gorgeous tits now, sweetheart..."

You keened weakly as he pulled away, allowing you to shift back against the wall and arch your back. Your hands trailed down to the thin fabric still bunched around your waist, but before you could make a move Bokuto was there - one hand wrapping around your wrist to still the motion.

"Nuh uh, baby..." His molten gaze raked over the generous curve of your exposed chest and the stiff peaks of your nipples with ravenous hunger. "Lemme do the honors. You've been driving me crazy with the teasing for long enough already."

Bokuto released your wrist and reached forward. He grasped the silk and eased it down until it fell to a puddle of satin at your feet. Your breath hitched at the sudden chill washing over the freshly exposed skin, only to have your thoughts derailed by the sound of Bokuto's low, drawn-out whistle.

"Fuck..." His voice had gone thick with blatant appreciation as his amber stare raked over every exposed inch. "And here I thought that skimpy pink number you wore for the team's New Year's party was gonna be the one I'd finally lose my shit over."

One large, calloused palm slid up the smooth curve of your belly to cup your breast with possessive hunger. You shuddered at the rough friction, back arching into his touch with shameless eagerness. Bokuto grinned with a low, approving chuckle as his other hand drifted to mirror its counterpart.

"But damn, kitten...gotta say that this is definitely a close second." He tweaked and teased the tender flesh until your thighs were trembling with desperation. "So fuckin' soft and pretty. I'm gonna have the time of my life burying my face in 'em, baby girl."

Bokuto punctuated his decadent declaration with a sharp, deliberate squeeze that had you whimpering aloud. Then his mouth was upon you, teeth scraping over the taut buds until the sting registered as a bolt of white-hot pleasure searing straight to your core. You keened brokenly, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck to urge him on.

"Kou, please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" His breath ghosted hot and damp against the underside of your breast as his mouth trailed lower. "Want me to keep sucking these sweet lil' tits 'til I've had my fill?"

He pinched the pebbled peaks between his thumbs and forefingers and gave them a slow, torturous twist that had your legs shaking on the spot. His eyes darted up to capture your hazy, feverish stare in their blazing heat, and then his lips curled up into a devilish grin.

"Or are you ready for me to show you how fucking good it's gonna feel when I'm eating this greedy pussy instead?"

The sheer obscenity of his words combined with the slow, deliberate grind of his hips against yours made you see stars. He was so hard against you, so insistent and aching and thick—

"Y-yes...oh god, Kou...please!"

Your response was a desperate, broken cry - half-whimper, half-moan as you clung to him desperately. He smirked against your flushed skin and rewarded you with a final, teasing lick before releasing the abused peak with a wet pop. Then his molten amber gaze found yours, and the predatory promise burning within it sent a delicious thrill dancing along your spine.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, pretty girl..."

Before you could so much as draw another breath, Bokuto was hooking both arms around your thighs and hoisting you clear off your feet in a dizzying, breathless rush. He spun on his heel and took three purposeful strides forward, then paused just long enough to deposit you unceremoniously atop the bathroom countertop.

The marble surface was cool against the heated flush of your bare skin, sending a shudder racing through you. Before you could regain your bearings, Bokuto's palms were skating along your calves and trailing up to the backs of your knees, coaxing them wider and wider until they were splayed wide around his broad frame.

"Fuck, baby girl...that's a helluva view..." he rumbled in approval, hands skimming further upwards to cup the backs of your thighs and squeeze possessively. "Been dreaming about this pretty pussy for way too fucking long now."

You moaned when his thumbs traced the sensitive juncture of thigh and pelvis, so close and yet so far away from where you were throbbing and aching and needy. Then he was ducking his head to the crook of your inner thigh and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the salty, quivering flesh.

"Think I'll start by seeing if I can make you cream all over these fingers while I'm getting this sweet cunt nice and wet, baby..."

The dark, carnal promise sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your clit. Bokuto's teeth scraped over the delicate skin, tongue tracing patterns over the sensitive expanse as his hands urged your legs further apart. The cool air of the bathroom made you shiver as he mouthed his way towards your soaked core.

"Kou, p-please..."

Your pleas died on a shattered moan when he suddenly leaned in and licked a decadent, filthy swipe over your clothedpussy. The rasp of his tongue over the thin, drenched fabric left you writhing, fingers scrabbling against the countertop for purchase as his fingers dug bruises into your quivering thighs.

"Gotta get my dessert, baby..." he rasped, breath fanning over your sensitive flesh and leaving you whimpering. "Don't wanna waste a single drop."

The next thing you knew, he was yanking your thong to the side and diving between your spread legs with a low, satisfied groan.

His tongue traced the crease of your inner thigh for the briefest moment, only to dart straight up to the swollen nub of your clit the next. You keened at the sudden onslaught, head lolling back against the mirror behind you with a breathless sob.

"Oh god...!"

Bokuto growled with feral approval as he licked and suckled and teased at the bundle of nerves with unerring accuracy. Each stroke of his tongue was a sinfully decadent combination of rough and smooth and so, so wet - dragging across the hypersensitive skin with the most exquisite friction.

He laved the flat of his tongue in broad strokes that had you squirming helplessly. You cried out when the tip flicked and curled and stroked against your throbbing clit until you were panting and writhing, thighs quaking around his shoulders.

Bokuto didn't stop there, though. He was ravenous in his pursuit, devouring your pussy like it was the best fucking meal he'd ever had. One hand released your thigh, and then his fingers were parting the swollen folds to delve deeper still. You choked on a broken moan when the first two plunged into the molten depths of your aching core with ruthless abandon.

"So fucking wet and tight for me already, baby girl..."

Those long, thick digits curled up and hit a spot deep within you that made you see stars. He began stroking, massaging the tender patch with each thrust. His other hand snaked around the inside of your thigh and dragged over the swollen nub of your clit.

The double stimulation sent a jolt of electricity shooting straight through you, and before you could even register it your muscles were clamping down around him in a sudden, powerful release.

Bokuto groaned as your release spilled out over his fingers and drenched the countertop. He didn't slow his pace, though. If anything, he increased the speed of his thrusts - pistoning in and out of your sopping wet channel with a lewd, wet squelching noise. His tongue circled and flicked and teased until the aftershocks gave way to a new, fresh wave of pleasure that had you keening aloud.

"That's it, baby girl..." Bokuto crooned, pulling away to pepper messy kisses along the crease of your thigh. His fingers slowed, but didn't stop their unrelenting assault. "God, look at how fucking good you taste...gonna need seconds soon."

The vulgar promise had you moaning, fingers digging into the short strands of his hair and tugging insistently. He chuckled darkly, lips curling against the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh before he sank his fangs into the plush give and sucked with a low, satisfied groan.

"Ahh!"

It was too much - the rough drag of his tongue and the scrape of his stubble against your quivering thighs, the way his fingers curled and scissored and spread the walls of your core until you were dripping and stretched wide. The sensation of his fangs buried deep in the delicate skin was a delicious, decadent agony that had you arching up from the countertop with a strangled cry.

"Fuck, so pretty for me..."

Bokuto's husky murmur sounded muffled and distant to your ears, the words distorted by the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. He lapped up the last drops of your release, tongue circling and teasing over the swollen, throbbing nub once more. Your legs jerked, inner muscles clamping down on his fingers with a renewed urgency.

"Kou...need more..."

Your voice was a wrecked, broken plea, barely recognizable to your own ears. Your fingers tightened in his hair, nails digging into his scalp until a low, feral growl vibrated through the taut line of his back.

"Need what, baby? Tell me what you need, and it's all yours."

Bokuto withdrew his fingers slowly, only to add a third alongside them. The extra stretch had you whimpering, eyes squeezing shut as the overwhelming fullness registered in your fevered senses. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling and stroking in a rough, relentless rhythm as his fingers drove into you over and over and over again.

"C'mon, sweetheart...tell me what you need."

Bokuto pulled away, his breath fanning over your sopping entrance as he crooked his fingers in a 'come-hither' motion. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the knowledge sent a fresh surge of arousal pooling between your legs. You bucked your hips, desperate for more of that delicious friction that had your thighs quaking and toes curling.

"Y-Your cock, Kou..." you managed on a broken moan, head tossing back as the sensations began to overwhelm you. "Please...need you so fucking bad, please—!"

The next thing you knew, his hands were hooking beneath your knees and pushing them against your chest. Bokuto's body blanketed yours, his thick, muscular form pressing you back against the countertop in an intoxicating cage of heat and hard muscle. His hips rocked forward, the thick ridge of his clothed cock grinding against your exposed, throbbing core with delicious friction.

"I gotcha, baby girl...gonna give it to you real good now, okay?"

His low, graveled rasp ghosted hot and damp against the shell of your ear before he pressed a searing kiss to the curve of your throat. You whined in agreement, hands grasping and groping at his back as your hips jerked up in search of friction. Bokuto rumbled his approval, one hand reaching between your bodies to free himself from his pants.

Then he was guiding the blunt, weeping tip of his cock against your drenched opening. The slick, smooth glide was an agonizing sort of perfection as he pressed forward - each inch a torturous blend of bliss and burning fullness that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

"Too…big..."

The words escaped on a choked, ragged sob. Your fingers scrabbled against the broad expanse of his shoulders, the stretch bordering on painful. It felt like you were being split in two, the sensation only magnified by the way his fingers were gripping your thighs so hard you were sure they would leave behind the faint imprint of his fingertips.

"Easy, sweetheart...you're taking me so fucking good right now..." Bokuto rasped against the side of your throat, the words coming out in a strained, guttural snarl. "Feel so damn perfect...fuck, I'm not gonna last long like this..."

You whimpered, thighs quivering reflexively at the strain as you willed yourself to relax. The burn was easing a little, though not by much. Bokuto pressed his face against the curve of your shoulder, teeth sinking into the tender flesh with a low, feral groan as he sheathed himself inside you completely.

"You're so goddamn tight, baby girl..."

There was a breathless, reverent note to his words that belied the carnal desperation lurking just beneath the surface. His hips shifted, and then he was moving - drawing back slowly before plunging forward in a single, sharp thrust that made you both see stars.

"Holy shit..."

The hoarse, guttural expletive fell from his lips on a harsh, ragged exhale as his grip tightened on your thighs. Bokuto's movements were a study in contradictions - each stroke measured and controlled, his movements almost leisurely in their pace. Yet there was a tension thrumming through him, the raw, primal hunger simmering beneath the surface betrayed by the way his fingers were leaving bruises in their wake.

"Fuck, Kou...! So fucking good...!"

You keened the words as your body adjusted, the sting giving way to a molten, throbbing heat. You were so full, so deliciously stretched and filled and used - every thrust a torturous blend of agony and ecstasy that had you seeing stars.

Bokuto was relentless in his pursuit, and you couldn't have been more grateful. Each snap of his hips was harder and faster than the last, each thrust accompanied by a low, guttural snarl that told you he was holding back.

"That's it, kitten...just a little bit more..."

The words were a low, filthy rumble as he released one of your thighs to reach between your bodies and rest his palm flat against the quivering, flushed plane of your stomach. You whimpered, inner muscles clamping down around him in anticipation. His fingers pressed downward, and a fresh wave of pleasure flooded your veins when he found the thick ridge of his cock moving in and out of your core.

"Holy fuck, baby...you feel that?" Bokuto's mouth found your throat, fangs sinking into the flushed, salty skin with a feral snarl. "Feel how deep I am inside you, kitten?"

His words sent a thrill racing along your spine, your hips bucking up in answer. Then his thumb was grinding down against your clit and stroking, circling the bundle of nerves in a relentless, decadent assault that had you keening his name.

"Oh god, Kou...g-gonna cum, please, don't stop...!"

You were right there on the edge, the coil of pressure and heat tightening and tightening with each delicious thrust. Bokuto's hand shifted from the your stomach to the back of your thigh, angling you just so and forcing your leg wider.

"Let go for me, baby...wanna feel this pretty cunt cream all over my cock, understand?"

The words were a feral, snarling growl, his breath hot and damp against the curve of your shoulder. The next thing you knew, his hips snapped forward - driving into you at a brutal, unrelenting pace that had you keening, his cock dragging against that one spot with ruthless precision.

The coil within you snapped, and your release crashed through you in a white-hot, blinding wave. You screamed his name, back bowing up off the countertop in a sharp arch as the pleasure took over. Bokuto's snarl came from a place so deep within him that it sounded foreign, his hips jerking forward one final time before he buried himself inside you with a strangled groan.

His release spilled out into you in a scorching, wet rush, coating your walls and filling you until there was no room left. Bokuto's breath stuttered, the air hissing out between clenched teeth as his muscles seized and locked up.

The pair of you lay there, panting and dazed, for a long moment. When the tremors began to subside, Bokuto eased himself out slowly, hissing through his teeth when his cock slipped free and his release dribbled out over your quivering thighs.

You didn't have the energy to be embarrassed by the sight, nor the mess. Bokuto seemed unfazed, his amber eyes gleaming with a predatory satisfaction that had you shivering all over again.

"Well...I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for a second course."

You moaned when his lips ghosted across the shell of your ear, the sound turning into a yelp when his arms tightened around you and swept you up off the countertop. Bokuto's answering chuckle was warm and low, his amber gaze burning into yours.

"Gonna feed you some more, baby girl...and then we're taking this back to my dorm, so I can get a proper taste. Sound good to you?"

All you could do was nod and wrap your arms around his neck, the ache between your legs flaring anew at the promise.

"Good. Because I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

#idk why i added those parts with kuroo but i just did 😭#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #bokuto x reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto x reader smut #bokuto smut #bokuto koutarou #bokuto kotaro

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sailorrhansol · 5 months ago

Text

Blood & Popcorn | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader

❀ Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn.

❀ Word Count: 11,315

❀ Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

❀ Type: Smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice. Alternating POVs and some time skips.

❀ A/N: This is another work coming from a conversation with @daechwitatamic who at this point, I think had been the driving force behind all three random one shots I’ve written. I apparently can’t say no when she asks for something :) so anyway, here is simp Lee Chan and simp reader because ???? And yes I'm posting this at 11:30 pm at night who cares there are no rules!!!!!!!!

❀ A/N 2: Also thank you to Jo for reading this before hand because it would be otherwise largely illegible. King Julian is on the way, bestie.

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Read Next: Still Watching?

“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.”

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?”

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.”

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?”

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match.

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly.

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him.

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says.

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.”

Our thing.

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there.

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories.

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn.

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away.

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place.

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm.

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.”

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.”

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?”

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin.

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.”

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.”

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care.

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone.

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.”

“I mean if you’ve got a date.”

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him.

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe.

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual.

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so.

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else.

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.”

“Shua is a good guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah he is.”

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying.

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s.

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years.

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience.

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home.

Wanna start coming here after class?

You did. And you had.

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim.

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words.

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.”

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?”

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.”

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.”

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out.

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.”

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath.

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?”

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.”

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.”

“Isn’t that like… a movie?”

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it.

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?”

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then.

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you.

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets.

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back.

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.”

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?”

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.”

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.”

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.”

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.”

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend.

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.”

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it.

The window of opportunity is gone.

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different.

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must.

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place.

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long.

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress.

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach.

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him.

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground.

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod.

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor.

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner.

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink.

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?”

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.”

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.”

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.”

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.”

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room.

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.”

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to.

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.”

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs?

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?”

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back.

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.”

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.”

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl.

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!”

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room.

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet.

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.” For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.”

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall.

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute.

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade.

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence.

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.”

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.”

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know.

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then.

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual.

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky.

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer.

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head.

“Why would I do that?”

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.”

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?”

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.”

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable.

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for.

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed.

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.”

“I’m here.”

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.”

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!”

“For sure.”

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame.

Chan can’t do this.

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all.

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast.

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment.

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.”

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.”

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.”

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.”

“Understandable.”

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people.

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone.

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call.

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours.

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart.

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now.

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has.

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you’re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.”

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person.

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing.

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except-

“Chan?”

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow.

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?”

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch.

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?”

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again.

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.”

“I-”

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe.

“Oh, Bambi.”

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will.

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning.

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time.

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip.

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes.

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth.

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.”

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him.

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years.

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.”

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.”

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you.

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.”

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.”

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take.

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, haloing him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence.

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him.

“Kiss me,” you beg.

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze.

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again.

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.”

“Chan.”

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.”

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.”

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.”

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe.”

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple.

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm.

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast.

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.”

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.”

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath.

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan.

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut.

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking.

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.”

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him.

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving.

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break.

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently.

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.”

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.”

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.”

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.”

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you.

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly.

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you.

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy.

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.”

“Oh?”

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.”

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.”

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?”

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.”

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?”

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again.

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?”

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.”

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.”

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance.

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.”

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess.

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier.

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.”

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?”

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?”

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.”

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible.

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch.

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?”

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm.

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?”

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?”

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.”

“Oui.”

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.”

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.”

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower.

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.”

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you.

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.”

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nanaminokanojo · 8 months ago

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BAD NEWS | CHAPTER INDEX/PROLOGUE (Part 1-64)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t be more dead wrong, and maybe there isn’t really anything holding you back from acting on it now that you’re all grown up…except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think. MAYBE you’ll be the exception...maybe not.

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts; just skip them. you’re not missing much | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon (consent >>>), etc. | again, god-awful pet names i’d cringe at if a 3d person says it | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

AKI’S NOTES: I would like to express my sincerest thanks to everyone who loved and supported “Thawing Ice Queen” as well as those who participated in the poll on which smau I’m going to write next. So, this is what won in said poll, and I hope it gets as much as love as TIQ if not more. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, and I actively respond to comments as well as Asks. Also, if you’re interested, I will include you in the tag list. Just message me through whatever avenue you’re most comfortable with. Happy reading!

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i will be using pics and other media which would fit situations and make the smau-ness of this piece a little more realistic and entertaining when i believe it’s appropriate/fitting to the plot (as i've done with TIQ). having said that, with regard to inclusivity, i just want to put it out there that they will not necessarily be aimed as the exact descriptions to fit a supposedly generic reader nor will they be representative of a specific race or color (even if you’re/the reader is gojo’s sister here). it’s all for the simple fact of media availability, for funsies and the fact that i don’t exclusively write in consideration of those aspects when using reader-insert characters unless i specify it. thank you for understanding.

MASTERLIST

CHAPTERS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45

46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60

61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | CHAPTER INDEX II

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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ramp-it-up · 2 years ago

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Try a Little Tenderness

Paring: Mob Boss! Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 3.7 K

Summary: Steve can’t win you with presents. He’s got to try a little tenderness.

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, SMUT, Lil bit of ANGST. Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Pining, flirting, organized crime, implied ice skating, teasing, former jerky boyfiend, inexperienced reader, nipple play, oral (both receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) breeding kink, size kink, crying during sex, violence (due to mob world).

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask.

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

“Good morning, Steve!”

You were stocking onions, but you looked up and smiled as the tall blond entered the store, setting off the bell. He was well built and handsome and wearing a fine wool coat with a red scarf. It was a cool December, but New York had not yet had its first big snowfall.

“Mornin’, Ambrosia,” came his gruff response.

You kind of liked his early morning voice. And the nickname. The first time he came in, he’d picked up an apple, already biting into it but also already paying. He handed you a twenty and said, “Mmmmm, Name?”, pointing to you with the apple. Flustered, you replied with the name of the apple instead of your name and the rest was history.

This morning, Steve smiled at you and his blue eyes were sparkling. They always sparkled when he looked at you. He seemed very sweet.

“The usual.”

You laughed and went behind the counter to wash your hands.

“Of course, already had the fixin’s set up for you.”

You started the water for the espresso and got out the fresh everything bagels you’d put aside for him. Steve was one of your best customers, coming in every morning, and several evenings. He’d been coming in for about four months now.

Steve settled at the counter and watched you prepare his food. He looked at his watch: 7:42 am. He knew you'd been at work almost two hours now and that you were working very hard. One of your braids had come undone from your bun, and he wanted to put it back, but he didn’t touch you. You wore no makeup, yet your skin always glowed, and when you looked up at him, his heart nearly stopped.

You were naturally beautiful. And your apron did not hide your curves. Or the fact that you were wearing the same pants that you’d worn three days ago. Steve figured that you didn’t have many clothes. He had the urge to take you shopping on Madison Avenue and let you go crazy. But somehow he knew you would never blow a load of cash on clothing. And that’s part of why he was so far gone on you.

He watched you battle your espresso machine with bemusement.

“Why haven’t you set up your new machine yet?”

You stopped and put your hands on your hips, looking so cute that Steve restrained himself from jumping over the counter.

“Is that from you?” You shook your head. “I suspected it.”

Steve had unexpectedly given you many gifts, the espresso machine, a cash register. He’d even tried to have a new walk in cooler installed. You refused and sent back everything he’d sent. It wasn’t right. He barely knew you.

You wondered what he did for a living, always dressed in the finest and able to afford multiple thousand dollar gifts. You figured that he was one of those Angel investors. Well, he wasn’t very good at being anonymous.

You watched as Steve gave you a lopsided grin, then leaned over the counter toward him.

“Listen. Steve. Mr. Rogers.”

You looked from his eyes, to his perfect lips, to his golden St. Christopher’s medal. He smelled so damn good. You bit your lip and Steve smiled, warmed by your proximity. This was his chance.

“Yeah, Ambrosia?”

“I’m not taking your gifts.”

You straightened up abruptly, handed him his drinks and finished his order. You gave him two folded newspapers.

“One Daily News for your friend and one News Day for you.”

“Have you thought about it yet?”

You raised your eyebrow at him.

“About what?”

You thought he was finally going to ask you on a date. You knew the main reason he came in was to check you out. But you weren’t about to be bought.

“About the possibility of getting The Times in here? Alright, the Sunday Times at least.”

“Sorry Steve, it doesn’t sell. If it doesn’t sell, I don’t order. Can’t afford a non starter. But I do subscribe to the Sunday Times myself for the crossword. You can borrow mine any time.”

You winked at him. Something about Steve brought out your inner flirt.

Steve wanted to say something about sharing the Sunday Times in bed, but he thought better of it. Any other girl, and he would have been able to spit all kinds of game. But with you, he was tongue tied.

Steve sipped his coffee and shook his head as you gave him his bag.

“You are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

You waved at him as he stood up.

“Have a great day!”

Steve chuckled at your dismissal as he walked out of the door. Bucky was waiting by the car. Steve handed him his cup and sandwich.

“Send Sam to pick up the espresso machine.”

“Still a tough nut, eh?”

“Yeah. She’s still refusing gifts…”

Steve got in the passenger seat while Bucky sat behind the wheel.

“Instead of giving her all of this expensive shit, why don’t you just be nice to her?Ask her out ice skating or something.”

Steve scoffed. He didn’t know how to ask a girl out anymore. He felt like that scrawny kid running around with Bucky back in the day. Now, women were always clawing at each other to get to him. And they always wanted something.

Steve didn’t respond to Bucky, just asked about his calendar.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Buck?”

“We gotta meet with the truckers today. They don’t want to bend to our terms.” Steve put on his sunglasses.

“We know what to do to make ‘em bend, don't we Buck?”

“Sure do, buddy.”

You were in your walk up apartment above the store halfway listening to the 10 o’clock news. They were doing a story about an explosion at the Eatern Tri-State Trucking hub in Bay Ridge as you put your body oil on after your shower. The reporter indicated that authorities thought that the Valkyrie crime organization was behind it. You were zoning out looking forward to the next day.

You were glad that Janie and Nate would be back at work tomorrow. Nate had just taken a week off, and Janie had recovered from the flu. You were going to take the next afternoon off. You could have taken the entire day, but you wanted to open up for some reason.

Running an organic bodega in Brooklyn was a tough job, but the business was growing, but it was even tougher when your help was not there. You deserved a bit of a break.

The next morning, you were humming an Otis Redding song when Steve came in. You looked over your shoulder and caught him looking at your ass.

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers.”

“Mornin’ Ambrosia.”

“The usual?”

Steve wanted to say no, I want to ask you to marry me, but that might be a little too forward.

“Yeah.”

He sat down at the counter and noticed that you had on something brand new. When you turned around, he gestured to your outfit.

“What’s the occasion?”

You looked down and then grinned.

“This outfit is my Christmas present to myself. I’m taking the afternoon off and I’m going into the city to go to the Central Public Library.”

Steve tried to respect your glee. But he had to do it.

“How thrilling.”

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch, “ you quipped.

Steve laughed at you. He thought about what Bucky said the day before.

“Grinch hunh. Well, would a Grinch offer to take you ice skating instead?”

You turned around and leaned on the counter. Steve leaned toward you.

“I don’t know. Are you offering, Mr. Grinch?”

You loved teasing him. Steve groaned.

“C’mon. I’m trying here. Ambrosia. Do you want to go ice skating with me in the city this afternoon? And to dinner afterward.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Steve was very close to you now, staring at your lips.

“Yes.”

You stood up and put your hands on your hips.

“It’s about time. Sure!”

Steve laughed at how easy it was. You shoved his order into his hands.

“Pick me up at 1.”

Steve was grinning like an idiot out at the car, and didn't know how he got there.

“So you finally asked her out, hunh?”

Steve snapped out of it as he got in the passenger seat.

“Move the talks up to 10. I’m taking the afternoon off.”

“Rumlow is stalling. I can handle it this evening.”

“You sure?”

Bucky looked at his best friend.

“Sure as shootin’.”

You and Steve had a great afternoon, and Steve thought that ice skating was genius. He had to thank Bucky. You had to hold hands to stay steady, and when he pulled you in close, you didn’t pull back so you could stay warm. He didn’t know that you were thinking the same things.

Steve got to treat you to Via Carota and you two walked right in. The food was great, the wine was amazing, and you even stole a kiss in your corner booth. The night was perfect.

He drove you back to your place and you sat in the car for a minute. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and you were the one to make the first move with the kiss. You looked at him quizzicaly.

“Can I ask you something, Steve?”

“Yes, Ambrosia, anything.”

“After today, this afternoon and tonight. Do you still like me?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course. Why do you ask?”

You looked down.

“Well, you’ve been such a gentleman. I see how you look at me, all hungry all the time. And the gifts. I don’t know. I just thought you’d be. You know. More…”

“Aggressive?” Steve responded.

“Well. yeah. I just thought.”

You looked back up and saw that Steve’s eyes had darkened.

“I am not a gentle man in my everyday life, Ambrosia. And I know that I can come on strong. But you make me want to be tender with you. I want to cherish you.”

“Oh.”

And Steve pulled you in for a sweet, but sexy kiss.

“So, yes, I still like you. And I have very aggressive thoughts about you. Want to ruin you in fact. But I want to do it carefully. Make you feel it. And make you glad you did.”

“Oh. No one has ever…damn, Steve.”

He recognized that you had been hurt.

“Here’s an aggressive question. What kind of an asshole would make you feel that way about yourself? His name is all I need.”

You laughed.

“Do you want to come up for the answer?” You cocked your head at him as he chuckled and nodded.

“Yes.”

When you got up to your place, you were settled with a glass of wine on your couch.

“I’m not going to give you his name, but I will tell you that we were together for a few months, and we only did it a few times. He’s the only one I’ve ever been with.”

The way you looked as him made Steve’s heart soft, but other things hard.

“It…It didn’t feel good. He said I was frigid and too small. I… I went to the doctor and everything. She said I was fine physically. So I figured it must have been in my mind and I haven’t been able to get out of my head after that. He broke it off and then I just decided to focus on work.”

You peered at Steve to see his reaction.

Steve’s eyes flashed with anger, then cooled.

“That joker is a fucking idiot.”

His eyes traced your body.

“He didn’t know what to do with all this?”

Steve reached for you and kissed you, this time with undeniable passion. You broke away and stood up, offering him your hand.

“Show me, Steve.”

He stood up and followed you to your bedroom.

You stood at the foot of the bed and reached up to kiss Steve, and he picked you up and sat down, sitting you down with both of your legs over his. You made out like this, Steve’s hands still in neutral places until you whined and scooted closer to him.

Then, he went under your sweater, finding your nipple in your bra and brushing it with his thumb. He was exhibiting intense will power, but he couldn’t hold it all back as you responded to his passionate kisses.

Steve lifted your sweater off and your tank top, which was underneath, with it. Your bra contained your breasts, but your nipples were erect and straining against the material. He brought your body towards his for a kiss, his thick fingers pressing and playing with your sensitive buttons. He had you squirming on his lap as he reached around and expertly unfastened your bra.

He looked down at you and then back up, eyes hungry. You’d been yearning for that look.

“I’m gonna cherish this moment, get you ready for me, Baby. You’re gonna feel so good.”

He was weighing and kneading your breast and tenderly flicking your nipple, then he leaned down and kissed you, moving down your neck and collarbone, descending your chest and kissing all around your areolas, teasing your stiff nipples.

He had you moaning and writhing, wanting some friction for your cunt.

“Patience, Baby. You’re gonna get everything you deserve. Including this.”

Steve moved your hand to the hard member in his pants, which you tried to grip in vain through his slacks. You whimpered in frustration.

“I know. I know. I want to do so many things with you.”

Steve’s fingers were in your leggings, through our panties and tracing your wet pussy lips gently as he finally started sucking your nipples. You pulled his hair wantonly as he teased you.

“Mmmmm. Who’s got you all wet, Ambrosia?” he asked, as he pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth.

“Y-you, Steve… unhhhhh.”

The sight of him relishing your taste made you even wetter. And he found out, because his hand was right back down your pants.

His lips were at your ear and he was breathing hard.

“Can I…”

His thick finger parted your lips and the rough pads of two fingers slid over your clit into your wetness. You arched your back in anticipation.

“...Can I eat you out, my sweet Ambrosia?”

His voice and the request sent you on a tailspin. You nodded vigorously as Steve pulled his hand out to your whine of desperation at the loss of contact.

You quickly stood up as Steve captured your hips to stand still in front of him. His eyes raked up and down your form as he took hold of the waistband of your pants, and slowly pulled them and your panties down your legs. You stepped out of them and Steve’s hands ran back up your form as you looked down at him. He grabbed the backs of your thighs as he pulled you near him.

Steve put one knee over his shoulder and stared at your most intimate part.

“She’s a sweet little flower. So pretty and tight.”

His fingers were parting your folds so he could see even more.

“But she will be ready for my thick cock, I know she will, Ambrosia.”

He pulled you forward and held you up as he licked through you, almost causing a near stroke as far as you could tell.

“Mmmmmm,” Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head. “You are so sweet. I could eat you all night.”

You almost cried as he dove back in, grabbing his hair for purchase. He grabbed your bottom and stood to place you on the bed. He kneeled on the floor and held you down and open with his huge hands.

Steve started his feast, gently licking at first, then made you build to a crescendo as he started tongue fucking you. He made sure to stimulate your nipples, and when he felt your hard little nub vibrate, he sucked your clit hard as you came.

“Was that good?”

“Oh my stars, that was good.”

You both laughed.

“You’re so fucking cute, Ambrosia, but there’s levels to this.”

You sat up and watched as he took off his shirt. You were sure that your eyes were sparkling now.

“It’s just going to get better and better.”

He was just clad in his black boxer briefs, a huge bulge leading the charge. He reached in and you were certain that he was going to pull out an entire pack of socks, but instead, he showed you the largest, thickest dick you’d ever seen. Your eyes were like saucers. You were a little afraid, but your legs fell open out of reflex.

“See what you do to me?”

You bit your lip and nodded, reaching out and touching it tentatively.

“I’ve never seen one that big.”

You looked up at him and his heart melted simultaneously as his cock jumped. Your trembling fingers around him made him almost bathe your hand in his spend.

“Oh, Baby.. So sweet.”

“You are too, Steve. I want to taste you.”

You looked up at him through your lashes and Steve groaned, trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Christ… I’m…I…. Whatever you want, Baby.”

You stared at his cock for what seemed like forever. Then, you tentatively reached out and kitten licked his tip, causing him to groan as he palmed the back of your head.

“You’re killing me here, Ambrosia.”

“Hmmm.” You smiled. “Lay down for me, Steve.”

He did as he was told and put his arm behind his head to watch you. The way his muscles bulged inspired you anew. He reached down and roamed his fingers over your body as you hovered over him. You stroked him a couple of times and then played with his balls, Steve putty in your hands.

“B-babyyyy.”

You smiled in triumph that you had him whining as you spread your lips over the thick mushroom cap and sucked it into your mouth vigorously, causing him to moan and buck his hips up. You took the cue and drew him into your mouth, making him hit the back of your throat and gag.

“Holyyyyyy sssssshit. Stop. StopStopStopStop.”

Steve pulled you off his dick, which made you release him with a plop. He sat up and stared at you, disbelief in his eyes.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“Did you do it wrong. Fuck, you almost made me…. C’mere.”

You giggled as you ended up with your back on the bed again, Steve eating you out, this time one finger inside you as you came. You were in shambles as he looked up at you and inserted another finger inside as his opposite thumb stroked your still-quivering clit.

“Gotta get you up to three. Hold on.”

You did, and when he crooked his fingers this time, you let out a wail that caused dogs to bark down the street.

After your fourth orgasm, Steve looked up, smiling ear to ear.

“Still want this dick?”

You scowled at him.

“If you don’t…”

He laughed as he kneeled between your legs, stroking the magnificent beast. You opened your legs even wider and stared down at it.

“No. look at me, look at me. You’re ready. I got you Baby.”

Steve supported himself with one arm as he got nearer to you and started swiping his head between your folds. You keened as he entered you.

“Ow. Steveeeee.”

Your face looked so adorable as you struggled to take him.

“Holy shit, you’re, fuck you’re so….”

Steve kissed you through your moan of shock and pleasure as he slid all the way home. You gripped his bicep, your fingernails leaving marks. Steve pecked your lips as you pounded together, waiting for you to get used to him.

“You ok? You good?”

Steve checked to make sure you were okay. You nodded at him with tears in your eyes.

“I- I- think it feels good. You’re so big, Steveee. But.. but I like it….”

You started moving, a little at first, and then more wantonly. Steve looked down to where you were impaled upon his dick.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You are perfect. Just so.. Fucking… tiny…. But made for me…Shit.”

You felt Steve’s cock jumping inside you when he said those words, and you clasped your hands behind his back and uttered, “More!”

And that’s when you began to get fucked. Tenderly yet filthily. It was the best Steve had ever had, trying to be gentle and knowing that he wanted to put the bed under the ground. It was such a turn on. The ragged moans that you gave him with each stroke was a gift from god, and he started cumming before he could think.

“Shit! I didn’t use a condom…Fuck. But why does that just motivate me to keep going?”

Steve laughed into your ear as he kept stroking for dear life. He was usually so careful, knowing that most women wanted his kid. But with you he didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around him, taking the pounding he was giving you now.

“Hmmmmmm. You want me to put a baby inside you? Pump you so full of cum that you get all round and full with my seed?”

“Hnnnnghhh. Steve… I…”

“Tell me. Do you want it? You want me to get you pregnant?”

“Ohhhh shitttttttt! Steeeveeeeee!”

You detonated around him and Steve cursed, finally pulling out and jacking hard onto your stomach as three fingers on the other hand continued to fuck you through your orgasm. His pearly spend looked beautiful on your skin.

“So gorgeous. There’s time for that yet, but we gotta get you to a doctor, because I don’t want to do this too many more times. And fucking you with condoms is no longer an option.”

You were fucked out, absentmindedly playing in his cum, causing him to spurt one last rope onto your fingers. When you brought them to your mouth was when he shivered. He collapsed beside you.

“I can’t even explain how good that was.”

You just smiled at him, lips shiny with gloss that he made.

“You are an angel. A Christmas angel.”

Steve sighed as you smiled at him. He got up and went to your bathroom to clean up and get a warm towel.

“I’m hungry.”

“Anything you want, Babe. I’ll get it for you.”

You grabbed the remote and turned on the tv, catching the tail end of the news.

“Shootout in DUMBO tonight between the Rumlow and Valkyrie crime organizations. Several high-ranking officers dead or injured, including Brock Rumlow and James Bucky Barnes. More news when we have it.”

“Steve? Bucky? What’s going on? Valkyrie?”

Steve was up and grabbing for his clothes, an inscrutable look on his face.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I gotta go.”

He gave you a quick kiss.

“Don’t leave. Sam will come back with some food for you and he will stay with you. Don’t open the store tomorrow.”

“But Steve!”

“No buts! I will call.”

And then Steve disappeared into the night, leaving you with so many questions.

Knock that reblog button off the block fa me. 😉

Read part two, All I Want.

#dj’salliwant4kchristmas22 #Steve Rogers #mob boss steve rogers #mob boss!steve #chris evans #chris evans imagine #steve rogers smut #Steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers x black reader #chris evans smut #bucky barnes

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doo-wop-city · 1 year ago

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Atlantic Avenue Parking

There is a lime green parking lot booth in the Wildwood of Tomorrow with a curious story. Let's take a look at it.

If you visit the Wildwood of Tomorrow, right in the middle of the town’s busy traffic area, you’ll find a parking lot with a neon lime green attendant station. What is this all about? I, Stella Star, have the answer, but first, let’s take a look at what I’m talking about. This is located between Pine and Wildwood Avenues, the next block south from the U.S. Post Office, and several motels, like…

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astonmartinii · 1 year ago

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dj got us falling in love | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x dj!reader

a new hobby can sometimes open many new avenues, sometimes even lead to love

landonorris

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 604,446 others

landonorris: the morning after the night before

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user1 lando really be on his hobby game rn

maxverstappen1 so that's where you were the entire night?

landonorris i saw you dancing your heart out so don't complain maxverstappen1 you are overestimating just how much of last night i remember

user2 dj!lando unlocked ... does this mean photographer!lando is dead?

user3 he's so so sexy oh my

user4 the backwards cap is WORKING

danielricciardo so how long is this one gonna last?

landonorris i swear this is the one for me

yourusername

liked by landonorris, arianagrande and 1,204,556 others

yourusername: life recently... check out my boiler room set in the link in my bio it was super fun xxx

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user5 eating up the dj game i am obsessed with her

user6 i need to be at her next set or i'll become a threat to national security

landonorris sick set y/n !!

user7 bro what are you doing here? GET OUT OF HERE

danielricciardo ah i now see where the new inspiration came from ...

landonorris i need you to shut the fuck up yourusername awww thanks lando, send me some of ur stuff we can compare x landonorris on it 🫡 maxverstappen1 i don't know how you've pulled this off but i am impressed

user8 what actually is going on in this comment section

landonorris added to their story

[caption: bestest teacher in the world]

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,437,892 others

yourusername: life recently

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user6 ALERT ALERT MALE ALERT

user7 heavy emphasis on the mug rn

danielricciardo @maxverstappen1 whoa that hand looks super familiar

maxverstappen1 you're right daniel that hand does look familiar .... yourusername yall crack me up user8 lando you gonna let them do you like that? landonorris my pr officier said not to reply carlossainz55 bro... landonorris oh shit

user9 mclaren really keep all his brain cells i can't

silverstone

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 55,128 others

tagged: yourusername, f1

silverstone: big announcement coming in fast ! y/n y/ln will be headlining the silverstone main stage for this year's british grand prix - the dj will take the stage for the sunday evening slot. see you all there!

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user10 idc this is fuelling my lando x y/n agenda

user11 i'm so fucking excited

landonorris i'll be there

oscarpiastri you are contractually obligated to be there mate landonorris let me be supportive !!! user12 oscar is done with the pining

yourusername thank you so much for having me !! i won't let you down

carlossainz55 by all accounts you're too good to do that user13 have they all just collectively given up on the secret? maxverstappen1 yes too much effort

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 1,209,677 others

landonorris: P2 in quali at home !! super, super happy, lets see what we can do on sunday

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user14 I AM LOSING MY MIND

user15 this is crazy i'm so proud

yourusername lets go landoooooooooooooooooooooooooo so sick

landonorris blah blah blah something about a certain someone being a lucky charm ;) yourusername does this mean paddock passes for life? landonorris it might have to

user16 they're so cute

user17 the crowd cheered when they showed her in the garage silverstone is ROOTING for this relationship

oscarpiastri let's get this bro

mclaren

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 663,201 others

tagged: landonorris

mclaren: LANDO TAKES HOME P2 AT HIS HOME RACE

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user20 OMG THAT OVERTTAKE AT THE START I AM GAGGED

yourusername unbelievably proud of you lando

landonorris love you too babe user21 BABE? user22 LOVE YOU TOO?

danielricciardo i saw that shoey man i'm so proud 🥲

landonorris miss you danny danielricciardo i miss you more yourusername am i a joke to you? landonorris i'm sorry i love you yourusername love you too ❤️

user23 why is danny always at the scene of the crime?

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,660,351 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: best weekend ever!! silverstone you're the best, my favourite crowd ever !! p.s. lando i am so so so so proud, though if you try to kiss me after a shoey again we're breaking up.

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user24 CONFIRMATION CONFIRMATION OMG

user25 them saying i love you under mclaren's post wasn't enough for you?

landonorris noted.

landonorris ALSO YOU WERE SO SO GOOD I LOVE YOU SO MUCH yourusername i love you more, thanks for the gig baby xx

maxverstappen1 do you take bookings? my birthday is in october

martingarrix i see how it is yourusername i'm not getting involved in this domestic you're on your own max

user26 god when is it my turn

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,774,871 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: dj got us falling in love or something like that, love you baby.

comments are disabled on this post.

note: I'M BACK - so my absence was a lot longer than expected, i graduated uni (with a first, i'm so stoked) and my housing has been a whole mess. i worked at silverstone, hence the inspo for this imagine... ENJOY !!!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #lando norris insta au #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris

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daycourtofficial · 8 months ago

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Like he’s just your understudy

Summary: based on this request - Can Azriel tamper down his jealousy over you going on a date?

Author’s note: have some fun, level headed jealous Az. 😘

“Is your whiskey that bad brother?”

Cassian’s chipper voice grates on Azriel’s ears. He looks down, unaware of the intense grip he had on his glass. His shadows were tight around him, turning him into a ball of darkness.

“Cass, leave him alone. You know why he’s upset,” Rhys’s voice floats over to the two of them before picking up his wine glass.

Mor looks confused, looking to Cassian or Feyre to explain.

“(Y/n)’s out on a date right now,” Feyre says softly, trying not to add fuel to Azriel’s state.

Cassian chuckles, hitting his brother on the back. “Not happy for her? He was quite good looking-“

Azriel’s head whips towards him, “you saw him?”

Cassian smile falters just a tad, “uh, yeah. He came by to pick her up - even came in and talked to Rhys and I for a minute.”

Azriel’s shadows go wild at this news - searching frantically around the house for someone who wasn’t there.

“And why wasn’t I told?” His grip tightens again, fingers straining against the glass.

Rhys waves a hand, an amused smirk on his face. “You were up brooding in your room.”

Azriel’s eyes snap to Rhys, deciding then that maybe he didn’t need two brothers. “I was not brooding-“

“Then what were you doing?” Mor’s amused voice interjected.

The eyes of his family were watching him as he met her question with silence.

Azriel couldn’t take it - their knowing looks, their smirks, their laughs, as if what he felt for you was some joke.

He couldn’t stand watching you, a beacon of light, trail off to light up someone else’s night.

He scoots his chair back, slamming his glass down. He gets up, about to leave his family and their insistence on family dinners, when Amren speaks up.

“They asked about you before leaving.”

His head snaps over to the newly turned fae, unsure if he can trust anything coming from her.

“It’s likely because I wasn’t here,” Azriel dismisses.

“Feyre and Mor weren’t here - they didn’t ask about them.”

Azriel looked at Nesta, the one person who saw through everyone else. Nesta, the person you were closest to besides Azriel. Nesta, who would never lead Azriel down a path of heartbreak.

Nesta returns his gaze before saying, “they’re down at that new restaurant on Third Avenue.”

Azriel gave her a quick nod before moving past everyone, walking through the foyer, and out the door.

The male that had asked you out at Rita’s was incredibly nice. He was tall, fit, and had the cutest dimple next to his mouth.

He was currently telling you a story about his younger sister, who was only eight years old. He seemed to care about her a lot, as he told you that he spends every Thursday night with her playing dress up.

He checks all of your boxes, he’s incredibly swoon worthy, and you two even share the same sense of humor.

But his eyes are the wrong shade of hazel, his jaw cut in just the wrong way, no wings adorn his back, no shadows skitter about him.

You knew pining over Azriel was a fruitless endeavor by this point. You were being so obvious about your feelings - it was clear he was ignoring every glaring sign you sent his way in favor of keeping you from further embarrassment.

Your date had excused himself to go to the restroom. He was gone for approximately fifteen seconds before someone else slides into his empty seat.

“Make up an excuse to leave. Let me take you out instead.”

You had no idea where he came from, or what he was saying as you look up to find Azriel, his hazel eyes molten gold in the candlelight.

“What?” You ask, noting the irriated look he was donning as he sniffed the air.

“Look, I - just end your date early, tell him you’re sick.”

Your eyes widen at him, looking around to make sure he hadn’t come back. “Az are you nuts? Why?”

He blows out a breath, leaning forward on the table.

“Because I am a selfish fool of a male who thought you didn’t feel the same way I feel about you. Now, if I’ve completely made a fool of myself, do tell me now so I can at least throw myself in the Sidra and die with dignity.”

Wide eyes peer back at him, “what do you mean ‘the way you feel about me’?”

Azriel sighs, looking in the direction your date went off to.

“Fuck it. I yearn for you. I want you in any conceivable way. I’m in love with you. And if I’m too late, I’ll just live with that for the rest of my life.”

Azril sighs in defeat as you stare blankly back at him. He looks up to see your date coming back to the table, a bit confused by the new presence.

He starts to stand, his wings drooping, all his determination gone as he says, “have a good night.”

He starts walking away when a hand gently wraps around his wrist, holding him in place.

“What’s going on?” Your date asks as he approaches the table.

You start to stand, the table clattering as you do so. “I’m so sorry,” you say, and Azriel can’t look at you, can’t watch your mouth form these next words. “There’s a bit of an emergency situation, and I have to go. It was lovely meeting you.”

Before Azriel could process that you rejected someone who wasn’t him, you were pulling your coat from your chair, tugging him out the door of the restaurant, and you didn’t lighten your grip until you were out in the street.

“So, about that date? Does now work?”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #acotar writing

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peggyao3 · 3 months ago

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Here comes the Sun [2/2]

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha is the center of attention for an entire planet, but it counts for nothing because his favorite concubine isn't paying attention during the fight. How dare she ruin his birthday?

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, mutual pining, gore, cannibalism ❗ (just a lil), Baron being a homie, Feyd has that bratty vibe, God Complex Feyd, jealousy ❗, other concubines begone, arguments, insults, hate love relationship, enemies and lovers, porn with plot, marriage proposal, vaginal sex, knife kink, pain kink ❗, smut in chapter 2, semi-public sex ❗, angst with happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

A/N: Girly wears a revenge dress, talks shit with the Baron and gets abducted from the banquet prematurely by a boiled egg.

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter

Vladimir Harkonnen was wrong. His nephew’s mood is anything but entertaining tonight.

It amazes him how a man in his twenties, who has defeated Paul Artreides, the false messiah of Arrakis, can still act like a boy just hitting puberty when a woman isn’t groveling at his feet. Feyd-Rautha refuses to deliver the annual speech he is supposed to give on the grand balcony, so the undulating mass of merrymakers on the hundred meter wide avenue is left waiting. Thankfully, with spice being dealt shamelessly among the hundreds of thousands, the celebration will soon turn into orgy and bloodbath alike, and the absence of Giedi Prime’s beloved na-Baron will be swiftly forgotten.

Albeit now dressed in a traditional, sharp-cut suit made of thick, synthetic fibers, Feyd-Rautha's face is the same as in the arena, now battling a foe whose main attack is absence.

It is two hours into the banquet when she finally enters and immediately becomes the brightest star in the obsidian colored banquet hall. And it is not due to her radiant personality, though that too is not to be underestimated. It’s because of the golden fabric that flows off her hips and chest like the molten gold and orange that a fiery alien sun might disgorge in a coronal mass ejection.

While even the esteemed guests from other Houses have chosen to match their attire somewhat to House Harkonnen by choosing rich, dark colors like mulberry and midnight blue, she has gone for the most provocative opposite, shimmering like glossy amber. Instead of a preserved mosquito however, her amber cocoon seals a jealous animal that scowls at Feyd-Rautha as soon as his frenetic eyes target her from across the hall.

Life seems to return to Vladimir’s sulking nephew and his icy rage turns into kindling enthusiasm. Finally he can make his move. Nothing is worse than being ignored.

Strings start playing, each sound a low vibration in their ear drums and under the soles of their feet. The na-Baron and his partner of choice are expected to do the first steps on the shiny parquet. Expectantly, he raises his chin and she would like nothing more than to wrap her arms around his striking figure, cup his jaws that, despite casting a distinct shadow down his neck, have a roundness to their shape that she wants to kiss over and over.

Feyd had wanted her to dance with him. Here she is. Perfectly punctual. All he needs to do is walk over and ask her, but in his eyes, having left him waiting is her first move. So asking another concubine to dance is his.

He thinks he's being clever and proudly watches her jaws clench and shoulders stiffen. The anger in her eyes tastes better than any meal he's had today - until she looks away. She isn't supposed to look away.

As long as the strings play the first piece, Feyd dances with a total of three of his concubines. During and after each dance, his piercing gaze latches onto her like spearguns fired from seething tar, but he only meets the back of her head, and after a while not even that. A supermassive black hole obscures his view.

Baron Harkonnen floats to the woman in yellow and activates a barely used switch on his control panel. His massive frame carefully lowers itself, so he is almost on the ground and she may converse with his face without putting a strain on her neck.

“You missed the main course,” the Baron informs her and she is quite aware. For the main course, she would have been expected to occupy the seat on the na-Baron’s left while his uncle as the head of House Harkonnen sits on Feyd’s right.

“What a shame. I suppose I did catch a migraine in the end.”

“Lady Metulli sat at Feyd’S side instead. I was under the impression she couldn’t quite stomach his appetite.”

The woman in the bright dress nods. She is well aware of Feyd’s table manners. Being his uncle’s nephew, he categorically rejects cutlery and prefers to dig into raw meats with his hands and suckle blood and grease off his fingers - or make her do it. Luckily, she wasn’t there to see Lady Metulli purse her lips around Feyd’s fingers.

With rumbling laughter, the Baron adds: “She didn’t want the pill I offered either.”

“What sort of pill was it?”

“Anti nausea, of course.”

“And where is Lady Metulli now?” She must have thought Baron Harkonnen was trying to slip her a poison pill.

“Throwing up in the bathroom.”

At that, her mouth twitches and then she begins to cackle. The Baron’s gravelly breath sends plumes of vapor from his hookah into the air and she nearly chokes on it, but the coughing somehow only amplifies her laughter. Bystanders keep a wary distance to the strange duo.

Baron Harkonnen snaps his fingers and a servant scurries to the remaining buffet which was moved to a long, sleek table along the side of the hall. They return with a black metal bowl and one red apple. The woman happily accepts the apple and imagines it's Feyd-Rautha's balls when she violently bites a piece out of it.

In her radiant dress, she occupies the center of the banquet hall like a luminary and Baron Harkonnen is her colossal floating satellite who drags a train of black matter after himself in the shape of his overlong robes.

Currently, Feyd-Rautha is a pale, icy asteroid who bristles in the periphery of these two peculiar celestial bodies, orbiting them at a safe distance. His dance partners have been discarded and the designated parquet is swarmed by guests who are supposed to be celebrating his birthday. But as the day draws to a close, praise and attention slip through his fingers like slippery blade handles. Defenseless, he stands at the edge of the dance floor and feels very alone.

Feyd doesn't know what they're talking about, but he has never wanted to gut his uncle more than right now.

“You should try one of the livers.” Vladimir offers her from his bowl.

“You know I don’t eat human livers.” The nonchalance with which she speaks to Baron Harkonnen makes a nearby representative from House Ginaz snap the stem of their glass.

The Baron hums. If with approval or disapproval, she can’t tell, but he plunges his own hand back into the slippery bowl and fishes a liver out.

Good for her, that she refused. Feyd's jaw flexes under bone-white skin, imagining all the ways he would break her fingers and his uncle's. Feyd would rather draw a much closer orbit around his favorite concubine, but he will not allow her to let him flare up and burn down with humiliation so publicly.

“It looks like my dear nephew is still waiting for a birthday gift from you.” The Baron glances over to his chosen heir and feels almost sorry for him.

“And he can wait until the twelfth of never,” she spits.

A small, inky smile takes shape amid the Baron’s doughy face. She is a Harkonnen if he has ever seen one. If Harkonnen had hair and an aversion to human flesh. Furiously, she sinks her teeth into the red apple and juice dribbles down her chin, making her a sightlier twin of the Baron whose many chins sport a trail of grease.

She would make a good niece in law.

Night rolls in and the smoggy sky over Giedi Prime is black like ink. No starlight makes it through the thick atmosphere. The buffets have been swept empty by Harkonnen gluttony and the hall waits for one last thing, the finale of Feyd-Rautha's holy birthday.

A gasp sweeps through the guests when the walls slide up into the ceiling and a gust of warm wind seizes them, making skirts rustle and hair waft. Avidly, they spill past the sleek concrete pillars and out on the extended balcony. The putrid stench of Giedi Prime’s industrial landscape rolls into the air-conditioned banquet hall.

It is exactly one hour before midnight when the first firework whistles into the sky, pulling a tail of silvery particles, and explodes with a low bang that eerily echoes off pyramids and power plants.

She too, slowly advances towards the balcony, her attention snared by the extraterrestrial spectacle. The fireworks come in dozens, then in hundreds, blossoming colorlessly in the sky like parasitic cells under a microscope. They're beautiful.

A gasp escapes her mouth, unheard over the booming fireworks, when two wiry arms capture her from behind and pull her against a solid chest. What took him so long? Her belly flips with butterflies as Feyd-Rautha abducts her unnoticed from the celebration, pulling her back back back until the grand view over Giedi Prime vanishes from their view and the festive banquet hall is replaced by corridors like black tunnels. Only the occasional flash of a firework lights up the path before them and the visage of the pale demon who drags her along.

This is not the concubine's corridor.

Hands against her ribs shove her into Feyd-Rautha’s private chambers. Before her eyes can adjust to the darkness, his fingers are in her hair, tearing without care so the hairdo comes apart. “You've ruined my birthday and you enjoyed it!”

“I didn’t enjoy a single fucking second of this day!” Acting nonchalant only works when he’s not on her and all over her with violent hands and seething eyes, when the air doesn’t smell like his perfume oil. Her chest heaves and she will not cry.

“Then I must have imagined you having the time of your life with my uncle.”

She tries to jerk her head out of Feyd’s grip, but he holds tight and she winces, her scalp stinging. “At least he was nice to me.”

“Perhaps you should be with him then.” Feyd’s jaw quivers.

“Your jealousy is ridiculous.”

“My jealousy?!”

“Well I’m jealous of the other women you fuck. You’re jealous of me talking to your uncle!” The fireworks are nothing compared to their voices, booming like the occasional earthquakes that rattle Giedi Prime’s volcanic crust.

Feyd threateningly lifts a finger, dark eyes simmering. “I asked you to dance with me.”

“Yes, after insulting our relationship.”

He walks her deeper into his bed chamber, shaking his head as if to deny the allegations but he can’t, not really. It isn’t fair of her, he thinks. The na-Baron of Giedi Prime has many concubines. It’s his birthright and politically profitable. That he has been bedding only one of them for almost a year concerns no one but him.

Her walk backwards is only halted when her thighs bump into the edge of his bed where they lay only two nights ago and she had felt special in his arms, on top of him, under the weight of his body. Now she only feels like a toy and she’s not only sick of it, she also mentally can’t keep going.

“You are the center of the world, but who is the center of yours?” Her fingers curl into his thick suit jacket and he feels the little tremors in her muscles.

A lingering thought infests him, that her first assertion is a heretic belief, not a truth. The people in the avenues celebrate for the sake of it, the guests in the hall would dance and feast for any politically appropriate occasion. Perhaps his position at world's pivot is only one for show, where he is strung up as a puppet. His importance is the figure he represents, not the man he is.

Feyd would so love to be the center of someone’s world.

His concubine’s face is angled upwards and the far echo of a firework sends a flash of silver over her features. “Making me jealous will only push me away, you dumb creature.”

Oh.

He does love her fury, and when she insults him, his heart thrums a little needier. But what he doesn’t love is the note of tears that throttles her lovely voice. His jaws clench, fingers twitching against her scalp. He could throw her on the bed and punish her for the ruined day or kiss her and forgive her, but there’s an ache in his stomach that makes him do neither of the two. “I just… Don’t twist the facts!”

“Maybe you don’t have a heart, but I do. I didn’t want you to have it, but you—” She swallows as her voice cracks. “And now you’re chewing it apart with your heartless mouth.” The following shocks her, but it bursts like a weight off her chest. “Be with someone else! I don’t want to be your concubine anymore.”

Feyd’s heart (yes, he has one), drops into a void and he feels sick to his stomach, falling into the hole that gapes where the ground has been pulled from under his feet.

She tears away from him, hair slipping free, but Feyd catches her elbow. And as she turns back around, he viscerally drops on one knee.

“Then be my wife.”

The last firework explodes in the sky and they are left with a silence so quiet, one might just hear the universe’s heartbeat pulsing against the dome of the skies. A breeze wafts in and brushes her golden skirts against Feyd’s bent knee and he waits, trembling. She can’t say no. He would rather die a humiliating death in front of a million worshipers.

“Your answer?”

She knows, being a wife means nothing. Wives are why concubines exist. Wife is the ultimate empty title that has nothing to do with love, at least not among the Great Houses. Does it mean anything to him? Her mind swims with years and years of manipulation and forced assimilation and finally, the held-back tears spill over her cheeks.

“My conditions,” she boldly speaks and takes a deep breath, not allowing herself to fall into mindless euphoria despite how madly her heart beats and her stomach flips with butterflies. With controlled leisureness, she sits down on the edge of Feyd’s bed and nudges the tip of her shoe against the kneeling na-Baron’s sternum. “No concubines. No pets. I will be your only one. I don’t care which rotten cravings decay in your mind, I will be the one to fulfill them.”

Feyd's lips part and he draws in a quick breath. “Yes,” he breathes and his heart lifts itself from the pit that had swallowed it and Feyd inches closer, head craned back. The free hand slides under her skirts, needily catching her ankle.

“There is no need for anyone else. Tell me what you want me to do for you, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to watch the next time I fight.” Feyd’s nose and cheek twitch as the memory of today sends a sliver of rage through his nerves. Within a heart’s beat, her hand curls around his jaws, thumb rubbing over the twitching muscle. “And I want you to accept my proposal,” he growls much more needily. Blood has rushed to his cock, making it strain against the suit trousers.

“First… Hand me your blade.”

A small, gravelly moan rolls over plush lips and he releases her elbow to unsheathe the kukri from its holster. She takes it with deft fingers and presses it against his willing throat, watching with satisfaction as his pointy Adam’s Apple jumps against the blade. “What are you doing, woman?” Feyd drawls, hips weakly rutting into the empty space between them, not angled right to hump her leg, though he'd like to.

“Swear that I’ll be your only.”

“I swear it.” Feyd drawls without hesitation, pupils blown wide. Agitated breath fans her arm. He can barely wait to consummate their betrothal, squirming like a fish ashore, held at arm’s length by her will.

The clock ticks and Feyd-Rautha's birthday is nearly over. Pleadingly, he cranes his neck, shuffling on his knee. He is so eager to be devoted and brought to heel, when will she say yes?! “Will you be my wife? Please.”

A heavy breath and scrutiny in tearful eyes, then finally, she breaks into a watery smile. “Yes, I will be your wife.” Happily, she sobs into the palm of her hand and the blade at his throat trembles. Feyd gives her no time to cry in peace and hauls her to the floor by the skirts.

The pair goes down on shiny tiles that reflect the golden material of her dress, barely gold anymore in the ambience of his dark chambers. Fragmented speckles of light dance across the floor as Feyd sifts through the layers until he has them bunched around her hips. Her thighs part willingly, latching around his narrow waist. She pulls close what belongs to her, making the na-Baron come flush with her pelvis.

Feyd claims her as frantically as she does him, calloused hands sliding along her waist to finally unwrap the birthday present she’s denied him all day, the only thing that mattered.

“I hate this dress,” he purrs. “You look like the wrong sun.”

“Cut it off me then.” She offers him his own blade, chest arching off the floor. “Would you rather have me wear black at our wedding?” Excitedly, her breath hitches.

“No.” In fact, he’d be offended if she did. “I’d rather have you wear nothing and paint you black from the inside.” A flash of gold pervades the night when it reflects on the raised blade. A precise slash across her chest makes the bodice come undone between her breasts. The bite of metal misses her skin by a hair’s width. “Handing me back my blade… Did I teach you nothing?” Feyd purrs, sliding the blunt side over her breasts.

“I have my own.” Her breath hitches when her nipples pebble against the knife. Swiftly, she unsheathes her own blade from the strap around her hips under the skirts. The curved tip catches the button of Feyd’s trousers and slices straight through it, cutting a new fly into the thick material. His freed cock bobs against the flat side of her blade, the tip grazing his taut balls in a fatal kiss.

Feyd-Rautha moans, falling over her body to palm at her breasts and slide his mouth against her throat. She doesn’t have enough time to withdraw the blade from between his thighs and the way he whimpers tells her she has caught the delicate flesh. “Feyd, you idiot. Do you wish for me to dismember you before our wedding night?”

She pulls the blade away and seconds later, Feyd’s cock grinds against her center, slicking himself up with her essence. The velvety head rests heavily on her belly as he grinds his balls against cunt, relishing the sting of the wound. Blood drips over her folds, tinting the slick of her arousal black.

Forgotten, her kukri clatters to the floor and one hand reaches for his cock, the other for the back of his thigh, urging him closer as she lines him up with her entrance, wet but unprepared. It’ll be an adequate sting to match that of her betrothed’s incised testicles. Obediently, he follows, piercing her open with his cock head. A long wail escapes her as her cunt yields under pressure, then a startled gasp when Feyd’s knife is wedged inside the tight space between her two front teeth, so she cannot close her mouth.

Her cunt clenches fearfully around the thick length as he makes himself at home with languid thrusts. If the blade slips, he might just split her gums and lip. She doesn’t dare shake her head no and her tongue retreats far back into the cavity of her mouth, whimpering as he fucks her slowly, taking fascination in the way peril makes her slicker and her walls grip him in a fluttering embrace.

“Every rotten craving,” he cites her slyly. “Fuck.” A rapt look overtakes his eyes when she slides her tongue against the bottom of the blade, featherlight. She’s learned it from him, his favored way of testing the edge of a blade.

“You stole my show today,” he rasps, allowing her to wrap her fingers around his wrist to maneuver the kukri away. She pries it from his hand, then hurls it forcefully across the room.

“You let me. Maybe you like it when I bereave you, na-Baron.” The blade lands with a clatter.

“You bereft me of my other concubines.”

The memory of them strengthens her fingers and she rips the jacket of Feyd’s festive suit open, digging her nails into taut, pale pectorals. “The Great Houses will be displeased.”

“Yes, they will be,” Feyd purrs, plush lips twitching into an excited smirk. “Maybe it’ll start a war.” He accentuates the word with a sharp thrust. The madness of his mirth over the idea is only slightly diluted by the arousal that swims in tar-black eyes. If her selfish claim sparks a war, she will have no regrets over it, because Feyd-Rautha is hers, tied by the heart, not by politics.

Her husband to be fucks her with frantic rythm until slick drips down her cheeks and turns the tiles below wet and sticky. They're both still waiting for the final nudge to come undone, so the night of their betrothal may go on forever. Her hands slide around the back or Feyd's neck, demanding kisses from plush lips and black teeth that glint in the dark.

“You looked so beautiful on your knees,” she moans into his mouth. “You should do it again.” Her gaze sweeps over to the balcony door and Feyd's follows. “You didn't deliver your speech, I heard, because you were, aahh, p-pouting.”

“Don't tease me, woman.” Feyd stands and pulls her up with him, arms hooked around her legs. His thick cock still twitches in her cunt as she wraps her legs around his waist. “Take off your dress.”

She obeys without question, heels of her feet digging into his lower back as she pulls the half-slashed golden fabric that's still gathered around her hips over her head. Feyd hums appreciatively, eyes gliding down her breasts and belly to the point where they're conjoined by the pelvis.

“Now my jacket,” he instructs and with a bit of awkward pulling, she manages to free the fabric from the clutch of her legs around his waist, then slides it off his arms one by one. Somehow, even with only one arm he manages to hold her firmly against his chest, slowly rocking his hips upwards, so her mind never stops reeling.

Last of all, Feyd kicks off his shoes and marches her over to the wall, grinning. “Feyd, what are you-? Wait.” A breeze brushes over her bare back as Feyd kicks the balcony door further open with and carries her out into the open, smiling wide with black maws.

A gust of turbulent, putrid wind catches her hair and turmoil swells from two hundred meters below, guttural chanting that could be celebration or it could be war, impossible to tell how many of them will look up to the palace pyramid and see the na-Baron's concubine seated on the banister and the na-Baron between her thighs.

Gasping, she clings to Feyd's shoulders, stripped of color entirely. The reflected moonlight barely makes it past the clouds, so they are swathed in somberness. It is a truly alien world, one that could really use a new sun.

Feyd-Rautha cants his hips, languidly thrusting into her cunt, pale arms circling her. A thread of slick comes off and drips into the abyss below, past the base of his thick cock. “Not the biggest fan of speeches. I prefer demonstrations.”

He fucks her on his balcony that overlooks Barony, the capital of Giedi Prime, cock drilling into her over the perilous chasm.

“You made me swear it, but you never promised me that I will be your only.” Feyd's plush lips curl into a snarl.

“Hmmm…” She pretends to ponder, a flash of amusement on her lips.

Feyd-Rautha however doesn’t take kindly to the playful hesitation and dips her dangerously backwards, smirking. Her life hangs in the arms of a psychopath and below her is nothing but gaping emptiness for two hundred meters. “I’d rather throw us both down there than share you!”

Her heart thrums like a shield, almost pierced by a slow blade. “I’d rather live another day in your arms, my na-Baron.”

Zestfully, he hoists her back up and resumes fucking her, possessive and rough, one hand tugging on her asscheek, the other clutching her waist. Her mind and nerves swim with pleasure. The euphoria of being claimed as his so brutally makes her want to laugh and cry, white teeth bared at the na-Baron.

He too stares at her, waiting, muscles twitching under pale skin.

“You think I can? When under me is death and a thousand Harkonnens watching?”

“You will.” Feyd leers, lips twitching. His cock drives into her center. Whimpering, she slides her hand between their bodies to rub her clit. “No.”

“No?!”

“You will cum from your husband's cock.”

The confidence that drips thick and velvety from his voice makes her head roll back, moaning. Her cunt flutters weakly, climax digging its tendrils into her core, eager to burst into full bloom. She angles her pelvis, squirming in Feyd's grasp, and props up one foot on the railing, trusting him to hold her.

And he does, laughing. Insanity lights up his eyes as he fucks into her, slap slap slap, pubic mound grinding against her clit. She arches her back and his cock nudges her just right, toes curling, lids fluttering.

“There, that's a good girl.”

She comes undone with a long moan, voice carried away by the putrid wind. Feyd-Rautha's lips and jaws twitch and he covers her open mouth with his. His eyes are open when he climaxes and fills her with his seed, their consummation on display for the whole of Giedi Prime.

Trembling fingers claw at Feyd's shoulders, dampened with a sheen of sweat. His chest heaves with raspy breaths and he raises a finger, trailing it over her throat and clavicle.

“My birthday gift.”

“The sex?” A gust of wind catches her face.

“No.” Feyd smirks. “You. My wife.”

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

HCTS TAG LIST:

@ughdontbeboring

#feyd #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x oc #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #feyd fanfiction #feyd rautha fanfiction #dune fanfiction #dune part 2 #dune part two #austin butler #peggysuave fanfics #house harkonnen

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unteriors · 8 months ago

Text

Pauline Avenue, Pine City, New York.

#Pine City #New York

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hamsternella · 3 months ago

Note

hi!!! I have a request if you want too ofc!!! I’ve always thought of a reader who used to be in a relationship with ford before him being sucked up in the portal..and finding out that he was back?? It would be heavy angst with supreme fluff I think, I love how you write Ford in your other posts 👀

I'm sorry for my delay; I had a couple of problems BUT HERE IT IS. I hope you like it.

He's back

cw: stanford pines x reader, angst, fluff

It was déjà vu. Flashing lights, burned out outlets and the bustle of the masses. Communal fear; the terror of shadows devouring the streets as the gloom spread down every avenue—it had been a danger to set foot outside, but you risked it. One hand clinging to the edge of your robe, and the other holding a flashlight that barely worked without flickering; but with its mark referring to its recent departure from the factory, it was now the only thing that could keep your head attached to the last ounce of sanity.

You had not traveled back in time. You were still in the same Gravity Falls. Cars were ascending into the sky, darkness was taking over the town, and the stars were shining brighter than ever. Your own body had begun to rise; the lantern ended up somewhere unknown as you had to clutch both hands to the nearest lamppost, avoiding biting your tongue as you returned to the ground with the sting of cement against the skin of your legs.

You missed the exact moment when you had begun to cry—it was of no great importance. You tried to stand up, you tried to take deep breaths, and you tried to search for God between prayers; but nothing seemed to quell the urge to gouge your eyes out with your fingers. You were in denial about discovering what lay beyond the darkness when the light bathed Gravity Falls. You felt sick.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst in your chest; the nerves swirled in your stomach like an uncomfortable tingle. The world was spinning, and you didn't know if it was your head or if the event would repeat itself. Three times. Three times it would be. Now it was only two.

Two times.

How many more years?

Could it be?

?̸҇̿͑͆̇͗̐̏̎͗̚̚ɯ̵҇͂͑͐̽͐̊̀̈́ı̷̷̣̒͂̍́̌͊̌̓̈͐́͋̃͌̇̆͋͊̋̈́̎̚͡͠ɥ҈̄́̀̌̄͆̌̏́͐̍̅̆͞ ǝ̴̉͂͆̾͌͗͂̇̄͋͠q̵̍͋̈̀̉́̆̍̽̿̓̄̆͊̚̚͞ ʇ̵̐̅̓͐͗͂̐͒̌̐̽̆̕ı̷̴̣̉͊̃͆̉̐̇̽͛̎͐̓̃̽̏̓̋̋͗̔̾̀͌̕͞ p҈̌̿̃̅̐͐͂̚͞ן̵̛͊̓̋͊̓̀͒̈́̈n҈҇̾̔̄̈̋͗̽̚ơ̵͐̄̂̽̊̑́͂̚̚Ɔ̸̿̒͐̆̉̈́̈̄̍̋̕

Getting to the Mystery Shack was less complicated than you had imagined. The wooden signs —now scattered in the mud; hanging from the trees, among their branches— were helpful in reaching the shack. You barely reacted when a government special forces car (what were they supposed to be doing in Gravity Falls?) honked its horn, forcing you to jump to the side of the road. After it followed a whole line of armored vehicles. You didn't know what to think—there was nothing to do about it.

There was nothing you could do. Why were you there?

It had been difficult for you to return home to put on your shoes. Now they were ruined: muddy and the laces were wet with dirty water. You knew your socks were soaked through, and possibly your robe was the only thing halfway presentable. And for what? Who were you thinking of surprising? Stanley Pines, perhaps? The man you hadn't seen for a little over thirty years; or maybe his workers, who were the only people able to orbit around him. You had never gone to see him after ʇ̵̛̅̀̓ǘ̴̋́͛̃͝ǝ҉҇̏̂̉p҉̔̋͞ı҉̛̓̋̑̚ɔ̸̛̍̏̚ɔ̵̽̃͑́͠ɐ҉̓̍̚͠ ǝ҈͑̽̆͝ɥ̸̇̿͗͗͝ʇ҉҇̐̎̅ that day.

You lost the order of your thoughts —too confused on their own— as soon as the dome of trees was behind you. The sun rising behind the cabin blinded you for an instant, and too tired, perhaps even surrendered to the possibility of turning around and going back the way you came, you still tried to shield your eyes from the light. It was an instant. You let out a sigh caught in your chest, gathered your breath, and through silent tears you thought you heard a distant whisper.

Then it was a murmur.

Then it was a scream.

Then there were several. And they were all your name.

The tears, once small pearls hanging from your eyes, were now a torrent of bitterness and confusion twisting your gesture. They seemed to be born from a fresh wound in your heart; and it deepened as your arm fell limp to the side of your body, leaving you at the mercy of a blurred figure beyond what your imagination could trace. It was like a black blob, too big to be ɹ̴̊̑̃̅͝ǝ҉̈̊͛͡ɥ̵̛̐̿̊d̴͋́̕ı҈̿̍́͝Ɔ̶͑̆͒̌͞—but too small to be a black hole. Still, the way it approached and dominated your field of vision, eating away at the stability of your heart and the rhythm of your breathing, made it feel like one. Maybe this was the end of you. Maybe he was back.

You tried to swallow the rest of your tears, preparing both —weak— fists in front of you. Ready to fight. You mustered up the courage you needed, closing your eyes with the thought that if you avoided looking at him, possibly your death would be quicker. Maybe there would be mercy. Maybe the cut in your stomach wouldn't hurt, and when your organs fell out of your body you wouldn't have to see red bathing your feet. Nor were you going to see the world fade away; and you hoped much less was yellow covering your vision. Metallic taste, smell of meat and viscosity of guts and viscera. All the senses in an expression of his love for human carnage.

And the pain was going to be the least of it.

The impact came with the sound of hurried footsteps, and the scratchy texture of fabric that made you frown. The warmth of an embrace enveloped your body, and the fussy sensation of a breath on your neck made you bristle from head to toe. You opened your eyes a little at a time; gray and white invading your vision. Gray hair. There was a lot of gray hair. There was also the smell of gunpowder, dirt, dust and dampness—perhaps another musk you didn't recognize. And yet you cried again.

You clung to the body of a dead man; to the memory of a missing person. You wrapped your arms around the body of the man you had forgotten the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. But there he was: crying like you, maybe worse, and with the clumsiness of a baby coming into the world—coming home. You dug your nails into his back, your gaze lost in the sun hanging in the firmament and the morning breeze freezing the wounds on your legs. Old, tired legs.

How the years go by.

You felt joy with those hands caressing your hair. You wanted to close your eyes again, but you feared losing the moment in another nostalgic and painful dream. You feared losing him. Losing—

"Ford," voice broken, tired. The voice of someone in fear, "I thought you were... I thought for a moment, Ford, that maybe... maybe you were..."

You thought you heard him mutter a 'no' so faint that it ended as a windblown sigh. Instead, Ford shook his head, beginning to push his body away from yours. You held on tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was your turn to shake your head.

"Your eyes—I don't want to see them," you said. "I don't want to see your eyes, Ford."

"But I need to see yours," he replied softly. "I missed them... I missed you."

He was crying again.

"I missed you so much," he continued. "You don't know how much I have... This has been torture—without you, without your voice."

His voice was barely a plea that made your heart bristle.

"So let me see them; I need to know this is real."

"I don't want to find out you're not my Ford," you said. "What if you are him? What if you're playing with me?"

"He's not here," he shook his head. His hands began to stroke your back. "He can't hurt you, dear. Not here. Not with me here..."

"You left me," you interrupted him. "You left me, Ford. You went through the portal and left me. I've forgotten the color of your eyes—I can only remember the yellow; the long pupil, the smile... I don't know what I'm going to do if it's not you."

"But it's me. It's only me."

You let his hands pull your body away from his, and with the fear of one who searches in the gloom for a monster, you guided your eyes to his. You found a look full of tenderness and longing; a wrinkled face, tired and wet with tears. You couldn't control the impulse to bring one of your hands to his cheek, tracing the path of a fresh tear until it was lost beneath your palm; his face resting squarely against it, making him close his eyes with pleasure at the caress.

"It's only you," you whispered. You saw him nod, and then you released the sigh you had been holding in your chest. "It's finally you... I've been waiting for you all these years, Ford. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't waiting for something like... you know."

"I understand," he replied softly. "He's lied to me and terrorized me too; in places you couldn't possibly imagine, telling me horrendous things... Telling me that he had—he had killed you, God."

You smiled ruefully, holding his gaze when he opened his eyes.

"But then I saw you standing here," he continued, "and I thought maybe I might be delirious. I kept dreaming of you; of tracing you in drawings, in my head, everywhere... I didn't want to forget you. I didn't want you to turn to dust."

"I had forgotten your gaze," you replied. "I had forgotten your eyes—their color, their shape. All I could think of was the yellow glowing in the dark, and the pupils..." You swallowed your words, too overcome by the feeling of bitterness in your chest to continue. It took you a moment to catch your breath. "To see them again, after all these years, Ford... They are so beautiful. You are so, so... I don't know. I've just missed you so much. I think you get an idea of how much I do," you laughed through your tears, next to him.

Silence enveloped you both, barely interrupted by the murmur of wind and birds. The breeze swirled the earth and leaves, wrapping your feet with a shiver to your neck, where Ford's hands were now resting. You brought yours over his, drawing them to your lips for a kiss. You traced scars with caresses; you covered the roughness with the softness of your affection, and listened intently to his breathing quicken. You thought you could hear his heart beat out of control under your charm.

In an instant his hands cradled your cheeks; his fingers rested softly on your skin, brushing your earlobes, tickling you. You closed your eyes, drowning in the darkness, guided by the light pressure of a warmth foreign to your body. You rested your arms on his shoulders, barely catching his breath on your face as you sensed the awkwardness of shy lips seeking yours between kisses along your skin. On your forehead as a blessing, on your eyelids to drink away your anguish, on your nose to lighten your own nerves, and then on your lips; perhaps to savor the thousands of words you didn't know—those that might come to Ford's aid in understanding how much you needed him these thirty years, and how much you were going to keep longing for him now that you had felt his warmth again.

You let his body collide with yours, and barely interfered with the wildness of his own need for you. You didn't stop his arms when they wrapped around you awkwardly; nor did you utter a complaint when the kiss deepened with a pair of choked whimpers that died in your mouth. You let yourself be drowned by a show of affection too abrupt, too old—needed and almost forgotten. You savored Ford with the rage of an affair stuck in the past, and with the pent-up love of years of not having seen him. Of having believed him dead.

As the air thinned you parted. You still held him in your embrace, searching with your misty eyes for his. But there he was: flushed, visibly embarrassed, but there he was. Ford was still there. Still alive—back at home, with you.

"Don't look at me so intensely after such a disastrous kiss," he suddenly muttered.

"Do you feel embarrassed?" you asked under a chuckle. "And what do you call a disastrous kiss?"

"A kiss I practiced in my sleep and could never put into practice... until now."

This time you had to let out the laugh you'd been hiding. Ford covered his face, red as a tomato. He tried to explain himself but found it impossible; all his words choked, too garbled.

"It's like you're that boy who had barely made it to Gravity Falls," you tried to articulate. "Too many dreams. You've always been one to dream a lot."

"I could meet you in those dreams," he whispered. "You've always lived in my mind, along with them."

It was your turn to blush. Ford chuckled.

"What an old rascal you are when you want to be," you added.

"But it's true!"

You went along with his laughter, losing yourself in the way he looked at you. The sweet way he still loved you.

"Don't ever leave again," you said after a long while. "Don't ever leave me here again, Ford."

"I'd have to be dead to let you go, my dear."

"Or have your memory wiped," you added.

"Oh, that would be impossible. I have a special plate attached to prevent that kind of accident," he explained. "You know—other dimensions and that sort of thing."

"Sure, love," you laughed.

Ford brought one of his hands to his head, rapping gently with his knuckles to rattle the metal. You gasped.

"That's... Let's see," you throat cleared, "I deserve an explanation. Too many kisses but not enough answers, Ford."

"I know, I know," he smiled. "I promise to explain everything. But first a bath... and another hug."

"Another hug," you nodded, laughing softly. "You better never let go of me again."

"Never again."

#fanfic #reader insert #reader #angst #fluff #gravity falls #stanford pines #standford pines #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls stanford #gf stanford #stanford

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love-toxin · 1 year ago

Text

File 11 - Miguel O'Hara

plot: as much as it hurts, he knows you were meant to be together, even if you don't remember the man you once loved.

cws: miguel pov, fem!reader, atsv spoilers, smut mentions, interdimensional romance timelines, lovers -> strangers -> lovers, casual hookups, kids/pregnancy talk, angst + fluff, denial of feelings (man's got it so bad), mutual pining, character death mentions.

word count: 2.8k

Every morning he wakes up without you is torture.

Plain and simple. Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture that cripples his heart each morning he cracks open his eyes and finds the place beside him empty. It's cold even on the hottest nights, bristling the back of his neck no matter how much he sweats in the long summers. It's always been terrible–ever since that day that you, your daughter, and his whole world ceased to exist, Miguel hasn't truly found peace even in passing moments. Eating his favourite meal from the commissary to finding a breakthrough in his plans for the spiderverse, it just doesn't feel right.

And while he'd long gotten used to that feeling, the dull ache has soared into a sting now that he faces you each day he comes into work.

It's not "you" per se–not his version of you–but the you that stands in front of him each and every morning has your face, your smile, your laugh, your cheeky sense of humour, everything. You have everything. Everything except a memory of him, even a shred of it, because as much as he wants you to see him and throw yourself into his embrace, you have no memory of him. You don't see him as a husband, a father, a friend, you see him as Miguel–not to say that you don't also consider him your savior, which you certainly do. He rescued you from a dying dimension that some other hero screwed up, and broke his own rules in doing so because he just couldn't watch you die twice. He still can't bear watching it replay in his mind every time he falls asleep, that first time when he truly wished he had just died alongside both of you to spare himself the pain. To spare himself from hearing your screams and your daughter's terrified sobs as his world disappeared from within his very arms.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he wonders if there was a Miguel in your own dimension. If you loved him or were destined to love him, but you never got the chance to live out your life together. Maybe he was just a normal guy. Not a hero, not a spiderman, not anyone. Just some average joe with a crush on someone he never imagined he could actually settle down and have a family with. Maybe there was–and maybe nothing ever happened because he just simply can't have anything good last in his life.

That's why, despite how heavy that ring feels on his left hand, and how much his heart aches at knowing that you're right there, Miguel goes to bed every night alone. In the beginning he rebuffed you, shut down any ounce of flirtation, didn't even take it when you made lighthearted jokes or someone else did in your place. He can't go through those losses again, but more importantly he can't put you through those losses again. That dimension was one thing, but what he's built here can't be replaced or broken down. He's mapped out the avenues and deduced that if he pursues you, he loses. So instead of allowing himself those simple pleasures of being close to you, he pushed you away so frequently he could tell it was starting to wear on you. You wondered if you even belonged in the society, your delicate self with nothing but a wristband that still didn't always keep you from glitching on occasion.

But that all changed just a few months ago. It's still burned into his brain, that first time–his muscles still itching for the feeling to meet them again. The feeling of you.

It hadn't hit him until then just how long it'd been since he'd taken care of those needs. He'd spent so many long nights with the company of no one, or the satisfaction of nothing but his hand, that the promise of being with a woman again both frightened and exhilarated him. But it wasn't just any woman, because he's well worn out that mat, it was you. You who might not have remembered him, but you remembered the way you two always made love because it came to you so naturally. You pleased him like it was a second skin, did it without even trying and when you did try it was nothing short of heavenly. You were and are godlike in every which way, your body so soft he worries he'll cut you on his own hard, jagged frame, yet so pliable it's second nature to press your knees back to your shoulders and pipe you like you're a pretty little milking cow and he's a raging bull in heat. There's been times he genuinely couldn't help himself and just gave in to his desires to breed you, his cock straining for your deepest, most vulnerable spots that you gladly gave up the moment he begged to knock you up. Yes, begged–he was at your mercy even in his rawest moments, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Even if the conversations afterward were awkward and filled with cheap laughter as you both sobered up from your lustful haze.

God, you felt so good. Every occasion is better than the last–every chance to feel you pressed against his skin is nothing short of a blessing.

"Mr. Miguel?"

His hand twitches at the interruption of his thoughts, his cup tipping off the desk but stopping with a quick shot of his webs–luckily for him his instincts are still rather crisp, or else he'd be making a mockery of himself in front of the very object of his desires and spilling water all over his floating monitors.

"Mh? Yes?" He turns his head, and there you are in all your radiant glory. Pen tucked behind your ear, outfit of the day clean and prim, eyes sparkling as they always do even when you look at him with concern. How precious. It's just a cup.

"O-Oh, sorry! Nice catch," You add rather hastily before holding out a stack of files, each one labeled and organized by name just as he asked you to do since you started. "Here's the paperwork for the newbies. Do you want it anywhere specific, Mr. Miguel?"

"Set it on the counter there, I'll have Parker look it over. Might busy him and May for awhile." He grumbles that last part under his breath, finally turning around completely from his screens and rolling out his shoulders from hunching so much over them. Fully facing you now is a problem…it's always a problem with how tight this suit can be.

"Oh, you love her, don't even lie." Lie. Lie. Lie. For god's sakes, just lie.

"I tolerate her presence in my workspace."

"Isn't she just adorable, though? She gives me baby fever like mad–don't you feel it too?" One look at you, one shared glance is all it takes in that moment for him to crack.

"...Maybe. Just…a little bit, though." And you just grin. That big, dumb, pretty grin that has him turning away from you in a hurried bid to hide the restlessness stirring beneath his spandex.

That first time was barely memorable in clarity not because of your performance or his, but because you were both drunk out of your minds after Peter's birthday party and couldn't peel yourselves off of each other when he took you back home. You'd gotten on top of him, he'd tugged your dress off, you kissed and the rest was history–rough, drooling, heart-pounding history as you rode his lap and whispered things into his ear that to this day he wishes he had recorded. No precautions, no inhibitions, no worries about your lives as they would go on, just the two of you getting yourselves off and spilling out some foul compliments on the way there. How he loves the way your eyes roll back when you cum and how good his tongue feels inside you, how you want him to finish inside you, please Miguel-

"Don't forget to eat, Miguel. You're still human, you know–not just a worker bot." A pat on his shoulder, a whiff of your perfume, and you're gone again. A wisp of memory that mingles with the heated sweat trickling down his neck as he remembers what you looked like on your knees.

In reality, it's been more than that one time, more than twice or even three times. For a couple months now he's found comfort in you after hours, had his needs taken care of completely by the person that so embodies who he was in love with not so long ago. It's taken him awhile to accept it but he knows for sure that you are that person–you and her are one in the same, the only difference being that you haven't yet fallen for him and started your family together. Well, maybe you have, for all he knows. He can't get his hopes up….not quite yet, at least.

Could you be pregnant already? The idea passes over his head and the mere thought of it pools a heat into his lower stomach that he's quick to drown with a sip of water. It's possible, that's true, but…well, you've certainly forgone protection together a couple times after that first encounter. You could be. But if you are, he's got a whole world of problems coming his way. But it would make him so happy. So would Parker, he'd have a friend for Mayday to play with–but he has to shake it from his mind with total urgency, because that's not his purpose and it's not what he should be focusing on at all. You're a coworker and a fling. Nothing more. A piece of meat to sink his teeth into when he feels the urge, a bloodbag to drink from when you so graciously allow him to, an assistant to shut up and do the work he demands of you without question.

He's trying so hard to convince himself of that that he can barely keep his eyes on the screens. Because the moments where he feels you twitch around him and when he sinks his fangs into your throat during the heat of the moment don't nearly affect him as much as those other moments; the softer ones, the ones where he brushes some hair from your face and you laugh at his cheesy attempt at a joke, when you fall asleep in his arms and he cradles you close like he did when you were married, when he lays awake and ponders not taking you back to your room but keeping you under his arm all night. Warm. Safe. Here. Not just in his memories, but in real life.

Maybe if you did fall in love, and if you did get married, and if you had his child, he'd even get to see his precious Gabriella again. His life. His love. His fingers flicker towards the secure files on his hard drive without him even noticing, and in moments he has those videos up and playing like he hasn't watched them a thousand times over. Those darling smiles and that precious laughter…he would just die to hear it again in real life and not through his speakers, and who's to say it wouldn't happen? If he'd allow himself a moment to indulge, how could he be sure that you wouldn't have Gabi in your lives again if you tried for her? Would you even object if he told you the truth and showed you these videos as proof? You have such a kind heart, he'd struggle to believe you wouldn't offer to give him his dream if you knew it even existed.

But a better question is; is the fate of the spiderverse worth it? Would his act of subverting destiny again ruin even more lives than the ones in his own dimension? Is it worth…..no, it's not worth the risk.

With a sigh, Miguel closes the videos and, for the umpteenth time, hovers his fingers uselessly over the delete key. Those memories of you and her are all he has to cling to, but as always, he's reminded of the cost of dwelling too far on times he'll never get to relive. Gabi's gone, you are gone, and no matter how often he entertains it in his mind he'll never have the life he wants back. Ever. It's just not possible, and it's not fair to expect the sacrifices of every other hero in these dimensions while avoiding his own. He has to be a pillar of strength, even though it feels like he'll always be worthless as his hand lowers and he moves the files back into his storage. Gabi's voice crying out "Gotcha, papi!" on that last video as she smushes her dessert into his face, his gaze halting as he watches his past self and his daughter laughing while you hold the camera. You're so beautiful you transcend your own image; your mere presence is absolute beauty and the thought of you is as pure as the joy in those videos.

"She's adorable, too."

In a split-second, Miguel's head whips over his shoulder and he locks eyes with the one person who he swore he could never let see these videos–you. You, who clearly didn't leave when he thought you had, and had casually wandered up behind him completely unnoticed as he got wrapped up in the past. Like a man possessed, he throws his hand out to slam the pause command on the hologram and stop you from witnessing any more, because if you realize that it's you that's also in this scene, then…well, he has no idea what to do, then.

"Y-You weren't supposed to–puta madre–I thought you left, what're you doing sneaking around?" A twinge of guilt hits him at the rejection that dims your eyes, but you lighten up almost as fast and skirt around him to peer closer at the video, still paused on himself and his daughter propped up on his shoulders.

"Nothing. Is this your daughter?" You ask it so casually he almost falls victim to offense rising inside him, up until he reminds himself that the you he's talking to isn't Gabriella's mother. You have no recollection of her, and it…it's very difficult not to want to talk your ear off about her like she's still here, and he's still her papi.

"I…yes, this is–was–my daughter-"

"Gabriella?" Your eyes flick up towards the file name, something unusually placid about your gaze.

"Yes…Gabriella. Gabi."

The silence beckons him into anger, to turn to rage in the absence of a proper answer to this predicament. But instead of raising his voice and shouting you away, he waits and watches you watching the hologram because it isn't moving, but there's something there. Dare he consider that the depth of your gaze is because there's some flicker of recognition in your eyes? This video is, after all, from your perspective, so would it be so far-fetched to think that maybe you might be seeing yourself in that little girl that shares your smile?

"...Y'know, I miss people from my world, too." You finally turn your head to look up at him, your head full of clouds like always. "It's not all bad to reminisce, Miguel."

I know that. That's what he wants to say, how he wants to react; with a bitter amount of snark that would turn a lesser companion away. But for now, for once, he just shuts his mouth and turns his eyes away. He can't bear to meet your gaze no matter how much he wants to bask in it.

"Are you busy tonight?"

"I…I don't think I have plans." Those words choke themselves out of him by force but they don't turn you off. The heat on your skin, the furrow of your brow…somehow you're only dialed all the way up.

"Mmh. Sounds good. Let's hang out, yeah? I'll help you loosen up." You pat his shoulder with more impact this time, you actually mean it this time as you step down to take your leave. But you're not gone yet, you still linger for him to wish you were and weren't all at the same time. When you look at him, as conflicted as he feels, all he sees are stars in your eyes. "....Gabriella, right? It's a really cute name. I like it."

Maybe you know. You giggle just as sweetly as the you in that tape–maybe if you don't know, it's just as good. Regardless of who he was and who you were before all this, despite everything, he still has you. That's more than he could ask for in any world, and in any lifetime.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spicy writing #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman #ellie writes #2k

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