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risingoftime · 2 months ago

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I need a fic about Bo from sinners fastttttt😛😛😛😛😛

CHOW'S CORNER MARKET | BO CHOW X F!READER

SYNOPSIS: Returning to your hometown in the South, you see that a lot has changed, but many people have stayed the same. Bo Chow was one of them. Still behind the counter, still wearing that same unreadable expression, still Mei’s daddy… only now, you were old enough to notice how good he looked when he leaned back in that creaky stool, arms folded, eyes trailing just a little too long.

CONTAINS: 18+ mdni, age gap (reader is his daughter's friend), kissing, explicit sexual content, PDA, forbidden love, hard core yearning, widower bo chow, dry humping, Bo is a munch, public sex, oral, p in v.

A/N: i got you babe!! ;)

You never meant to return to this town, let alone set foot in the Chow’s grocery store. The bell above the door hadn’t even finished ringing when you saw him behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, cigarette tucked behind one ear. He hadn’t changed much. Still wore that tired smirk like he knew something about you that you wished he didn’t.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, not looking up immediately. “That’s what you always said, right? Said you’d burn if you stayed.”

You rolled your eyes in response. The past you was very theatrical, anything I opposed felt like the end of the world. You stepped past the fresh peaches. They smelled like summer spent on your Nana's porch, sippin' sugar water. “And yet here I am. Guess I didn’t burn fast enough.”

He finally looked at you. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught Bo staring at you, too long, back when you used to trail behind his daughter like a shadow. You were only a couple of years older than Mei, but those five years felt like lifetimes when you turned twenty-three and started noticing how Bo’s eyes followed you, carefully.

“You here for something?” he asked, voice low, half a joke and half serious. Bo Chow wasn't the type to play around, and sure as hell wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He didn’t blink as he looked you over. He waited as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it anyway.

You swallowed. The air inside the store felt humid, even though the fan whirred lazily overhead. “I came for peaches, and I plan on making a pie,” you said, picking one up. "But maybe you got something sweeter behind the counter.”

Bo stepped around it, wiped his hands on a towel. “Still got that charm in your voice,” he said, now close enough that you could feel the heat of him. His eyes dropped to your lips, lingered. “Bet you still know how to use it, too.”

“Learned it from watching you,” you replied.

Like candle wax down a spine, the tension burned slowly, teasing every nerve.

“You were just a youngin' back then,” he muttered, like he was trying to convince himself.

“And now?” you asked. “What do you see now, Bo?”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. And stayed there. “I see trouble,” he said. But he didn’t step away. Bo stood close, his fingers ghosting over the towel in his hands like he needed something to ground himself. You could hear the hum of the fridge behind you, the slow churn of old machinery and old feelings. Then, without thinking, you reached out.

Two fingers under his chin, tilting his face toward yours. A quiet challenge in your eyes. “If you see trouble, why aren’t you running?”

“Because I never could.” His jaw flexed under your touch.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. Bo wasn’t the gentle type. It was rough with restraint, the kind of kiss that tasted like heat and hunger and years of not now bottled into a single breath. His hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you in like gravity had finally given him permission to fall. Your back hit the counter, knocking a jar of honey loose. Neither of you noticed.

Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, mouths clashing like an argument long overdue. His lips were chapped, his stubble scraped against your skin, and when his tongue slid against yours, it felt like salvation disguised as sin.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he growled against your lips.

“But you are,” you whispered, tasting guilt and citrus.

Bo’s hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip. His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, trying to regain control but failing.

Outside, a car door slammed. You both froze. Reality slipped in like a cold wind through a cracked window. His chest rose and fell. Yours did the same.

“You need to go,” he said, voice low and tight.

But neither of you moved. Because no matter how far you ran, this small-town store always brought you back to the same place with lips swollen, bruised, and hearts just stupid enough to try again.

Mei’s friend.

That should’ve been enough to stop him. Had been, for years. Yet now, you stood there, lips parted, breath catching, and he felt it again, the sharp pull low in his gut.

Bo remembered you when you were younger, full of questions and quick wit, always hanging around the shop afterwith the other youth, stealing pickled plums and grinning like she owned the world. But now? You weren’t that girl anymore. And he wasn’t a man built for restraint.

Your fingers were still in his shirt, waist pressed flush against the counter. You weren't going to pull away, you were waiting and baiting his response.

His hand drifted without permission up your thigh, over your curves. He wanted to curse himself for how easily his body betrayed him. Because God, she was warm. And she made him feel alive in a way nothing had in years. Not since Grace died and the world's weight settled into his bones and stayed there.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he repeated, brushing his nose against hers, not quite kissing her again.

She smiled, slow and knowing. “And yet here I am. How often will you tell me what I should or shouldn't do?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I do.” Your voice was soft. “You’re the one pretending you don’t want it.”

Bo swore under his breath. His forehead hit hers again, harder this time. But when she confidently kissed him again, he let her. Let the whole world burn down around them. Because maybe he didn’t want to be good anymore.

Your fingers slid from his shirt to the nape of his neck, and just like that, he caved.

“Hold on,” he muttered against her lips. “Come on.”

Your eyes were already tracking him as he grabbed the keys off the hook and locked the store before closing all the blinds. The heavy metal clanged shut behind them, locking out the rest of the world and locking them in.

He backed her against the wall between sacks of jasmine rice and crates of long-forgotten sweets.

“You sure about this?” he asked, even as his hands were already sliding beneath the hem of your dress.

Your answer came in the form of curling your leg around his hip, pulling him into the space where only desire existed.

“You waited long enough, Bo,” you whispered, your voice thick with lust.“We both did.”

He lifted her like it was muscle memory. He’d dreamed of this too many times, not knowing how to do it by heart. Your back hit the wall. Bo buried his face in your neck.

“God forgive me,” he breathed.

When you moaned his name against his ear, he didn’t stop. In that moment, the woman, this girl who used to trail around with Mei like a shadow, had become a force of nature. And for once, Bo Chow let himself fall.

You grinded against Bo Chow's hard dick, already knowing the rhythm he hadn’t yet given you. His mouth found the hollow of your throat, tongue tracing the beat of your pulse as he pinned you to the wall.

“Bo, please!” You gasped as you searched for any friction he could give you and Bo felt it like a match to dry kindling. His hand slid up your back, fingers splaying wide, remembering the shape of your spine, the softness of skin he wasn’t supposed to touch.

“You feel that?” he growled into her neck. “How long you been waiting for this?”

“Long enough,” she said, breathless. “Long enough to know I don’t want you gentle.”

Bo pushed you harder against the wall, grinding his hips into yours with a slow roll that had your head dropping back, lips parted, eyes half-lidded with need. Your hands were under his shirt now, nails raking across his chest like she wanted to leave proof. Wanted to mark him. Own him.

She bit his bottom lip when he kissed her again, really kissed her this time, and he responded by sliding his hand between them, under her waistband, finding her already wet for him.

“Shit,” he muttered, fingers slipping through heat. “You’re soaked through your panties.”

She arched into his touch, shameless. “Told you. I’ve been thinking about this for years.”

A wave of pure, unfiltered longing surged through him, gripping his heart with an intensity that took him by surprise. She had no idea what kind of thoughts he’d buried just to survive around her. What kind of guilt lived in his chest every time she smiled too sweet or leaned too close.

And now? Now he had you underneath him, splayed across the desk.

“Hold on,” he said, voice rough and low.

Bo carried you across the store to the old desk in the corner, swept thereceipts off with one arm, laid you down like something sacred.

Then he dropped to his knees. Your breath caught.

“I thought you didn’t want gentle,” he smirked, kissing the inside of her thigh.

“I don’t,”

“Good.”

Bo Chow was done pretending. Tonight, he was going to taste every part of you that he'd denied himself for far too long. Bo took hold of your hips and dragged you to the edge with slow precision. He didn't break eye contact as he descended lower and lifted your dress to reveal your wet panties that stuck to your skin. Squirming under his gaze, breath stuttered when Bo kissed the creases when your thighs met your core.

The first stroke of Bo’s tongue had you grasping at the desk, a lewd whimper slipped loose from your mouth. You desperately thrust your hips to put more of your pussy in his mouth.

“You have such a perfect pussy” Bo rasped, low and rough. You tasted better than he imagined. His tongue worked slow at first, savoring. Drawing circles, teasing the sensitive parts until you trembled around his shoulders.

“Right there… that feels so good” Your voice cracked, and that was all the encouragement Bo needed.

Bo gripped you tighter and devoured you like a man starved. You arched, cursed, and even cried out with your body trembling with every flick and suck of his mouth. His name spilled from you like worship.

When he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to hit you G spot, your back left the table.

“That’s it,” he whined against her. “Let me have it.”

You came hard with your mouth open, and hands in his hair. Bo didn’t stop until you were twitching, breathless, wrecked.

When he finally rose, mouth glistening, chest heaving, your eyes met his. He leaned over you, pressed his forehead to yours, voice dark with promise.

He didn’t undress her, he roughly twisted her over, bent her bare chest against the cool wood of the desk, slid his pants just low enough, and guided himself into her with one steady, brutal thrust.

They both gasped. You were hot, tight, and still pulsing from before.

Bo planted himself deeper and deeper in you. The desk creaked under the beat. Your hand reached back to clutch his lower back, pulling him to drill into your insides, and he gave it to you. Every inch, every groan, every ounce of frustration and want he’d bottled up for years.

When he came, it was a full body surrender. He collapsed against her, both of them panting, and slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

And then, quietly, you asked, “What now?”

Bo didn’t have the answer.

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