#ask blurry-fics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewinchestah · 3 months

Text

"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths.

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you.

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room.

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.” Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie”

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming.

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness.

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over.

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away.

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place.

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon.

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it.

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair.

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward.

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen.

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine.

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile.

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first.

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin.

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me”

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors.

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”.

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash.

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class.

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence.

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room”

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?”

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it.

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission.

“Take my breath away, Alastor”

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious.

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back.

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard.

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it.

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him.

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him, making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down.

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started”

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way”

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs.

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver.

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control.

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined he would, if he had more time to work on you.

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much.

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more.

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you.

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure.

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame”

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this pain of being broken feels good.

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face.

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth.

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this” Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture.

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep.

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

#hello guys im insane can you tell?#eu escrevi isso aqui na força do odio puro e genuino de quem ta sendo xingada no twitter tem dias #alastor #alstor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor fanfic #the radio demon #the radio demon x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin fic #autora também está no cio #serio aquela msuica sento no bico da glock rebolo e tiro o short e vem vamo fudeee o gabriel tirou o meu cabaço e me botou de quatro nao #sai da minha cabeça #aquariano nato também não #QUEBRA A CAMA DESSAS PUTAAAAAAAAA #baixaria

2K notes · View notes

indigosunsetao3 · 2 months

Note

Coming out of Anon because I want to appreciate your work and your talent as a nameless figure 😁

Honestly I am not into Gaz or the other 141 besides Soap 😅 and I read Keeping Lines Blurry because Soap was a best/good friend and I was already on a high from your writing after reading Would It Be Enough?

I have to say THANK GOD I started reaching KLB because now I am hooked! Your writing is amazing! The world building, dialogues and slow burn *chef’s kiss*

I am not connecting to Olivia as I did with Emma but I am all up for her redemption. She better not hurt Kyle because that man has been through enough already. I am curious about Abby though, I was rooting for her 😅

Anyway, excited to see what all you plan for these two and everyone involved. You are a legend!!! Hope you have an amazing day!!! ❤️

P.S: I have a grin everything Soap shows up, he is just so… ugh! 🤭😍

Hello! Nice to meet you!

Soap was my first story because he's definitely my favorite of the group. Like, I love the rest in their own way but Soap will always be my number one. He lives in my head rent free 😂 I honestly think that's why in all my stories he shows/will show up as the best friend because despite the fact he's not the main character he's going to make his presence known.

I'm glad you gave KLB a read! It's been fun to do a little bit darker than Would It Be Enough? And having to lay down more intricate plotlines/hints throughout it.

I personally connect way more with Emma myself because Olivia, girl, you need to really assess your life choices. Giving up Gaz for that? Get out of here, haha. But really, Emma is a much more sympathetic character compared to Olivia. Thoughts about her may change throughout the next few chapters...And we'll hear from Abby again, don't worry 😉

I really appreciate your kind words and feedback! Honestly this has made my day and it's only 7 in the morning haha. Things like this really keep me motivated to continue writing.

P.S. I will revisit Soap and Emma someday. I can't put them on the shelf forever, I love them too much.

P.P.S Here's a little Soap/Gaz to sign off with ❤️

#thank you #thanks so much #this has made my day #asks #would it be enough?#keeping lines blurry #my fic

4 notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 8 months

Text

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul.

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

"I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you.

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond.

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode.

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that.

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes.

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed.

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance.

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet.

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber.

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free.

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself.

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down.

"Okay, will you count down for me?"

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future.

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han.

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song.

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head.

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words.

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse.

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing.

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them.

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed.

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out.

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones.

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses.

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness.

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks.

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you.

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han.

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

3K notes · View notes

fyorina · 3 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 EAT IT 'TIL YOUR TEETH ROT!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, suehiro tecchou & jouno saigiku, nakahara chuuya

SUMMARY: oral with the bsd boys! (wordcount: 4k; ņsfw; fem!reader; lowercase intentional/notes app smut ahaha; more warnings at the start of each section!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: plsss someone help me with this divider issue i beg, why can't i use dividers on my fics (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ i got carried away on chuuya's <.<

DAZAI OSAMU

fem!receiving, edging (650 wc)

your breath is shaky, eyes sliding shut as your thighs tremble, keeping them spread apart. one buck of your hips, your thighs clamping down around his head, even letting a moan spill from your lips, and you would lose.

dazai is having the time of his life. you can feel the way his lips curl up into a wide smile against your cunt, the tip of his tongue tracing circles between your folds. you long to bury your hand in his dark curls and force him down between your thighs, burying his face between your folds, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of winning again.

your breath catches as he flicks his tongue over your clit, lips parting in a silent moan. but instead of keeping the pressure on, dazai pulls back, brown eyes peering up at you through his lashes, deceptively innocent.

“did you say something?” he asks, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh as he watches you.

“osamu,” you warn, but your tone was far less threatening than you intend for it to be considering you’re breathless and it’s tinged with an embarrassing amount of neediness.

“bella,” he coos, “you’re making this so difficult for us both. just agree, and we’ll both get to feel good, yeah?”

difficult for us both, you want to scoff at his words. you can see the sick enjoyment thinly veiled beneath the faux-sympathy—he’s enjoying this, watching you squirm as he edges you over and over again, and that pisses you off even more.

but there isn’t much more of this you can take. your head feels hazy and your vision is blurry—if you look to the clock sitting on his desk, you know it would say it’s nearly seven o’clock, the sun setting long ago. the two of you have been at an impasse for nearly an hour now and-

“fine!” you spit out as dazai’s warm breath ghosts over your cunt again. “fine, i’ll do your goddamn paperwork, you lazy piece of-“

dazai doesn’t even hesitate, pressing his open mouth back against your cunt and sliding his tongue between your folds. this time, you let your thighs clamp down around his head and your hand fly down to grip his dark locks, pressing his face down impossibly closer against you as your back arches up off his desk.

dazai moans shamelessly against you, hands coming up to hold your thighs as he buries his face into your cunt, fucking his tongue deep into you once before sliding up to focus on your clit.

dazai is exceptionally good at using his tongue—usually, he uses it for nefarious means, like talking circles around kunikda until the man gets frustrated enough to storm off or antagonizing chuuya to the point of the port mafia executive erupting, but every once in a while, he puts it to good use.

like now.

you think it should be humiliating how quickly your hips are stuttering against his face, how you’re so quickly breathing out his name, how your mind becomes muddled and empty of anything but the feeling of his hands and his tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“osamu,” you gasp. “osamu, i’m close, i’m-“

dazai sucks gently at your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, and you’re gone. your jaw falls slack and your stomach tightens, hips jerking up and thighs tightening, as you come undone on his tongue.

he lets you ride out the waves of your high, tongue lazily sliding beneath your folds as he laps up all of your cum, careful not to let a single drop go to waste.

as soon as you‘ve mostly settled down, heart still racing and ears still ringing, he leans back.

his eyes are lidded and his cheeks are flushed pink, lips swollen and wet—utterly debauched as he stared up at you.

“one day, you’ll let me die between these thighs, bella.”

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

male!receiving (850 wc)

you smile softly as you press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, relishing in the way it instinctively jumps at your touch, reacting in a way that the cool and collected man above you certainly will not.

fyodor’s long, thin fingers toy with your hair as you nuzzle your nose into his thigh. he’s more focused on the computer screens in front of him that gives him a bird’s eye view of the events happening yokohama, but every once in a while you can feel the way his fingers pause in their ministrations, proving that you have a bit more of his attention than he’d care to admit.

“fedya,” you murmur, glancing up at him from where you’re kneeling but he barely spares you a glance, frowning at something on the screen.

you sigh dramatically, turning your attention back to where you had managed to free his cock from its confines. you never thought you’d describe a cock as pretty before you saw his for the first time, but it is. it stands tall and pale with a pretty, leaky pink tip that you can never stop yourself from poking at with your tongue, a vein on its underside that you can never stop yourself from tracing.

you hum softly as you lean in again to do just that, letting the tip of your tongue trace up the underside of his cock along the vein before letting your lips close gently around the tip of his cock, flattening your tongue against the beading precum.

fyodor’s thighs tense beneath your hands. your eyes gleam, peeking up to see him glancing down at you, an unreadable look in his purple eyes.

he doesn’t tell you to stop. so you don’t.

reverting your attention back to the job at hand, you let your eyes flutter shut as you take fyodor deeper into your mouth, lips sliding down his cock. your eyes water a bit as your throat adjusts to the stretch—taking fyodor all the way down your throat is always a struggle—but you hear the quiet noise that slips from his lips and immediately, you’re blessed with a newfound willpower because fyodor dostoevsky’s moans might be the prettiest sound in the whole world, and the rarest, but you are determined to hear them tonight.

“temptress,” you hear him sigh. “i indulge in you far too much.”

your hands slide against his thighs as you shift on your knees to get a better angle, and you feel his fingers slide against your hair, caressing you in a way that makes you want to melt into him.

you force your eyes back open as you lift your head up, watching as he tilts his head back, lips parted in a silent moan. you kiss up his length messily, and you think that you could spend an eternity on your knees in front of him worshipping his cock if it meant you’d be blessed with the symphony of his soft, breathy moans and gasps.

sinking your mouth back down around him, your tongue teases his slit before swirling around his length. you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, hips bucking slightly—and you know he’s close. you take him all the way down your throat, only sheer willpower stopping you from gagging around his length, but your efforts prove worthwhile when you hear a choked, obscene moan escape fyodor’s lips at the sudden feeling of your tight throat spasming around him.

his thighs tense again, fingers pressing just a bit more firmly against the back of your head as he spills his cum down your throat with no warning. you hum around him, swallowing every drop before pulling off of his cock with a pop, tongue darting out to lick your lips as you look up at him.

his expression is fond, if not a little flushed as he holds his hand out to you, beckoning you to join him on his chair.

you take his hand, letting him help you up from the floor and into his lap, and you shudder when you feel his cock slide against your panties as you settle against his chest, still half hard. you move to try to subtly grind your hips but his hands snap to your waist firmly, keeping you still.

he clicks his tongue in a chiding manner. “insatiable,” he murmurs, cool lips grazing your neck as he leans down to brush them against your skin. “but you have to wait this time, things are finally getting… interesting.”

you turn your head to the side to look over your shoulder at him, noticing that he’s watching one of the upper screens with rapt fascination. following his gaze, you see a timer counting down from two minutes, and his finger hovering over a button that you know will override the cancellation command should it be hit.

you lay your head down against his shoulder and mourn, because you think this is going to be the longest two minutes of your life.

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

fem!receiving, a bit of blood play and pain play, nikolai is so debauched & i love it (850 wc)

nikolai buries his face between your thighs like a man whose been starved for weeks. he’s sloppy, rough, ravenous. he bites your inner thighs so hard that you bleed, and then he licks it up, face smeared with a depraved mixture of spit, cum and blood.

your breath is shaky as he looks up at you with eyes that are so wide and adoring that it almost looks unfitting on such a crude scene. you reach down, fingers grazing his cheek, and he leans into your touch so instinctually that it makes you want to pull him up and devour him yourself—but instead, you press two fingers to his lower lip and watch as he takes them into his mouth, making a show of lewdly sucking them, eyes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around the digits. you press down hard on his tongue and he moans, high-pitch and whiny, hips instinctively jerking to grind against the bed.

pulling your fingers back from his lips, nikolai doesn’t hesitate as he drops his head back down between your thighs. you let out a breathy sigh as he licks back along the bite on your thigh, lapping up the blood that had spilled while he was sucking your fingers.

your head falls back against your pillow as nikolai drags open mouthed kisses up your thigh to your cunt, eyelids heavy and lips parting. you gasp, feeling nikolai’s tongue sweep between your folds.

the grip he has on your thighs borders on painful, and you know you’ll have marks in the shape of his fingerprints decorating them in the morning, but it feels good—the bruising grip, the stinging wound on your inner thigh, the feeling of his tongue circling your clit and his lips sliding against your cunt. he’s so messy, so eager, that you can barely think straight.

your fingers twist the sheets beneath you, back arching up off the bed as your hips jerk when nikolai sucks your clit—always playing the dangerous game with his teeth as he lets them graze the sensitive bud, just enough to let a shock run through your body.

he moans against you, loud and obscene as one of your hands fly from the bed to his hair while the other swings to cover your mouth, muffling the noise that nearly slipped through your lips.

a mistake, of course, because nikolai’s instantly reaching up to grab your wrist, pinning it down to the bed next to you. he doesn’t look up at you, too focused on fucking his tongue deep inside of you, nose nudging your clit. your thighs instinctively tighten around his head and you glance down when you hear him let out another muffled groan, this one even more whiny than the last, taking on a lilt that it only takes when he’s close to release, you can tell even with his face buried in your cunt.

“oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes widening when you see nikolai grinding his hips against the bed, desperate and erratic, trying to get himself off in time with you.

the sight of it sends a shock through your body, a gasp escaping your lips as you press the back of your head into the pillow, lashes fluttering and thighs trembling on either side of his head. you can feel heat spread through you like a wildfire, your hips instinctively jerking up to grind hard against his face. your wrist strains against his ironclad grip, squirming as his tongue drags in and out of your cunt over and over again.

he pants against you, wanton and shameless, hips snapping against the bed faster, each thrust timed perfectly with his tongue plunging in and out of you. your vision feels blurry and your thigh muscles burn as he tongue fucks you closer and closer to release.

you try to tell him that you’re close, head falling to the side and saliva pooling at the corner of your lips—your head feels foggy and your body feels hit. the lewd sound of his moans and the creaking of the bed and the sloppy, wet sound of his tongue driving in and out of you, swiping up between your folds, flicking over your clit, it’s all too much for you. you can’t keep up. you’re pretty sure the warning comes out as a garbled slur of incomprehensible words.

your entire body seizes when you cum, thrashing in his hold, your free hand flying up to grab the pillow behind your head as you cry out his name. distantly, you realize that he must have cum too, you can feel the way his hips still against the bed after one last frantic thrust, you can hear the pornographic moans muffled against your cunt—god, he’s shameless, you think again as you lay limp against the bed, reeling from your intense orgasm.

in your half-dazed state, you feel nikolai rest his cheek you thigh and say: “quiz time!” and you swear you might just suffocate him down there next time.

•••

JOUNO SAIGIKU & SUEHIRO TECCHOU

male!receiving, face fucking, jouno's a bit mean & guides you through it, 'princess' pet name (600 wc)

“that as deep as you can go?”

jouno has the nerve to sound disappointed as you struggle to take tecchou’s cock down your throat. you want to glare at him, or spit out a vile string of words that would put his mouth to shame, but you can barely even breathe with your lips and throat being stretched like this.

your nails are biting into tecchou’s tense thighs as you try to keep yourself steady, and you can hear the man breathing heavy above you, his own fingers digging into the edge of the bed he’s sitting on as if he’s afraid to touch you.

you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, focused on trying to take tecchou deeper because the last thing you want is to give jouno something else to lord over your head.

“c’mon, princess.” the sweet pet name sounds so degrading and insulting the way jouno says it. you hear his heels clicking against the floor as he makes his way over to the two of you, dread builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel his familiar, thin fingers entangle in your hair, pressing gently against the back of your head. “i taught you better than this.”

“jouno-“ tecchou tries to say. you hardly have a chance to relish in how utterly broken the strongest hunting dog sounds above you, voice breathy and cracking over your boyfriend’s name, because in an instant, jouno’s fingertips are digging into the back of your scalp as he pushes your head down hard, forcing your nose to tecchou’s pelvis.

your throat spasms at the sudden intrusion, choking and gagging, trying to pull off but jouno’s far too strong for that to be successful. tears spill over your cheeks and your body trembles as you try to adjust but you can’t because tecchou let’s out a strangled gasp as his hips jerk up instinctually, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat hard.

you can’t breathe, you realize, panicked as black dots swarm your vision. you try to reach back and slap off jouno’s arm but that only spurs him on more. he pulls your head back, making you think he’s going to give you a bit of relief, only to push it back down instantly. cruel. he’s always so cruel.

your nails drag against tecchou’s thighs, leaving deep red lines in their wake as you struggle to remain conscious. you feel pricks and pins all over your body, your head feels fuzzy.

distantly, you can hear tecchou’s obscene moans and garbled words and you wish you have more awareness because you want to be able to remember this. it’s not everyday you have the meteor slasher crumbling beneath your touch and god knows when, or if, jouno will let this happen again.

it feels like it’s been an eternity and a second all at once when tecchou’s hips finally stutter and still against your mouth, spilling his cum deep down your throat. you barely even hear his choked warning before the warm, thick liquid is coating the inside of your throat.

you struggle to swallow, and you think you must look disgusting as jouno finally lets you lift your head from tecchou’s cock and you crumple against his leg, clutching at the red material of his pants to try and hold yourself up—but tecchou looks at you with such a devoted expression that it makes you hot and flustered, and jouno’s fingers are carding gently through your hair as if to make up for the roughness.

“lay down.” you hear him say to tecchou, voice sharp and commanding. “now it’s her turn.”

•••

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

male & fem!receiving (69), face fucking, 'doll' and 'baby' pet name (1.1k wc)

you aren’t sure how chuuya managed to convince you to do this.

your thighs tremble on either side of his head, straining to not drop all of your weight on his face as you lean forward over his lithe body, lips hovering above his cock. you feel him pinch your outer thigh hard and you yelp, body jerking instinctively.

“c’mon, doll,” chuuya coos, trying to coax you into lowering your hips so that you’re sitting on his face, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “you know i can handle it. relax.”

his tone is soft, but you can hear the edge to it, almost as if he sounds insulted over the fact that you don’t trust in his capabilities and you would roll your eyes if you weren’t so nervous.

“i don’t want to suffocate you,” you snap at him, thigh muscles already burning painfully.

“don’t piss me off.” chuuya’s temper finally starts to waver after five minutes of trying to make you relax. his words are biting, as if your fears are utterly ludicrous. “stop holding yourself up or i’ll make you stop.”

“chuuya,” you complain, a bit more pathetically this time.

chuuya doesn’t even deign you with a response this time. you gasp when you feel his arms hook around your thighs, toned biceps tensing as he physically forces you down on his face. your eyes shoot open, lips parting in a silent moan when he immediately buries his face into your cunt, tongue licking a blazing stripe between your folds.

“chuuya,” you cry when you feel his lips close around your clit, rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth gently.

chuuya hums around you, the vibrations making your abdomen coil and your hips unconsciously grind down against his face. he jerks his hips up, as if he’s impatient, and you vaguely remember what you’re supposed to be doing, laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his length.

you can hardly think straight as chuuya’s tongue swirls around your clit, heat spreading through your body rapidly. it takes three attempts, but you’re finally able to wrap your lips around the tip of chuuya’s cock, the familiar taste of his precum overwhelming your senses.

you try to focus on sliding your lips down his length—a difficult endeavor considering chuuya is evidently doing his best to make it impossible for you with how he plunges his tongue into your hole, one hand sliding up your thigh so he can press his thumb against your clit.

your head feels light and airy, and with a bit of diluted horror, you realize you might be close to cumming already—with the taste of chuuya on your tongue, the sound of him groaning against you, the feel of his tongue and fingers working deftly to bring you closer to release, it’s almost too much for your body to handle.

you don’t even realize that you’re barely sucking him off until chuuya gets impatient, this time snapping his hips up so abruptly that he drives his cock halfway down your throat. your eyes shoot open, a muffled moan spilling from your lips at the unexpected action, because chuuya is hardly ever forceful when you give him head, always letting you take the lead.

“fuck,” chuuya breathes out, gasping as he kisses your thigh, panting for air before he dives right back in. “you liked that, didn’t you? want me to fuck your face, baby? felt you tighten ‘round my tongue.”

you don’t respond—can’t really. chuuya’s hips snap up again, forcing his cock deeper down your throat, your lips flush to his pelvis, his tip shoved down the back of your throat. you gag around him, tears spilling over your cheeks as your nails dig into his thighs, trying to adjust to his length stretching you.

“so fucked out already that you can’t even do one job,” he sighs softly, lifting his head to ghost his lips back against your clit, your entire body shivers as you let out a muffle sob around his cock. “s’okay, doll, i’ll do all the work.”

he hardly gives you a second to process his words, not that you’d be able to even if he did give you the time. you’re choking over him as he thrusts his hips up again, fingers digging into your ass cheeks as he drags you back down so he can smother himself in your cunt.

your head feels foggy—you’re not sure if it’s from lack of air and the feeling his cock bullying your throat and his hips rutting against your face, or if it’s from the way chuuya’s tongue is drawing circles around your clit so quickly that you can barely keep up, dragging between your folds to fuck deep inside of you before repeating the process over and over and over again.

you’re so gone. you’re so gone, you can’t think straight, your body feels like its on fire, thighs straining around his head, chuuya is moaning against you, thrusts erratic and frenzied as he chases his release. you’re still sputtering around him, your face must be a mess of drool and cum, and you think you might be cumming already, you can’t tell, you’re trying to focus on getting him off but he wasn’t lying when he said he’d do all of the work, you can scarcely even flatten your tongue along the vein that runs on the underside of his cock.

you don’t need to though, because the moment chuuya feels you moaning his name around his cock with your cum staining the lower half of his face, his hips stutter and still against your face, cumming so deep down your throat that you genuinely think you might drown in it.

you should pull off of him, you’re struggling to breathe through your nose, your vision is spotty, but your limbs won’t cooperate with you, laying limp on—you wonder if you’re about to pass out.

luckily, chuuya still seems to have enough sense for the both of you.

he reaches down, hands wrapping around your waist so he can twist you around so that you’re laying comfortably on his chest. still desperately trying to recover from your orgasm, you settle against him, listening to the steady thrum of his heart as you try to ground yourself.

“see, baby.” his chest rumbles gently as he speaks lowly, a comforting familiarity, you’re still so out of it that you find yourself starting to dose off. you can hear the soft smile on his face as he tilts his head down to ghost his lips against your hair. “not so bad, was it? don’t be so nervous next time.”

2K notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 3 months

Text

READY OR KNOT | 2 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.9k, 2nd of 7 chapters

It turned out it was not so easy to forget what had happened with Shouto. Especially when Monday morning rolled around, and with it, some very pressing questions about the party.

Mina found you first thing in the morning, already up to your eyeballs in the case file at your desk. A frown marred her pretty mouth as she rounded the corner into the case analyst area. She neatly dodged your deskmate’s ginormous stack of paperwork, nearly as tall as she was, eyes homing in on you like dark little missiles.

“I heard about what happened with Suzuki,” she said, looking you over with uncharacteristic concern. Her eyebrows were drawn, her features pinched. It was an expression that didn’t overtake her cheerful visage all too often. “Are you okay?”

You blinked up at her, the name escaping you for a moment, until you matched it up with the support alpha from the party on Friday. Your lips downturned in reflexive distaste.

“I’m fine. You must have heard that Shouto scared him off,” you answered. “All he really managed to do was imply some stuff.”

Mina’s eyebrow twitched, like she had more questions on that, but she dutifully adhered to the matter at hand first. “I did hear that and we are going to be discussing that in a second. But that doesn’t mean you’d still be okay with everything that did happen. I’ve got a meeting with HR about Suzuki this afternoon, and I’m thinking of firing him.”

You jolted, a quick pang of guilt striking through you. Firing him. That seemed a very intense option.

You thought Suzuki was an asshole, sure, and you remembered all too well the horror that had overtaken you as he’d reached for his belt. But you also knew he had been drunk out of his mind—drunk enough that he thought you were an omega of all things, somehow perceiving things that weren’t even there.

You’d thought about it a lot this weekend, running over the events in your mind, and while the whole incident left a sour taste in your mouth, you thought Suzuki probably had been close to alcohol poisoning considering how strongly he smelled of Tetsutetsu’s horrible drink. He wasn’t exactly sound of mind, the lines a little blurry.

You’d never waylaid anyone like that while intoxicated, but you had done and said your fair share of things you regretted when you’d sobered up. You didn’t know what to think.

You looked up at Mina, finding her watching you consideringly. “No?” she asked.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, unclear what the right thing was. “I saw him and he was like, really not all there, Mina. I think he should be punished for sure, but what if you gave him a warning that if this happens at all again, he’s gone?”

One of Mina’s eyebrows arched. “Shouto said he was holding you against the wall even after you said no.”

You could feel your nostrils flare in anger at the memory, the feeling of that hand against the wet patch on your shoulder, unbudging.

“He did, but he also thought I was an omega, Mina,” you said. “I think he was close to alcohol poisoning, actually. He hasn’t caused any other trouble like this, has he?”

Mina shook that head of wild pink curls. “No, he’s been a model employee thus far. But I still don’t like it. That’s not what the Pink Riot agency is.”

A sigh filled your lungs. The support of Mina and Kirishima was enough for now. “I don’t like it either. But he was drunk, and nothing did actually happen, thanks to Shouto. Give him a warning that any other tiny slip up means firing, and I will be satisfied.”

Mina looked hesitant, dark eyes searching over your face, but eventually she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Fine. Once and only because you’ll need an accurate record from support in your investigation and it will be harder to get if he’s gone. But he will be fired if I hear even a whiff of a rumor again.” She paused. “And you’ll have to talk to Eiji, because he’s going to like this even less than I do.”

That wrung a smile out of you.

Kirishima was a good alpha and seemed to think of the agency almost like his pack. As easygoing as he was, he guarded his people resolutely, like a farm dog patrolling a chicken coop. You could almost imagine him standing at attention, head forward and tail pointed like an arrow.

As heartwarming as that image was, that didn’t mean you wanted to be the one to tell him though. You shook your head, throwing out your hands. “Oh no. Your alpha, your problem. The one privilege of my secondary gender is I’m not part of this shit.”

Mina clucked, sighing. “He is my problem.”

You laughed, knowing very well she’d know how to solve it. But her expression shifted, suddenly looking sly, and you realized she was about to saddle you with another problem.

“You’ll have to tell Shouto then,” she said, her voice deceptively light.

You blinked, eyebrows raising. Shouto…? “Why the heck would I need to tell Shouto?”

A grin slowly crept over Mina’s mouth, and she leaned in conspiratorially, looking altogether too pleased. Her hot pink nails settled on the edge of your desk, tapping delightedly. “Because he’s your assigned supervising hero. And you’ll be seeing him again in just a few minutes.”

A sudden flurry of butterflies erupted in your stomach, your mind flashing through the feeling of Shouto over you, tall and strong and warm, pressing you carefully to the wall. You could all but feel the whisper of those pretty eyelashes on your skin, feel his careful exhale, the brush of his mouth against your throat.

Your ears prickled with heat, and you could feel your face go slack in shock. He would be here—? In front of you again?

“He’s—what?” you garbled out, trying to dispel the phantom feeling of Shouto against you.

Mina looked downright smug. “He asked to be assigned right after I spoke to him at the party on Friday. Interesting, don’t you think?”

Heat licked at your cheeks. “Is it,” you managed tightly. “That’s… nice of him.”

“Very,” Mina agreed. “Especially since I heard about what happened after Suzuki left.”

You hated her.

“I’m a beta,” you reminded her, not liking the implication.

Mina’s dark eyes rolled. “Eiji liked me even when he thought I might present as a beta.”

“That’s different,” you told her, floored that you’d sidetracked into this so quickly. “I’m actually a beta. Also what the hell are we even talking about. This is a work case.”

Mina flapped a hand at you. “I’m sure you’ll both work it very hard, very thoroughly,” she said with no small amount of relish.

You seized the case file in question, holding it up between you like a shield, flapping it at her in turn. The manila folder flopped stiffly, the pages making a sort of wobbly sound. “Why are you like this,” you hissed.

Mina’s eyes glittered, and she opened her mouth to respond, when the soft tread of a boot in the hall made her perk up. Her grin went unholy. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

Shouto certainly did not look like the devil, as he rounded the corner. The fluorescent lighting made a sort of soft halo off the glossy strands of his distinct two-toned hair, and his features were just as angelic as you remembered—finely-wrought and almost deliberately formed, as though he were sculpture from the hands of a master. He was almost too beautiful to look at this early in the morning, and you felt your breath draw up short in your lungs.

He blinked when he saw you, those heterochromatic eyes widening nearly imperceptibly as he approached.

“Morning, Shouto-kun,” she purred. You hated her.

“Good morning,” he said, his tone low and soft. Your fingers tightened on the file folder, bracing yourself against the loveliness of the sound.

A flush rose to your cheeks as you did so, and Shouto’s eyes followed you curiously. Beneath the high collar of his hero uniform, you could just glimpse a flash of his scent patches, neatly placed as usual. You wondered absently what he would smell like if you peeled them back and leaned in close. As a beta, your nose was not as good as the other genders, but if you got in close enough, and if Shouto’s scent was strong enough, you’d probably be able to tell.

He looked like he’d smell delicious.

A cackle from Mina alerted you to the horrifying fact that you’d just been staring at Shouto as he approached, mouth open and expression vacant.

“Uh… good morning,” you managed.

The corner of Shouto’s mouth quirked up, and something beneath your skin tingled in response.

“I hope you are well,” he murmured.

You could see Mina’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you with barely suppressed glee, and a sudden bolt of shame went through you.

Just because it was super obvious how hot you found Shouto didn’t mean he felt the same. He was a fucking pro hero for crying out loud. Rescuing people was what he did—the save on Friday did not have to mean anything.

Plus, knowing for sure that he was an alpha had closed the window on your little celebrity crush. Out of the hundreds of couples you’d met in your lifetime, you’d only ever met one alpha-beta pairing—both tradition and biology seemed to win out in almost all mated pairs, alphas and omegas unable to help their inherent attraction to one another.

And with that in mind, it was actually super disrespectful of you to even think about this impending partnership in any terms less-than-professional.

You rallied yourself, inclining your head respectfully to Shouto, gesturing with the case file in your hands.

“Yep, I’m good. I’m grateful for the save and I’m sure I’ll be even more grateful for your help on this case.” You turned to your boss, routing her back on track. “Mina, what information have you shared and what do I need to get him up to speed on?”

Mina’s pout was so defined it could be seen from space. You ignored her, raising your eyebrows.

“I only put the call out to other agency heads for a supervising out-of-agency hero. Just that it’s an omega assault case possibly involving a pro, and your name as the lead investigator.”

Your gaze returned to Shouto. He was still watching you intently.

“How much time do you have before you’re needed back at your agency?” you asked him. “Do you want to grab a conference room and I’ll get you up to speed? I’m sure Mina has a lot to do just now.”

He nodded, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that should not have wrung the oxygen out of the atmosphere, but did. “I am on patrol after lunch, but I’ve asked that my schedule be cleared until then.”

Perfect. Plenty of time. You stood, hefting the case file with you, clearly dismissing Mina, who looked put out.

“Great, I’ll show you to the conference room then,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Mina flashing you a pink finger, and you could easily guess which one. You stuck out your tongue at her as you passed Shouto so he couldn’t see, not above pettiness.

You gestured Shouto into one of the smaller rooms across the floor with especially good soundproofing, holding the door open for him. You sucked in a breath as he brushed past you, trying not to admire how tall and broad he was, the way those shoulders spanned the breadth of the doorway.

Shouto took a seat and you spread the case file out before him, trying not to look down at him as he glanced up at you. His fingers twitched on the conference table, like he was holding them in place. You carefully retreated to a safer distance, hoping you hadn’t annoyed him.

“Okay so the basic brief is as Mina said. There have been multiple reports of a suspected pro harassing omegas late at night in Bunkyo. Initially they were identified as a masked male wearing scent patches, roughly five foot ten, always wearing some dark jacket. But the suspected hero element came into play late last week when they attempted to strap quirk suppressors on their target. The omega in question had a vapor quirk so she was able to dissolve and escape before he did.”

Shouto’s eyes tracked you as you spoke, solemn and attentive.

“So far the suspect has not shown any signs of a quirk himself, and without any scent ID it’s hard to know what secondary gender to look for. Our best option is to work the possible-pro-hero angle and rule out who we can, since that’s all the identifiable detail we have on this guy at this time.”

Shouto nodded, propping an elbow on the table. You tried to ignore how even that small gesture made him look like a center spread in Heroes Illustrated.

“I’d like to read the individual reports and hear your plan once I have,” Shouto said.

You perked up, pleased with the terms he was speaking in. A good case analyst always had at least a sketch of a plan—what order to speak to specific people in, which angles had highest priority of investigation, and how the labor could be divided and work double-checked.

Most heroes were people of action and hated having to be corralled into approaching cases like some sort of assignment, instead of busting in and blowing things apart. But it was the best way to make sure all avenues were investigated thoroughly and that work was peer-reviewed in case someone missed something.

Shouto’s phraseology told you he was familiar with approaching cases like this, meaning he probably listened to the Todoroki agency analysts. You’d never worked closely enough with him before to know, only trading high-level information back and forth on a couple of joint cases, presenting findings in a meeting room stuffed full of Pink Riot and Todoroki agency heroes.

You found yourself smiling faintly.

“I’ll get you some coffee while you read. Everything is in chronological order in the file and I’ve tabulated some notes,” you said. “How do you take yours?”

Shouto’s gaze slid over you, careful and assessing. He paused. “I’ve been told I should not share that information.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Your… coffee order?”

Shouto nodded seriously. “Bakugou says it’s disgusting and embarrassing.”

Bakugou—pro hero Dynamight, that was—was Kirishima’s best friend, a loud alpha of an explosive manner and incendiary opinions who often showed up unprompted at the agency to stomp around and mean mug, all the while hiding that he was attempting to press leftovers on Kiri and Mina. You laughed, curious what Bakugou had browbeaten another pro over.

“Your secret will be safe with me,” you said coaxingly.

Shouto blinked, mouth quirking slightly again. He looked like he genuinely liked the idea of that, and your stomach fluttered in response.

Of course then he opened his mouth and provided a rundown of the inhumanly numerous sugars and syrups he liked, such that it constituted more of a soft drink than a coffee order. You tried to keep your eyebrows from creeping up into your hairline, smothering a laugh.

That was so unexpectedly cute. Especially for an alpha.

“One coma-inducing order of sugar with a splash of coffee, coming right up,” you saluted him.

He did something with his face that was a cross between a tiny smile and a pout, and you threw yourself out the door before you dissolved into a puddle of goop.

You went down to the cafe that operated out of the ground floor of the Pink Riot building, a favorite lunch spot of most of the heroes for how enormous their sandwiches were. The order took a fair few minutes, as it took the barista a good while to pump in the zillions of requested syrups, his eyebrows raised nearly to the moon as you recited them.

When you returned to the conference room, Shouto was already well into the case file. He glanced up as you entered, those heterochromatic eyes pinning you with an unexpected intensity. You started, wondering if you’d done something wrong.

But then his mouth slid into another tiny smile, and he looked so genuinely pleased to see you—or the coffee cup—you found yourself helplessly smiling back.

After depositing his cup next to him, you fetched your laptop and emailed Shouto’s agency the case files while he read. You wrote up the preliminary notes you’d been able to pull together on the case—a list of three agency heroes whose exact whereabouts had been accounted for during one or more of the incidents, who were therefore not on your list of possibilities.

Shouto was staring at you when you shook yourself out of work mode an hour later, quiet and intent. You startled, jumping in your seat.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry—did you say something? I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you said.

Shouto shook his head, another smile quirking that perfect mouth. That expression was growing familiar. “I have just finished,” he said.

A sense of relief washed over you. “Okay great. Did anything stick out to you that you think I’ve missed so far?”

“No,” he murmured. “Your work is very thorough. I would like to hear your plan.”

His tone was low, almost appreciative, and you tried not to let it go to your head.

“Okay, then we’ll begin with the active duty and equipment logs,” you told him. “I’m already through all of the duty logs available, but I still need the one from Thursday when the last incident happened—it’s supposed to be ready this afternoon. That will rule out a few heroes, and the equipment logs can tell us more about who had what out during the time of the attacks—I think we start with the heroes who had suppressors on them then.”

Shouto nodded, looking like he was following along. “You want to narrow the pool before you speak to anyone in case you arouse suspicion.”

You nodded, pleased he understood. “Yes.”

That blue and gray gaze nearly pinned you to your seat. “That is smart.”

A sudden wash of heat licked up your spine, pooling in your limbs. You struggled to keep your face neutral, your ears burning. “Th—thanks.”

“Who have you ruled out so far?” he asked.

You turned your screen to him, showing the notes you’d drawn up. “Kiri’s clear—no shock there—Tetsutetsu, and Tetsu’s sidekick who was with him on a cleanup during the first incident. I’m hoping Thursday’s log will clear at least one or two more.”

Shouto inclined his head in agreement. “And your interview plan?”

You smiled, and scrolled down to your notes on that, pleased at how he was letting you lead the investigation. He listened intently as you walked him through an outline, double-checking that everything worked with his schedule.

As you talked, he offered a few suggestions of his own, but he mostly seemed content to follow your outline—completely unlike even the most agreeable of the Pink Riot agency alphas. In fact it was so contradictory to everything you’d experienced thus far that you found your gaze darting to his scent patches over and over again, as if assessing whether they were really covering up an alpha scent.

But no—you had felt the pull of his Order under your skin on Friday. You, a beta, naturally resistant to Orders in the way omegas weren’t. And you’d gone so boneless against him, too, affected by his proximity in the most embarrassing way. Shouto was definitely an alpha, with that kind of pull—and probably a preternaturally strong one at that.

But he was also just—your eyes drifted to his coma-inducing coffee cup—kind of a strange one, too.

The two of you discussed the case for a few more minutes—until your stomach growled, loud enough to interrupt your planning, and the corner of Shouto’s lips lifted again.

“Would you like to finish up over lunch?” he asked, saving you the embarrassment of excusing yourself.

You grinned. “I think my stomach already answered for me,” you agreed.

Shouto helped you reorganize the paper files and lingered over you as you locked them into your desk cabinet, waiting for you patiently. Then he let you lead him downstairs to the cafe. You were conscientious of not standing too close to him in the elevator, all too aware of him in that tiny, enclosed space.

When you made it down to the ground floor, Shouto surprised you by steering you over to one of the tables, bidding you to sit.

“What do you enjoy here?” he asked, looking down at you expectantly. “I would like to get it for you.”

You shook your head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I should be treating you for the save. How about you tell me what you want?”

Those heterochromatic eyes blinked down at you, and a tiny crease appeared between Shouto’s eyebrows. His mouth turned down. Against the subtlety of his expressions thus far, the look appeared almost distressed. “I insist,” he said, something strange in his tone.

“Shouto, really, I—-”

“I insist,” Shouto said, a little more firmly. There was the flicker of something strange under your skin again, like the tiny molecules of your body shifting in response to him.

You froze, startled, and your mouth opened for you before you realized what you were doing. “I—a pesto sandwich—”

You clamped your mouth shut, mystified.

But Shouto looked pleased. He smiled, wider than you had seen so far, a devastatingly handsome quarter-moon sliver that sent your pulse pounding in your ears. You watched him turn and walk off, something you might have said was almost smug in his step, had you known him better.

You sank into one of the seats, befuddled by what had just happened.

Shouto returned a few minutes later with water and an order number, placing the bottle in front of you like an offering. You regrouped, thanking him, then raised your eyebrows as he leaned forward, looking serious.

“I have been wanting to ask. Where does the alpha who harassed you work?” he asked, his tone dropping low. A strip of afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, dancing like flickering flames in the strands of scarlet, liming them in an orange glow.

He was beautiful in the sun, and it took you a minute to reroute your brain from his face to his question.

“Suzuki’s in support,” you said. “But Mina’s disciplining him, and I don’t have to see him often. I do expect he’ll behave after this. But why do you ask?”

Shouto frowned, leaning in closer. “Support maintains the equipment logs.”

It was the same at the Pink Riot agency too. “I—well, yes, but—”

“I should like to be there when you go to support,” Shouto said, catching your eye. His expression shifted into something solemn, his mouth a flat line.

You waved your hand dismissively. “I appreciate it, but don’t worry. He’s not gonna do anything, it’s literally just logs—”

“I must insist,” Shouto said again, his tone soft but unmistakably firm. His fingers flexed tightly where they rested on the edge of the table, the knuckle of his index turning white.

Despite yourself, his concern warmed you, that hot, tingly feeling heating your ears again.

“I really would be okay,” you said. “But if it means something—I’ll wait until tomorrow when you get here?”

Shouto nodded. “I would like that very much.”

A smile teased at your mouth. Now that was stereotypical alpha behavior, much as you appreciated his concern. Suzuki wasn’t going to jump you over a log file in a workplace—especially not after Mina had taken him to task. Shouto’s concern was unnecessary, but so very typical of an alpha. It felt familiar, like Kirishima’s brand of protectiveness over his tight knit agency, you thought. Harmless and well-intentioned.

A tray being placed on your table cut off any response you might have given, and your eyes blew wide as you registered the amount of food on it. Your mouth dropped open when a second tray was placed alongside the first one, the cafe worker smiling down at Shouto before she left, clearly recognizing him.

Shouto looked down at the food, his features arranged in minute shock.

“I do not remember ordering this…” he said, glancing at his receipt slip. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, that crease appearing between them again as his eyes flickered over the order. Then he cut himself off, those long eyelashes fluttering. “I… apologize.”

Apologize? Meaning, he had ordered this?

“You bought all this?” you asked, floored.

Shouto gave a tight nod. “It… would seem so.”

Your gaze picked over the trays again. They were piled high with at least six sandwiches, several pastries, a takeout container of soup, four different kinds of cookies, two fruit cups, and a handful of the granola bars they kept by the register. It was a literal mountain of food, and you sort of doubted even a pro hero could put that much away in one sitting.

“If you were so hungry we could have come down so much earlier,” you insisted, but Shouto’s embarrassed expression only deepened.

“It is… not for me,” he said slowly. It looked like it pained him to admit it.

You blinked, drawing back in your seat. “It’s…..me?”

Shouto nodded seriously.

A shocked laugh leapt out of you, bright and pleased. “Shouto, I was hungry but this is like, eleven meals!”

“You will have leftovers, then,” Shouto replied, sounding embarrassed. The tips of his ears were red where they peeked through his mop of multicolored hair.

You were so suddenly, utterly charmed by him, a splash of warmth pooling in your stomach, flooding through your limbs. You had absolutely no idea what had possessed him to do this, but it was undeniably sweet. Coupled with the easy way he’d let you take the lead on the investigation, and the way he’d moved to protect you on Friday night—it all painted a portrait of a very good, very kind sort of person.

You’d really lucked into a good partnership. You were grateful.

“Thank you, Shouto,” you said sincerely. A hint of a flush colored his high cheekbones, and he nodded.

You decided not to press him anymore, setting aside your speculation for when he’d gone. Instead, you unearthed your requested sandwich from the mound of food, and selecting a pastry at random. Shouto watched you as you bit into your food, a strange sort of intensity in his gaze.

Eventually, however, he took his own food, and the two of you chatted as you ate, moving on from the case to discuss his patrol, your shared friends, and a slew of other silly topics. You found him just as easy to talk to outside of case work—he had the same straightforward way of approaching life as he did his casework, his outlook consummately honest and thoughtful.

You regretted it when Shouto eventually had to excuse himself for patrol, but not before disappearing and reappearing with a takeout containers and a bag for all the things he’d ordered you, which he carefully but insistently packed away, before putting in front of you with a meaningful look.

You laughed again, taking the bag from him as you got up to make your way back upstairs as well.

“Thank you for lunch,” you told him, trying to convey how sincerely grateful you were. “I’m looking forward to our partnership.” You stuck out your hand to him, smiling up at him.

Shouto’s expression didn’t change much, but his mismatched gaze grew warmer where it rested on you. “As am I,” he said, tone soft.

Long fingers curled around yours, and for a moment you felt that same, weak-kneed desire to collapse against him as you had on Friday. It took an inordinate amount of focus to pump his hand in a handshake, and even more willpower to let him go.

You waved him off, and watched him go, feeling a strange sense of emptiness as that broad back disappeared through the door. In just a few short hours, it seemed, Todoroki Shouto had dug himself a comfortable little spot in your heart—far deeper than a case partner should have.

You ruminated on this as you made your way back upstairs, mind running over the events of the last few days. You couldn’t figure out why Shouto was having a weirder effect on you than any other alpha, even accounting for his unearthly good looks, nor why he seemed to be equally lost today—ordering a zillion things without even realizing he’d done so.

As you made your way back to your desk and cracked open the case file again, you resolved to solve this mystery as well. You were good at getting to the bottom of things—and Todoroki Shouto would be no exception.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto x you #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #bnha x reader #andie's writing #character: todoroki shouto #tw: a/b/o

1K notes · View notes

messylustt · 11 months

Text

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 4.8k words

fic masterlist previous part pt four next part

violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!) — when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.

It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.

Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.

You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.

You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.

Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.

You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.

But where are the others?

Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.

Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?

You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.

“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”

You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.

“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.

“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.

“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.

And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.

“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.

The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.

;;

“Ben!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.

“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”

“Boss, they’ll be back.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.

“Who even made you in charge?”

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.

“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.

“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”

“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”

The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”

Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”

Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.

Then all sound is gone.

He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”

Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.

“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”

“Who are clearly too distracted to do anything.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Ben intercepts this time.

“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“

“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Ben gulps.

“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“

“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.

“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.

“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”

“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.

“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.

;;

You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.

The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.

He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.

“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.

One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”

You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.

You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.

But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.

There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.

You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.

The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.

You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.

You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.

Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.

But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.

Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.

Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.

It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.

But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.

Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“

He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.

Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”

You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.

You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.

“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.

“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”

“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.

Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.

“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”

Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.

You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“

“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.

“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”

“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.

“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“

“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.

“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.

“Well, that stupid.” He says.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”

“Recompose yourself?”

“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.

Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.

“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.

“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.

“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”

You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.

You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”

He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”

You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“

“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.

He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.

Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.

The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.

He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.

Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.

Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.

You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”

Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”

You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.

The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.

You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.

You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.

If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.

You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.

;;

Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”

The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.

And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.

“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.

“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.

“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.

Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”

“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”

The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”

The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.

“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”

“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”

“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.

“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”

Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.

“Miguel—“

“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.

;;

You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.

Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.

Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.

You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.

“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.

You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.

“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.

Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”

“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.

“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.

“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.

You look up. “Mm?”

“The reason I’m covered in blood.”

“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”

You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.

“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”

You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“

“Just be honest.”

“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.

You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that checked out?”

He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.

You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”

Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.

You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.

“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.

Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”

“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.

“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”

“That’s not a good reason at all.”

“But your walking my way aren’t you?”

Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.

But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”

No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.

He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.

Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.

Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.

You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”

“Bad?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.

“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”

Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.

Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”

You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”

His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”

You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”

“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”

“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.

Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.

“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.

“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”

God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.

You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”

Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”

You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”

“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.

“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”

You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.

“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.

You sigh. “I just—“

“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.

“Do I scare you?”

Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his leg. “Do I—“

“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”

His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”

“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.

You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.

But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”

You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.

While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.

You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.

He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.

okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn

again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.

and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3

#the miguel effect #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider man #spider-man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #marvel

6K notes · View notes