#Black and grey coach bags

[mugparadice]

Exquisite bags for men visit the stores Luggage and bags for more

[fictionalmenxyn]

—𖥞𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𖥞—

Pairing: frat!rafe x sorority!reader

Warnings: language and nudity (no deep description, just showering together, nothing more)

Summary: after a long day at college, all you wanna do is sleep.

(Rafe is so sweet in this 🤭)

𐬾𐬿𖥞𖥞𖥞𐬿𐬾

Your bedside alarm clock beamed 3:26pm, with its bright white light. You currently lay on your bed, stomach to the mattress. Your AirPod maxs played music as you slept. Wearing your comfy baggy football jersey and sweatpants.

You had been asleep for almost two hours.

Meanwhile Rafe had just finished his football practice. He and his team had worked on game plays and drill for almost four hours. They were versing their rival team in a few days; so their coach wanted them focused and ready.

Rafe was sweaty and in need of some attention from his favourite girl. So he drove over to your sorority house. Parking his black pick up truck out front. He walked over to the front door and knocked. Your friend also roommate, Harley, answered the door “oh hey Rafe, what’s up?” He gave her a small polite smile “hey, is uh, Y/n in??” She smirked and nodded. Stepping aside to let him in, she spoke “she’s up in her room, go ahead.”

Rafe jogged up the stairs and walked down the hall. He was used to them both coming to each others rooms unannounced and never knocking. So he just let himself in, putting his gym bag next to the door. He kicked off his air forces, looking over to you.

Your arms tucked under your pillow, fast asleep. Not a care in the world. He smiled softly at the sight. He walked over and leaned down slightly. He placed a hand on your shoulder and softly shook you a little. You stir awake. Your eyes still shut and you’re still half asleep as you mumble “Brooke…I hmmfucking told you… my notes are on the desk… take ‘em” Rafe chuckled softly. “I’m not Brooke… but I may take those notes, when I need them..”

You turn your head, squinting as your eyes adjust to the light “Rafey??” He nodded “that’s me, princess.” You see he’s in his gym clothes “you done with practice??” He nodded and answered “yeah, gonna use your shower…” you nodded.

He pulled the grey nike gym shirt over his head. Tossing it into your laundry basket. Revealing his tan and toned chest and back. He soon discarded his shorts, leaving him in his black Calvin Kline boxers.

He walked over to the en-suite door, looking over his shoulder, at you. He spoke “you gonna join me, princess??”

You shook your head “hmm don’t wanna get up…” he smirked “oh come on, doll, don’t you wanna spent some time with Rafey?” He knew he’d get you to, especially by the way he phrased it.

You sluggishly get out of your comfy bed. Walking into the en-suite. Taking your clothes off and putting them in the counter for later. You open the glass door, turning on the shower. You step inside after you get Rafe in first, so he can test the water.

As Rafe washes his body, you just stood there. You already had a shower when you got in after your classes; so you didn’t really bother washing all over again. You were there mainly for his company. You gently press your hands on your face, sighing to yourself.

Rafe looked down at you, “what’s wrong, princess?” “‘m so fuckin’ tired.” He opened his arms, bringing you into a hug. He softly rubbed up and down your bare spine. “Aww is my baby tried? Had a long day, baby?” You nodded against his chest. He smiled softly, resting his chin on your head. He noticed your tired and almost exhausted appearance. He knew you had a long day. He kisses your forehead a few times, every so often. “M’sorry, sweet girl, you must be exhausted huh??”

He spoke “aw, baby… once we’re out, how about we have a nap? That sound good??” You nodded and mumbled “thank you, Rafey..” he smiled and kisses the top of your head. He mumbled against your hair “anythin’ for you, my girl..”

Soon after your shower, you were in your clothes from earlier. As Rafe changed into clean boxers that he would keep over at the sorority house. For back up and also a subtly warning for any guy. You didn’t brother asking him way that was a reason. He just did it.

Rafe flopped onto your bed, lying on his stomach. He tucks his arms on top of the pillow. He turned his head and watched you move around your bedroom for a moment. “What’re you looking for, princess?” “My blanket…”

He smiled to himself, one thing he always always found cute about you. Was your blanket. It was a comfort blanket. Red, blue and white checkered blanket. You’ve had it since a child. And although you were a popular, mature and responsible nineteen year old. All of that goes out the window when it comes to that blanket.

You wrapped it around your back. Climbing onto the bed. You lay on Rafe’s back. Your head between his shoulder blades, your legs either side of him.

You feel him turn you both over after some time. You laid on his chest. His arms wrap around you, knowing that comforted you.

He gently rubs your back with one hand as the other rubs circles into your hip. He kissed the top of your head, whispering in your hair “go to sleep, baby… I’ve got you… I’ll be here when you wake…”

You close your eyes, in minutes you were out like a light. He smiled, feeling himself get sleepy, just watching you. He too fell asleep.

Some time later…

Rafe stirred awake. Opening his eyes, he looked down at your nightstand. Seeing your alarm clock read ‘6:37pm’. He looked down at you. Rubbing you back again, just a little firmer, to gently wake you.

You lift your head up a little, rubbing your one eye. He smiles, running his fingers through your hair. “How you feeling, baby? You look better.” You give a tired smile and nod.

“‘m so much better…” he smiled “good to hear…”

“Hey Rafey?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can we get chick-fil-a?”

He chuckled softly, still playing with your hair “of course, sweet girl, I’ll order you some food. We can eat it while you watch Chicago fire? How does that sound?”

“Sounds like I’m in love…”

He grinned, god… the softie you made him… he honestly loves it… only for you though… his favourite girl.

𐬾𐬿𖥞𖥞𖥞𐬿𐬾

[luveline]

so! we were talking about hockey!sirius a couple days ago soooooooo

i would love to request hockey!sirius flirting with a reader who is not yet his girlfriend. (bonus points if he does the lighting her cigarettes for her like i would die actually)

thank you for requesting! —hockey player!sirius asks you on a date. 1k

"Hey, you." 

You squeeze your box of cigarettes but manage to keep your flinch to yourself. "Sirius, you're like a ghost," you complain, letting your bag fall back behind you. 

"A fit one, at least?" he asks. "I've caught you, haven't I?" 

You fish your box of cigarettes from your bag guiltily. "Don't tell my coach and I'll give you one." 

"Give me two and I'll let you borrow my clipper."

"A clipper," you drawl, drawing two cigarettes from the box to pass him. "I didn't think you were rich." 

"You know, my parents are loaded." 

You put a cigarette between your lips and shove the box down the depths of your bag, your dirty little secret hidden once again. Sirius knows because he's the only other idiot sportsman at your rink stupid enough to smoke at practice. "Weird brag." 

"Well," —he bobs his head from left to right gently, inhaling sharply as he lights the end of his cigarette, breathing through it, "it would be if I spoke to them." 

"Oh, shit. Sorry." 

"Don't be sorry," he says, his cigarette held carelessly between his lips as he ushers you forward. He's much more careful about you, holding your arm in a gentle hand as he lights the end of your cigarette, and nodding encouragingly when you inhale, his eyes a stony grey where they meet yours. "I brought it up." His hand coasts briefly up to your shoulder before he takes a step back. "I like telling you things." 

You lean against the wall and Sirius leans beside you. The outside of the rink is boring, a huge parking lot full of cars going in and out. Sirius' car, a dark cherry red oldsmobile with more scratches than paint, is parked not too far from where you're standing, a dent the size of a sledgehammer head in the driver's side that wasn't there before. "What happened to the vampmobile?" you ask. 

"James. I bet you never would've guessed," he says sarcastically.  

"I wouldn't have. He's a sweetheart. I'd be much more tempted to think you did it doing doughnuts on the industrial–" 

Sirius cuts you off, flicking the tip of his cigarette with a put upon attitude, "I don't do doughnuts. You think so little of me, sweetpea." 

He says sweetpea like you're the cutest thing on earth. You nudge him mildly and stub your cigarette out on top of the square black bin, half-smoked. "I better go home."

"Working tonight?" 

"No, I finally have a night off. Got a ton of stuff I need to do, but it shouldn't take long." You lift your arms into the air and stretch your sore shoulders, angled away from him to avoid giving him a show of the world's ugliest yawn.  

"Wanna get something to eat?" 

You hurt your jaw trying to stop your yawn midway through, arms falling flat to your thighs. Sirius isn't looking at you, gaze on the vamp mobile, smoke curling like a ribbon between his fingers. He has nicely shaped hands, very boney in the sharp way but still rather inviting, when you think about it. 

"Now?" you ask. 

"Tonight. If you want to, I'll take you out." He takes another drag, eyes flaring in time with the ash. "Don't act like you don't know," he says through the exhale. 

"Know what, Black?" you ask. 

"That I'm mad for you." 

You're suddenly and deeply aware of how you look, a mess after practice, hair straggled from its styling, face without any make up. There's nothing wrong with the way you look, but when you picture someone on Sirius' arm, it's never you. You fiddle with your jacket zipper, voice low, "I didn't know that." 

"I don't believe you." He's not accusatory, simply stating a fact. Sirius stubs his cigarette out next to yours, black hair ruffled in the wind, the scent of him adrift. He smells like smoke, of course, but there's a nicer woodiness beneath it. "I'll take the way you're looking at me as a solid maybe. You can text me." 

"No, I mean. Yeah. I mean–" You stammer as Sirius laughs warmly. "I'll text you. If you really are mad for me." 

"Want me to prove it?" he asks. 

Your lips part of their own accord. You look like a deer-in-the-headlights for sure, completely stopped by the implication. Even the thought of a kiss from his has your pulse capering hard. His hands cold from the rink pressed gently to the warmer stretch of your collar, slipping into the hemline, curling behind your neck as he steps close. You can't summon the kiss itself, too close to bursting, because what would you do? Where would you put your hands? Is there a specific place? 

"Don't look so nervous," he murmurs, his eyebrows pinching ever so slightly together. "I'm not gonna jump you." 

"It's not like that, I just don't know…" 

"About us?" he asks. "That's why I'm trying to ask you on a date. You can make your mind up about us and I'll help you bulk for sectionals."

"I don't need bulking," you say. 

He laughs. "No, you're perfect. Beside your bad habit, that is. We have that in common." Sirius steps forward, pauses. "Can I kiss your cheek?" 

His asking is the last straw. You're melted like a slush curl. 

"Yeah," you say weakly. 

Sirius kisses your cheek gently, and then he tucks his face against the side of your head and gives you a hug. "Text me, yeah? If you want." He peels back to grin at you. "I have to go back in. Elite league won't win itself. Talk to you later, doll."

You watch him retreat back into the centre, not sure what you want to do first; text him, or smoke another cigarette. In the end, you decide against the cigarette. If he's really going to prove how mad he is for you, you don't want to taste like smoke. 

[donatellawritings]

smoothing your clammy palms over the curve-hugging fabric of your fitted grey slacks, your quickly redirect your wild strand of hair to the curve behind the shell of your ear, forcing a satisfied smile in the mirror as you frustratedly roll your eyes at the sliver of skin that continued to peek through, courtesy of your one-size too small button up blouse. forcefully tugging down on the hem of your wrinkle-free top, you let out a small huff as you carefully scrape your slightly smudged lipstick off of the outer border of your swollen and meticulously lined lips with the sharp tip of your nail.

taking one last glance over yourself in the crystal clear bathroom mirror, your took a short breath as you reached into your thrifted coach bag, your manila folder grasped firmly in your press-on nail-clad hand as you exited the marble interior of the bathroom.

your slightly worn black kitten heels clicked rhythmically against the tiled flooring of the office lobby as you sauntered over to the receptionist, a nerve and anxiety laced smile now playing on your full lips as she brings her eyes to meet yours, “good afternoon, is there anything that i could assist you with?” she questions politely, donning a robotic, yet somewhat warm grin.

“hi, um, i’m here for an interview with mr. cameron,” you stammer, adjusting your bayonetta glasses to sit comfortably on the bridge of your nose as you nervously tap your nails against the marble countertop, “it was scheduled for two o’clock,” you add, your tapping coming to a slow silence as you quickly grew hyper-aware of yourself at the sight of the receptionist taking a quick, yet elongated glance at your pushed-up breasts that threatened to burst through minuscule buttons of your blouse.

you needed to make a good impression. securing an assistant position at the likeness of cameron developments would do wonders for your resume, as well as significantly increase your finances — especially considering your status as a wet-behind-the-ears and pathetically green young woman who was scarily fresh of out college.

“okay, you will be meeting with mr. cameron on the top floor of the building, you can use the elevator and it’ll be the first door that you see,” the receptionist instructs, maintaining her courteous smile and light cadence as she motions towards the steel elevator doors that stand closed, a few feet away from her freshly polished desk.

with a nod of understanding, you step away from the desk, “thank you!” you spoke softly, pushing your nail into the button, causing it to glow a muted red as the elevator doors soon opened, inviting you to step inside of the warmly lit and mirror-encased interior.

jamming your fingernail into the highest floor, you couldn’t help but watch yourself from every angle, drumming your fingernails against your folder, pulling on the belt loops of your tight slacks, adjusting the waist band to sit a bit higher on your short frame. with each ding indicating the increasing height of the elevator, you grew more and more anxious, letting out a withheld breath once you reached the top floor of the building, “relajate,” you cooed to yourself as you stepped out of the elevator.

approaching the tall door, you took a quick peek through the windows that allowed full vision into the pristine office, watching as a man, who appeared to be no older than mid to late 20s spoke on the phone, his free hand gesturing wildly as he paced around the office. hiding behind the frosty glass of the door, you softly brought your knuckles to knock against the door, taking a step away from the door as you took a breath, silently praying that your cheap lipstick stayed within the lines of your lipliner.

swallowing down the lump of nerves that formed in the back of your throat, you subconsciously dug your nails into the hard folder as the door soundlessly swung open, revealing the staggering height of the man who towered, at least one foot above you, his bright blue eyes stoic as he squared his shoulders, his tailored blazer hugging his frame just right.

“s’a pleasure to finally meet with you, please come in,” he huffs out, standing to the side with his ring and watch clad hands crossed over his front as you offer him a kind smile.

“thank you,” you mutter, your dolly eyes widening at the obsessively neat and pristinely kept environment of the office.

each bookcase was lined meticulously with books and encyclopedias varying in different editions, priceless pieces of art hanging from the sparkling tiled wall panels, and three ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked kildare island, showcasing a picturesque view of the river that glinted against the shining sun.

the sound of the door softly clicking to a close broke you from your entranced gaze as you turned your head to see the slightly older man motioning towards his mahogany wood desk with a knowing smirk on his structured face, “it’s a breathtaking view, isn’t it?” he comments, earning a breathy chuckle from you as you take a seat in the leather chair, directly across from his much larger seat.

“it’s beautiful,” you comment lowly, stealing a quick glance at how his muscles flexed against his button-up shirt as he removed his blazer, slightly rolling up the cuffs of his shirt to rest on his defined forearms, “um, here is my resume, cover letter, as well as letters of recommendations from my professors,” you lightly clear your throat, extending your delicate hand to present the man with your neatly organized folder.

accepting the folder from your grasp, the older man skims his ring-clad finger over the contents of your resume, before letting out a sharp exhale as he visibly relaxes into his seat. you couldn’t help but let your overwhelming nerves get the best of you as you licked over your suddenly dry lips, scratching the tip of your nail against the stitching of your slacks.

rubbing the pad of his index finger over his lips, the eldest cameron lazily flips through the rest of your documents, before returning his eyes to you, catching the way you were biting the skin on the inside of your cheek as your knee lightly bounced.

“before we go any further, i just want to make that y’understand how demanding the position is,” he begins, his voice sultry and thick, as he watched your throat bob with an anxious swallow, “from monday to friday, and sometimes including weekends — i need you to be entirely devoted to every intricacy that goes on in my day to day, whether it be accompanying me to a meeting or answering the phone, i require your full and undivided commitment,” he continues, his legs spread deliciously as he straightens his posture, keeping his hands enclosed over his crotch.

parting your lips to speak, you’re quickly cut off by the man seated before you, “is this a commitment that you’re ready to make? you’re young and i understand if this is … too much to handle,” he feigns concern, internally pleased with himself as your skittish demeanor is quickly replaced with a slightly offended raise of your thinly threaded eyebrows.

“i can assure you, mr. cameron — i’m more than capable of handling this position … efficiently,” you sealed with a smile.

mr. cameron? rafe could get used to hearing you follow his each and every command while maintaining a respectable cadence — it got him off, and you didn’t even realize it.

drumming the tips of his fingers against the hardwood desk, feigning contemplation, rafe tongues the inside of his cheek, “my receptionist will set you up with a new cellphone — that’ll be for you to use, solely for contacting me, and i will have a driver picking you up and returning you home, every day,” rafe stands from his leather swivel chair, keeping his eyes trained on your nervous gaze as he watches you shift in your seat.

a younger girl like you needed to be trained, conditioned to suit a man like rafe cameron — and he’d be happy to do that for you.

“i will personally see that you have any and all necessities needed to keep you up to my standards — and they will be delivered to your home, however …” rafe stops at your side, crouching down to meet your eyeline, a knowing smirk tugging on his lips as he examines the way your fingernails have torn into the threads of your cheap slacks, “we are going to work on those little … quirks of yours, gotta make sure that you are walking with y’chin up high, hm?” he tuts, lightly nudging your busy fingers with his firm knuckle, before lifting your chin.

wordlessly, you nod, splaying your fingers flat against your thigh as your new boss expands his smirk into a stretched-out grin, “perfect — y’start tomorrow,” he breathes out, raising himself to stand tall as he shakes out his long a toned arms, before craning his neck with a crack.

[yungistiny]

back of the net ═ chapter three

[ J. YUNHO / S. MINGI ]

chapter three: edged

╚═════════

summary: yunho and mingi are the star football players and they have never wanted anything more then their coach’s daughter

warning: creampie, unprotected sex, size kink, public orgasm, dom yunho, dom mingi, sub reader, double penetration, bisexual mingi, possessive yunho

pairing: yungi x afab/reader

genre: smut, romance, polyamory

word count: 4K

chapter one

chapter two

chapter four coming soon

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“Y/N! You have class in like twenty minutes!”

Karina’s voice startled y/n awake, her eyes snapping open, heart pounding alarmed. “Shit!”

Fifteen minutes later and y/n was dressed in grey sweats, the hoodie she had stolen from Yunho, hair unbrushed and what she could fit in a messy updo, wiping excess mouthwash off of her lips, running towards the other side of campus to make it to her foreign languages class. A class she shared with Yunho and Mingi. A class that was taught by none other than her dad’s best friend Yoon Jeonghan. She hoped Yunho and Mingi wouldn’t raise suspicions because Jeonghan, or Uncle Jeonghan to y/n, would certainly snitch to Seungcheol.

“Excuse me!” Y/N gripped her bag, dodging from slamming into the back of Hoshi who was free styling in the middle of the hall. She was panting out of breath by the time she made it to class with just a minute to spare from being late. “Sorry.” She stumbled into the class, Jeonghan looking at her concerned in her disheveled state, his gaze finding the hickey on her neck and narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t aware his god daughter and Mingyu were back together.

Y/N found her a seat on the third row, dropping her bag at her feet, pulling her ipad out and opening her microsoft word app. She was gripping her apple pencil in her hand, biting her bottom lip with her eyes closed as she was still trying to wake herself up when she felt their presence. Both of them sitting on each side of her, Mingi on her left and Yunho on her right.

She opened her eyes when Yunho’s knee brushed up against her leg. If it were any other class or place y/n wouldn’t be so nervous but she saw the look Jeonghan sent towards her direction, his eyes narrowing even more at her dad’s star players.

“Mingi, I thought I said no drinking in my class?” Jeonghan glared at him, last time Mingi had spilled an entire can of Redbull out all over the floor. “Sorry, Professor Yoon.” Mingi smirked deviously behind another can, chugging the rest of the caffeine and stuffing the empty can into his bag.

Y/N turned her head towards Mingi, watching as he pushed his black rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Damn it! He was so hot with glasses on. She felt her cheeks start to redden, blushing as she remembered the last time she had saw Mingi he was passed out naked in his bed as she tried sneaking out of his room only to bump into Mark Lee who grew flustered, stumbling over his words at the sight of her.

Neither Yunho or Mingi said a word to her until everyone had settled down, Jeonghan beginning a lecture on the distinct difference between Mandarin and Cantonese. “You left me naked in bed.” Was the first thing to whisper out of Mingi’s mouth and Yunho snorted to hold back a laugh. Yunho had been snickering at his best friend since the night before when Mingi had barged into his room pouting that Y/N had snuck out in the early hours of the morning.

Y/N suddenly felt like those assholes that hook up and dump girls and cringed at herself. “I always have lunch with my parents on Sunday, sorry I should have told you.” She had rushed back to her dorm quickly, showering and getting dressed before meeting her parents at their favorite sushi restaurant. By the time she had gotten back to her dorm y/n ended up watching some horror movie with Karina that had a woman being haunted by some smiling demon before passing out and being abruptly awoken not even an hour ago.

“Mingi’s just clingy.” Yunho teased causing his best friend to glare at him as his hand disappeared under the joined desk, resting on y/n thigh. Y/N sank her teeth into her bottom lip as she looked to make sure Jeonghan wasn’t paying them any attention. “Yunho…..”

“Yeah, baby?” The pet name he used had y/n heart racing, his voice wasn’t exactly discreet, not whispering like Mingi had. As a matter of fact he was smirking.

Yunho’s hand was slowly rubbing up her thigh over her sweats, the warmth of his touch scorching through the fabric. Y/N grip on her apple pencil tightened when Yunho’s lips grazed her ear, gaze never straying from Jeonghan to make sure he wasn’t looking at them. “I miss you.”

Mingi scoffed hearing him. “And you call me clingy.”

Y/N was thankful Jeonghan was too busy setting his laptop up to the projector to display a video on the basics of Mandarin. “You do know professor Yoon is my godfather?”

Yunho snatched his hand off her thigh so quick y/n had to laugh a little. “Are you two really afraid of my dad?”

“Afraid? No.” Mingi shook his head, smiling sweetly at Jeonghan when he looked at them as he walked over to turn the lights out so the video on the projector could be seen better. “Afraid he’ll kick us off the team? Yes.”

Y/N knew her dad would never kick Mingi and Yunho off the team, rather he found out they were both fucking his daughter or not. She used to tune her dad out during dinners when he’d practically gush about how the two best friends were the best players he ever had. Choi Seungcheol might put up a hard exterior to the public eye and to his players but he was actually a very caring and man behind closed doors.

The moment the lights were out, the video beginning to play and Jeonghan sat down at his desk in the corner of the far left of the room, his attention now on reading over papers, y/n decided to mess with them.

Mingi was in the middle of trying to silently pop open another can of redbull he had snuck out of his bag when he felt her hand. “What are you doing?” He hissed catching Yunho’s attention.

Y/N looked at him in the dimly lit class with the most innocent expression she could muster up, blinking her eyelashes up at him. “What?” She played dumb as if she weren’t aware of her own hand now palming at him over his sweatpants.

Yunho was opening his mouth to ask what was going on but instead groaned, closing his eyes when he felt her other hand rubbing at him over his jeans. Was she crazy? Fuck it, he didn’t care!

Y/N kept her gaze on the video playing at the front of the room as she slipped her hand into the waistband of Mingi’s sweats, biting her bottom lip when she realized he was commando under them. “Fuck” he had to lean his arm on the desk, hand covering his mouth as her hand wrapped around him. So soft and warm. Fuck!

Yunho had his jaw clenched, hands bawled into fist at his sides as y/n other hand pulled him from his jeans, sliding her hand into his underwear and wrapping it around him, thumb tracing his tip and causing him to bite his bottom lip hard to keep from moaning.

Yunho and Mingi looked at each other over y/n between them, both of them pupils blown, Yunho’s ears blushing red and Mingi’s lips parted, holding his breath as he was straining to keep from bucking up into her hand.

She was a fucking menace and they loved every second of it.

“Y/N….” Mingi sounded breathless as her hand jerked him a little faster, twisting up and down him a little. She ignored him and started to return the same movements to Yunho who couldn’t help the deep guttural groan leave him.

Other then a pointed look of annoyance from Boo Seungkwan in the row in front of of them he otherwise went unheard thankfully.

They were both close, y/n could tell from the precum leaking from them both and the way Mingi’s dick started twitching in her grip.

She stopped, removing her hands, digging in her bag for her hand sanitizer, the vanilla scent invading her senses as she rubbed it on her hands.

Yunho and Mingi stared at her in shock, blinking rapidly, hearts pounding and teetering on the edge of orgasm.

Did she just fucking edge them in class? Yunho was staring a heated look into the side of her head as she still had yet to look at either one of them, attention fully focused now on the video playing.

Mingi was too shocked, too edged, to even comprehend anything at the moment.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” Yunho whispered in her ear, voice deep and promising. “Brat.” He snuck a kiss on the marking on her neck he had left from their time together that was fading.

Y/N wanted nothing more than to leave class and let him make her pay however he wanted. She felt herself grow wet at just the thought of it and clenched her thighs together, Yunho smirking as he noticed.

“Mingi, what did I say?” Jeonghan’s voice startled everyone along with the hissing pop of the can of redbull now open in Mingi’s hand.

“Sorry, professor Yoon.” He was not sorry at all because he needed a caffeine distraction from his poor hard dick in his sweats aching for y/n to just finish him.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes at him, narrowing them at Yunho who now had an arm splayed on the back of the seats around his goddaughter. He wasn’t aware y/n and Cheol’s star players were close…

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N left Yunho and Mingi behind as soon as class was over, trying not to giggle out loud at their predicament. Both still fully hard in their pants.

“Sweetheart”

Y/N eyes widened, freezing in her tracks at the sight of her dad walking towards her. He was carrying a bag of takeout. “Your mother wants to make sure you still want the red dress for the team banquet, said for you to call her.”

“Oh…. Ok.” Y/N sighed in relief, like she expected her dad to know what she had just done in class. Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at the markings visible on his daughter’s neck, one fading and the other dark and prominent. “Are you and Mingyu back together?”

“What?” His question took y/n by surprise. She hadn’t seen her ex boyfriend since he broke up with her. “No. Why would you think that?”

Seungcheol knew he couldn’t keep his daughter from engaging in whatever it was with whoever it was, she was an adult now, but he certainly could be petty if his suspicions about who the hickey culprit was and make whichever one of the twin towers that was responsible run a dozen suicides at practice. “I’m gonna take this to your uncle Jeonghan, please call your mother or she’ll pester me until you do.”

Y/N eyed her dad oddly when he dodged her question, planting a kiss on her forehead and disappearing down the hall towards the class she had just left as Yunho and Mingi were walking out the door.

“I can’t believe she edged us in the middle of class!” Mingi was holding his bag in front of himself to hide the hard bulge in his sweatpants. Yunho too was holding his own bag in front of his matching bulge, a bit more concealed in his jeans.

“Every time I hear the two of you open your mouths I visibly sigh.”

“Coach!” Mingi jumped, his bag digging into his poor dick causing him to hiss under his breath. “The team banquet is Wednesday, I’m going to assume the two of you will be dressed accordingly and on your best behavior.”

“Of course, sir.” Yunho gave him his best smile, all perfect and innocent, making him look more boyish and charming.

“You better.” Seungcheol moved past them into the class, Mingi was panicking. “You think he heard us?”

Yunho shrugged, shaking his head. “It’s not like he knows what she we were referring to.”

“Right.” Mingi visibly relaxed, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they made their way outside and towards the quad. They only had one more class that day and it wasn’t for a few more hours so the two of them were in search of the cause of the problem in their pants.

Yunho is not a jealous person, sure he was a little of Mingyu getting to y/n first through the last couple years but never anything drastic. Jealousy and anger just wasn’t him but right now he really wanted to punch Lee Jeno in the face.

Yunho’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowed as he spotted Jeno talking to y/n, smiling at her and reaching a hand out to gently swat at a small bee that had started buzzing around her.

Seems him and Mingi weren’t the only two no longer scared to seek out Coach Choi’s daughter.

“The fuck does he think he’s doing?” Lee Jeno was the best midfielder on their team but he was also notorious for the amount of girls he has slept with.

Yunho was making his way over to them before Mingi could finish his question. “Oh shit!” Mingi sped after him, grabbing his best friend by the arm. “Whoah, what the hell do you think you’re gonna do?” He arched a brow at him. “Piss on her leg and mark your territory?”

Yunho stopped, turning his angry jealous gaze on Mingi. “Is she not ours?”

Mingi had never seen his best friend like this. The jealous possessiveness rolling off of him in waves. It was kind of hot. “Let’s just interrupt them.” Yunho followed Mingi, fists clenched at his sides as they approached y/n and Jeno.

“So, the reason I came over is because I wanted to know if you were seeing…..” Jeno trailed off, not able to finish his question as his gaze landed on the two tall men suddenly right behind y/n. The way Yunho was glaring at him made Jeno realize that y/n was in fact not available. He briefly wondered if coach knew that his daughter was being double teamed by the twin towers….

“Jeno, don’t you have class?” Mingi gave him a look that clearly stated to move on which only made Jeno smirk. “Actually, I was asking y/n if she were single and if she would be my date to the team banquet?”

Y/N herself had froze the second she heard Mingi’s voice, heart skipping a beat when she felt a hand possessively place itself on her hip, pulling her back against a chest that she quickly realized was Yunho. “She already has a date.”

She does? Y/N turned her head back, tilting it up to look at Yunho, taking in his darkened gaze and clenched jaw. She had seen that look on many occasions when she was with Mingyu, most the time her ex was directing that look on Yunho and Mingi.

“Well…. that’s unfortunate.” Jeno smiled at y/n. “If the twin towers don’t work out, I’m always available for you.” He sent one last smirk towards Yunho who was barely holding his anger in at him. Jeno snickered as he left.

“Seriously?” Y/N pulled away from Yunho, folding her arms across her chest. “What?” He looked at her as if he hadn’t just asserted himself towards Jeno. Like he didn’t stake his claim on her.

“Maybe next time you could just hike and piss on my leg, mark your territory.” She teased him causing Mingi to laugh as he had said the same thing.

Yunho pouted at them, grumbling under his breath before intertwining his hand with y/n, pulling her along with his long strides. “Where are we going?” She asked, her much shorter legs finding it slightly difficult to keep up with him. Mingi sped up next to them. “My dorm.” Wooyoung should be in class and they couldn’t go to Mingi’s as Mark had no classes and was probably passed out for the day.

Y/N found herself hiding behind Yunho, tugging Mingi to her side to conceal her from sight when she spotted Yeosang coming out of his dorm that just so happened to be across the hall and two rooms down from Yunho’s.

Yeosang walked right past them, eyes on his phone not even given them a glance. Y/N sighed in relief, her tryst or whatever it was she had going on with Yunho and Mingi only caused an argument between her and her best friend. She knew Yeosang was only trying to look out for her but sometimes between him and her dad it could feel suffocating.

“He didn’t see you.” Mingi assured her as Yunho lead them into his dorm room, locking the door behind them in case Wooyoung came back. Y/N stood beside Yunho’s bed, dropping her bag to the floor, suddenly nervous as it was no longer her alone with just one of them.

“You’re nervous.” Yunho could tell by the way she was biting her bottom lip and fidgeting her hands together. “Relax,” he gently grabbed her hands, interlacing his own with them. “we’re not doing that yet.” He didn’t have to explain what that was. “You did get us all worked up though…” he smirked as he leaned his head down, lips brushing hers. “tease.”

“Are you going to make me pay for it now?” Y/N voice was breathless and wanting, her gaze finding Mingi over Yunho’s shoulder. “Why are you so far away?” She pulled one hand from Yunho’s grasp, reaching for him. Mingi obliged, allowing her to pull him closer, both him and Yunho now towering over her. “Why aren’t you touching me yet?”

Yunho and Mingi shared a look before diving in. Yunho’s lips went straight for her neck while Mingi crashed his own lips against her own, tongue wasting no time darting into her mouth to dance with hers. A moan bubbled up inside y/n at the feel of Yunho kissing, sucking, biting and teasing her skin with his tongue matched with Mingi kissing her.

Her hands were now each grasping at Yunho and Mingi’s shirts as they suddenly switched. Mingi was now kissing down her jaw, to her neck as Yunho replaced his lips against hers with his own. “Wait…” she barely got the words out against Yunho’s lips, breathing heavy, panting. “I want to….” She had no idea how to form words for what she wanted, what she was picturing in her mind.

“What do you want?” Yunho kissed her again, Mingi following after him. “Tell us.” They were now both attached to each side of her neck and a whimper left y/n, her eyes closing as the words escaped her. “I want both of you….. in my mouth.”

The kissing on her neck stopped, both Yunho and Mingi pulling away from her and turning their blown pupils and heated gazes onto each other. “Dude,” Mingi shook his head at the shocked look on Yunho’s face. “don’t look at me, I almost just came hearing her say it.”

“Are you sure?” Yunho wanted to make sure it’s what she really wanted to do, staring into her eyes and seeing nothing but lust and want. “Please…”

“Baby,” Mingi shook his head, hands going to the waistband of his sweats, dick still hard from earlier. “trust me, you don’t have to beg.” He paused his movements from shoving his sweats down to his ankles. “Uh…. We haven’t exactly done this before.”

“I thought you both… I thought you’ve had….”y/n blushed at the simple thought. “threesomes before?”

“We have.” Yunho nodded, hands gently gripping her chin. “But we’ve never you know…. been inside someone at the same time before….. together.”

“Yeah, it’s usually one in the back and the other with the mouth… you know.” Mingi explained, now he was blushing. Why the fuck was he blushing? His conscious was scolding himself.

Y/N hid the triumphant smirk at the knowledge just given to her by biting her bottom lip and pulling out of Yunho’s grasp and dropping to her knees in front of them. She still had yet to have Mingi in her mouth and she couldn’t wait to have Yunho back in it. “Fuck me….” Mingi almost whined at the sight of her, voice so much deeper.

Neither Mingi or Yunho moved, allowing y/n to take control. She reached for Mingi first, hands replacing his own at the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down his legs and letting them pool at his feet. She didn’t touch him yet, turning to Yunho to do the same to his tight jeans and underwear. A moan ripped from him when his dick was finally free.

“Get closer.” Y/N stared up at them and it had to be the best thing either one of them had ever seen. “Move!” Mingi urged Yunho, their hips and thighs touching as they got as close to each other as they could. They both watched her pull Yunho’s hoodie off and over her head leaving her in just her red sports bra and sweatpants.

Y/N contemplated a minute on where to start and decided to wrap a hand around them once again, both men instantly moaning at her touch, Mingi almost whimpering as they were both sensitive from being edged in class earlier.

It was Mingi that felt her tongue lick at his tip first and he had to hold himself back from tangling his hand in her hair. And then she switched, tongue gliding up Yunho’s length, pausing to suck just his tip into her mouth, lapping at and swallowing the precum that was leaking out. “Stop teasing us.” Yunho moaned deep, aching for her to just let him, them, fuck her mouth already.

“So needy.” Y/N teased before she leaned up on her knees more, both Yunho and Mingi following her movements, not able to meet each other’s gaze as they felt their lengths touch, rubbing together as y/n slowly took them into her mouth, the weight of them both on her tongue, heavy, lips stretching around them, relaxing her jaw to fit them more.

“Fuck…” Mingi was becoming a mess, turning his head to Yunho. “I’m not gonna last.” No way! Not with the way the feel of their dicks rubbing each other, the sight of y/n pushing herself to finally swallow them, deepthroating both of them, little tears rolling down her flushed cheeks at the gag and stretch. “Me either.” Yunho felt his knees buckle as y/n began to move, head bobbing back and forth.

“Shit!” Mingi had to throw an arm around Yunho’s shoulders to keep himself up. Yunho knew they were both close already by the way their dicks twitched against each other in her mouth so he reached forward, pausing a moment to share a look with y/n who nodded for him to go ahead and tangle his hand into her hair, his other arm wrapping around Mingi’s waist to support them as he started fucking her face.

“I’m cumming…” Mingi was done for, his orgasm hitting hard, cum shooting down y/n throat, moaning loudly as he stumbled back falling onto Wooyoung’s bed. He watched with a dazed look as Yunho now had both hands tangled in her hair, his head thrown back, chasing his own high.

“You’re gonna swallow every drop, aren’t you…” Yunho looked back down at her, y/n moaning around him, the vibration sending him over the edge as he pulled her against him, painting her throat white, her nose smushed against him as Yunho lost himself for a moment, gagging her on him.

Then loud knocking started at the door followed by Wooyoung’s voice. “What the fuck? Why’s the door locked? Yunho let me in!”

Y/N gasped for breath when Yunho pulled himself out of her mouth, doing as he told her and swallowing every last drop of both himself and Mingi.

She takes what she said all back.

This was the filthiest fucking thing she had ever done.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

tag list: @straycat420 @vtyb23 @saintriots @minkysmilk @gigikubolong29 @midnightrebel1028 @whyismingi @atzlordz

[lqfiles]

SCORE THAT GOAL! — 17. under my umbrella

(wc: 1.209)

“and in last place is… (—)! which means she will clean up the equipment today! everyone else can go home now, enjoy your weekend.” your coach exclaimed. everyone else let out a sigh of relief as you threw your head back. you knew you weren’t the best at this sport, but placing last was plainly humiliating. and now you had to pay the price which came in the form of walking around the unnecessarily long field to pick up barely used equipment.

“maybe we need to have a one on one practice to improve your skills.” jeno had joined your side after grabbing his water bottle. while everyone slowly left, it was only you two left occupying the field. “i’ll pass on that offer for now.” you responded back and started walking to the multiple cones that were placed on the field. “alright then, see you next week.” jeno saluted you before exiting the field as well, leaving you all in silence.

practice went alright, despite not shooting a single goal today, you felt like you were starting to get the hang of the sport. you were relieved that you got along with almost everyone and how they were all willing to help you instead of ridiculing you for being so bad at this. at least this was better than sleeping around in art club, you thought. maybe not 100% but definitely some percentage. you were too busy dazing out that you barely felt the few soft drops of rain that had landed the top of you head. only when the droplets started to grow more rapid did you frown, looking at your left hand that held a disc cone, covered in multiple drops of water. “the sun was just out?” you spoke out loud, gazing at the sky that had somehow turned grey in a mere few minutes.

“great” you whispered, quickening the pace at which you were cleaning. you could’ve sworn the weather app said it wouldn’t rain today. you had no time to think too much about it, the rain had started to become a bit more violent by the time you collected everything. you quickly brought the equipment inside before going back out and grabbing the remaining equipment. “holy shit.” you wondered where this rain had even come from. it was barely bearable and you were sure if you stayed for too long you’d catch a cold. so you quickly changed into your dry clothing, hissing when you had no choice but to place your wet clothing in your bag, leaving all your belongings damp.

though you hadn’t expected the rain, you knew to always keep an emergency umbrella on you in these unexpected cases. you walked outside, umbrella in hand, making your way to the bus stop near your college. you looked up to see how far you were from the stop when you spotted an unexpected face. you halted for a second, your heart pace quickening as you immediately recognised it as jisung’s side profile who was sat on the bench at the stop. he wasn’t wearing his sports attire either, instead sporting a black jacket and matching black jeans. knowing you had to no choice but to go over there too, you started walking again.

jisung hadn’t seen you walk up to him yet. not until he decide to look away from his right and had faced his left to continue admiring the outside view. his eyes had landed on you who stared straight ahead of you, body a few meters away and umbrella next to you. jisung gasped and jumped back, not expecting you there. when had you settled next to him? “oh, sorry for scaring you.” you apologised and quickly created more distance between the two of you, not like there wasn’t already a huge gap. “it’s, uh… it’s okay.” he hesitated to respond back, still surprised to see you here. seriously, how long had you sat there for? neither of you talked for a few minutes and tried hard to look everywhere but each other before you had decided to start a conversation again. “hey jisung?”

“yeah?” he answered back, giving you a quick glance instead of facing your way. “do you know when the next bus is coming?” you asked. jisung shrugged, hoping you’d leave it at that. instead you had turned his way, waiting for him to continue speaking. “i don’t..” he mumbled softly and you hummed, accepting his answer. “normally the buses take longer on rainy days..” you started, looking up at the rain that was still pouring. “my guess is probably 20 minutes.” you kissed your teeth at the thought, eyeing your umbrella. “yeah, sucks.” jisung couldn’t tell if you were trying to hold a conversation or not, but he wished this attempt at whatever would end soon so he wouldn’t have to continue giving awkward responses back.

“i’ll just walk then.” you had stood up and grabbed your umbrella before you turned back around to look at him. “do you wanna come? we can walk to that supermarket and go our separate ways from there.” you offered. you had opened your umbrella and stood under the rain, turning to face jisung and waiting for his answer. you had made a good point about the buses taking longer in rainy weathers, and he did need to get home to finish of his sociology homework. the supermarket was also close to his house. the only issue? having to awkwardly stay with you under an umbrella in close proximity for a good 15 minutes.

“i…” jisung was hesitant and you were about to dismiss your offer and start walking off, but he surprised you when he stood up and walked closer to you and your umbrella. “thank you.” he said as he bent himself down to fit under your umbrella, making sure to push himself all the way to the edge, the umbrella barely covering him from the pouring rain. you held the umbrella his way. “you should hold it since you’re taller.” you advised and jisung complied, quickly grabbing the umbrella and more so holding it over you instead of him.

jisung couldn’t help but feel bad and as if he was intruding your personal space the whole walk. neither of you talked and instead decide to distract yourself with the sight of the view and the sound of the rain. it took a while before the supermarket came into your view and you had turned jisung’s way. “we can separate from here.” you spoke, looking up at jisung who handed you the umbrella and took a step back. he nodded, looking ahead. “yeah, thank you for that.” he responded back and you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting up into a grin.

“it’s nothing, i’ll see you next week. bye jisung.” you waved him goodbye and turned around, starting to walk your own way. you didn’t even let jisung say anything back. you didn’t even hear how he had told you goodbye as well, sending a very small smile to your back view. on his walk back, jisung wasn’t sure how long it hadn’t rained for, but by the time he reached his apartment, he was completely dry without a single sign of dampness.

previous — master list — next

notes ; PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR HAVING SO MUCH WRITING CHAPTERS i should’ve added that this is probably gonna be half written i’m sawryyyy 💔 anyways i’ll try to update tomorrow too HOPEFULLY…

TAGLIST ; @rksbae @222brainrot @severefireangelprune @violetvoo @prdshobi @kikookii @haechansbbg @en-dream @bbxnny-bbxtch @cvpidxo @jaeminslattes @90s-belladonna @softieluvsyou @wenjunblossoms @be0mluver @jeongintwt @myhaechan @love1again @ckline35 @cassie6392 @hibernatinghamster @starboys-gf @rllymark @mfaal @snflwrhaerecs4u @sunflowerbebe07 @ahnneyong @enhalovie @galacticpurpl3 @manooffline @luv4jeno @mikadorbs @1moo7 @ksywoo @ohdudehesflirting @savluvsmingi @finnydraws @invumi @crvzy-fujoshi @peterparkerluvvbot @hrjunluvs @i2kittenz @jisungji @http-peachie @jisyng @sweetcandycum @giaccolo @shotaroswifeyily @sinsgaybutthatsokay @be-my-sunrise @syzavxy @kyusqult @mxlly143

[thatsdemko]

they want us to be - m.mount

masterlist

pairing: Mason mount x fem!reader

warnings: angst + me having a lack of knowledge of the transportation systems of Europe

a/n: yeah I’m sorry about this one..

the train ride in from London to Manchester was long and brutal. you’d think somewhere along the lines you’d just move half way in between your best friend and your current job, but moving in this economy was proven to be rather difficult. so the train it was.

the cities and empty towns pass by you in a whirl and before you know it you’re the next stop: Manchester. you’d gathered an overnight bag that feels weightless as you pick it up and move out of your seat towards the exit. you thank the man who helps you off and find his car. it doesn’t take long, it’s the most expensive one in the parking lot.

“hey!” his head snaps up from his phone, whatever it was becomes completely irrelevant once you’re in the warm car and tossing your back in front of your feet.

letting out a long sigh you take a look over at him. his hair still has patches of blond showing and the buzz cut is much shorter than you last had seen it. “hey,” you let out finally. leaning over the center counsel you wrap your arms around him, “why’d you cut your hair?” you gently run your finger tips over the rough ends of his hair before he quickly pulls away, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“you don’t like it?”

“I’ve expressed my dislikes for it many times.” you’d recall for him the last time he’d cut it short, you couldn’t look him in the eyes without laughing and you’d think he’d learned his lesson that the look wasn’t meant for him, yet without your supervision Mason still went ahead and did so.

“yeah well you’re not my girlfriend so you don’t make the calls.” his bitter tone shuts you up. you result back into looking out the window much like you did the whole train ride here. was this how it was going to be?

LAST TIME | Manchester

“come on, come on! say it again, please.” you laugh, your body leans forward against the wooden table tops as you wait for masons giggle fit to end before he turns serious and does his best impression of his coach on the sidelines.

“you’re getting really good at it.” you lie, or maybe it was flirting. the alcohol in your system had you looking at Mason differently than normal, and it’s not you to blame when he wears a tight black shirt and grey sweatpants that could have any girl swooning in admiration of his biceps.

“am I? I only learn from the best impersonator myself.” he gestures to you in front of him, “give me your best Ben impression, I forgot what he sounds like.”

“you chatted with him on the phone two hours ago!”

it’s his turn to lean in, his hands pressed against the cool table tops as he watches you take a swig from your pint of beer, “and I’ve seemingly forgotten what he sounds like! come on, do it!”

rolling your eyes you give him what he wants and a roar of laugher escapes from him. the sound fills your heart and makes your chest feel fuzzy and your head starts to spin. was this what it felt like to fall in love? was the feeling of falling supposed to be this intoxicating?

“is it crazy I miss London?” he looks up from the empty pint in front of him, his hands awkwardly cup the glass trying to find anything to occupy the numbness in his chest when he mentions his previous home. while Manchester was beautiful and different, you didn’t live here. you lived a train away and that killed him.

“I don’t think it’s crazy, mase. this was a big change— and may I mention a good change.” you reach across the table, your sweaty palm touches the back of his hand and pulls his attention away from the table.

“I guess I just miss you.”

oh. you feel a tightness in your chest as you pull your hand away and sink against the back of the chair.

“I shouldn’t of said that I’m sorry—“

“no. don’t apologize.” you cut him off, “I miss you too.”

a relief washes over his face to hear the words back. there’d been plenty of new friends and faces for him to kindle a connection with, but no one could hold a candle to what you two had. there was an undeniable chemistry that sparked since your teen years and carried on, it’s what made you two inseparable despite the commute.

“I’m sorry, I’m being like the worst drunk ever.��

you shake your head. reaching your hand across the table again, “don’t say that. come on, let’s just go to bed? maybe we just need sleep.” you suggest and he agrees. he trails behind you into his master bedroom that’s practically untouched. the space is so clean and barely lived in, it’s almost uncomfortable to look at.

“will you sleep with me? I don’t think I can be alone right now.” his finger tips grab a hold of your hand, the warmth sends a shock wave through your body making you turn in his direction. he’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his large body blocks you from seeing the rest of the room as his eyes plea for your attention.

“mase, that’s dangerous.” you warn. the last time you’d slept in the same bed was the same night he’d gracefully taken your virginity and ever since then you could never see him naked without your ovaries having a reaction to him.

he wets the bottom of his lip with his tongue, his beautiful brown eyes are glassy and convincing, you press your lips against his for a brief second, “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“can’t you stay with me forever?” he whispers half jokingly but half serious. you pretend you don’t hear him and just climb into his bed while he undresses himself.

“I mean what I said. I want you with me forever.”

NOW | Manchester

“pint or glass?”

“glass.” you say setting your things down into the living room and waiting for Mason to come back in. you stare out the large floor to ceiling windows out at the city. the grey clouds and dark skies feel different here, in London you felt safer from the storms, but here? there was something chilling about the look.

“how’s Ben? anything new happening with Chelsea?” he moves into the living room and sets your glass down on a coaster. he takes the seat closest to where you’re standing and watches your eyes move from cloud to cloud and person to person.

“joão left.”

“so I’ve been told.” he says making your head turn in his direction and offer him a small smile before taking the seat next to him.

“but Bens good, he just moved into my building.”

a shocked expression lights his face making you snort, “what? you’re surprised we get along now?”

he nods his head enthusiastically, “yes! it took months for you two to get along!”

“months?! I’d say weeks, he always had a problem with me.”

it’s masons turn to snort making you give him a look of surprise, “he just had a thing for you and then he realized you only like me so he gave up.”

you fight the urge to tell him it wasn’t true. you fight the urge to tell him the reason Ben moved in was because he was with you. the reason you couldn’t stay with Mason forever was because Ben chilwell was your idea of forever.

“well I think he still has a thing for me.”

Mason rolls his eyes whipping out his phone from his pocket, “you want me to tell him off? I can tell him you still have feelings for Christian—“

“no! oh my god one time! I said one time I liked Christian for a week!” you launch your body onto his and try to fight him for the phone while he types and clearly whoever it was, it wasn’t Ben. because the person on the other end responded faster than your boyfriend actually would.

“who are you actually texting?” you press, a cheeky grin on your face, “come on, I know it’s a girl none of your mates respond that fast!”

he puts his hands up as a white flag and admits from start to finish about the new girl he was talking to. he’d mentioned how she was awfully similar personality to yours and how he really liked her, but he fails to admit she’s not you. he likes her enough to keep things going, but she lacks the personality you have.

“I’m so happy for you.” you whisper, voice sounding breathless and a mixture of emotions settled into your chest. you’re happy for him, and this is exciting news, but why did it hurt? Ben was your boyfriend who you so dearly loved, but why was Mason moving on the worst thing you could ever hear.

you guess it’s true, maybe you two were meant to be but you’d never know until you stop loving others and love each other.

[marlsswrites]

Safety and sweat

Ice skating AU, part 5!!

August 5th - words: 665

First part Previous part

“Great practice Regulus.” Effie praised. “I would stay to chat but I have to shoot, I think my sons outside-“

Regulus began to nod his head, kicking his skates from his feet while he held onto the barrier of the rink. But then the noise of rubber shoes squeaking on the floor, travelling towards Regulus and Effie next to him.

“Hi.” He pants, leaning over his legs before looking up with a smile.

It had been exactly a week since Regulus bumped into James, the cute man from the bookstore, and coincidentally his coaches son. He was wearing the same football shirt, it was awfully tight around his biceps - he tried to avert his gaze, he really did - but it was so tempting.

“Hi James.” Effie sighed out while Regulus failed to hide a small laugh under his breath at the look on James’ face.

“Hi.” Regulus copied, a smile tucked away into the hidden corners of his lips.

Effie looked between the two a few times before only shrugging and huffing out a breath. “Wait here James, I’m just going to pick my bag up from the lockers, see you tomorrow Regulus.” Smiling, she pointed to the direction of the lockers, leaving her son and Regulus staring clearly at each other.

“Sorry, I ran here from football practice.” The brunette chuckled, then he did the one thing Regulus was sure would cause his death.

Honestly he wouldn’t be complaining if that was the last thing he saw before he died, at least he’d be at peace.

The man lifted his shirt up and swiftly wiped the sweat from his forehead, and - god - was he doing this on purpose? He swore he could see the muscles move on his toned stomach, the way a black inky tattoo emerged from his sinfully low risen shorts - it looked like a pair of antlers.

“Why exactly?” Regulus cocked his eyebrow, turning away to hide the flush from his cheeks, god he hates feeling like this. Flustered, small, sappy and stupid.

“I don’t- uh.” James laughed, it set off a whole new crashing, cold, salty yet warm wave of emotions off in Regulus’ stomach. “I don’t really know.” He snorted.

“Wow.” Regulus chuckled along, rolling his eyes. “Solid answer.”

“Shut up.” The brunette snorted. “You look really familiar?” He said after a minute of silence, eyeing Regulus up and down like he was a new work of art in a museum, he couldn’t quite place how he felt about that.

Regulus turned his head to see James still piercing his eyes through his own grey ones. He tilted his head to the side, vision of James partially blocked by the black curl that fell into his eye. “Yeah, you look like my friend.”

“Sirius Black, per chance?”

“Yeah… do you-“ He narrowed his eyes, before letting out a light gasp and parted his lips. “You’re his ‘little brother Reggie’” James gaped. “I thought you were like, 10.”

“What the fuck?” Regulus hit his arm and gave a mock offended gasp.

James let out the sweetest little giggle. “I’m calling you Reggie from now on.”

“Potter I swear to god-“

“Cute little Reggie.”

He only groaned, hiding his head in his own black curls as he dropped his forehead into his arms that leant onto the barrier. The one thing he could hear was James’ laughs and teases as Regulus cursed at him, but of course he didn’t mean it.

Normally he would, that was the thing. Last time Barty called him ‘Reggie’ he tripped him up, mostly because that name was reserved for Sirius and Sirius only. But for some reason he… liked when James did it? Fuck, this is disgusting.

It really isn’t though, it’s just new, and Regulus hates new. Even when it could bring the best things into his life, he only feels the need to push them away and stay where he’s been stood for the past year.

Safe.

But what is safe anymore really?

[plussizefantasia]

Orange Slices

Flufftober Day 19: Sweaters

Aaron Hotchner x Plus Size! reader

Word Count: 1.0k

AN: I know that I always write with bigger bodies in mind, but this one does mention sharing clothes and some body image stuff. If that bothers you, please protect yourself and don't read. It's still really fluffy but I just want to give a heads up.

Anyway, I love a cute little hotchner family moment and this was really fun to write. I'll see y'all tomorrow <3

divider credit @royallaesthetics

Aaron always took care of the people he loved, it was something he was incredibly good at and something you loved to witness. He took care of you, his team, Jack, and Jessica, and he had tried his best to take care of Haley until the two of them split.

One way he cared for Jack was by coaching his soccer team. He spent extra time with his son, running drills in your backyard. And Saturday mornings were pledged to soccer games. 

The best way that you could put the weather this Saturday morning was brisk. When you had gotten to the fields Jack had run away immediately after getting out of the car to go join the rest of his team. Aaron had helped you unload the cooler with halftime snacks and drinks, your folding chair, and the bag that Aaron brought when he coached full of cones and two or three extra pairs of socks and shin-pads for kids who might’ve forgotten them.

“It’s a little chilly this morning dontcha think Aaron?” You had asked, walking side by side with him, both of your arms full.

“Too cold? I can run back to the house real quick and grab you a jacket.”

“No, no. I’ll be fine it’s not that bad.”

“You sure hon?” You smiled at his concern.

“Yes, Aaron I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

You were not okay. Well at first you were, the first quarter went by kind of fast and Jack had scored a goal right off the bat so you were pretty pumped. But as time went on and things became a little less exciting you started noticing the crisp air biting at your skin more and more. It wasn’t enough for you to complain, but you did start rubbing your hands up and down your arms while you sat to try and generate some friction heat.

Aaron noticed because of course he did, it’s his job to notice and while he might not get paid to notice things about you, you’re one of the most important things in his life and he likes to keep tabs on you.

So when he sees your leg start bouncing and you beginning to blow into your hands to try and warm them up he makes his way over to you. He lets the other coach know that he’ll be right back and shouts some parting encouragement at the kids while he walks away.

“Cold?” He asks, but it’s not a question. He knows you’re cold. He knows everything about you, like how the pout you’re giving him means that you’re going to say no but you don’t mean it, you just don’t like being wrong.

“I’m fine Aaron, don’t you have a team to coach?” He notes the attempt at deflection but also notes the little puff of air that he sees coming out of your mouth when your hot breath meets the cool air.

“Take my jacket.” He starts unzipping the three-quarter zip that he bought just so that you can share. Aaron’s jackets usually don’t have a problem fitting you in the shoulder area or length but you had hated the way his coat had clung to your stomach the first time he offered it to you.

And he noticed because he always does. So the next day he went to the store and bought himself this sweater, it was a little too big for him. Not baggy enough to be noticeable, but he did have to push the sleeves up when he wore it because the cuffs on the end didn’t hold onto his wrists.

But the extra room in the sweater meant that it was perfect for you, you could share it and in moments like these, that was kind of a lifesaver.

Aaron shucked his sweater off leaving him in just a plain grey long-sleeve shirt and his black sweatpants.

“No Aaron you're gonna get cold.”

“But you already are.” Was his reply. Not even moments later did a small body crash into yours.

“Did you see that goal I scored!?” Jack’s exclamation and excitement put an end to whatever potential back and forth was about to commence and you slowly pulled the sweater over your head while Jack gave you a play-by-play of the game you had just been watching. 

“You’re doing good Kiddo, you’ve got one more half think you can do it?” You asked offering him a small red Gatorade from your cooler and an orange.

‘Course’ I can, m’ not even tired.” 

“Okay Jack, go kick butt.” He gave you one more hug and took a final swig of his drink before tossing the still-half-full bottle at you and running back out to the field. 

Aaron turned to you, “Keep the sweater hon, I’ll be fine. Promise.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead and went to go give the team the halftime pep talk that got them hyped for the last thirty-ish minutes of the game.

You had to admit though, that watching the second half of the game was a lot more enjoyable than previously, where you were more focused on not losing any fingers than what was going on. 

Jack played a great second half, scoring two more goals and winning it for his team. And Aaron looked great standing on the sideline, anytime you got to watch your kid have fun and check out your husband at the same time was a win in your book.

When the game ended and Jack helped you and Aaron pack up everything you’d brought, minus a few oranges, you’d all clambered into the minivan and Aaron pulled out of the parking lot. But he had gone the opposite way to your house.

“Where are we going, Dad?” Jack had asked from the back seat.

“To go get another sweater, just to keep in the car.” You had hit his arm at that and started sulking in the passenger seat. Aaron had just cracked a grin and chuckled a little at your reaction and Jack had just called out, “Can we get a hot chocolate too? I’m a little chilly.” 

At that, both you and Aaron burst out laughing.

[moanz111]

final round - choi san

🥊 pairing: boxer/fighter!choi san x boxing coach!gn!reader

🥊 genre: angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, dystopian au

🥊 summary: surviving in a city of outlaws has never been easy, with your days filled with emptiness and fear, and your only comfort being the weekly boxing matches in an underground club. but when you accidentally meet san, promising you a new beginning, your whole world is about to turn upside down.

🥊 featuring: biker!hwa; biker!yeosang; boxing coach/manager!wooyoung; cowboy(????)!mingi; oc!jay

🥊 wc: 5.9 k

🥊 warnings/tags: english is not my native language so there can be mistakes; descriptions of fighting/injuries/bleeding; setting is inspired by ateez's lore and the outlaw album (it's not accurate, just took some details from it, terminology can be inaccurate); use of pet names (angel); reader has an older brother; jay (reader's friend) doesn't represent any real person; there can be inaccuracies about boxing (i tried my best); mentions of guns/shooting (no one is harmed!!); repressive government; mentions of loss of family members/friends; reader is a bartender too; descriptions of kissing; lmk if i've missed something

credits for all the used graphics belong to their rightful owners!

🥊 note: happy (late) birthday to one of my favourite artists and people, sannie!

after all, i decided to post this fic even though i'm on a break lmao i feel a little bit more comfortable with posting it now and am doing better! and also i just couldn't wait to share this with you so...

i had so much fun writing this and got so inspired by ateez's album that i just had to do something about it. i'm trying a different genre this time so i hope you enjoy reading it!!

also, i'm super awkward when writing kissing scenes, help.

any form of feedback is greatly appreciated so don't be shy to reblog with your thoughts, comment or send me an ask! it really means a lot to me and keeps me motivated!

Sweat dripped down your forehead, tickling your chin and neck as you gripped tightly the ring ropes, lunging your body forward with excitement. Even though you’d never admit it out loud, the adrenaline running through your veins during the intense boxing matches you attended every weekend made you feel more alive than ever. The way the two boxers threw fierce punches at each other was not exactly abiding by the game’s rules but no one around you seemed to care or even notice. 

Living in a world where tomorrow might never come, these were the only moments you could be your most authentic self without the mask of acquiescence on. This world was sick, filled with horrors and demons, haunting you even in your dreams and watching your every step. However, this world was beautiful too, filled with secretly exchanged hopeful glances and little reasons to look up at the grey sky, praying better days would come. 

What you were doing right now - smiling, screaming, the sole act of feeling was illegal but the thrill that filled your body was something you were willing to risk your life for. You had made your decision a long time ago - the rules didn’t matter to you anymore. 

“A win for Black Serpent,” you heard the referee shout in an attempt to fight the hundreds of voices, drowning his own as the champion threw his red boxing gloves at the public. Blue and purple marks painted his features and his almost closed left eye was swollen but the triumphant grin plastered on his face told you, as usual, his injuries were not one of his problems. 

Such a show-off, you thought when your friend waved at you from the ring, flexing his biceps proudly. It wasn’t surprising to you that he won tonight’s match. During the few years you’d known Jay, you’d never seen him lose. Having been a professional competitor in the past, as he had told you when you first met, the underground club’s matches were his way to escape the harsh reality and remember the good old times. 

Plus, you’d seen the bags full of cash from bets after a successful night. After all, that was why you had become his “accomplice” or as he liked referring to you - his devil accountant. The job was simple enough and you didn’t mind the extra income - working as a bartender at the local bar came with its perks but with the money you made you could never possibly afford a place of your own, neither did it give you the comfort you could run away one day from this awful blackhole. So you gladly kept track of the bets for Jay’s matches and sometimes you even helped him train as you knew a thing or two about boxing yourself.

Tonight was no different. As you pushed your way through the crowd, collecting the bills, you saw a lot of familiar faces who greeted you warmly. At least some of them. Others - weren’t so friendly, swearing and even refusing to give you the money, overcome by anger after losing, but they knew better than to test you. No one wanted Jay’s wrath upon them. 

“I think you forgot about me, angel,” you heard a raspy voice behind you just as you were about to call it a day and go to the locker room where Jay was waiting for you. Turning around, you were, to say the least confused. The man before you wore a grey hoodie over his head, hiding his features, and matching sweatpants, looking nothing like the usual visitors of the fight club. He was tall but muscular - you could see it even though his baggy clothes left much to the imagination. His broad shoulders and confident stance told you he was much more than he led you to believe. Was he another competitor? 

Looking down at his stretched-out hand, you saw a few bills folded in his palm. A cat-like smirk formed on your lips. “Though night for you, huh?” “I don’t like voting in favour of my biggest competition,” the man laughed as you took the money, writing down the amount in your notebook. Jay was going to be pleased with tonight’s profit which meant another celebration for him and another babysitting gig for you. 

However, the stranger’s words made you wonder what exactly his intention was. If he was telling the truth, then why bother betting if Jay was his next match? With his face engulfed in shadows and mystery, his aura alone sent shivers down your spine, alarming you for danger. Taking a step away from the man, you folded your arms before your chest. “What is your deal?”

He tilted his head to one side, regarding you quietly like a predator about to chase his next prey. Closing the distance between you in a matter of seconds, he leaned down to your right ear, whispering softly, his breath hot against your neck, “You’ll find out soon, angel.”

Still in a daze after your encounter with the stranger, you watched him pull away from you, shooting you one last mischievous smirk before diving into the crowd. Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh. 

Trouble always found its way to you.

The deafening sound of the morning alarm, signaling it was time for everyone to go to work, rang in your ears as you walked to the bar where you worked during the day. The sun was still hiding under the horizon and the sky was painted in a mix of deep blue, purple, and orange. The streets were empty without a single soul in sight except you and the black stray cat that accompanied you every day on your way. It brought you a sense of comfort - to have a small friend by your side in these lonely times of the day. 

Forming genuine connections with other human beings was almost impossible. There were many stories about heartless betrayals, travelling from person to person in this city of outlaws. Today’s friend could easily turn into tomorrow's enemy. However, right now this place was your everything and all you could do is learn how to survive. You’d heard of other faraway cities where people had it way worse than you did and were much more repressed by the titanic power of the Guardians. Sometimes you were even grateful you were surrounded by outcasts and criminals rather than a white sea of masks, pointing guns at your face. 

Here, the inhabitants had found their ways of rebelling right under the government's nose without being noticed and the bar you were currently opening was one of their favourite places to do it. You'd witnessed hundreds of pieces of intel being exchanged for contraband and hundreds of unfulfilled plans for the future dying under the dim yellow lights. Still, no one gave up. That was the only rule everyone followed wholeheartedly - better surrender and lose your life than give up your dreams and hopes and become a dead man walking.

Pushing your thoughts away, you braced yourself for yet another day during which you had to take on the role of the oblivious bartender. Your job was to keep your mouth shut and eyes closed so when you saw one of your regulars enter the building, looking suspiciously around, you almost laughed.

“Good morning, Mingi,” you greeted him leaning on the broom you were swiping the floor with to take a proper look at him. His cowboy boots and hat, the usual, now shabby, long brown coat and the chains dangling at his neck as he walked slowly towards you gave away that he was meeting someone important today. The tall and lean man oozed confidence and threat just by standing and you were glad you were on his good side. 

You'd met Mingi on your very first day as a bartender and quickly developed a soft spot for him. You weren't aware of exactly what he was doing except sitting around with you and being a menace to your boss but there were dozens of wanted posters around the city, including on the wall behind the countertop you mixed beverages on. The portrait drawing sure did him justice and you'd always been perplexed as to how the Guardians hadn't caught him yet. 

In your eyes Mingi was good-natured and considerate, always asking about your day and throwing a joke or two to make you smile but you'd seen his nasty side too. That was why when he pulled out his pistol from his holster belt and placed it on top of the bar as he sat down on his usual spot, you felt shivers run down your spine. 

“Don't worry, Y/N,” said Mingi, turning to look at you with a reassuring smile. If you got paid every time you heard him say this before destroying everything and everyone on his way, you would've been a millionaire. Sighing heavily, you walked over to him to stand behind the bar and took his pistol in your hands. Earning a surprised squeal from the man, you shook your head.

“You're the reason I'm not getting paid, cowboy. The amount of repairs we’ve made in a month is insane.”

“I'm sorry,” Mingi answered with a pout. Your boss wasn't going to be happy he came here again. You could only imagine the old man's smile as he put up these wanted posters. Hell, if he could turn in Mingi himself, he would be on cloud nine. “But be careful and don't shoot anyone.”

“You worry about yourself,” you sighed and pointed behind him. A young man was entering the bar, humming an unknown-to-you melody and carrying a bag over his shoulder. Sunglasses hid his eyes and a grin showed off his dimples. 

“You didn't tell me your friend was such a beauty, Mingi,” the man whistled, eyeing you from head to toe after he removed his glasses, placing them on top of his head. You felt heat burn up your cheeks and you found it hard to hold his intense stare. Now being able to properly look at his face, some sort of recognition passed through your mind but you couldn't wrap your head around where you'd seen him before. 

As the newcomer sat down next to Mingi, you couldn't stifle your laugh this time. They reminded you of a comedic duo from the comic books you used to read as a child, now long gone and turned into ashes, with the newcomer dressed casually in a black and white shirt, the fabric flowing around his body and a few buttons undone, showing his collarbones, and Mingi in his “official” attire with a serious look on his face and furrowed brows. 

“Don't even think of laying a finger on Y/N, Wooyoung,” warned Mingi as your friend took out a white envelope from his coat’s pockets, handing it to the other man. A silent look, holding thousands of words, was exchanged by them before Wooyoung swiftly hid it under his shirt. “We can talk comfortably here. They won't say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” you made a motion as if you locked them with a key and threw it in Wooyoung’s direction, earning a loud laugh from him.

“I like them. We should recruit them.”

“Absolutely no,” Mingi sternly refused, scolding both of you with a  glance. “Let's talk business now.”

Mindlessly washing the shot glasses and polishing them, you listened to the two men’s conversation, pretending none of what they said was surely granting them a death sentence. The images they described with pretty words and empty promises filled your heart with longing for a distant land where everything you'd ever dreamt of was real. 

Where there existed other sounds - other than your heartbeat and the screeching alarm.

Where you could look up at the sky and see the stars - not the brown clouds of dust and pain.

Where emotions like sorrow and fear were replaced by joy and comfort. 

So you listened and listened until you'd memorised every single sentence, hoping to dream of this new world tonight.

“The others will call for us soon. We just need to wait for a sign,” said Wooyoung, getting up from his seat and stretching his limbs. “San has a match tomorrow so if- no…when he wins, we'll have enough money for the next mission.” 

A match?

A lightbulb lit up at the back of your mind as your memories took you to last night’s events. The stranger's words made much more sense than before and you were pretty sure you'd seen Wooyoung, lurking in the shadows and grinning after Jay’s final victorious blow. Keeping this information to yourself, you remained silent even when Wooyoung gave you a knowing look. 

“His opponent is pretty tough and so is his coach…,” he trailed off, playing with his silver earrings, shimmering under the first morning rays. 

“Good luck then. I'll see you in a week,” Mingi answered, shaking his accomplice’s hand as he too got up to leave. Glancing at you, he placed a few bills on the counter, way too many than needed. “For the special service today.”

“You don't have to-”

“And a bet for Black Serpent.”

“Jerk,” whined Wooyoung, rolling his eyes and earning another warning look from Mingi to whom you returned the pistol you took earlier. “I look forward to our little dance tomorrow, Y/N.”

Giving you a playful wink, Wooyoung took his bag and trailed after Mingi who was already striding to the exit, talking about manners and social norms which you found amusing.

At least, he didn't vandalise property today.

“The underdog vs. the big champion, huh,” Jay hummed as he traced his finger over his opponent's name on the list, placed at the fight club’s entrance. The match was only a few hours away and unable to sleep from excitement, you'd dragged your friend to the ring to practice some extra time. You didn't know what kind of fighter San was but better be prepared than sorry later. The rumors about him going around in the underground club didn’t give you much information either - some said he was ruthless and vicious, others - just a showoff. One thing was sure though - he had an incredible win rate with his name at the top of the rank list at least once a month. 

“Isn't it a bit cocky to call yourself the big champion,” you teased Jay as you pushed him inside the locker room so he could change into his practice clothes. You noticed one other locker was closed and were curious who else would've come here at that time of the day. Only champions and their coaches were allowed in when there wasn't a match. 

“I know my worth, Y/N,” Jay sighed while rolling bandages over his wounded knuckles. The bruises from his last match were still visible on his body and you wondered if they ever healed. You also mentally noted he had cut his hair down to a buzzcut again. He was serious about tonight then. Not that you expected anything different. San was the only person who could challenge him for his title. “I'm not a loser.” 

“Sure, now get up. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Jay, cover-up,” you shouted while monitoring your friend’s warm-up match, feeling your nerves slowly getting to you. You weren't exactly surprised when you found out the other fighter in the club and Jay’s opponent was the stranger you’d met the other night and of course, Wooyoung was his cornerman and manager. 

San’s presence turned coaching Jay into a challenge, unlike any other time. His movements were practiced and calculated, his punches swift and precise. The white tank top he was wearing revealed his toned body and well-defined muscles and made you stare more than to your liking. His sharp features and handsome face mixed with his professionalism were a weapon San used well on the ring since you could see Jay was intimidated probably for the first time. Wooyoung’s annoyingly proud smile didn't help either.

Blood was dripping down San’s chin from a cut, gifted to him by Jay after one of his blows, and sweat formed on his forehead as he counterattacked, delivering a strong punch on your friend's face. Their match resembled a passionate and intimate dance that you weren't supposed to witness. Their pride and skills were on the line. 

“Parry, Jay,” you once again yelled and seconds later the final bell rang, putting an end to their spar before your friend could react, taking a painful hook from San. Getting up from your chair, you went up to the ring and handed Jay a water bottle which he splashed on his face with a groan. You praised yourself for taking your first aid kit before leaving your apartment. If he was so beaten up right now, you didn't want to imagine what both of them were going to look like by the end of the night.

“You sure know a lot about boxing, Y/N,” San said, breathing heavily as he took his gloves off, throwing them at Wooyoung. It was the first time he addressed you directly today and you were taken by surprise when he jumped off the ring, coming closer to you. His face was glistening and his brown eyes were burning with passion you'd never seen before. Sure, Jay enjoyed fighting but you knew it wasn't the same as it used to be for him. San, however, had the eagerness to learn and win as a newbie even though his skills made you believe he was as good as a coach. Maybe even better than most. “Where did you learn?”

“Let's say I'm very observant,” you answered quietly, trying to avert his attention away from you and the topic. Still, the sting in your heart, forming as memories flooded your mind reminded you of the past you were so willing to escape from. You could still smell the distinctive scent of your brother’s gloves. The thrill that came with each victory. The pain that filled your being after leaving your past life behind without looking back. What had even happened with your family and friends? Were they alive? Were they safe?

“I'd call this more than just “being observant”,” Wooyoung joined the conversation, pulling you out of your thoughts. He put his arm around your shoulders, squeezing them tightly and you whined. “We hit the jackpot, San.”

“What do you mean?” 

“We have an offer for you, Y/N.”

The next few months after the official match between San and Jay passed in a daze for you. Someone had to pinch you. Hard.

Wooyoung, you’d realised, was a gambling addict. There wasn't any other logical explanation behind his behaviour. Whatever you did or said, he turned into a bet out of which only one of you could emerge as a winner.

So just like that, after that practice match, he and San had made a proposal that was too difficult to decline and simple enough to follow. If San won, you'd coach him for his next matches and join their small group of outlaws. As they told you - they needed someone competent on their side. If Jay won, you'd go on your way and forget about it. Not that this was possible. 

You would've lied if you’d said you had been surprised when San delivered the final victorious blow that night. Secretly, you had hoped for this turn of events not much to your friend’s liking. While you were patching up his wounded and bleeding face, whispering comforting words, your betraying heart was accelerating with your mind plagued by thoughts of San. 

Today was no different. As you watched San practice his kicks on a punching bag in the fight club, you caught yourself blushing at one of his particularly precise deliveries. Boxing is my thing, I guess, you thought when he halted his movements to drink some water and pulled his tank top over his head, showing off his toned body.

Moments like this were routine for you at this point - just both of you sitting in silence, only his heavy breathing audible - him practicing and you observing. San’s progress was outstanding and this left you jobless - he didn’t need your directions anymore that much. You didn't feel the need to fill the space with small talk or pointless conversations when you were with him and thought of him as someone who had always been part of your life.

Intimidating at first glance, San was, in reality, the kindest person you had ever met. He cared deeply about the people he loved, always making sure to put them first above everything else. He was also thoughtful and considerate - attentive to everyone’s needs and was always there when you needed him the most. San brought you comfort unlike anyone else and you told him things you hadn't even dared before. Your relationship was progressing fast - with a lot of skipped steps, blurring the line between friends and lovers but you didn't mind. Labels weren't needed for you to feel what you did towards him. Not when you had so few opportunities to be together.

You two often daydreamed about this new world he and his friends liked talking about. He wanted to stop fighting - hurting people was what he hated doing the most but their group needed the money desperately. There was no other choice for him but to sacrifice himself every day. San, instead, wanted to build a home for his loved ones and create a safe space for them where they could be together and where he could protect them.

“You can't protect everyone, San”, you had told him the day he shared his plans with you while both of you were sitting on the cold floor of the locker room, shoulder to shoulder. His proximity had your head spinning and you found it hard to focus on his words. San held your hands, tracing circles mindlessly on them, before bringing them to his lips.

“I have to do what I can, though. I can't just give up on any of you,” he had answered, whispering into your skin, goosebumps forming all over your body. Before that, you hadn't considered yourself that important to him and his words made your heart skip a few beats. 

“I know what it feels like…,” The lump in your throat and the painful memories of your family had tears forming in your eyes that you tried blinking away. No point in crying when you didn't have the power to change the past. San brought his big hands to your face, cupping your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, and you tried pulling away. The pity and guilt in his eyes were something you wanted to erase forever. 

“You can't just run away from your demons, Y/N. Sometimes you have to face them.”

So you had wept in his arms, telling him your life's story for the first time and he had brushed every fear, doubt, and pain away with his soft touches and gentle gaze. 

You had grown up in the Outlaw City’s outskirts, in a restricted area where the Guardians’ influence and presence weren't as noticeable. The people were happy - you remembered seeing children playing freely, people reading and drawing and creating with all their might without being disturbed. 

Your parents were ordinary people, working ordinary jobs and living an ordinary life. You and your older brother, however, were nothing like them. The fighting rebellious spirit was something you had no idea who passed down to both of you but you were grateful to whoever ancestor was responsible for it. 

You two always found ways to get into trouble - from stealing a guitar from one of the contraband gangs in the city to compose silly songs to your brother learning how to box only to enter underground tournaments to earn some extra income for your family. He had learned from the older kids a trick or two and you had made it your life's purpose to follow him around until he taught you too. 

You missed those days dearly. The mornings when you would spar together under the blazing sun for hours. The nights when you would go to the restricted area of the city to fight and then run back home with the money you'd made before someone else took it from you. Every day was a game of survival, but you were happy. You had your brother - your only pillar in this dark world.

Until one day everything changed. 

That day, the Guardians had come in groups to your city, taking every child or adult in their way, destroying every last piece of safety. You remembered your last moments with your family before they took them away. Your brother screaming at you to run, your father fighting the white-dressed Guardian, and your mother crying in fear. You had tried saving them but to no avail. At least, you didn't know if they had survived and there was no one you could ask. Five years had passed since. 

You found your new home in Outlaw City where everyone was a runaway like you and where no one would ask where you'd come from. Your only resolve was to pray that your family was safe and sound and that one day you would find them. This time you were more prepared than ever, you were ready to protect them at the price of anything. So as San wiped away your tears with his thumbs, you felt the heavy burden of your past lift itself from your shoulders. 

“I hate myself for leaving them every day, San,” you confess with a shaky voice, trying to calm yourself down. 

“The only thing you could do is survive, angel,” he whispered, putting his hands on your shoulders, and squeezing them. Looking at his bruised face, you reminded yourself that everyone here carried their own scars - both visible and invisible, and your heart hurt even more. “It was the same for me. I had to leave my family behind when I came here so I found a new one. Not that it’ll ever stop hurting any less. All eight of us are the same at heart. We all want the same thing.”

A new world to come, you thought and smiled, thinking of Mingi’s passionate speech from the last time you saw him at the bar. He had told you all about their plans and wanted you to be part of them. To join their found family. 

Now, returning to reality, you regarded San curiously and a little afraid as he came to stand in front of your chair, leaning down to place a kiss on top of your head. Blushing at the affection in his eyes, you cleared your throat, searching for the right words. A week had passed since this moment and none of you had said anything about it so you couldn't help but feel flustered at his every word and action towards you.

“How was I today, coach?” San chuckled, gently tracing the sides of your face with his fingertips, rough from the endless fighting. 

“Could be better,” you gave him your usual response, San grinning and showing his dimples. 

“I have to work harder. But maybe if you stared less...”

“And maybe if you paid less attention to me...”

“That's impossible,” San concluded, crouching down, placing his palms on top of your thighs, and you ran your hands through his messy dark locks. With glinting eyes, he excitedly added, “After tonight’s match some of the boys and I will have a meeting. They want you to come.”

“They?”

“I,” the seriousness in his voice made you let out a laugh and your stomach tightened with anticipation. You had only met Mingi and Wooyoung before with the rest of the boys surrounded by a mist of mystery, with only having heard stories about them. The fact that San was letting you get closer to the people he cherished the most didn't help your fluttering heart either.

“Can't wait.”

San had dragged you out of the fight club and drove you to your apartment to freshen up before meeting the boys with his old van that, who knew how, still functioned. As he had told you while focused on the bumpy road ahead, the vehicle had turned into, both a prison and a temporary home for him and Wooyoung while they were on the run from the Guardians. Guilt washed over you when San described all of their sleepless nights, fighting the demons following them right behind even in their dreams while you were hiding between the four walls of the safety of your home. Mingi’s wanted posters, his constant cautiousness, and the silver pistol always attached to his hip made so much more sense now. 

Unfortunately, the Guardians had taken notice of them way too early into their secret operations against the government, and now as you were sitting in front of the boys - their features, illuminated by the dim lighting of the storage house you were in, your heart filled with hurt. In the few hours, you got to know Yeosang and Seonghwa, speeding through the highways every night in search of valuable intel and doing all they could to survive another day, your admiration grew with every next moment spent with them. 

Sitting on one of your favourite fluffy blankets on the floor in a circle, eating an improvised dinner consisting of cold chicken nuggets provided by Yeosang, you felt more at home than ever. Mingi and Wooyoung’s silly bickering and friendly teasing, Seonghwa’s warm welcome, Yeosang’s kind smile, and San’s calming presence next to you, filled you with joy, and for the first time in a while, you forgot about the outside world.

“It’s a pity the others couldn’t come today,” said Seonghwa with a sigh as he passed on to you the chocolate bar all of you were sharing. You hadn’t seen one in ages, nor tasted it. Yeosang had just shrugged indifferently earlier at your genuine surprise, telling you he could get one inside the city for you anytime you craved it. 

So now playing with the piece in your mouth, letting the sweetness tickle your taste buds, you hummed in agreement. The rest of the group had to stay undercover for a little longer before joining you. “They would’ve loved to meet you, Y/N.”

“They will,” San joined, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb over it. Turning your head to look at him, you were met with his dark eyes, shimmering with a glow as if hundreds of stars were in them. You slowly found yourself being pulled by the gravity of his gaze, unable to look away. 

“Now, can you two not do this,” whined Wooyoung, earning a playful slap on his thigh from Seonghwa, followed by Mingi and Yeosang’s laughs. “I have to put up with you every day at the club. I’m going to start vomiting rainbows soon.”

“Get a life, Woo,” said Mingi, winking at you. Usually, you could fight back and tease Wooyoung but tonight, embarrassment washed over you after his words. “Leave the lovebirds alone.”

Just then, still holding your hand firmly, San pulled you up gently so now both of you were standing. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The distant hooting of owls, coming deep from the woods, the light chilly late-night breeze, carrying the smell of pines, and San’s warm touch against your skin engulfed your senses, making your head spin. With your eyes closed, all you could do was trust the man as he guided you through the darkness around you. 

“Can I open my eyes,” you asked once again with your previous attempts to get a positive answer out of him being unsuccessful. His deep chuckle vibrated through your body, his hand letting go of yours. Longing for his touch again, you reached forward for him but only brushed through the air. 

“I’ve got you, angel,” San’s raspy voice now came from behind you and you felt him put his hands on your shoulders. “You can open them now.”

The view before your eyes made you tear up and a lump formed in your throat, every word you wanted to utter getting caught up in it. The little fireflies, swinging around in a slow dance around you, their comforting glow, reminding you of those you used to catch in the hot summer nights in front of your childhood house with your brother, the vast field you were standing in the middle of, and the tickling in your legs from the overgrown grass were all images and sensations you thought you’d never see or feel again for the rest of your life.

“How did you find this place,” you whispered, too afraid someone would take this moment away from you. 

“It’s my special place. I think the Guardians have forgotten about it,” said softly San, moving to stand in front of you with a warm smile on his face. “Now I can finally share it with someone else.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Yes, whenever I need to clear my head,” he trailed off, laughing. “And some time away from Wooyoung. The van can be suffocating as much as I enjoy living with him.”

You wondered if this beautiful place was next on the Guardian’s list for destruction. If you’d be able to come back ever again. If it too would disappear with every trace you’d left.

“You’re frowning again,” San’s voice pulled you out of your trance, making you focus on him instead. His face was almost indiscernible in the night, but his eyes and the silver chain, shining around his neck, were illuminated by the moonlight. “You do this often.”

“I guess I’m not used to things like this.” Genuine in a world full of lies. “I feel like you’ll disappear.”

Taking a step closer to you, San put a finger under your chin, your eyes finding his once again. The electrifying feeling of his touch made you dizzy. Now, you could hear his steady heartbeat, with yours drumming in your ears. “I’ll never leave you, angel.”

The moment his lips found yours, enveloping them in a soft kiss, you lost all of your senses and surrendered yourself to him. At first, his touch was gentle as if San was afraid he would hurt you, but once your hands found his neck, your fingers toying with his hair, he got more desperate for you. His own trailed slowly down the sides of your body, wrapping them around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Already out of breath, you felt a fire ignite in your soul that only San could put out. 

He left your lips only to place a few shy kisses down your neck, your heart picking up its rate, slamming against your ribcage. Leaving you gasping and wanting more, San pulled away seconds later, the love and adoration you saw in his eyes making you lose your bearings completely. Cupping your cheeks and bringing his face closer, he rubbed your nose gently with his before placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“The final round is coming soon, Y/N,” he murmured when you closed the distance between you, hugging him around his waist and burrowing your face at the crook of his neck. You took in his scent - woody and musky, hypnotizing you. “We’ll see the new world together.”

Even if that was just an empty promise and even if this new world never came to life, you didn’t care.

All you needed was San there with you - everything else was bearable.

final round, © moanz111

please do not modify, copy, repost, or translate.

[merajsblog]

"y/n y/n!!" you hear your friend shout, bolting through the classroom. you startle, looking up at your loud friend. "Are you doing something after school?" she says inquisitively looking at you, her hands on your desk. you frown slightly, cocking your head to the side. "no, I don't think so why?" you didn't have practice after school today. you were slightly sad it was your day off and you would probably be busy again.

her hands slam down on your desk once again. "PLEASE come to the boys' volleyball club game today." she says, with the most hopeful look on her face. Your friend was a manager of the fukurodani volleyball club.

"i would love to, but could you tell me why?" you say raising an eyebrow. "is it because your little crush is there..." you say with a smirk, elbowing her side. she had the biggest crush on the ace of the team, Bokuto. he was a force to be reckoned with as his bellows rang down the classroom halls. she immediately blushes, stuttering as she exclaims "n-no! i just need help because the other manager won't be here today, and i NEEEED help!!" she whines. you roll your eyes, "okay, okay i can come help you." you say giving an exasperated sigh. you hadn't seen the boys' team that often and watching them play might give you some creativity for your own plays on the girls' volleyball team.

୨♡୧

after the last bell rang, you stepped into the gym. the familiar sounds of the ball smacking against hands and the floor rang through the air. your friend was already sitting on the bench, talking to the coach. you hadn't brought a change of clothes out of your uniform considering you thought you would be headed home right after school. you casually walked over, your bag still on your shoulder.

"oh! y/n, you're here thank GOD!" she exclaims. "coach this is y/n, the captain of the girls' volleyball team!" she says, a little too loud. it felt like the whole gym went quiet.

"oh, haha yea, I heard that you guys were down a manager and she asked if she could get my help." you chuckle nervously.

"boy's, team meeting really quick!!" the coach bellows in the silence. the sound of squeaking fills the air as they shuffle closer. you immediately spot bokuto, how could anyone miss him and his horned hair. your friend is beaming, staring maybe a little too hard at him.

"bokuto, where is akaashi?" coach states, his head on a swivel looking for him.

"oh i think he's coming a little late..." and right in the middle of that sentence, your jaw drops. akaashi is entering the gym, his dark black hair soaking up the sun. his grey eyes dart around the gym before landing on you. your eyes are wide, mouth slightly hanging open.

"sorry coach, i was helping someone with homework after class ended." he says, standing by bokuto. While coach is talking about the game, your heart is pounding. how did your friend hang around her crush for so long, you figured your heart would go out if you stayed around here any longer.

"...and thank you y/n l/n for stepping up as a manager for today. she is the captain of the girl's volleyball team, so she won't go easy on you." he says grinning.

you give a half-hearted chuckle. they shout their thank-yous before returning to their practice. your still stood there. even the way his voice sounded was smooth and velvety, like music to your ears.

"if you need help with anything please just let me know. some people on this team can be quite a handful at times." says akaashi, as he is approaching you. he is looking at you, his grey eyes feel like they are piercing you. he gives you a small smile before turning around too.

"ooo what was that!" your friend says, elbowing you now. you immediately fall apart, shushing her. well, if you had known that this guy was going to be on the team you would have said yes to helping out so fast. the way he played was calm and collected, but still calculating. he was the setter, playing beautifully with his hands.

not long had gone by, before you heard a knock on the door. it seemed as though only you had heard it. you turn, opening the door. Nekoma is stood there, all bundled up in their red clothing. the cold winter air, nipped at you.

"hi! are you guys here for the game?" you question, opening the door a little more. you feel a warm presence behind you, a hand being placed on the gym door. your met with golden eyes, and ridiculously tall boys.

"could you redirect them to the locker room really quickly while we clean up in here. they need to drop their stuff off anyways." you hear akaashi's voice in your ear. you turn looking at him wide-eyed. his hand is placed on the gym wall next to you, as he leans over your shoulder, almost whispering in your ear.

"oh, yea I can do that." you say, inches away from his face. his grey eyes are just beautiful, making it incredibly hard to look away as your eyes lock with his. you give him a small smile, and you watch the corner of his mouth lift before he pulls away.

you were curious as to where this was going.

p.s there will be a pt.2 because im feeling quirky.

[asfodelle]

Hello, hello, here's the first scene of the one-shot I've been writing the last few months. It's about a 'He Tian is involved in the mob and returns occasionally tho feelings never leave' situationship neither can walk out of, Mo is a boxer, there's a touch of religious themes, made myself cry writing it, it's a blast.

1. May 5th 7:12 p.m. - Bell

Before leaving the car, He Tian lets out a long sigh, blowing smoke. He should probably get to praying.

The door snaps shut, echoing in the small street he parked in. Past the intersection he hears kids chatting, going home for dinner maybe. He Tian takes a second to watch himself in the reflection of his tinted windows. He readjusts the collar of his shirt, brushes his pants wrinkled from the long hours of driving, throws his hair backwards and the damp air soon gets him to fold his sleeves up. He doesn’t look so bad, he thinks. Tired. He rubs his face with both hands to bring back some color to his cheeks, then under his eyes as if he could dim the blue tint that’s been settling there, but it doesn’t have very conclusive results. He starts walking.

The entrance of the old warehouse is slightly different from the last time he’s seen it. It looks more welcoming, but it might just be a trick of the light. The peach clouds of the spring evening just paint a nicer ambiance than the grey winter sky did, last January. The gates have been adorned by new tags that have been sprayed on top of the old faded ones and there are flyers encouraging people to join the Sunday mass down the street glued all over, though they don’t reach very high. He Tian imagines a troop of old women roaming the streets, spreading the holy word but his little game of guesswork doesn’t help him relax one bit. 

He gets in front of the door, a smaller entrance within the large sealed gate that used to let trucks in and out of the warehouse. He grips the handle for a second, takes a long inhale and gets in. His eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer lighting but he quickly notes that, contrary to its facade, the inside of the place hasn’t changed much since the last time he saw it. Between high walls of concrete and sheets of metal lie mismatched sets of equipment. Barbells, slick black punching bags, discolored benches of various sorts, a couple old bikes in the back, punch mitts forgotten over a pile of cardboards. A few training boxing rings give shape to the room, the space between them gives the illusion of corridors. The walls are covered in overlapping posters, the grey disrupted by layers on layers of paint and graffitis that even cover the high windows. They let small rays of tinted light in like the stained glass of a church, though the candles are replaced by tens of flickering LEDs lights. There are a few people here and there, busy with dumbbells or talking in their little spot but the room is so wide they can’t be heard. Stairs crawl by the walls leading to more rooms and places He Tian had never been to. Music resonates, low and muffled from a speaker somewhere in a corner.

In the middle of the room stands another ring, a bright red one standing higher than the rest, with white thick cords. When He Tian sees him, he’s sat there, on the side of the wooden platform the red ring rests on. He's listening attentively to a trio of teenagers, leaning backwards on his hands. 

Guan Shan had taken a liking to boxing in high school. A good outlet, he said, one that taught him to measure his emotions. It stuck through the years and he’s been great at it. Then he started giving advice to newcomers, to give some of spare time to help young blood he saw himself in and slowly it transformed into actual lessons and training sessions he holds after work. These kids have been coming here for a couple years now, He Tian remembers them. They are reenacting punches and kicks, arguing and giggling over different combinations and they turn to their coach for approval whenever they get a new idea. He nods along and fixes their posture a couple times, something soft in his eyes. He looks beautiful. Toned and pale as ever, the bare skin of his chest clashes with the black shorts and the tattoos that spangle his body. He Tian stands close to the entrance, leaning cross-armed, his shoulder against a pillar and keeps on watching over him though he struggles to truly appreciate the contrast of colors due to the fifth character in the scene.

A guy he doesn’t know is sitting close to Guan Shan, too close. His hair is an ugly shade of bleached blond and he keeps looking at Guan Shan whenever he speaks with big dumb eyes, mouth agape and enamored. He looks young, but maybe He Tian only feels so much older than his age. He looks stupid.

He Tian hasn’t moved but Guan Shan suddenly lifts his head and catches him right away, as if he’d known all along where he was hiding. The way his eyes widen for a second betray his surprise however but he quickly regains control over his face. It seems like he excuses himself from his little group, the blonde argues something, he wants to follow but he’s brushed away by a dismissing hand.

Guan Shan glances back to He Tian’s shadowy corner and starts moving towards the closed rooms in the back of the building, grabbing a few boxes on the way. He Tian traces behind him with a confident walk and ignores how all of his body stiffens with apprehension, every single muscle a little too tight. Guan Shan enters the room first and He Tian follows a few seconds after. He closes the door behind them. The handle creaks and his hands are sweaty.

It’s not quite messy in here, but the little office room is packed. The desk is covered with stacks of papers, cardboard boxes are neatly piled up in the back of the room; some are already opened and uncover the gloves, the tapes and bandages they hold. The window is open too, letting in the noise of the city. Guan Shan sets the boxes he carried over on top of one of the piles and gets to fumbling in his bag, almost turning his back to the door where He Tian stands.

« Hi. » he tries, and braces himself for what’s coming. 

« You know it’s fucking weird creeping in corners like this? »

He Tian pinches his lips in a thin line.

« Why are you here? » Guan Shan asks then, still busying himself in his bag. He doesn’t sound angry, just a little cold, maybe annoyed at the disturbance.

« I’ve got some business to handle in town. »

« I thought you were abroad until September. » Guan Shan muses, finding the shirt he seemed to be looking after, a large black one. He Tian follows his hands and notices he has splatters of white and red paint over his forearms, his short nails are stained too.

« The schedule is never really steady. » 

Guan Shan scoffs. He Tian know that’s a first warning but he can’t help but focus on the way his muscles jolt, on the way they flex as he flips the shirt over. He tries to not lose his eyes on the curve of his biceps. It’s a struggle. 

« I negotiated a little. » He adds « Took over Cheng’s spot. »

Little negotiations that involved a precarious alliance, three weeks of tailing for intel and a couple of threats. It was worth it.

Carefully, He Tian moves away from the door, closer to Guan Shan. He probably shouldn’t, definitely shouldn’t yet he lifts a hand and reaches out to touch his bare back. Guan Shan freezes.

« I wanted to see you. » he explains, voice low as his knuckles trace the bumps of Guan Shan’s spine. It’s daring. It might earn him a hook but the pull is magnetic.

As their routine dictates, they hadn’t parted in very good terms the last time and for that, coming back to him is always a gamble. A game of Russian roulette even and quite a dangerous version of it; one where he never even knew how many bullets were hidden in the cylinder, each of them taking a different shape. At times He Tian had handled days of scowling looks and a soft kiss that had left him bleeding out, he had received sharp words from petty fights without wincing but just the weight of Guan Shan’s rehearsed indifference could pierce his lungs and leave him breathless. He will take the hits, he does not care. It’s a game they’ve played for years now and as long as the other still accepts to pull the trigger on him, he’d take anything. After all, He Tian is the one who bound the gun to his hand in the first place.

A punch never lands this time. Guan Shan sighs, his shoulders drop then he turns around and throws his arms around He Tian’s neck, knocking the air out of him all the same. He Tian holds back tightly, and finally breathes out, his fingertips digging into hot freckled skin.

« I missed you. » He Tian whispers. What a fucking understatement. 

The arms around his neck tighten in response, only for a brief second before they hear loud noise by the door. Their embrace ends as quick as it started, Guan Shan stepping back and turning to put on the shirt he had discarded a second ago. He glares at the door, expecting it to open at any moment but thankfully, the people outside only pass by. 

« I’m training the kids all evening, and there’s a party at eleven, but I don’t think it’ll stay long. » Guan Shan says when the room has quieted down enough. 

« I’ll pick you up then. »

Guan Shan nods. That should be He Tian’s cue to leave, he has a couple things to settle tonight anyway but the other looks as if he’s pondering over something. He Tian catches how amber eyes roam over his face, for a brief moment they even settle on his mouth, but then return to the door. 

« Get lost. » he tells He Tian, tilting his head towards the door but there’s no bite into it.

When He Tian gets back to the car, his cheeks hurt. In the tinted window, his smile might look shy but it’s wider than it’s been in the last four months.

[cabezadeperro]

for the spotify wrapped prompt:

— Cody/Fox or Jango/Obi-Wan

— song #42

:D

hiiiii!!!! i went with jango/obi-wan, it's been a while since the last time i wrote them and i miss them.

it got a tiiiny bit out of hand. the song was los chicos tristes, by hermanos gutiérrez. AU, around 1k, T.

---

The tide is an unrepentant, careless thief. It takes and takes and takes: Jango’s found old Roman and Viking coins buried in the narrow slash of black sand between the water and the rocks. He’s found cheap sandals, running shoes caught in the shoals, and empty water bottles, doll heads, plastic bags, cigarette butts. He picks it all up, puts it in a trash bag, throws it in the bin once it’s full, but the tide is a thief, and soon enough the narrow stretch of sand and stone and water in front of Jango’s home is once again brimming with its treasures.

He never expected the tide to steal itself a man.

*

The man drags himself out of the waves and stumbles to his knees. He’s barefoot but still dressed, and his soaked clothes drag him to the ground. He kneels there for long minutes, wet hair in his pale face, and then he stands up again, starts limping his way up the beach and towards the road. He’s seen Jango’s house.

Jango breathes out and leaves the knife on the cutting board. It’s late afternoon, but most of the lights are on: it’s been raining on and off throughout the whole day, and the insides of the small house are dark, full of a velvety kind of shadow.

He grabs his raincoat and an umbrella before opening the door, and then he waits there while the man picks his way across the rocks. There’s blood on his face: it’s stained the neck of his off-white shirt, and it drips while he walks. Jango sighs. He opens his umbrella and meets the man half-way, the wind trying its best to rip the umbrella off his hand.

D’you need a hand?

Jango has to raise his voice to be heard over the crashing of the waves and the whistling of the storm. The man pauses, looks up—his eyes are the same colour as the sea and the thunderous sky: murky grey-blue. His face is a shock of white, pale as bone under the sticky black sand and the blood.

He opens his mouth and says something—Jango doesn’t hear it, the wind ripping it away.

*

Jango’s clothes are too small on him. The man—Obi-Wan—sits at Jango’s table, his bare ankles obvious and almost shining in the shadows under it, and eats his soup in silence. Jango lets him use his phone, and he will let him spend the night in the coach in the ground floor living room.

He doesn’t know how he feels about having him there. He’s been perfectly polite for a man who almost drowned, but it makes Jango’s perfectly adequate house seem smaller and quieter and older and just—worse. 

He appears to be in his early thirties. He’s tall and broad shouldered, and he bites his nails. The knuckles of his right hand are a mess, and his nose looks like it’s been broken more than once, and there are bruises and healing cuts on his face and on his bare arms.

Jango thinks about the distance between his house and the town and then about the shotgun in the box under his bed, the revolver in the kitchen drawer, and then he pours more coffee while Obi-Wan finishes his food.

He’s obviously exhausted, half-dead on his feet, but Obi-Wan finds it in himself to start asking questions once he’s done eating. Jango watches him washing the dishes, his rough hands turning red in the hot soapy water and the sleeves of his borrowed jumper rolled up to his elbows, and tries his best to answer them.

I didn’t know the lighthouse was still in operation.

It isn’t.

Thanks for saving my life.

It’s nothing.

What do you do, then, if you’re not the lighthouse keeper? 

I’m retired.

You’re too young to be retired.

I am older than I look.

At this, Obi-Wan laughs out loud, smiling at Jango over his shoulder, and says: I doubt that.

*

The house is old and small, more of a cabin than an actual house, square and squat. Jango bought it years ago, and he never expected to live in it, not really. He leaves a few blankets and an extra pillow on the old couch in what passes for his living room. It’s still early, but the sun’s going down behind the clouds, and the shadows inside the house are growing deeper and darker. Obi-Wan stands in front of the wide windows and looks at the raging sea through the warped glass panes.

In the morning, Jango will drive him to the town, to the old docks. A friend of his will be there to pick him up with his boat.

Jango thinks about the tide, and about what it gives and what it takes from you, and then Obi-Wan’s turning to look at Jango over his shoulder, face in shadow. 

It’s been a long, long time since Jango had anyone else in the house. Ghosts don’t count.

Obi-Wan doesn’t look like the kind of man unused to finding himself lost at sea. He’s not scared: he regards Jango and Jango’s house with the confidence of a man who’s survived the winter tides more than once.

He accepts the cup of coffee Jango offers to him, bruised hands wrapping around the chipped porcelain with relish, and he smiles.

He calls Jango kind. 

(Jango hasn’t been kind in a very long time.)

*

He’s too big for Jango’s small house. That night, he hits his head against the sloping ceiling of Jango’s bedroom in the dark, and Jango finds himself laughing, tucking his laughter in the curve of Obi-Wan’s jaw.

*

The car drive to town is quick and easy. They listen to the radio—local news, 80s pop music. Obi-Wan knows most of the songs, mouths along with the words, his gaze fixed in the sea through the window. It’s noon, and the sun’s shining, high and white in the pure blue sky: it’s bitterly cold.

Obi-Wan kisses him once and then he gets on his friend’s boat, leaves with the winter tide, and Jango thinks about treasures hidden in the sand, about coins and broken bottles and the detritus of other people’s lives, and then he gets in his car and drives back home.

[harryandpedro]

uppercut - five

summary: Maisy witnesses Pedro's first victory of the boxing season

parings: boxer/singledad!pedro x nanny!fem oc

warnings: talks of sexual orientation, fem!mc being pathetic and self-sabotaging, mild description of violence (in the form of boxing)

wc: 3k+

series masterlist here.

Maisy

The next morning, we meet up with Pedro's team which includes a physiotherapist, my dad and a second coach at the airport. We get through check-in and security fairly quickly and hunker down in the business lounge while we wait for our flight to Miami to be called.

After a tactical bathroom break before gate info, I return to the spot we claimed as ours in the lounge. On my way back I grab a fruit salad from the buffet and pop a piece of mango into my mouth.

The four other men I'm travelling with are standing in a circle, using a tablet to go over film of Pedro's opponent for tomorrow's match.

Oliver is perched on his dad's left hip, his head pillowed on Pedro's sculpted shoulder, and as soon as I'm close enough, the boy hurls himself at me. I take him but not before Pedro kisses the top of his son's head and murmurs a thank you to me.

Oliver and I sit down on the couch we deposited our cabin bags on. I situate him on my lap, one of my arms going around his back to prevent him from falling down. I feel Pedro's gaze following my movements and as I look over at him, he gifts me with a smile then turns to face my dad and the other trainers accompanying us.

Oliver makes a humming sound, restoring my attention. "What's up, Bug?" I ask, eating a piece of strawberry. His eyes go all big and he smacks his lips together. "Want a bite?" I fork a slice of banana and he eagerly starts at it.

While we wait for boarding, Oliver and I share the fruit salad. He drools all over himself and I pull a cloth from his diaper bag to clean him. As I do, I catch Pedro stealing glances at the two of us. A silent conversation passes us: Hi and Hi back, and You're watching me and No, you're watching me.

A light giggle bubbles out of me.

At that, a debonair smile spreads slowly across his stubbled face. He tucks his tongue into the side of his cheek and winks.

The fluttery warmth in my stomach curdles.

I curse at him inwardly for the way he makes me feel.

When they announce our gate, he strolls over to us, hands in his pockets. He's wearing a baseball cap, a plain grey T-shirt, black joggers and his usual New Balances. Even in a simple outfit he manages to look spruce and otherworldly handsome.

We merge into the line that's forming around the gate. Perdo wordlessly takes my tote bag from my shoulder, sliding it down my arm and carrying it for me alongside his personal bag while I carry his son.

"This is us," he says on the plane now, slowing to a stop. We've got a whole row to ourselves at business class. All six cubicles with reclining cushioned chairs, one with a special seat for Oliver strapped into it. Pedro's personnel take their respective seats. I put Oliver in his seat and take the aisle seat directly next to it, presuming Pedro would need my help with his son during the flight.

He puts our bags in the overhead luggage compartment. "I thought you wanted to spend some time with your dad," he says. "Don't feel like you need to hang out with Oliver on the plane. I'll be with him and if I need to go over film or something he can be with me for that."

"But I like watching him."

Pedro's eyes dart to me. "Okay. I just don't want to burn you out on him."

"It's fine, really," I assure him with a placating smile. "I like spending time with him."

He looks at me with a softness I've only ever seen him wear with his son. "I know. He likes spending time with you too."

The flight and the rest of the day ensues without a hitch. We check in at our hotel and everyone disperses to freshen up. My dad then invites me out for dinner and after Pedro reassures me he doesn't need help with Oliver, we go out into the city and explore for the remainder of the night.

After my mom passed away, I became even closer to my dad. He's always been a role model for me and I heavily rely on his guidance. I consider him a wise, well-mannered, both street and book-smart guy. He gave me the most wonderful childhood—he never missed birthdays or school recitals, read me bedtime stories when I was still little, and gave me permission to follow my dreams.

I couldn't have asked for a better man to raise me. I'm eternally grateful for him.

While I was in another State to get my education, we stayed close. We Facetimed regularly and he pretty much advised me through college.

I had quite the unconventional college experience; I didn't party, didn't join societies nor did I put myself out there. Instead, I focused on my classes, did all my readings, and passed my exams with flying numbers.

I remember dad asking me after I finished my junior year and still nothing panned out romantically if I were into girls. I told him the truth, that no, I was not into girls and he didn't pry about it ever since. I guess he thought I wasn't ready to date yet, which wasn't entirely a misconception but I also knew that it couldn't be just my reserved exterior that warded off boys. I wasn't getting approached, not ever, and no one had ever invited me out on a date.

For a long time, I genuinely believed something was horribly wrong with me. I even debated with myself that I might be asexual. Those thoughts were fueled by the fact that even though I played with myself, I didn't make myself orgasm, still haven't, and nobody truly has aroused me—at least not how Pedro has in the past two weeks.

By my last year of college, I considered my lack of romantic—and sexual—partners as a byproduct of my asexual tendencies (I can count on one hand how many times I found a guy handsome) and my introversion-induced self-isolation. Instead of pursuing those few boys I've found remotely attractive, I retreated into my fantasies: I read romance and daydreamed about my book-boyfriends. Rather than searching for real connections with other human beings, I dreamt up enough to keep my desires and urges satisfied; a habit I still default to.

To this day I often catch myself imagining alternative lives where I chose to be a doctor and now I live with my blue-eyed boyfriend who rock-climbs, or a sugar daddy took me under his wings and now I owe my own pottery studio, selling my craft. When I'm teleported back into reality from one of these trances, I faintly feel sorry for myself but not enough to offset any kind of action that would put me out of my self-inflicted misery.

Apart from my parents and other family members, nobody has ever loved me unconditionally. And lately, despite reconciling myself to the fact that apparently, I'm not most guys' type, at twenty-one I find myself carving affection, both physical and emotional.

God, I feel pathetic, asking someone to love me when all I ever do is beg to be alone.

After my dad and I get back to the hotel, I lie awake in bed, staring at the adjoining door that opens to Pedro's and Oliver's suite, and feel very homesick for arms that have never held me.

×××

The next morning I join Pedro and his personnel for breakfast then fifth-wheel with Oliver in the corner of Pedro's hotel room while they huddle on the match's game plan. Following lunch me and Oliver move to my room to let Pedro get on with his pre-match rituals, and we spend our afternoon watching cartoons on YouTube and reading picture books.

Originally, Oliver and I would've stayed in but when I get a text from my dad saying that he managed to get us a pass for Pedro's match, I jump on the offer.

This will be my first time going to one of his matches and just the mere thought of seeing him in the ring, in his element awakens a horde of butterflies in my stomach.

When he wakes from his afternoon nap, I get Oliver dressed in a pair of forest green trousers and a white polo shirt. I decide on a white and muted pink, tiered ruffle sundress, accessorizing it with my everyday jewleries; my silver droplet necklace and four dainty rings.

At the venue, a hostess shows us to a private box above the bleachers and tells me that later on Jason, Pedro's physio and Sam, his second coach will be coming up here to watch the fight.

We arrive just in time because a few minutes later, they dim the light and the crowd roars in anticipation. I stand right before the window overlooking the arena with Oliver slung over my hip as the boxers get their introduction.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening. Twelve three-minute rounds for the WBO cruiserweight championship of the world," the speaker hollers. "Miami, I need you to get out of your seats, raise your drinks high and get wild. Let us meet the fighters."

Pedro's opponent walks out first. "Fighting out of the blue corner, wearing blue and red trunks is Cole Wayne." He's the same build as Pedro but appears less agile. "From last season, he holds a record of fifteen victories with nine of those wins coming by way of knockout." The man cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders with a smug expression.

"That's your daddy's opponent," I tell Oliver. "He seems like a brat, don't you agree?"

He makes a jumbled sound and I take it as his version of yes.

"And now, his opponent, fighting out of the red corner, wearing black and green." The crowd erupts as Pedro makes his walkout in his robe. He's focused and in his head, I can tell solely by his posture. The speaker goes on, "He holds an undefeated professional record of twenty victories versus no defeats with sixteen of those wins coming by way of knockout." He climbs into the ring, slipping under the ropes, and like that, he sets my heart aflutter. "Introducing the former WBA InterContiental Cruiserweight Campion. Ladies and gentlemen, Pedro 'The Viper' Pascal."

He lowers the hood of his robe, revealing his perfect brown hair and the most tender brown eyes I've ever looked into. His features and his personality are a stark contrast to his robust, mesomorphic body.

My dad slips the robe from his form, and I see Pedro shirtless for the first time. Hard, defined muscles cover his upper body, with visible obliques. His trunks cut mid-thigh, and his legs are thick and cut.

He bounces on the spot, shaking off his arms. His muscles ripple and my stomach pulls taut.

The referee calls the two boxers over. Cole invades his personal space but Pedro remains stoic and collected. "Okay boys," the referee says, "At call break I expect you to stop punching and take a step back. Don't deliberately throw punches on the back of the head. Protect yourselves at all times. Any questions?" The two of them eye each other. "Alright. Touch gloves." They do so before returning to their respective corners of the ring.

"That there," I point at Pedro, "Is your daddy."

Oliver claps and squeals, his precious eyes wide with excitement.

"Is your dad the best boxer in the world, huh, buddy?"

He nods his head eagerly, though I know he doesn't have any idea what I'm asking.

Jason and Sam join us in the box then. They greet me with polite smiles and wave at Oliver before taking their seats to my right where a couch is positioned in front of the window.

In the ring, my dad feeds Pedro his mouthpiece before leaving the platform to take his spot at the ringside.

I fix the noise-cancelling headphones on Oliver—they look comically big on him—and zero in on the elevated platform.

The bell sounds and the fight begins.

Pedro is quick and light on his feet, slipping and ducking any incoming punch. In the first two rounds, Cole is the initiator, trying to force the pace but Pedro doesn't let him.

In the third round, he takes over and by the fourth one, it's clear as the sky he's got the experience going for him. He lends a few stinging jabs and crosses, throwing Cole off balance. He tries with an uppercut but Pedro guards his face with his gloved hands, then delivers a quick right hook in the ribs.

I watch with batted breaths as the match unfolds.

Another punch disorients Cole and Pedro lets loose a torrent of hard-landing jabs.

His punches are precise and lethal, and the way he conducts himself in the ring has got me handing in my feminism card for the night.

He wins in round five with a vicious right uppercut that has Cole toppling. The referee raises his hand high into the air, declaring him as the victor.

Pedro's eyes scan the faces in the crowds, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, and as his gaze rises, he finds me and pins me with a look, a glint in his eyes and his lips curled into a devilish smirk.

I feel a zing of awareness between my thighs.

"What do you say, Maisy? He's a hell of a boxer, isn't he?" Sam speaks from beside me.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, he really is," I whisper, not daring to take my eyes off Pedro. "He's a knockout."

The speaker asks him for an interview and he begrudgingly breaks eye contact.

I deflate and can only hope Sam and Jason didn't notice the physical effect their boxer has on me.

Surely this is my cue to get a therapist because something is terribly wrong with me if I think we stand a chance.

×××

Pedro enters his hotel suite stealthily. Oliver is fast asleep in the portable crib provided by the hotel, and I've already showered and changed into my nightwear.

He knocks on my door which I've left ajar. I hum in acknowledgement and he steps inside, closing the door behind him so that we can have a conversation and not have to whisper.

"Congrats on your win," I say, climbing out of bed.

He's in the same joggers he wore for the flight yesterday and a simple white t-shirt. His hair is still wet from his post-match shower.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "I liked having the two of you in the crowd."

I hand him the baby monitor. "Oliver liked being there for you."

"And what about you?" he asks in undertones, tentatively. His fingers brush against mine as he takes the device from me.

"Uhum, I—, it was a great match," I mumble, refusing to meet his stare. I touch my necklace to do something with my hands.

"Okay, well, as per usual, thanks for taking care of Oliver," he says, smiling softly. He turns to leave but I stop him.

"Pedro?"

"Yeah?" He faces me.

"I actually—," I pause, unsure how to continue, "I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"Sure," he says, rubbing his hands on his joggers. "Go ahead."

"It might be kind of weird," I warn. "Please don't laugh at me."

He shakes his head, granting me with his softest eyes yet. "I won't."

"Would you—," I begin, nibbling on my bottom lip, "—teach me how to box?"

"I—," he recoils slightly, taken aback by the question. "What?"

"Would you teach me how to box?" I repeat, though my voice is significantly smaller and much more hesitant. "I want to learn how to defend myself."

"Against what?" he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. "Is everything alright?"

My insides warm at his unreasonable protectiveness. "Everything's fine." I wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of my hand. "It's just that, when we, Oliver and I go on our daily adventures, I want to feel safe. And I think knowing how to throw a punch would help ease some of that anxiety."

"Did something happen while you were out? Did someone try to hurt you or Oliver?" he urges, voice low and serious.

"No, no one has hurt or tried to," I tell him calmly. "But I want to know how to react if someone did try something."

Pedro's eyes narrow as he studies my face. "You come to me if they do." I nod firmly. "What do you want to learn?" he asks.

"Anything," I answer breathlessly. "Everything."

The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. "How about I teach you the basics first?"

I nod in agreement. "And please don't tell my dad I want to learn self-defence, he'd freak out." I rush to add.

His smile falls again. "Maisy," he rasps my name lowly, warningly. "Are you sure there's no reason for me to worry?"

"No, nobody is harassing me I promise. Just—," I let out a breath. "It's just Rick doesn't have to know, alright?"

There's a pause and he uses his X-ray eyes on me. "Alright," he echoes finally.

"Alright," I parrot and avert my eyes.

A moment of tension-laden silence descends on the room. "I—we should get some sleep, we've got a flight to catch tomorrow." I remind him quietly, tossing my thumb over my shoulder towards the bed.

"You're right." He touches his lips, scratches his bearded jaw. "I'll, uhm, see you in the morning," he drawls and goes back to his room, closing the adjoining door.

.

.

.

taglist: @biapascal

[jargonautical]

Recce

KRZYSZTOF ISN’T TOO surprised when Winter Street starts filling up before the season really gets underway. There’s still a couple of weeks to go before the Easter tours start dropping coach-loads of cantankerous pensioners at the north end car park and dispatching them in search of cream teas and postcards, but he’s already seen the usual uptick in traffic thanks to conference season. Business has been brisk all weekend, and he’s barely had time to straighten up a bit before the bell over the door is jangling yet again. 

It’s immediately evident they’ve come via Jen’s shop, since half of them are clutching the retro candy-striped paper bags she uses to dispense pear drops and humbugs from the glass jars on the shelf behind her. Before the bell has even finished jangling, he pointedly clears his throat and pushes the ‘Patrons Are Kindly Requested Not to Eat or Drink in the Shop’ sign an inch further forward on the counter, and a couple of guilty hands shrink back and put the sweets away into pockets and bags. Satisfied, he nods a vague welcome and returns to his book, occasionally letting his eyes flick up to see what they’re doing. Kids like these rarely buy anything, they just waste his time raking through everything and making a mess for him to straighten up after they leave. 

He’s unwillingly intrigued though; if they’re anything to do with the conferences, they’re far from the usual demographic. Far too young for a start, barely out of their teens some of them, all skinny jeans and floppy hair and scuffed rucksacks slung carelessly over one shoulder.  First in he mentally names Ponytail, for the thick brown hair pulled back off his broad forehead and hanging down his back. Behind him is another youngster with a distinctly indoor look about him, pale to the point of being pasty and dark eyes filled with resignation, like a teenager dragged unwillingly away from his Xbox to take a nice walk in the fresh air. Krzysztof quietly chuckles at how he touches the door handle as he comes in, fingertips delicately extended as if trying not to catch anything. He knows for a fact it’s spotless, since he personally polished the bloody thing to a shine only this morning. Third in line is something of a switch up, slightly older or a superior of some kind - or perhaps that’s the effect of how he’s dressed; a pale pink dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up a little way, blue jeans pressed to sharp creases, polished brown brogues. Dark hair dips in a perfect glossy wave over his forehead, impeccably styled, and meets thick sideburns shading to a neatly trimmed beard. He looks nothing like an academic, student or otherwise; he looks more like the junior doctors up at the county hospital, well-educated and whip-smart Indian boys putting in their residency on this backwater rotation until they can get a placement somewhere more lively. 

Last through the door is a shorter figure of indeterminate gender. A black knitted hat, a ragged fringe of ashy-pale hair and a thick scarf wound double around their neck hide the majority of their face, and an oversized sweater in broad stripes of black and grey covers their shape entirely down to the knees. Skinny legs encased in dull grey jeans end in scuffed black leather boots haphazardly laced up halfway. This one can’t be anything other than a student, not dressed like that. 

Gradually the book occupies less and less of his attention, not that they’d know it - the haphazard placement of framed maps and posters around the shop is actually carefully designed to give the cash a view of almost the whole shop floor without turning. The smart young man eventually disappears down between the bookshelves where he can be heard exclaiming occasionally over some of the titles, while the other two wander round peering curiously into the glass-fronted displays and turning over the boxes of cheaper curios. 

Finally the sour-faced one comes up to the counter with a small handful of flint arrowheads. 

“Are these all found locally?”. 

“Indeed they are, up on the edge of the moor. Kids pick them up when they’re up there playing.”. 

That clearly wasn’t the answer the boy was hoping for; his face rearranges into a displeased frown. “You shouldn’t let people just take artefacts away from a site, you know. Ruins the archaeology. Very irresponsible.”. 

Krzysztof leans back a little and widens his eyes in fake dismay. “Oh, is that right? I’m very sorry, I’m sure. I’ll be sure and tell the kids whose families have been here since Doomsday that they aren’t allowed to turn over rocks any more. I can’t promise it’ll go down too well, seeing as I’m not from around here myself.”. 

He plays up his accent to full effect, ending the sentence with a friendly smile. Ponytail calls over from his corner, “We’ve talked about this Aaron, no lecturing the locals. Leave that to Viktor.”. 

The sour one grins ruefully at the correction. “Good point. Sorry, and I’ll take them please. Oh, and a gemstone lucky dip as well.”. 

Throughout the whole process the last of the group hasn’t said a word, just loitering by the counter idly looking through the rack of carved soapstone pendants. He likes to think he’s good with youngsters even at that difficult age, so he goes for the upsell. 

“What about you, young man - nothing take your fancy today? Must be something on there that suits your style. Souvenir for your mum perhaps? Good value, only £2.99.”. 

The face crinkles into what’s probably a smile under the swathes of fabric. For a split second he’s reminded of the boss, the warming of the lad’s expression making him feel momentarily like a better version of himself. The questing hand turns over several of the designs on offer before there’s a quiet ‘huh’ of triumph and he extracts one with a pale stripe and geometric design. 

“Oh, good choice.”, twinkles Krzysztof as he wraps it in tissue paper and secures it with a tab of sticky tape. “This one is my favourite.”. 

It’s not, but it’s a useful sales spiel he’s employed on many occasions. Make them feel good about it, just like the boss says. The transaction is completed in silence, the child handing over a handful of still-warm coins extracted from a pocket hidden somewhere under the jumper, but he nods thanks as the neat package is placed in his hand. 

“Nice kid.”, Krzysztof mutters to himself as the shop empties and the bell finally stops swinging. 

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

Beryl had just decided she could get away with nipping out back for a smoke when the cafe door rattles in its frame, signalling that someone has just fallen foul of the sticky latch. She’s told Andy a dozen times that he needs to get that fixed, and he’s waved his hands in his typical excitable way and assured her that it’ll be done by the time the season starts. Well, he’s the boss - but she’s the person who has to soothe the customers who’ve bashed their heads against the door when it failed to open the first time. She almost turns tail again seeing the four young people filing in. Bet they take forever to go through the menu, and then they’ll order four diet Cokes and a piece of cake to share. But they’ve seen her, one of them giving her a friendly smile while he grabs four laminated menus from the stand by the till, and she busies herself tidying the cutlery tray until they make a decision. 

It does take a while, but she’s pleasantly surprised. Two plates of chips, three sandwiches, tea for four, and on top of that they one by one wander up to the display to review the selection of cakes. Healthy appetites and decent manners, who’d have thought? More than you can say for a lot of so-called adults, especially the old folk who waste her time bitching about extra jam portions. 

As soon as she heads back to the kitchen they crowd together again and strike up a lively conversation. It’s incomprehensible for the most part, full of side-eye and sniggering, whatever it is that’s amusing them so much. In between snatches of conversation they’re glued to their phones as well, apparently carrying on several interleaved conversations at once with absent friends. 

In their group chat however, the topic is far more focused. 

The burst of laughter that greets this startles Beryl, whipping round to stare at them suspiciously. She wonders if they’re laughing at her somehow, even though they haven’t spared her a second glance. But when they get up to leave they’re politeness itself, even going so far as to stack their dirty plates and sweep up crumbs while the tall lad with the ponytail comes over to pay the bill. Clearing the dishes, she even finds a neat stack of coins in one of the untouched saucers – the unanticipated tip.

[the-fiction-witch]

The highway Girl

Media Bright Star

Character Samuel Brawne

Couple Samuel X Reader

Rating Smutty

Concept Highway Robbery

Smut Riding / humping / Sexy / Fondling/ semi non consentual

I was fearful sitting in the small black coach on the plush red seats, my bags all close to me.  I should be happy after such a good season of performance and my wages in hand enough to last me until our performances spark up once again once summer is over. Even though we were far into spring it was still dark, stormy and grey causing the sky to loom low often letting loose small showers. And of course that caused what little roads we had to fudge up with thick cakey mud from the periods of spring heat and spring storms constantly wetting and drying the dirt and clay. There were times between here and home that had cobbles or stone and that was, believe me, a welcome change even if it made the bumps much harder to sit through. It wouldn't be long till I was home to see my mother and my sister's as well as the house. Especially after the long season in hotels and small apartment rentals it'll be nice to be at home in my own bed. 

However being so close to home meant what little sunlight we had was gone, the roads nothing more than muddy paths lined on either side by thick unforgiving forest. 

And that's what caused my fear. I knew of those who linger in the dark to cause chaos by the time you saw them it was already too late. So I kept my valuables close and my eyes peeled. Just as it began to rain again, suddenly we stopped and I assumed we were once again stuck in mud but the door to the coach opened to a figure all in black pointing a pistol at me immediately I put my hands up to surrender they forced me out to stand beside my driver in the thick mud and I got a better look.

They had tall black boots, black tights, their body hidden below a black cloak and hat but a long braid of y/h/c hair came far down their back. A black horse stood blocking our path.

they pulled back their cloak and I was in utter disbelief it was - a woman! And she was pretty damn beautiful. In a tight black dress short enough that it didn't even hit her knees, with a leather corset around her waist, A silk violet mask across her eyes concealing her identity with a dark purple lipstick to match. "Your money or your life empty your pockets" she demanded holding out her hat upside down offering us to fill it my driver did as she asked handing over some coins he had "both of you" she demanded turning her attention to me I sighed and emptied my pocket of change "all of them" she ordered I really didn't want to simply emptying another pocket of my pencil and odd little trinkets but she was smart, smart enough to know I was holding out on her. "You must think your coach needs a new set of paint, I'll be happy to send your blood all over that nice red interior. Now I'll ask you again empty your pockets and I'll let you live" she says 

I sighed and emptied my pockets of my watch, my coins and anything else I had rattled around. Which seemed to please her and I was happy she didn't want to look any further given I had a year's wages in my bag.

She counted it all up from her hat and smiled returning the hat to her head "thank you very much gentlemen, I'm sure you understand I can't lingerie all day" she smiled coming closer giving my cheek a kiss leaving a kiss of her violet lipstick there before she climbed on her horse and scampered away into the woods. 

"Well congrats Mr Brawne, you just got robbed. By the violet highway girl too" my driver chuckled

I was beyond fearful, to be honest I was kinda shitting myself. But also kinda excited. It's a weird emotion. Like I had vampire bats in my stomach. I had to go to the nearby town to do some postage and such but there was only one way in and one way out meaning I had to take my horse alone down that same road I was robbed on mere weeks ago. And just in time a storm had come over creating a dark misty day. I was scared of being robbed, especially alone but part of me was kinda excited to see her again. 

I made sure to step carefully through the trees watching all around me in hope to keep myself alert while also watching to make sure nothing spooked the horse. I jumped suddenly as I headed a pistol shot echo across the sky the horse got scared but luckily I managed to keep him settled 

"Whoa whoa whoa" I told him "it's okay, probably just a farmer" 

"Guess again" her voice smirked as I felt the cold business end of a pistol against my temple. It was still warm against my skin meaning she was the one who just fired. She wore the same as last I saw her "Hummm I believe we've done this merry dance before. Your money or your life if you'd be so kind"

"No. You just fired. So you don't have a shot in there" 

"Don't I?" She smirked moving her pistol away and firing up into the air she did in fact have a shot and that scared my horse so much it threw me off into the dirt and bolted back towards town she climbed down from her own horse which a sly smirk she got a knife from a holster on her thigh and pressed it to my neck "your money or your life, please" 

"I don't have any money." I told her 

"Don't you? Let's just see about that" she smirked forcing me up and my face into the tree she took a tie from her dress and bound my hands behind my back so I had no hope of escape or of resistance. She kept me there as she searched my pockets. I had to admit as demoralizing as it was to be restrained and forcefully searched. It was… kinda fun. Feeling her hands slipping in my pockets and digging around for anything she could find often rubbing on the cotton fabric that concealed our skin from connecting, especially when she did the front pockets of my trousers given at points her hands were pretty dangerously close to … intimate areas. And she found my new watch.

"What's this then?" She smirked

"Fine but that's all I have on me" I told her 

"I'm not sure I should believe you. You'd be surprised where people hide things" she Cooes pinching my butt 

"Madam!" I yelped in shock 

"Your adorable Samuel" she giggled

"S- how do you know my name?"

"I know more than you think" she Cooes "where is all your money then?"

"On the horse that just bolted" I sighed 

"I see. And we both know one little watch isn't enough for my trouble" she warns turning me to face her

"Please. Please. Please don't hurt me"

"you have very nice clothes Samuel" she Cooes "remove them" she demanded 

"W-What?" 

"Remove them If you'd be so kind" she smiled holding the knife to my neck and untiring my hands I knew I didn't have a choice unbuttoning them and stepping out she happily took them and folded them over her arm "your jacket too" she demanded I sighed but did as she asked slipping my jacket off and handing it over immediately I tried to use my shirt to cover everything of me given I had my shirt and my long John's and that's it I was already getting very cold "very nice thank you" she Cooes 

"Their hardly worth anything it won't be worth selling" I told her 

"Hummm… your right" she smirked "well then it seems we so have a lot of options"

Why did I say anything I could have just shut the fuck up and this could have been over by now, she forced my arms behind me again and forced me to walk into the woods away from the road tugging her horse behind her I was convinced she was walking me deeper to the woods to shoot me and leave me for dead and soon enough we reached and clearing and I felt her pistol on my shoulder "sit" she demanded I did my best not to panic doing as she asked sitting in the grass 

"Against the tree" she says 

So I moved back to lean against the tree, I'm going die. She's gonna shoot me. Or hang me. Of knife me. I don't wanna die I had some much stuff I wanted to -

She came over pistol in hand but she kicked of her tights then sat on my lap her legs either side of me her pistol still in hand as she moved closer and pressed her lips to my own at first I was in utter shock as she pulled back 

"Uuuuuuuhhh" 

"Stay quiet or I'll blow your brains out" she warns 

"Uuuuuuuhhh okay" I nodded 

She smirked and began to push herself Against me hard grinding on me intensely so much so my eyes rolled back and my jaw dropped feeling her moving so harshly on me as soon as I got hard she used it to her advantage riding on me with the fabric between us until she smirked and gave my cheek a kiss “Pleasure, we’ll have to do it again sometime” she smirked before she got up took my stuff got on her horse and headed off into the woods 

“Uhhhh….fuck” I sighed