#MMA AU

[furiarossa]

Today's warmup sketch! I... I can explain. (I actually can: I love fight sports and drawing guys). Vlad Plasmius vs Jack Fenton, MMA fight AU???

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag!]

★ Instagram|Facebook|FurAffinity|Deviantart|Commission prices★

[sukunasun]

can we get crumbs of mma sukuna and that break up fic

here's a sneak peek!

the car ride back to your hotel is tense as you fall into an almost unbearable silence. sukuna keeps his eyes on the road, unblinking. there's traffic built up stretching across an entire city, honking cars and engines whirring loudly but it doesn't do much to drown out the impending conversation you dread. only because you have a feeling it would lead to something worse. a bubble waiting to burst.

“you still mad?” sukuna's the first one to speak. he reaches out for your hand, curling his fingers around and bringing his lips so close to your ear. you feel his breath on your skin along with his desperation too. "don't avoid me, you know how much i hate it." is his best plea.

keeping your eyes out the window, a mask weaves itself over your features, an impenetrable expression. snow starts to pile along the streets of osaka. dusting the surface of rivers and withering branches. you count the flecks of white, if you turned to him now, looking upon his face, it'll only hurt more.

what could you say, where do you even start— yes, you're still mad. and no, you're not avoiding him, nothing's more important than having this conversation right now but the events of the night have yet to even sink in—he'd been engaged to another woman. for a year. maybe two. and she'd been in love with him, probably still is given that she brings it up like it merely happened yesterday. 

"i wore him down," she said proudly. hand coming up to his chest. glamourous and flaunting her body pressed up against his. as if she were his date instead. despite the bile rising up your throat, you have to admit they look the part. two belonging together, physically flawless, exuding a blinding intensity. "i proposed like a million times before he ever agreed, but i couldn't give up, no one loves him like i do." 

"is this about how you look?" sukuna tries again. he's got plenty of questions lined up but it's the first thing that slips from his mouth, not knowing that he won't get to the others because it ticks you off immediately. setting off a fuse within you.

"it's nothing to do with that!" you scoff in disbelief. the warmth of his hand should feel comforting, but touching him now makes you anxious. betrayed that he'd shared the same touch with an ex you didn't know about. one who apparently slipped from his memory too by the looks of it. so you pull away, letting that distance grow. feeling the cool sting after the weight's been let off, the ghost of his hand lingering behind when you realize how bare it feels without him there.

"what's with the attitude?" he's annoyed and growing impatient, jaw and fists clenching. it's the first time you've rejected his touch so blatantly. it stings, it hurts him to the core. gone were the days of your rejection but he's seeing your walls building back up now is enough to get his blood boiling.

"i get mad about other things too, not everything is about how i look," you shoot back. as the quiet pauses lengthen and the seconds tick by, sukuna decides then and there that he will never want it to happen again. the way his heart drops to his stomach is foreign to him, an unexpected ache, an anxious little thing that makes him sweat.

he breathes a frustrated sigh, unaware of what's really wrong here, he hates playing these guessing games with you. "i'm not a fuckin' mind reader, plus you're always like this when i'm around other women," he says, like it were a nuisance he'd grown tired of.

you snap then, exclaiming "she wasn't just some other woman—oh hi, you used to be engaged to my boyfriend, nice to meet you too!" your skin prickles with anger, curse him. he's an expert at pushing your buttons.

rubbing at his temples, your admission barely phases him. "so that's what this is all about?" he has the audacity to laugh, "it didn't mean anything." you don't know what makes it worse, that he doesn't deny it or the way he brushes it off with such nonchalance.

all this before you were ever in the picture of course. you tell yourself it shouldn't matter. it was his past. way before he ever knew you. he had never mentioned wanting to get married, and you had thought—foolishly—that it wasn't the right time, that maybe he wasn't the 'marrying' type. but truths are unveiled and there's no going back from revealing something like that. "did you love her?" you question, although, completely unprepared for the answer.

sukuna's eyebrows furrow, "what kind of question is that?" he seems offended you'd ask, but still, he's not giving you a clear answer. only diverting.

so you dig further. "you loved her enough to marry her—" it's not about the woman, it's more about that voracity in her, being as self-serving as she was, 'no one loves him like i do,' she said with such certainty, in that same way sukuna does, they're not the kind of people who doubt. unlike you, she looks at him like she wants to own him. "—did you ever think you'd marry me? you're just looking for the next girl who'd wear you down?"

"oh so you wanna get married. is that it? would that make you feel better?" he dishes out sarcasm like a blow to the face and you're left with the realisation that he's being mean because he can. he's never liked having a weakness, especially now that he can't manoeuvre his way out of this fight with you. caught in a corner barely standing.

"you know that's not what i mean—"

"what is it then," he clicks his tongue. staring at the side of you. still avoiding his gaze, unable to look him in the eye and yell. get in his face. tear him apart.

you bite your lip. thoughts jumbling and bouncing around. you can't wrap your head around it. how could the sight of an old flame be enough to make you question your relationship and self-worth? he had a past and chose to keep it from you, fine. he'd been young, maybe he didn't consider those memories a part of himself. you don't know.

or maybe you've gone with the flow of his current for so long, that getting swept away felt so exhilarating and he'd made you feel safe. too safe. but somewhere in the midst of it, you've diminished, you've become all the things he didn't sign up for, you're not who he wants anymore, or at least it feels that way, and maybe...he knows it too.

there is no room for selfishness or jealousy where love is concerned. he's not what you expected sure, that little girl in you had only wished for a gentleman who could love you softly. someone who recognized how alone you've felt and that you're strong despite it. you've worked hard to let him in, to trust him, because sukuna is beyond hopes and dreams, he is real, he sits next to you asking, no—demanding that you talk to him about how you feel.

and why bury your feelings when you've never been that way, you were always so sure, could always speak your mind, tell him how you feel. all the times he's had to assure you and you don't know why you ever saw yourself as less than. he chased you. he wanted you. it shouldn't matter that no one else believes it. he's yours. all of him. scars, tattoos, and bloodied flesh. you love him, and yet—

"i think we need a break," you say, feeling your chest rise and fall, breaths coming out harshly. your heart twists, chest constricts, and every fibre in your body screams no. you feel the tears coming, your throat closing up with every exhale, choking and suffocating you.

sukuna clamps his hair under his fingers, pulling at them in frustration, "so you're punishing me," he says flatly. he knows you well, knows you're running away from him. it would be easier if you weren't so rash. if the mere sight of his disappointment didn't weigh down on your heart so overwhelmingly. so close to jumping out of this car, fleeing from it all.

"just some time apart for us to figure things out," you explain, "i can't be around you right now," it should be a relief. it's for the best. he'll never truly belong to you, not completely when everyone wants a piece. "don't tell me, she's the one who taught you about love..." you don't know why you hadn't intervened when she held him so closely, berating, judging. like you had no defenses. like it made perfect sense and it was better for you to accept it. it's all you've ever felt from those around you. coward. where's your fight?

at that moment, you turn to look at him to face the truth but the world comes to a halt after seeing pure hurt spill onto his face. the horror of what you've just said, the long road of stagnant cars ahead, and an even colder silence all leading to an imminent end settling in and sitting there in between two broken hearts.

[arcana-shipper]

Here's the martial arts style each character thar I listed before has trained in (most if not all came from their Canon game styles). If you have any questions about this au, please leave an ask in my ask box!

Liu Kang - Jeet Kune Do, Karate, Choy Li Fut

Kung Lao - Wing Chun, White Lotus, Shaolin Fist

Hanzo Hasashi - Hapkido, Ninjitsu

Cole Young - Muai Thai, Kung Fu, Jujitsu

Bi-Han - Pi Gua, Hapkido, Shotokan

Kuai Liang - Dragon Style, hapkido, Shotokan

Tomas Vrbada - Mi Tzu, Judo, Penak Silat

Sektor - Ninjutu, Sambo, kenpo

Cyrax - Ninjitsu, Sambo, Dambe

First post of the Au

[menin4s]

AU de Sukuna... (Inhala)

Sukuna siendo el nuevo novio de tu mejor amiga de toda la vida, un luchador invicto de la MMA.

Siendo básicamente el hombre de sus sueños, te obliga a escuchar horas y horas sobre él. Lo dulce, buen mozo, atento, sexy que es. Cómo no tiene problema en consentirla en lo que sea.

Hasta que lo conoces.

*Y de la nada comienza tu departura con ella, lentamente.*

MDNI!!

Porque parece irreal, como la sienta en su regazo y la llena de besos con susurros al oído mientras todos comparten la mesa. Y de alguna forma mientras lo hace te lanza miradas, miradas fijas que te ponen los pelos de punta.

Porque la lleva de shopping y sin que lo escuches, le ofrece a su novia que te lleve también, y con una sonrisa falsa mientras le compra cada cosa que ella señala, la alienta a que también compren algo para tí.

Y casi sin dejar espacio para tu reproche, la manipula para que ambas entren a los probadores a desfilar mientras las observa. Pasa su black card por cada tienda como si de respirar se tratara.

Porque inmediatamente la convence de mudarse a uno de sus departamentos, y tú amiga ruega para que pases tus días con ella, inevitablemente compartiendo tiempo con él.

Porque la vez tan feliz y con tantas esperanzas después de haberla visto sufrir con ex novios, que no encuentras en tu corazón hacerle saber lo profundamente incómoda que estás. Lo nerviosa que te pone cuando recalca lo caballeroso y atento que es su novio, cada vez que te ayuda a bajar del auto, guiándote con una mano en tu espalda baja.

Porque tú cabeza se rompe al no encontrar las palabras para decirle que estalkea todas tus redes sociales, que a partir de las 2AM se vuelve su tarea revisar todo, y sin pena le da corazones a cada cosa que ve.

A ella se le hace tierno cuando ambas salen juntas y el le pide fotos de lo que están haciendo, haciendo énfasis en que también salgas en ellas. Completamente inconsciente de que agranda la imagen con sus dedos hasta enfocar tu rostro.

Porque no se da cuenta de lo frustrado y tenso que llegó a estar cuando le informó que ibas a llegar tarde a verlo en su enfrentamiento porque aún estabas en tú universidad. Aunque si se puso algo nerviosa cuando la sacudió de un brazo y la obligó a irte a buscar en uno de los autos de la compañía de su patrocinador.

Más tarde le pediría disculpas, que solo estaba estresado y quería que todo saliera perfecto.

"Es tu mejor amiga, sé lo mucho que la quieres, quiero que siempre estés cómoda con ella a tu lado"

Y ella se lo traga, embobada de tanto amor y adoración.

Cuando tenías que ignorar como en cada golpe que daba y lograba asestar en su magullado oponente, su mirada buscaba la tuya fugazmente, mirada que no te atrevías a apartar.

Silenciosamente poniendo un show solo para tí, mientras tú mejor amiga se deshidrataba en gritos y emoción, mientras tu estómago se cerraba de desconcierto y terror ante la sangre sobre la bestialidad a la que llamaba cuerpo.

Y en la fiesta de celebración armada en su penthouse, toda su atención iba a su novia, por supuesto. La sangre y la adrenalina lo volvían el doble de atrevido y desesperado. Sus amigos y parte de su staff lanzaban comentarios de lo enamorado que estaba, y como tú amiga lo traía enredado en sus manos. Sentada en su regazo era bañada de caricias y piropos de pie a cabeza.

Mientras tomabas sorbos de un vaso de plástico podías ver cómo ambos desaparecían escaleras arriba, y apartabas la mirada porque sabías que encontrarías la suya, mientras arrastraba a tu amiga hacia uno de los cuartos.

Con varios tragos de más, no tardaste en intentar arrancar los nervios de tu cuerpo y entablar conversaciones con uno de los luchadores de su team, quien ya te había visto en varias ocasiones pero jamas cruzaron palabra. Sin su mirada quemando tu nuca finalmente podías ser un poco tu misma.

Para tú mala suerte, mientras salias casi sin aire de una de las habitaciones, con la ropa torcida y el cabello enmarañado, sin enterarte fuiste descubierta.

Su mirada te siguió desde el piso de abajo mientras apretaba con fuerza la cintura de tu mejor amiga, luego de que ambos terminaran sus propios asuntos y volvieran a la fiesta.

Mientras el hombre con el cual te habías manoseado sin pasar a mayores dentro del cuarto de lavado, caminaba detras tuyo ajustándose la ropa también.

No tardo en susurrarle algo a tu amiga al oído para que ella como buen títere te interceptara y regañara, obligandote a entrar a una habitación hasta que tú "ebriedad" se bajara. Ella incluso tres veces más ebria que tu, pero aún así amándote tanto para querer cuidarte.

Tan ebria que ni bien le aseguraste que te quedarías a dormir en esa habitación, bajo y procedió a desmayarse en uno de los sillones mientras su novio la acariciaba y conscientemente la relajaba aún más contra los almohadones.

Porque por primera vez pensaste en nunca más verla y desaparecer de su perfecta vida, cuando te interceptó ni bien abriste la puerta de la alejada habitación del penthouse, empujándote hacia adentro y azotandote contra la puerta una vez que la cerró. Cuando te deslizaste hacia el suelo volvió a repetir la acción, esta vez haciendo que sueltes un llanto ahogado.

Con una sola de sus manos cerrada en tu cuello, sintió como tu pulso se aceleraba mientras de a tirones subía tu falda y bajaba tu top, revisando con ojo de halcón las mordidas y marcas sobre tu cuello, hombros y pecho.

Parecía casi ilegal en su mente, como tenías puesta la ropa que tú mejor amiga te regalaba, ropa que él compraba y ayudaba a elegir. Indirectamente vistiéndote a su gusto mientras tú fingías ni siquiera estar involucrada con él. Hasta le daba ternura.

Injusto que dejaras que otro hombre, por cierto un hombre por debajo de él, te tocara como si estuvieses disponible.

Cómo si en todos estos meses él no te hubiese demostrado que era lo suficiente hombre para las dos. Para la novia que adoraba en público, y para ti, la razón por la cuál necesitaba ir de inmediato a la ducha luego de cojersela, solo para imaginar tus manos y uñas acrílicas, masturbandolo y arañando su abdomen, fantaseando que los golpes y magullos sobre su piel eran marcas tuyas. Si había un hombre más digno para tí, era él.

En su mente, ella era suya, pero él era de tú pertenencia.

Pudo ver en tus ojos hasta a qué país planeabas mudarte ni bien estés fuera de sus garras, y con un gruñido de desesperación te besó, casi abriendo manualmente tu mand��bula mientras te alimentó sin pena todos los gemidos de su boca, manoseando sin piedad tus pechos, restregandose contra tu pierna como un perro en celo.

"Ella te ve como su hermana... Te adora... Ni tú serías tan cruel..." Murmuró sobre tu rostro ni bien te dejo respirar, tus ojos vidriosos mientras taladraba cada palabra en tu consciencia, sembrando la culpa.

No podrías verla a la cara nunca más. Incluso te encerrarías días en tu departamento, inventarías excusas para pelear con ella y así poder desaparecer lentamente de su vida. Cada paso al costado que dabas, ella daba cinco más, hasta acampando en tu puerta.

Porque te ama, porque eres su mejor amiga. Su hermana.

Su alma gemela que comparte el mismo hombre que ella.

[calchexxis]

More MMA!AU Lightcannon, feat. Silco and a surprise guest.

[helloliriels]

I like that @arwamachine 's own moniker - 'a row with a machine' - turned into the pivotal point of the story. Feels meta.

(spoilers below cut)

I would now dub thee 'fallout sex with a very human, human being' 😉 for raising the bar, but ... 'fswavhumanhb' just doesn't roll off the tongue the same way? 😏🤘👅 (or does it?)

[thewolvesof1998]

Fifty Sentences Friday

From My Buddie MMA Rivals AU

Bear with me this one is taking longer than I thought, it’s going to be the longest fic I’ve written, so it's going to be a while until I’ve finished it but I hope this ties you over...

He gets a few minutes before Bobby calls, “Buck, come here.”

Buck sighs internally and considers making a run for the changing room but knows it will only make things worse. He turns and saunters over, not even bothering to smile while he pulls off his gloves, he had the feeling he’s not going back to the bag anytime soon. 

“Mr Hardy, Ma’am,” Buck nods to them before turning and finally making eye contact with Diaz. His brown eyes aren’t exactly warm, they’re too weary for that but they do remind Buck of the hot chocolates Maddie used to make him when he got upset as a kid. 

His jaw clenches as he grinds out, “Diaz.” 

“Buckley,” Diaz says, infuriatingly unfazed and with a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Buck can you show Eddie the locker room, he’ll be sharing your locker,” Bobby says

Buck whips to him, “Bobby,” He’s the only one who had his own locker, it was a place of pride and now Bobby is asking him to share and share with Diaz of all people.

Bobby ignores him, “We’re short on space here, everyone shares, you okay with that Eddie?”

Diaz just nods, Buck picks up his jaw so hard that his teeth ache. Buck crosses his arms, trying to project indifference. If Diaz isn’t bothered, Buck can’t show that he is, he’ll just have to talk to Bobby about this later. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Diaz says to his people. 

Buck turns on his heel, not waiting to see if Diaz is following before heading to the locker room. When he gets to his locker, he turns to see Diaz only a few steps behind him, gym bag in hand. He’s looking around the room, taking it all in and Buck bristles. Buck knew a lot of UFC fighters would look down at the 118’s facilities, Diaz’s old gym was probably a lot ‘nicer’ than this and if he says one word against it, well Buck might just break his nose. Bobby might be mad but Buck’s never been that good at behaving. 

Buck raps his knuckles against his locker, drawing Diaz’s attention, “The combination is, 01-12-21” Bucks nimbly puts in the combo and pulls open the door.

He doesn’t bother waiting around and shoulder-checks Diaz as he’s leaving, “Don’t get too comfortable,” Buck warns. 

Once he’s back in the training room, he makes a beeline for Bobby, who’s now alone leaning against the wall, scribbling in his coaching notebook. Thankfully Athen and their guests have already disappeared. As angry as he is, Buck knows not to mess with Athena. 

“What the fuck Bobby, my locker?” Buck practically growls

Bobby looks up at him, “You’re the only one who isn’t already sharing.”

“Fine, but why do I have to share with him, I’ll share with anyone else, fuck I’ll even share with Ravi” Ravi was the newest addition to the 118, he was overexcitable and got on Buck’s nerves a lot, he would have been Buck’s last choice, that was of course before Diaz came along. 

“Everyone else already settled in, it's just a locker Buck.”

“Sure, it's a locker today, tomorrow it's my training time slot, next week it's my fight.”

Bobby sighs, “Is this what this is all about? Eddie isn’t going to replace you kid” Normally a ‘kid’ from Bobby would smooth all the jagged edges in Buck but instead, it just aggravates his panic. This is his only family, he isn’t going to lose it to some smug dick. 

“What do we even need him for?” Buck can hear the whine in his voice.

Bobby chuckles, “He’s the defending welterweight champion, he’ll bring more sponsorships, and more money to the club, it gonna benefit everyone to have him here.”

“He’s an ass.” 

“You don’t have to like him, you just have to deal with him, now go get cleaned up before the rest of the team gets here, I’m making breakfast.”

Buck huffs and doesn’t exactly storm away but it’s pretty damn close. He crosses paths with Diaz, breezing past him without a look. 

As Buck showers, he hears the others trickle into the locker rooms. There wasn’t a door between the two rooms so voices travelled pretty well, especially with the tiled floors and ceilings. 

“Who is that?” Ravi asks and he could only be talking about one person, Diaz. 

“Eddie Diaz, he liked to be called 8-pack,” Chim jokes and Buck roughly scrubs his skin with his expensive citrus body wash. 

“As in welterweight UCF Champion Eddie Diaz?” Ravi asks

“The guy who TKO’d Buck in the second round, the guy he’s barely stopped talking about since” TK pipes up.

“The one and the same,” Chim says

“Damn, he’s so good-looking,” Ravi says as Buck turns off the water without bothering to wash his hair, he was going to get sweaty again in a few hours anyways. 

“Don’t let Buck hear you say that.”

“Don’t let me hear what?” Buck says walking into the locker room, towelling off, butt naked as he walked over to his locker. Chim is leaning up against the wall next to the locker room door, Ravi is sitting on the bench while TK is putting his gym bag in his locker. 

“Jesus Buck,” Chim says looking at the ceiling, “Put some clothes on,” Buck just flashes him to sharp grin. 

“Sorry I didn’t, I don’t sorry” Ravi rambles looking everywhere except Buck, gets up and almost trips as he backs out of the room. 

“Stop intimidating the Rookie Buck,” TK says as he rummages around looking for something, he makes an affirmative sound before pulling out the necklace he normally wears. 

“He’s fawning over the enemy” Buck says pulling out his clothes from this morning and putting them on. 

“Have you seen the guy? I’m in a committed relationship and even I did a double take” TK says 

“Ditto and I’m straight” Chin adds, Buck just shoots them withering looks before exiting the locker room. 

@wildlife4life @i-ghostgirl​ 

Let me know if you want to be tagged in any updates to do with this fic! 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

eyes on the prize

a/n: me writing a fic where rafe is actually wholesome and nice? i didn't see it coming either... this idea just came to me when you were all voting for the kinktober fic a while ago, and i was prepping that it maybe could go in this direction and then ended up falling too much in love with the fantasy, so i simply had to get it out of my system.

summary: “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.

warnings: mma!rafe cameron x reader, smut, college au, study buddies to lovers, soft!rafe, autumnal vibes, takes place in the beginning of november, studying, friday the 13th references, scaredy cat!reader, violence, mma fights, kissing, semi-public sex, clothed sex, dirty talk, manhandling, ripping pantyhose, size kink, spit kink, hole inspection, penetrative sex, unprotected sex

word count: 2626

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“So,” you hesitantly broke the silence that had fallen over both you and the partner that had been assigned to you on this current project, “did you get up to anything fun on Halloween?” 

Glancing up from the thick book Rafe’s bored gaze was rushing through, it instead lingered on you for but a moment as his mutter reverberated in the quiet corner of the university’s library, “uhm, yeah. I popped by a party for a bit.” 

“The one at delta neu?” a glint flickered in your eye as soon as he offered you a nod, “me too! Though I went home kinda early, so we might have missed each other… what did you going as?” 

“Jason,” he simply uttered. 

“Jason who?” the soft smile didn’t fade from your lips as his short answer hadn’t landed the way he’d hoped. 

“You know,” his brows furrowed slightly at your cluelessness, repeating once again as if the name alone should be enough for you to understand, “Jason.” 

“…Jason Statham? Jason Momoa?” your eyes squinted as you quietly attempted to hit the bullseye, “uhm… I can’t really think of any other famous Jasons right now…” 

“No, Jason from Friday the 13th. You know, the dude with the hockey mask and the machete.” 

“Ah, him… yeah, I haven’t watched those movies,” you shrugged, “but, cool costume.” 

“Wait, you’ve never seen Friday the 13th?” he tilted closer to where you sat across the table from him, “not even the cheesy remake?” 

“Nope,” you simply returned your gaze to the textbook beneath your fingers.  

“Seriously?” his eyebrows didn’t float back down yet, “well, I don’t know if I should be offended that you’ve never watched that masterpiece before or jealous that you get to experience it for the first time, but either way, that’s a problem we need to fix.” 

At first, you thought you’d entered the wrong building. 

That was until you rounded the corner, and your gaze fluttered up from the map still open on your phone, guiding you to the mysterious address your study partner had texted you, asking you to meet up with him there before the rest of your plans could unfold, that you discovered that you hadn’t stumbled into the wrong place. 

Though that wasn’t the only thing you discovered in that moment as the culmination of that enlightenment was spotting Rafe in the middle of the industrial and cold gym, going through the tail end of some drills with his trainer. 

As he went through the combinations and grunted like a guard dog, sweat dripped down from his brow and rolled so low that it cascaded over his already glistening and bare chest. 

You hadn’t really noticed how your feet had stopped or how your pulse had picked up so fiercely that you could feel it between your thighs before his own eyes located you and he flashed you a smile.

“Hey!” his voice cut through your trance as he patted his coach on the shoulder and began to near the edge of the ring. 

“H-hi,” you blinked, shaking your fuzzy head slightly to clear it, “I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff,” you briefly waved a hand to the gym around you and tried your best to rip your stare away from his heaving chest. 

“Yeah,” he began to loosen a glove, “sorry I asked you to meet me here, I’m just really busy these days cause I’ve got a fight coming up.” 

“Oh, well we don’t have to have a silly movie night if you don’t have the time,” you averted your gaze, recalling how before you’d been paired with him on the assignment for Callahan’s class, you hadn’t even been sure of what his name was. You’d just known him as the hot guy, three rows behind you. 

“No, no, I want to, unless of course you’ve changed your mind.”

Blinking back up into his eyes, you smiled, “definitely not.”

“Well, great,” a grin spread across his lips, “then just give me a second,” he cast a brief glance over his broad shoulder at the locker room, “and then we can head back to my place,” a notion you hadn’t expected would have ended with you up on the back of his motorcycle, a terrifying concept that you’d somehow been unable to deny as the crush that had blossomed and bloomed within your heart for him had made it near impossible for you to say no to a single one of his suggestions. 

“You never told me what you went as,” Rafe hummed beside you, causing your eyes to tear away from the horror movie buzzing on the TV.

Blinking over at him next to you on the leather couch, your fingers began to fiddle with the blanket you’d slumped over yourself, “oh, well I didn’t wanna buy anything new, so I just went through my closet and ended up going as Britney Spears because I found the skirt of my old school uniform. I don’t even remember why I brought it with me the last time I went home, but–, ah!” a shriek suddenly shuttered through your form as your eyes accidentally fluttered back towards the screen just in time to witness the villain sink a large blade into the head of one of the drunk teenagers, “oh my god!” your frame couldn’t help but jump at the fright, nearly tossing the blanket across the room as you instinctively hid your features in the mass of Rafe’s bicep. 

As your heart raced and thumped in your chest, you felt Rafe’s shoulder begin to move before you heard his laughter. 

“Shut up, it’s not funny!” you smacked him lightly in the chest, though kept your vision darkened by his shirt, “so I’m not desensitised to the horrors of scary movies, big whoop!” a mutter then slipped out of your lungs, “fuck, why did I agree to this? I’m probably gonna have nightmares for weeks…”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a movie,” you felt his palm find your arm in a soothing rub as his voice hummed directly above the crown of your head, “and the scene is almost over.” 

“I can’t look…” you felt yourself lean more into his touch. 

“…do you want me to describe it to you?” 

“No…” you lingered in the security of his warmth and felt the terror slowly melt from your bones. Cupping a hand on the side of your face to shield your eyes from the horrors on screen, you carefully plucked your face just shy out of his safety before you uttered, “…just tell me when it’s over…” 

The blaring light from the television reflected against the side of Rafe’s face as he gazed down into your eyes and breathed, “okay,” his stare slowly dipping and fluttering down towards your lips. 

It wasn’t till now that you noticed how close you’d accidentally scooted to him as you weren’t far from just sitting in his lap. 

Sharing his breath, your mind went entirely blank and only switched back on when you’d closed the distance betwixt your lips and now found yourself kissing your study buddy. 

Thankfully, your brain didn’t get a chance to begin spiralling as it only took Rafe half a second to reciprocate the sudden move and kiss you back. 

His strong hands found the small of your waist buried beneath the woollen blanket before he began to drag you closer, pulling you so near that you actually did wind up sitting in his lap, your fingers fluttering against his buzzcut as his own scooped down over the curve of your ass. 

When the movie gently humming from behind you was long forgotten and your soul instead had drifted straight to heaven, you felt Rafe tilt his head back to breathlessly utter, “come watch my fight…” his forehead still pressed against your own. 

Scarcely picking up on the words behind his honied hum, you breathed, “what?” 

Reeling back just enough for his eye to catch your own dazed pair, he said, “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.

You’d never seen a fight in real life before. 

Not boxing, not mixed martial arts as this was, not even a juvenile one in a schoolyard. 

At one point, when you thought all hope seemed lost, when Rafe got pinned by his opponent and blood was trickling down from the cut at his brow so clearly that you could make it out from the second row seat you found yourself planted in, he somehow managed to turn the tides and capture the boulder of a man in a lock so fierce it made them nearly melt into one pretzel-like being. 

As he flexed his arm around the other’s throat with the rest of his limbs restricting him as well and rendering an escape near impossible, Rafe’s eyes then flickered up to catch your wide ones in the crowd. A grin appeared on his features as he held your stare a moment longer, watching as you shyly began to mirror his smile, before he tightened his hold and squeezed till the opponent opted not to bruise his pride and tap out, instead going limp in the grasp. 

Once the trophy was in his gloved hand and he’d leapt out of the ring, on his way back towards the locker room, he zigzagged through the cheering crowd and caught onto your arm, dragging you with him as he exited the buzzing hall. 

“That was insane,” you heard yourself babble as he pulled you through the corridors down towards the backroom he’d been in prior to the fight, “I mean, I know I went into it kinda blind, but I had no idea it would be like that,” adrenaline still rushed through your veins as he tugged you over the threshold and closed the door behind you, swiftly dropping his trophy to one of the long benches, “sure, it was as insane as I probably imagined, but the way that you moved, the way you slipped in and out like you were made of water or something, I mean, that was beautiful–,” the fighter then suddenly cut your rambling short as he yanked you to his sweaty form and pressed his lips to your own. However, as his feet shuffled and your spine collided with the back of the door to the small locker room, your fingers fluttered over countless of the spots where he’d been hit, causing you to jerk back and ask, “wait, shouldn’t you have someone check you out?” your eyes flickered from the cut splitting his brow to the various fresh bruises already beginning to blossom and reveal their true colours, “are you okay?”

“I’ve never felt better in my whole life,” he tried to lean back in to capture your lips once more, though you tilted away just in time for him to miss. 

“You sure? Because–”

But your words were quickly snuffed out as his hands then flew up to grasp the sides of your face to force you to notice the glint in his eye and the desire dripping in his tone, “just shut up and kiss me,” he commanded before he practically devoured you whole. 

As Rafe’s tongue danced against your own and made you feel dizzy in his tight embrace, his fingers then blindly fumbled for the lock and twisted it with a click that harmonised with the throbbing that had appeared between your thighs as soon as the fight had commenced. 

A low growl rumbled deep within his chest and melted into your mouth as he then plucked you off of the ground and lifted you into his arms. Broad palms spreading wide below your bottom, he brought you as close as possible, causing the skirt you wore to ride up and crumble at your hips. The thin barrier of your pantyhose and the underwear beneath nearly incinerated from the heat that sparked as his hips greedily rocked against your covered core, lending you to feel just how hard he was in his shorts. 

“I want you so bad,” he groaned between pecks, his fingers digging into your softness.

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your victory or something?” a light giggle bubbled out of you. 

“I thought that was what I was doing,” he smirked before dropping you back down onto the ground, making you gasp at his sharp movements as he suddenly spun you around to face the closed door, “unless you have a better idea of how we could celebrate,” he nipped at your neck, making your eyes flutter. 

“I–…” your teeth briefly captured your bottom lip as his front pressed against your back, and your spine instinctively arched back into him, “no, yeah, this one’s g-good…”

“Good,” he murmured in your ear before his fingers found your pantyhose in a pinch and ripped a big hole in them, nearly splitting them in two as he exposed your underwear, “do you want it?” he gripped your hips and titled them for his hard-on to perfectly nudge against the soaked cotton. 

“Y-yes,” you panted, even just that one word haven been a struggle to utter through the fog he’d cast you into. 

“How bad?” 

“So bad–, Rafe, please,” he made you squeak desperately, “I just–, please…”

Cheek smooshed against the door, you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he then kneeled down behind you. Both hands still firmly planted on your hips, keeping you in place for him, they only strayed for a moment in order to shove your skirt the rest of the way up and letting him see the wet spot decorating your panties. 

“Oh, shit…” he groaned as he tugged the gusset of your underwear all the way to the side, a string of your glossy want clung to the fabric till it snapped back against your aching core. Nearly salivating as he inspected your holes, his fingers dented your ass as he pulled you apart, splitting you open that much further and watching intently at the way your drooling cunt throbbed in anticipation for his touch. 

As if your pussy’s embarrassingly leaky state wasn’t enough, a dollop of his spit then roughly landed upon your folds, the lewdness causing you to let out a moan as he swiftly rose back up to his full height without as much as a tickle to your tingly petals.

The next thing you knew, the adrenaline coursing through you both drove Rafe to free his length from its confines and, without as much as another kiss, slammed inside of your weeping pussy in one fell motion. 

Balls nuzzled tightly against you, the very tip of him nudged against a part so deep inside of you that it made you lose your breath as he took a moment to savour the sensation, freezing up within you and huffing against your cheek as you gasped for air through your whimpers. 

“Oh my god!” one of your hands curled back to crawl at his waist, “Rafe!” 

“Now,” his hips slowly drew back, dragging his fat girth back out of you and letting you feel every little detail of him, “you just gotta be a good girl, stand right here for me,” only the bulbous head of his cock remained, keeping you plugged up as he purred in your ear, “and take it like the perfect little prize you are,” he then buried himself once more with such vigour that his heavy sack tapped sloppily against your puffy clit, “can you do that for me? Will you be my reward?” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[furiarossa]

can you post your jack and Vlad MMA fight au drawing from Blue sky here pls my family follows my Blue sky and they can't see me be crazy about cartoon men

This one? https://www.tumblr.com/furiarossa/746025444049043456/todays-warmup-sketch-i-i-can-explain-i?source=share

We post ALL (or almost all) our drawings on Tumblr, it's our favorite platform, so you should be able to find everything here! And it's also also tagged.

And hey, thank you so much for appreciating our work. We should definitely draw more of the MMA AU :)

[sukunasun]

could we get mma!geto fics

deep sigh...

geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.

says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.

"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.

although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...

"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much. 

his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too. 

to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you. 

instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with. 

——————————————————

back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle. 

with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole." 

stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.

flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting. 

"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth. 

and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this. 

people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done. 

——————————————————

the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there. 

across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring,  "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices. 

his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between. 

geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway. 

when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl?  you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli. 

bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.

"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for. 

——————————————————

geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils. 

but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get. 

he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off. 

"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.

"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there. 

head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.

your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.

geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.

your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."  

geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."

"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong. 

you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.

there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.

he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then. 

"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.

[arcana-shipper]

Suggestion from the discords.

Johnny did do a brief stint in the MMA.

Although that didn't last long though, 4 wins and a loss before he got suspended by doing a split punch to his opponent's thigh. It was a knee jerk reaction, he didn't consciously do it.

I'm not sure if he will compete after the suspension is up or not. What you guys think?

[notherpuppet]

I laughed so much while drawing this 💖 anime overlord high AU

[calchexxis]

The next entry in my MMA!AU Lightcannon series, Bare Knuckles & Butterflies;

With the Gauntlet and her first major fight in the Cannery behind her, Lux is well on her way to MMA fame in the sport's hometown of Zaun, but with fame comes new challenges as the enigmatic owner of the Cannery takes notice, and life becomes more complicated.

Hope everyone enjoys this one! The prior entries are here:

Pt. 1 - Come Out & Play Pt. 2 - Heart On Ripped Sleeves Sidestory - Hammer & Shears (Same universe, Poppy/Gwen)

Additionally, if you enjoy my fanworks, please check out my original novels, Reflector and the sequel, Dark Star in both physical and ebook formats!

All My Links

[eeriezoundz]

PLEASEEEE more RainbowDash (no worries if not though I just love your design so much)

Omg I just saw this (Im barely on here) but yeah sure! I have quite a few RD doodles I haven’t posted

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Bloody Fights

(fighter!Simon Riley x reader)

At this point in your relationship, you thought you knew your boyfriend. Yeah, he was kinda stupid, yeah he didn’t listen much, and yeah maybe he consistently made bad choices and dragged you along to stupid crap. 

But you never thought you’d be standing outside in the cold, watching the sketchiest men you’d ever seen flood into a narrow staircase. Shouldering each other and barking laughs, dampness soaking the ground.

Arms crossed tightly, shoulders raised high and tight, your jeans low on your hips, jacket not as thick as you wanted it to be at the moment. You were told to dress casually, what a load of crap.

Shoes crunching noisily on the gravel. Your boyfriend was a few feet in front of you, and you were trying your best to stay close to him, brows pinched together and goosebumps raising your skin. It didn’t feel safe, and as bad as it sounded you didn’t fully trust your boyfriend to keep you exactly…safe.

The neon signs hanging over doorways and flickering reflected in the puddles on the ground didn’t help add to the comfort of the place.

“Um, Ryan?” you asked, glancing at the men eyeing you, “Wait, hold on, please–”

Your boyfriend huffed and turned to you dramatically, “You’re gonna slow us down, I want to be close to the fight!”

He grabbed your arm and squeezed, dragging you to the stairs, not caring that he was dragging you into people. Apologies rolled off your tongue, almost endless as you bumped into people and tripped over them.

A few swears passed along and a few obscene gestures and you had made it to the bottom of the stairs.

You could feel the heat of the place before you were really even inside, the chill on your skin evaporating into something clammy. The thick stench of cigarettes and cigars hung in the air, not to mention the heavy cologne and sweat. Your lips curling up and your nose scrunching. Looking at your boyfriend who was almost pushing past people, his hand slipping from your arm.

“Wait,” you reached after him, the clanging of metal and bass heavy music drowning out your voice, “Slow down!”

You moved your way forward, and what felt like a large hammer jutted against your back, causing you to trip forward. Yelping slightly as two strong hands grasped your shoulders tightly.

“Careful there,” the voice shouted over the noise, you looked up startled, “Gonna knock someone down!”

“Oh-I, I’m so sorry!” you smiled politely, straightening yourself, the man's hands not yet leaving your shoulders. You couldn’t help but admire the black man in front of you, boyfriend or not, this was an extremely attractive man. Glowing skin, straight teeth and close cropped hair, a yellowish-purple bruise just under his right eye, a small nick in the same place. The lighting in the room was dim, and mostly yellow and orange honestly. But it still highlighted him well. Skin shiny with sweat.

“What are you doin’ here?” he chuckled, looking you up and down in a curious manner, “Not exactly, your scene i’m guessin’?”

You smiled nervously, looking around behind him, through the door he was standing guard next to, trying to find your boyfriend.

“No, not really, I’m just here for my boyfriend, he…he dragged me along,” you said, licking your lips slightly, and shrugging yourself out of the man's grip, glancing behind you to not get knocked down again.

“Boyfriend?” the man pouted a bit, “Wha’ a shame, where’s he at? Seems like he ditched ya’.”

The man chuckled, you let out a fake laugh as well, “Yeah, it seems he did.”

The man put a hand behind your back, pushing you through the door, “Come on, I’ll get you to a seat.”

“Um, I–that’s nice but I–” you swerved out of people's way, eyes widening as you saw the actual “arena” of the event. An old boxing ring-turned cage match, the leather of the mat stained with blood and sweat and who knows what else. A few rows of foldable chairs litter the room. The door on the side of the cage opened, swaying and creaking, trash and cigarette butts laying on the floor. Glancing up, you notice a…commentators box? Or what looked to be one, two large connecting windows at the top of a wall. Not being able to see inside of it.

“Just sit here, you’ll be fine,” the man plopped you down in one of the metal foldable chairs right in front of the rink, making you gulp and look back at him.

“I’m not really sure this is the best idea,” you smiled, teeth clenched. Sweat building up on your hairline. It was boiling in this room. Hair heavy and murky, so stuffy it made you stutter a breath in.

The man waved you off, tisking, “Nah, it’ll be fine, trust me.”

He winked as he walked off, patting you on the back one last time.

 Huffing, defeated, and wanting to go home, you slumped into the chair, crossing your arms across your chest. Looking up into the ring again you nearly jumped out of your skin. A hulking man standing in the ring on the other side of the cage. Your heart was in your throat, eyes wide and skin breaking out in a cold sweat. The beast was looking straight at you. Or you think he was, his body was positioned directly in front of you, as close to the metal as possibly. His hands wrapped in white tape, and fists clenched. Black shorts tight on his thighs, showing off the toned muscle and dark bruises. His chest was bare, unmoving, like he was holding his breath. Scaring and bruises stretched across abdomen, dark tattooing stretched up his arms.

He was like, a bear, huge and shadowed, his muscles taut and defined, barrel chested and wide shouldered. Waist thick as he dropped to defined hips and bulky legs.

A tight mask over his face.

His eyes blackened out by the lighting, and by the dark the dark eye makeup. A skull painted white over his face. Green neon lighting around the cage casting deadly shadows. Making the atmosphere sickly in it’s light.

Your muscles were tight as you sat in your chair, in some kind of staring contest with the man. You felt suspended in time, even the music seemed to quiet as you stared at each other. Like a deer spotting a hunter all too late.

Blinking, you raised your hand, waving softly. The man looked at your hand, then back to your face. His own hand raises slightly to wave back, his shoulders lumbering. 

“Ok,” muttering to yourself, you cross your arms over your stomach again, tearing your eyes from the lumbering males. The music faded out, and the lighting started to go down.

“Hey! There you are!” hands slammed down on your shoulders from behind. Causing you to yelp and jump, whipping your head around to see your sweaty boyfriend  standing behind you. He smelled like liquor.

“Where were you?” you frowned, watching as he walked around you, hand dragging over your back and shoulders to plop into the seat next to you.

The large man in the cage still watching,

“Baby, you left me,” he said, smiling and slinging an arm around your shoulders, “I was looking all over for you.”

“I–” before you could get your argument out, the lights shut off, and the music shut off.

One bright light flickering on over the arena. The big man was gone, off in the corner now. Another man in the opposite corner. Dread fell into your gut, dripping down through your nose as it filled your throat. Your boyfriend started cheering with everyone else. The man on the opposite side was twitchy, large but twitchy, and couldn’t stop wiping his nose. The man with the mask didn’t move, again, like he wasn’t breathing.

Your boyfriend’s hand curling around the nape of your neck, bringing you close to his mouth, and shouting into your ear, “You’re gonna love this!”

A sneer pulled its way onto your face, love this? Was he kidding? 2 years and he thought this was something you’d enjoy? It was bad enough that you weren’t surprised he pulled something like this. You looked at the ring again, flinching when the masked man was looking at you again.

“That guys such a monster,” your boyfriend laughed, “I swear he’s killed someone before.”

You shot a side eye to the prick sitting next to you.

“Really?”

“Yeah sweets, he’s ruthless,” dragging a hand through his hair, smirking at you, “But tonight’s gonna be interesting, the other guy’s supposed to be a killer too.”

“Yeah I guess,” you pulled away from him a bit, heart leaping at the bell that rang. Thoroughly spooked by how fast the two were on each other. Fists and knees flying. 

Near squealing at the sight of the masked man threw the twitching one of the ground roughly, the crowd screaming, and landed a knee right on his head. Your boyfriend stood and cheered. You sent him a look, and looked back to the fight. The masked man brushing off punches like they were nothing. Sending them back so hard you swear you heard the sound of flesh on flesh and crunching over the noise of everyone shouting.

Pulling our limbs closer to yourself as the crowd abandoned their seats, or the ones sitting at least, the air heavy with smoke. The floors sticky under your shoes.

People crowding around the ring, your boyfriend one of them. Even though he was smaller than the others there, he tried to fight his way up front.

You gulped and looked to the ring, seeing both men on their feet again. Realizing they were barefoot. Cringing at the thought of being on the mat, let alone barefoot. Looking up to their faces, the masked man looked no different due to the covering on his face, and the other man's nose crudely broken to the side, blood gushed down his face, splattered on his chest and shoulder. One eye was already swollen shut.

Frowning, you couldn’t look away from the mess before you, you weren’t squeamish, and you’d watched UFC fights before. But this was different, this just felt barbaric. Blood splattered, men cheering, the ring creaking and groaning. Cage rattling as someone was thrown against it. The two men just beat on each other. The bigger of the two, seeming to hold off anytime a knockout was about to come around. Then would start up again when the other regained his feet.

No one seemed to notice this besides you.

Pure entertainment, dragging on the fight so people stayed longer.

You wondered briefly how much your boyfriend had paid to get into this place. To get you both into this place…he really didn’t have that kind of money.

But a sickening crunch brought you out of that thought, just in time to see the masked man retract a kick that was sent to the twitching man's head, snapping it back and you watching him crumble to the ground. Falling almost cartoonishly onto the floor. The masked man went for another knee to the head, but stopped mere inches from it, the crowd booing and bitching about not “finishing him off”. Freaks. Bunch of fucking animals.

The masked man stood up, rubbing his face and looking across the crowd. His eyes finding yours, the amber color intensified by the dark eye-black around them. You could tell one was starting to swell a little bit, drooping slightly. 

The crowd shouting and booing and cheering and throwing shit, smashing bottles and bumping into one another.

“No…” your boyfriend snapped his hands up to his hair. Pulling at it till he dropped his hands down his face, “No no no–fuck–no!”

Standing up, you sighed, breaking eye contact with the beast in the ring. You grabbed your boyfriend's shoulder lightly, “Lets get outta here. I want to go home…”

He looked at you, a wild look in your eye, then grabbed your arms violently, nearly shaking you.

“Ow hey–”

“You don’t fucking–he–he was supposed to loose! He was supposed to throw it!” he shouted, frantic, you frowned.

“I don’t–what does that have to do with us?”

“I–” he gripped your tighter.

“Ow–please, you're hurting me let go,” you tried to push at his chest, which was damp with sweat, shift sticking lightly to his skin.

“We have no money,” he stressed, “I–he was supposed to lose, Y/N, we, I bet it all…”

You blinked owlishly at him, “You what…?”

His grip is still hurting your arms. Sure to leave at least nail marks at this point. The sting was buzzing as you processed what he said.

“You dumb–” he dropped his head, “What aren’t you understanding?!”

“Let her go mate,” the deep voice made both of you jump, looking over your boyfriend's shoulder, to see a sweaty, bloody mass of a human standing behind him.

“I, I…” your boyfriend was frozen, his hands still gripping your arms. You weren’t much better, he looked bigger up close. Much more intimidating.

“Hands off.”

He barked it again, putting a hand on your shaking boyfriend's shoulder, squeezing it. It was almost hard to breathe with him so close, air heavy and choking as you gulped it down. Stagnant and reeking of sweat and smoke.

You hadn’t noticed that people had cleared out when he walked up, parting them like oil and water. Never to be mixed.

“R-right,” your boyfriend dropped his hands from your arms, but the masked man stayed on the scrawnier man's shoulder, almost as a warning. If the sharp looming look was anything to go by, then it was a threat. A serious one at that.

“Boss wants ta’ speak wif’ ya’,” he looked at you as well, gaze steady, “Botha ya’...”

The walk to the office you’d spotted earlier was dead silent. There was a spark of conversation at the beginning when your boyfriend tried to reason, tried to convince the man to let you go, but that was snuffed out quickly with a quick smack to the head. Rendering him silent the rest of the time. 

The big man had you walk in front of him and your boyfriend. Your hands shaking and your legs rather weak as you climbed the staircase, a warm glow coming from the room to the right. Muffled laughter and voices coming from it.

When you got just within reach of the door a hand grabbed your hood, jerking you back into a solid chest, eliciting a yelp from you, and looked up to see the masked man behind you. His hand dragged down your back gingerly as he let go of your hoodie. It made goosebumps rush up your spine.

“Wait ‘ere,” he pushed your boyfriend forward, grabbing him by the collar as he dragged him inside, snapping about his shutting the hell up as he went in. You stood frozen.

What, was this how you died?

In some mangy, back alley fighting ring?

Because your boyfriend was as fucking idiot you felt bad for and thought loved you, but turns out he was betting away your money, and now you wer gonna die in some mafia style Saw trap by some boxer-MMA man in a skull mask. Great.

You snapped your head up as you heard heavy boots approaching. The man in the skull re-emerged with a (more brown than white) wife beater that had holes on the bottom and by the neckline, his shorts still on, and large boots now unlaced on his feet. You doubt he had socks on.

Mask still tight over his face.

He looked at you in silence, and closed the door behind him.

You two blinked at each other for a minute, then he cleared his throat and walked forward, leaning on a railing, overlooking a sort of warehouse under you two. You assume that the ring and swarms of men were on the other side of the wall. The thumping of music rocking through the floor, and up the metal stairs.

Both in silence for a minute, before he beckoned you over. It took a second for your limbs to thaw and your feet to unstick, but when you did, you walked over to him, keeping a healthy distance. 

“I ain’t gon’ hurt ya’,” he snapped, looking at you. He pulled the bottom of his mask up, revealing a sharp stubble covered jaw, and dry cracked lips. Stopping just under his nose.

Reaching into his boot, you flinched, nearly eating it down the stairs. 

“Watch yer-self girl,” he said, looking like he was ready to leap out at you.

“Right,” your voice was strained and tight, “Sorry…”

The man shrugged, pulling out a lighter and a very crumpled pack of cigarettes. 

He glanced at you again, shuffling a little awkwardly, and offered the pack to you.

“Um, no thank you,” you politely refused, stiffly standing next to him, eyes lingering on the man's big, bruised hands pinching the cig, flicking his old lighter and taking a long drag. Honestly you could probably use the cigarette, but there was a good chance your hands would be shaking too much to light it.

He stared at you again, a heavy silence falling onto you two. There was a loud bang on the other side of the door, snapping your attention to it. The large man unflinching,

“Don’t botha’ with that,” he grumbled, cig between his lips.

“O-oh…is, is he ok?”

The man tensed up, smoke blowing out his nose, sifting through the fabric, brows pinched, “Why do you care?”

“He's my boyfriend?” you squeeked, subconsciously trying to make yourself smaller.

The man looked down in front of him, then back to the door. Huffing like a bull.

“He's fine.”

You looked down to your feet. Gulping down a thick wad of spit, your heart beating so loud you were sure the brute could hear it.

“Name’s Simon,” he glanced at you, then rubbed a hand down his thigh, almost nervously. Taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from you. A little peep in the back of your mind was confused on how polite he was being. 

“Oh,” you nodded, not really processing what he had said. Taking a glance down to the dusty crate he was staring at. Eyes locked and unblinking.

“Oh?” he shot you a look, frowning. Lips pulled taught against the cigarette.

“Um–it’s a nice name,” you said, almost choking out the words, nodding and offering a stressed smile, “My friend had a cat named Simon, it was really fat. Like 20 pounds, which you aren’t fat, obviously–but the cats dead–diabetes, it was really old too…but it was a cool cat…”

You looked a mess you bet, hands clenching and unclenching, skin clammy, fidgeting and eyes wide and darting around. Breathing shakily as you rambled.

The man–Simon, looked at you with blank eyes, then looked forward, almost in thought. 

“Hm,” he hummed to himself, “She get a new cat?”

“Y-yeah, um, it was a guy, guy friend,” you pulled at your fingers, then tucked your hair behind your ear, “H-he did, it’s a few years old now. Got it as a kitten.”

Simon pressed his lips together again, sending you a mean side-eye, hunching his shoulders up, “You still friends with him?”

“Y-yeah? Kinda, we haven’t talked in a while actually…” you felt awkward. Why was he asking about your friends? Why were you sharing your poor social life with him?

“It got a name?”

“I don’t really,” you thought for a second, “Mimi? I think it was Mimi?”

Simon nodded, blowing smoke out his mouth, pinching the cigarette, “Good name for a puss.”

You felt your face flush lightly, you were grown obviously, but something about his rumbling voice made you want to turn around and just risk it by walk away. Embarrassed by your own reaction.

“Yeah…”

“How long you been datin’ tha’ shit?” Simon shot a look behind him.

“2 years.”

You really felt no need to defend him, he was a shit.

He grumbled something to himself.

You sighed, more confused the longer you spent in the weird conversation with this man. Glancing repeatedly at the door, begging for it to be open and for your boyfriend to come out so you could both leave…and so you could beat the shit out of him as soon as you got to the car.

“Why are elevator jokes so good?”

“Huh?” you looked at Simon, who was snuffing out his cigarette, pulling his mask back down over his mouth.

“ ‘Cause they work on so many levels…”

It took a moment, but a giggle bloomed in your chest, covering your mouth in hopes of silencing it. Lips curled up as you looked at the brutish man. He stared at you, you didn’t notice that he took half a step forward, listening closely.

“That was a really bad joke,” you giggled, smiling at him.

He shrugged, “Made you laugh…”

A loud bang of the door behind you made you jump out of your skin, almost falling down the stairs again, Simon's hand jutting out behind you, as if prepared to catch you. Looking to the door your eyes widened at the man who opened it, it was the beautiful black man from earlier. He smiled at you, chuckling.

“You twos can come inside now,” he beckoned you in, Simon putting a hand to your mid back and pushing when you didn’t move.

The thick smell of cigars filled the room, and warm glowing lights. As well as your boyfriend who sat in a chair across a large desk, a rather shitty chair. Curled in on himself and whining something.

“Please, please don’t, she,” he looked at the man across the desk, “She didn’t know honestly…”

The man across the desk was a large hairy man, with thick mutton chops and soft eyes, a cigar smoldering in the ash-tray in front of him. Button up tight on his figure.

“Ah please,” the man beckoned to you, still hyper-aware of Simon's meaty hand on your back, “Come ‘ere, my name's John, it’s a pleasure.”

He stood, and leaned over the desk, holding out his hand. You looked to it and back up to Johns face, hesitant. Simon’s hand shoved at you, making you squeak and jut your hand out, shaking Prices.

He chuckled and sat down, sinking back into his chair, “Come on Ghost, you can take your hand off the poor thing now.”

SImon–or Ghost you suppose–dragged his hand down your back again, pulling it off, the black man who was standing next to your boyfriend chuckled as well. You didn’t see, but Simon had sent an annoyed look his way, and the other man sent back a teasing smile.

“Let her leave man–she didn’t know–”

Your boyfriend's whines were cut off by a smack to the side of the head by the man standing next to him.

“If I wanna hear from you i’ll ask.”

“Settle now, don’t wanna scare the poor thing any more,” John smiled, he looked at you and clasped his hands together, “Now, we have some things to discuss.”

You looked from your boyfriend to the man at the desk, “O-oh? Really?”

“Yes, really, now as you may know, your boyfriend here seemed to have lost a little,” John paused, looking for the word, “Money is some games he played with us.”

“Yeah, he mentioned it,” you thought back to not even half an hour ago when he was gripping your arms and shaking you. Shooting a glance to Simon, who was leaning against the doorway, staring at you.

“So, he did mention that it was your money?” John asked, leaning back in his chair, picking up his cigar, looking between you two.

You didn’t move. It felt like your heart stopped beating, in fact you were a little dizzy. Your stare blank and slightly slack jawed as you stared at the bear behind the desk.

“My money?” you asked, pointing to yourself.

“Baby please you gotta–”

“Yes.” John looked at your boyfriend–ex boyfriend you’ve now decided–and made a ‘quiet’ motion with his hands, “Your money.”

“How… much of my money?” you still didn’t know how to react, yes you were angry, yes you were sad, yes you were shocked, betrayed, livid. But you just, stood there.

Price looked at a paper he had on his desk, “Just about 15,000 dollars.”

You slapped a hand to your mouth in an attempt to quiet the scream you were about to let out. It felt like all the blood had rushed to your head. You looked at Simon in the doorway–you looked just about as angry as you were–to your boyfriend in the chair who looked like a kicked dog, to the man next to him who stood with his arms crossed, and a disappointed look on his face.

“How the fuck did he get 15,000 dollarrs–” you snapped to look at the slime sitting in the chair, “How the fuck did you get 15,000 dollars!”

He gulped, and looked down to his lap, feet tapping on the concrete floor.

“Tell her.” Simon snapped, his voice spooking you slightly.

“I-I took out a loan in your name,” he spilled, “I forged your signature, your credit is better than mine so they let, you take out the loan…”

Your blood was boiling.

John chuckled, “Well, now that that's settled–”

He turned to you again, your jaw officially slacked up, and your brows pinched. You had a headache…

“Since technically it was your money that was wagered, you have the final say in this…there’s two options, we can, deal with the boyfriend problem for you, and either you pay us back within the month, or you could pay it back via working for us,” John’s eyes crinkled in his smile. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Simon shift, straightening up.

“W-work for you?” you thought about the fight earlier, the knees cracking noses and the fists working stomachs to mush, “I-I’m not a fighter, I can’t fight for you.”

“Oh no love, none of that,” John waved you off, “Don’t want muck up that pretty face’a yours, I need a secretary of sorts. An assistant. Help me set up meetings, file papers, keep our boys in check. A pretty thing to bring to meetings and such.”

You blinked owlishly, looking at your ex-boyfriend on the chair, tears in his eyes and quiver on his lips. He was shaking his head, in a silent plea. His eyes jumping from yours to over your shoulder behind you.

Looking back at John, you rubbed your face, a sigh fighting its way out your throat. You could not pay off $15,000 in a month, much less alone, much less at the shitty office job you had right now. But you worked an office job so you’d have some basic qualifications to do the job offered well. They seemed, understanding of the  situation at least, and hopefully give you more time to get the money than just a month if you worked for them.

“Would I have more than a month?”

“Depends on how well you do the job,” John mused, “Do it well and you'll have all the time you need.”

Licking your lips, jaw clenched, you looked at John sheepishly from under your brows.

“I…I’ll work for you, just, don’t kill him…please–I don't care if you fuck him up just don't kill him,” you looked to your ex, who slumped back in his chair, a shell shocked look on his face. But was snapped out of it quickly as the pretty man grabbed the collar of his shirt, jerking him up. 

“Brilliant!” John grinned, opening his arms wide, “We’ll take real good care’a ya’, promise.”

The man walked your boyfriend out the door, Simon following behind them, a heavy stomp to his step, and fists clenched.

You looked back to John, you were sure you looked utterly defeated, shoulders to your ears and a pout on your lips, browns pinched and shallow breaths.

He stood up, walking around the table, your steps involuntarily matching his, backing up as he walked forward. A very large man indeed. Intimidating.

He grinned, teeth shining, as he held out his hand, yours awkwardly held out to meet it. His hand engulfed yours in a crushing grip, knuckles throbbing in pain. He leaned in closer to you, pulling your body close to his. You swallowed and pulled your head back, muscles tense.

“Looks like we have a deal.”

(word count: 4480)

[ohnococo]

How To Fight | MMA Fighter!Toji x Physical Therapist!Reader

You love your job as a Physical Therapist, and would rather avoid any complications. Unfortunately MMA Fighter Toji Fushiguro has taken a liking to you. Despite your better judgement, you've taken a liking to him too.

✧ wc: 6.3k

✧ notes: A song fic taking place in the MMA AU. The song lyrics referenced are from How To Fight by Eartheater

✧ warnings: eventual angst, mma!au, no curse au, widowed Toji, divorced Toji, single dad Toji, fem bodied reader, pronouns used (she/her), pet names (sweetheart), flirting, unwanted advances, pussy referred to as 'she', physical therapist reader, recurring injury, injury recovery, vaginal sex, cumshot

i've tasted metals of my own blood, and learned to like it

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

It was against everything you stood for to be happy to see a client again, given your line of work, but Toji was different. Against your better judgement, he had somehow managed to work his way into your mind, burrowing past that steely wall of professionalism you kept up at all times with those in your care. You were determined to never let him know that, though.

“Well, Toji, I would prefer it if you didn’t keep getting yourself injured.”

He breezes right past that. “Just let me take you out, it’ll be a lot nicer than pushing me around and cracking my joints.”

It was a simplification bordering on misunderstanding your work, as if you were some chiropractor, but you know he’s only saying it to get you shoving him around with that tinge of annoyance he feeds right into your veins. You try not to give in, because you’re always trying not to give in to Toji, really. Then he’s resisting, just enough to make you really have to work to guide him in the stretch you want him to do, and he’s managed to get you right where he wants you yet again. You tug at his hips, guiding him into movements he should be familiar with by now.

“Just let me do my job.”

You had no intention of accepting his advances, whether they were in the form of invitations to dinner, sparkling bedroom eyes, or flirtatious comments that would have had you kicking anyone else right out of your office. Not Toji, though. With him, you just find yourself slowly allowing him to speak to you more and more familiarly.

The corner of his mouth lifts smugly just as he’s turning away, taking his gaze off of you directly to watch you in the mirror along the wall next to the mat you were standing on. He allows you to move him for a moment, only offering light resistance now, as if you could truly make him do anything he didn’t want to, then continues the twisting motion on his own. You watch his body carefully, avoiding eye contact because you already know those green eyes are fixed on your face, trying to coax you into giving him the smallest inch to turn into a mile.

“If you want your hands on me you don’t gotta use your job as an excuse.”

You ignore him outright, drowning out any potentially untoward thoughts with a strengthened focus on your work. As always, it works, and you note on your assessment forms that his hip mobility was normal. You knew it would be, that Toji knew how to throw his punches properly, but you’re always thorough with your checklist whether it was for the reasons Toji accused you of or not.

“Stand against the wall.”

He lets out a whistle, hands up as he does, “Gonna frisk me?”

“I’m gonna refer you to Yaga so you can get wrung out like a wet rag if you don’t do what I tell you.”

“Ooh, that doesn’t sound too bad, actually.”

“Toji.”

He chuckles as he settles into the position he already knows you want him in, doing lunges with the wall as a marker for how deep to press forward as you watch his ankle and knee movements.

“All good there.” You tap his back, nodding as you make your notes while he stands in wait.

“Okay, upper body.”

You know this is where he’ll need the work, as usual, and you’re quick to go through your checks with the right shoulder, moving onto his problem area. You already knew from his post-fight medical, but are happy to find, as you watch his movements as he lifts and rotates his arm, that it’s no more serious than the last time.

“Left shoulder…” you say aloud as you note it.

He looks annoyed, at himself rather than at you, “Always is.”

It makes you feel bad for him, in a way. He wasn’t really reckless in the ring. He knew his body too well and was too calculated with how he approached his fights. Unfortunately, it was simply a recurring injury, as shoulder issues often were. Something that was always going to pop back up sooner or later, but with the way Toji took so many fights even as he neared his forties it seemed to be “sooner” more and more often.

As you rotate his arm, feeling where he tenses and softening your movements, you share a little of your optimism with him - couched in realism, of course.

“Don’t look so sad. It’s similar to the last one, so it shouldn’t be too long before we have you out there in the ring living your best life.”

He laughs at that, sounding a little dryer than his usual flirty chuckle, “I’m not living my best life in there.”

You glance up at him while you continue your assessment, brows raising in muted interest before he continues.

“Put it this way, I like it because I like the money. I don’t love fighting.” He thinks on it a little more before adding, “I do love finishing fights, though.”

To you, there was little difference between those two things, but then you weren’t the one doing the fighting so you accept his feelings on the matter. “That’s fair. I think it’s kind of rare to really love your job.”

As you firmly grasp his bicep, lifting his arm outwards, he flexes for just a moment, grin returning to its usual wolfish state, “Bet you love your job though. Groping men all day.”

You release his arm, letting it fall for only a moment, but catching it as soon as he winces, “I’d love it a lot more if you let me do it without those kinds of comments.”

“Ehh,” he tilts his head, brows raising in disbelief at your continued assertions that you didn’t get any sort of satisfaction out of this (and you didn’t… until him). “I think you get something out of them.”

You ignore him again, returning to your desk to note your recommendations. “Four to six weeks of sessions, as usual.” You look up at him then, indirectly threatening him to behave, “Four will probably do though.”

It shouldn’t have been a threat, getting him back up to snuff as efficiently as possible, but it had become one by now with Toji. It was a joke, of course. Toji would feign being hurt by the thought of it, but was always happy to be able to accept his next fight as soon as possible.

But sometimes it didn’t feel like a joke. Sometimes you did want a little more time basking in his flirtations. Toji Fushiguro had unfortunately grown on you and it often left you feeling ashamed. His reputation precedes him. He’d even been married when he first came into your office, and here you were worrying about missing those butterflies in your stomach at his little reminders that he is completely fixated on you.

When you find yourself smiling a little too widely at him, or even thinking about him outside of your sessions, you have to remind yourself that there was nothing actually there. It was just what he was like with anyone that caught his eye, even if it was only ever you he was assigned to once you’d started working there.

The why of it all wasn’t a mystery in the beginning. He was a relentless flirt that, based on how cagey some of your coworkers were about hearing he would be in your care, had apparently enjoyed his time with many of them before you. You didn’t mess around about your job, though. You loved your work, and you loved the convenience of this position, so you’d decided that you absolutely would not be added to his list of conquests.

At first keeping that professional level of disinterest was easy. It had seemed so obvious that he’d move on and request another PT work with him after the first of his recurring injuries led to several sessions worth of you rejecting his advances. That wasn’t the case, though. Maybe that was exactly why he kept coming to you and only you. The challenge.

And it was a challenge, for the both of you. You were intent on giving him nothing, and he was intent at making that as hard as possible for you without even really trying. By the third time he’s booked in for several sessions with you for post-fight recovery, you find yourself actually letting your guard down around him, if only a little. You might have even missed him.

i've gone under the knife of love, dissected every vein and vessel

Another week, another therapy session, another attempt to keep your composure, even with how relentless Toji is.

“How long are you gonna keep making me ask before you let me take you to dinner?”

You shoot him a look. The answer should be never, followed by asserting quite bluntly that you don’t sleep with clients, since he wasn’t exactly being subtle. That’s what the answer used to be, at least. It’s not quite that direct now, though. “How long are you going to keep getting yourself injured and winding up here?”

He puts his hand to his heart, feigning pain, “Listen, if I didn’t have a bum shoulder I wouldn’t get to come and be your favourite client.”

“I wouldn’t say favourite.”

He lifts his head from your massage table, flashing you a winning smile and the closest to puppy dog eyes a man like Toji could muster. “Cutest?”

“I wouldn’t say that either.”

He closes his eyes, relaxing onto your table as you move and massage his shoulder firmly, “Whatever you say, sweetheart…”

Toji really did enjoy testing you. Especially with his favourite little pet name for you. Sweetheart. ’Even though you’re not too sweet to me’ he’d said with a little pout, entirely undercut by his hungry eyes. You used to shoot him looks that could have killed a man on the spot in some other universe. Now you don’t look at him at all when he says it, it feels too risky. It feels like something in your eyes will give you away.

You throw out another of the many threats Toji knows are baseless by now, said as many times and with as little conviction as most of your defences against him. “You’re lucky I don’t kick you out.”

He peeks at you through barely opened eyes, as you stretch his arm outward, “That's what I’m saying, you’ve got a soft spot for me.”

That’s your final signal to put your proverbial work hat on a little more snugly as you push down, and he taps his fingers against you, indicating his limit for this particular stretch. He understands you’re truly done with the conversation as you pat his side and step back.

“Alright, time for strengthening exercises.”

This was the part he always got bored with. You weren’t touching him now, not after the first time to demonstrate what you wanted from him. You weren’t naive enough to believe him when he kept feigning a need for more hands-on guidance as he goes through the recommended motions. A man doesn’t get to the point of looking like Toji without knowing how to lift weights - especially not the small ones you had him on just to slowly get his strength back in his shoulder.

Even then, lying on the floor, raising a little 5 pound weight with his healing arm while you stand above him watching closely, he’s still ready to run his mouth.

“I like this.”

“It feels alright?”

“The weight is fine, but I like having you standing over me like that.”

You give him nothing, pursing your lips as you put the tip of your shoes between his arm and the ground, “Keep your arm up, don’t bring it down too far.”

Ignoring his comments is the best you can do sometimes. Even if it gets harder with every session as you start to actually look forward to it deep down. Even if it becomes your only defence until you’re spending a good chunk of these sessions in a near haze, trying to force as much emotional distance as possible once his flirting starts up.

His comments were uncalled for, and so was the way it made you feel. You were far from the type to be desperate for the attention of a man like him, and the way your body responded to him only pissed you off the more it excited you. All you can do, or all you’re willing to do, is shut it down, and remember that you have a job to do.

—

After three more sessions of this you’ve convinced yourself that you’re more than ready to discharge him and hopefully enjoy a peaceful several months without the risk of seeing his face again. The fact that it never used to take convincing to enjoy having the walking talking complication out of your life is something you aren’t willing to address.

“You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?”

“Don’t start, Toji.”

You know you can’t really tell him what to do, unfortunately.

“You don’t have to if you-“

“That’s right, I don’t have to miss you, and I won’t. Hopefully you don’t go getting yourself injured again so you can come and bother me more.”

Your tone has him sucking in air through his teeth and grimacing a little.

“I don’t exactly like getting injured.” He looks away as he speaks and it’s strange not having his eyes on you like you were some sort of prey to be carefully observed. “I couldn’t even help my son move into his dorm. Cage fighter dad that can’t even lift a fucking box. It pisses me off.”

He shrugs, eyes back on you, lit up anew, “But at least I get to see your pretty face, huh?”

As much as you don’t enjoy Toji’s comments, you like these little glimpses of something else even less. Because he does talk to you. About his day, about little things that pop in his head when he’s bored of flirting for seconds at a time. And it makes it much harder not to get a little too attached when he isn’t just being a simple womaniser.

It sometimes makes you feel like Toji thinks you’re some sort of therapist - when he’s not relentlessly trying to get you into his bed. And you know that’s what all of his flirting is, of course.

Because his reputation precedes him. Yes, he’ll take someone out. Yes, they’ll have a good time. Yes, they’ll fuck. Except in your case you aren’t a part time receptionist or ring girl that might be able to avoid awkward situations with him during the nothing that comes after all of that. And you aren’t willing to mess up the good thing you have with your job, even though some of your coworkers seemed to be.

What wasn't mentioned to you as part of his reputation, was the little breadcrumbs of who he was beneath the charm and muscle. It’s known he was a prodigy in his sport. It’s known he retired young to be a family man. And it’s known he came back, 5 years later, newly widowed.

He doesn’t talk about his first wife much, because why would he? Any brief mentions of her are with an undying warmth and love that undercuts his reputation as a heartbreaker. She’s special. The mother of his child, his first love. The former is stated, the latter is obvious. Nothing short of that would melt that hardened mask of indifference.

His second wife, he doesn’t speak about at all. You only know of her because he mentions a step-daughter, and because when he’d flirted with you from the very first time he’d entered your care your eyes had locked onto the ring on his finger with contempt for how little it apparently meant. By the time you see him next, nearly half a year and another injury later, he isn’t wearing the ring anymore.

Something in you feels flattered when you ask Toji about how his son was finding college in front of a coworker who had been here much longer than you, and they’re shocked as they say they didn’t know he had kids. Then, you’re left even more annoyed at him for giving you more complications to maintaining a necessary level of professional distance in your job.

Small talk shouldn’t feel so heavy.

Helping people recover shouldn’t make you have to deal with these thoughts.

i know how to fight, how to fuck, how to die, how to resurrect my pride

When you give in, it’s in the worst way. He doesn’t even take you to dinner, you don’t give him a chance to. It’s his fourth time in your care, this time for an ankle injury. Something basic, something much more simple to deal with than his recurring problem. Something that will get him out of your hair in no time.

He isn’t simple to deal with though, telling you about the dogs his son adopted, how he never really got how people got so attached to animals growing up, but now he gets it. He’s got you comfortable, not even thinking about how your guard is down, nor about how you even smile at him as he shows you a picture of his son, buried under two masses of fluff and begrudgingly smiling at the camera.

“God, Toji, you really just have a little twin there, don’t you?”

He laughs, looking at the picture of his son, before setting his phone aside on the mat. “Nah, there’s a lot of his mom in there.”

You smile, patting his shoulder in a rare touch outside of professional reasons, “That’s nice.”

He lies back on the mat, out of your reach, “You’re nice, for once.”

You get back to work, wrapping your hands around his ankle and bending his foot slowly. “I’m nice to people who aren’t constantly trying to get into my pants.”

“Hey, who said I was trying to do that? I’m just trying to take you out.” He sits up and leans onto his elbows, “but if that’s the kind of thing you’re interested in…”

“I’m interested in doing my job. I don’t mind talking to you when you relax with the inappropriate comments.”

“I’ve gotta prove myself to you before you’ll let me take you out, got it.”

“Is that what I said, Toji?”

Toji shrugs, fully relaxing back onto his elbows, and you pull on his foot gently. “That’s what I heard.”

You shoot him a look that you hope can put fear into the heart of even him. Instead, it only seems to inspire other emotions as he forms his scarred lips into a pout that misses the mark of garnering pity for his plight as a man rejected yet again, though you’re certain Toji knows exactly what he’s doing when he makes faces like that. Even with his lips puckered and sticking out slightly, even with his brows fashioned into a worried frown, his eyes telegraph exactly what he’s thinking about.

It crumbles your resolve, leaving you looking away first as you let out a sigh you hope comes across as frustration instead of weakness. You readjust your position squatting down next to him on the mat, trying to get a feel for the flexibility of his ankle before you start guiding him through putting some of his weight onto it as he straightens the other leg and lifts his hips off the mat before settling back down.

He’s quiet then, for much longer than you were used to, and you take the silence as an opportunity to work in peace as you rotate his foot again. When you look back up at him it has your heart beating a little faster than it should be. His teeth press lightly at his lower lip, his eyelids are only half open, and his brow quirks as if just your look had the same effect as having said something dirty.

“What is it now?”

You expect him to make some comment about your hands on his body, how they were lingering even now. He makes you wait for it though, tilting his head from one side to the other as he looks you up and down, smiling like he has a secret he’s debating keeping.

Another sigh falls from your lips, filled with actual frustration this time, and when he sits up it feels like he’s towering over you in a way you simply could not overcome, despite being able to easily stand and remove yourself from the pull of his gaze. The way he peers at you, even more intense than usual, has the back of your neck tingling and you’re forced to swallow hard even with the fear that something as simple as that would give you away.

His gaze softens, dipping back into something cooler, as if he’s backing away from an animal signalling that an approach would not be treated kindly. He takes a deep breath, and you don’t even notice you’re following suit until you both exhale at the same time.

It’s as if he’s settling whatever that moment was with just a look, deciding not to make the final jump to cross that imaginary line, and it puts you at ease enough that his words are like a punch to the gut.

“You’re pretending you don’t like it, but your neck is doing that thing.”

“What? What are you talking about?” You’re blowing it, far too defensive even though you truly aren’t actually sure what he means.

“Here.” He brings a hand to your neck, tracing a finger down the length of it, stopping just above your collarbones. “You always tense riiiiight there.”

He pulls his hand back, settling it on his thigh, and you let out the breath you’d been holding from the moment his hands were coming towards you. It makes you realise you’d been so focused on controlling everything you did or said that you’d been clenching yourself like a fist every time his words, or actions, left you melting inside. It also makes you realise that was the first time he’d put his hands on you in a way entirely unrelated to your work since he shook your hand the day you’d met.

You’re horrified at having been found out. You’re even more horrified as you realise you hadn’t really been hiding anything anyway. It’s left you with no clue how to respond, and you suddenly feel so aware of your every movement, unable to decipher how to behave when your little act had been so, so obvious to him from the start.

“Look, if you really want me to stop, I’ll st-“ he pauses, looking up as he thinks, scrunching his nose and tilting his head as if he’s weighing options. “Well, I’ll try to stop. I can’t make any promises…”

He’s pausing again, thinking again, looking you up and down as he licks his lips, before he crosses his legs, pulling his ankle out of your grasp and resting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward. It forces you to react, as if on instinct, and lean back off of your feet to seat yourself with knees raised and acting as a final barrier between the two of you. He lets you keep that distance you’d gained, but brings a hand to hover over your knee so closely that you’re not sure if he’s touched you yet or if it’s just the heat radiating off of him setting your nerves on fire.

You can’t even bring your eyes away from his to check, and realise that you wouldn’t exactly want to move further away whether his touch was real or imagined. His gaze has you locked in place just as much as your own head as you find yourself thoroughly buried in your own pit of uncertainty as everything moves too fast for your mind to catch up.

“You don’t want me to stop though, do you sweetheart?”

His eyes, the heat of him, his low words digging through that pit in your stomach to reach for your core, it all has you feeling too lightheaded to be able to think at all. You can barely even feel yourself shaking your head, body much more honest than you had been willing to be all this time.

“Thought so.”

He leans in, brushing his nose back and forth against yours, smiling with the cute gesture, then that grin spreads wider as you tilt your head, your eyes fluttering closed as you wait for him to just kiss you. He doesn’t, waiting long enough that you’re forced to open your eyes and confront the sight of that hungry face yet again, and this time his gaze has you outright clenching.

“Big girls don’t get what they want by acting all shy, do they?”

It’s too much, you feel humiliated, you feel sick, you feel like you’ll pass out if he keeps working you up without even putting his hands on you properly.

“Kiss me. If you wanna.”

You don’t know who you are, needing to be told what to do like this. You question who you are again, as you follow orders in a way you never would have before you’d been called out like this and press your lips to his, letting out a breath that’s shaky enough to have you revealing just how desperate you were. When you start to wonder who you are for the third time, for kissing a client, at work no less, you drown out that thought by parting your lips against his.

He responds with softly parted lips of his own, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into him as he slots his mouth against yours. You wait for his tongue, flitting the tip of yours against his lower lip, and when it does not come you’re clinging to his shirt, bunching it at his shoulders. You’re forced to hold onto those broad shoulders properly when he lies back and his hands on your waist bring you with him to settle you on top of him - wordlessly reiterating that you would need to pull yourself together and set the pace here.

It’s your final push, as you straddle him with hands braced against his chest and slide your tongue into his mouth. Feeling the body you’d had your hands on far too many times, this time beneath you and with your ability to lie to yourself about the effect it has on you stripped away, has you salivating. You set all shame aside for this moment as you grind down against him, indulging in the feel of his stiffening cock beneath layers of thin fabric.

That tense feeling threatens to return, prickling at the back of your neck as he laughs into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and guiding your movements against him with strong hands on your hips. It’s gone again as he lifts his hips gently, using your weight against you as you only press harder onto him. You squeeze at his pecs, groaning into his mouth as you finally goad him into kissing you back with the same intensity you were now pouring into him, and it’s as delightfully invasive as you’d tried your hardest not to imagine it would be time and time again. It sends a tremble through your thighs, the wetness pooling in your panties all too obvious to you as all of your hidden desperation pulses through you straight from your pussy.

You forget yourself while kissing him like this, unaware of how long you’ve been on top of him, unaware of how you were moaning outright with just the friction between you, unaware of anything but feeling and tasting and touching as much of Toji as you could.

He’s aware though, aware of everything just as he always has been. How your thighs squeeze at his hips, the way your moans start sounding more like breathy little whines, how your tongue stops moving for seconds at a time against his. And it’s all he needs to keep this momentum going so quickly that everything but the two of you is an unintelligible blur.

“You gonna cum just like this?”

You don’t really want to answer it, and the look you give him as you try to keep him kissing you rather than talking has him chuckling, light and breathy against your skin.

“Sweetheart… if you’d just let me take you out from the beginning you wouldn’t be so pent up and begging for it…”

It takes more concentration than you have available to you right now to steady your voice. “I’m not begging.”

He takes in your face, biting at his lower lip as he slides two fingers into your mouth. He wiggles them around, sliding over your tongue, practically fucking your mouth with those thick fingers, knuckles catching at your tightened lips. “You aren’t…”

His fingers leave your mouth just as you were starting to actually enjoy the intrusion, and he slips his hands into your leggings, past your panties, stopping you from pressing down against his clothed cock like you had been as he circles your entrance slowly, “but she is.”

Then, his hand is gone, resecured on your hips, steadying your movements. “But you’re the boss here, not her. So if you don’t want it…”

“Come on, Toji.” You’re chastising him, even if you’re in no position to do so with your thighs tensing and your hips begging to keep moving against him.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Like I said, you’re the boss. So I don’t move without orders.”

And he doesn’t. He doesn’t keep kissing you, even when you press your lips against his again, sighing out your frustration against his soft smile. He doesn’t release your hips to let you keep stoking your fire on his body. He doesn’t do anything but look up at you with a hungry glint in his eye, enjoying every moment it takes you to push your pride aside to ask him for exactly what you’ve wanted longer than you can admit to yourself.

“I want to cum.”

“Just you? Not a very good boss, huh…”

You groan, frustration with him reaching a fever pitch, “I want you to fuck me.”

He closes his eyes, smiling wide and letting your words wash over him. It’s music to his ears, and when he looks back up at you his pupils are blown and you know he’s done holding back. “All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

His arm is around your waist then, keeping you steady as rolls you over, settling himself between your thighs and you’re now looking up at him. You feel the tensing of his body, and come back to yourself enough to give him a concerned look.

He catches it, pressing a hand to your cheek and rubbing his thumb over your lips in an attempt to soothe those worries.

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” He shifts so he’s not putting weight onto his ankle, pulling at your shoes until they’re sliding off and hitting the ground. You lift your hips as you work your own leggings and underwear down, straightening your legs for him to remove them for you before he’s spreading you wide with hands on your inner thighs. He slides a hand towards your pussy, rubbing his thumb through your wetness and sucking air through his teeth at the way it slips around with ease.

“You really were gonna cum like that, weren’t you?”

You run your hands over your face, unwilling to endure any more teasing, “Just fuck me, Toji.”

He whistles, releasing your thighs and tugging the waistband of his shorts down just enough to release his cock, and you look up to his face, refusing to give him a reaction until he’s sliding inside you just as you’ve asked. He braces himself on one of his elbows, leaning over you and letting his cock hang heavily against your stomach. His hair tickles at your face as he kisses you again before requesting a final affirmation before following the orders you’d given.

“Want me to go slow?”

He really does wear your patience thin, enough that you answer without thinking, “No.”

“Okay…” he sounds doubtful, but continues on as he grips himself at the base and rubs the head of his cock through your wetness.

You squeeze at his sides, prompting him to look at you instead of at his own cock below. “Do not cum inside me.”

It’s stern enough to make Toji laugh, your voice sounding much more like your usual self for just a moment. “Don’t worry, I don’t want any more responsibilities.”

You don’t know if you trust Toji, but right now you don’t exactly trust yourself either. Especially not when having this man you’d spent ages closing yourself off to split you open on his cock in one merciless push has you wincing and taking it like it was exactly what you deserved for being so weak to him.

Toji pauses, balls deep, eyes clouded as he looks down at you. “I asked if you wanted me to go slow.”

It’s said with a hint of pity and a look that says ’you did this to yourself’, though he does stay still, kissing you again and removing your need to try and collect your thoughts enough to reassert that you knew your body, not him.

He doesn’t hold back for long though, and once you’re sighing into his mouth again, your tongue’s movements sloppy and unfocused, he starts moving his hips slowly. He starts with shallow thrusts, hips barely leaving yours. Then, as your body relaxes and your pussy accommodates him with a telltale squelch, he pulls out further, fucking you harder. Once your thighs are gripping at his hips he sits up, gathering more momentum in his thrusts at the slight change of angle.

He presses his hand to your abdomen, thumb making out a steady pace on your clit as his hips make angled thrusts that have his cock working at you with purpose. The moan it draws from you is punctuated with your eyes rolling, trying desperately to refocus on the face of the man above you. He bites at his lip, nodding and groaning at the feel of you tightening as he finds the movements that have your hands trying to grip at something below, but only meeting the dull squeak of your fingertips sliding against the mat. He leans back, reaching up to grab at the back of the collar of his shirt and tug it over his head, tossing it aside. He grasps both of your wrists firmly, pulling your hands up to rest against his stomach as he looks down at you with a challenge in his eyes.

“C’mon, touch me.” He smiles, wide and wicked, “Like you’ve always wanted to.”

You do just that, running your hands over his abs, grazing your thumb over his belly button, tracing your fingers along the prominent vein on his abdomen that leads down below to where the two of you are connected. Then, your hands travel back upwards, gripping at his pecs. His hand returns to press at you, thumb back to playing with your swollen clit, and having that touch back so suddenly has you squeezing Toji’s pecs hard, drawing a moan from him.

“There you go.” It adds even more enthusiasm to his thrusts, speed picking up as he leans over you, propping himself up on one hand as he digs deep to have you squeezing him again.

This time your touch is intentional as you squeeze at the flesh, a slight give present before you reach hardened muscle, and when you graze your nails over his nipples he’s shivering above you, bucking into you harder. The way he rubs at your clit is almost mechanical in its precise speed and pacing, a steady climb punctuated by those thrusts that stroke your insides in a way that makes your body tingle and your toes curl.

“That easy, huh?”

The audacity helps you lock eyes on him, if only for a moment, and while his smug smile builds a small fury at the back of your mind, your receive vindication in the flutter of his lashes and slight twitch of his upper lip as he tries to ignore the call of his tightening balls. It gives you what you need to dig deep, rocking your hips up into his thrusts, unearthing the orgasm just below the surface for the both of you.

You find yours first, putting your trust in Toji as you let go and bounce into him as it rips through you white hot and powerful enough to have you curling in on yourself, head buried against Toji’s chest and legs clamping him until his hips are pressed to yours. He pushes past even the strength of your legs and pulsing pussy, thrusting until you release him, lying back, and your head has barely hit the mat below before he’s pulling out.

“Fuck…” it’s hissed out as he sits up and jerks at his cock roughly, head falling back while his hips buck up and into his fist. His cum spatters down, first landing on your shirt until you tug it up, hopeless as the task was with your clothes already ruined, and take the rest of it onto your bare stomach.

He’s left panting, you’re left panting. He looks like he’s won at something, you feel like you’ve lost.