#Referee's Screen

[oldschoolfrp]

"A plague zombie, a victim of the horrible Canopus plague -- It appears to be made of a dark brown, glistening, gelatinous substance." (Harry Quinn illustration from The Albuquerque Starport, introductory Gamma World adventure by Paul Reiche III bundled with the 1981 1st edition Referee's Screen)

[heesmiles]

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

crossing the line series.

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes. 

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.” 

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.” 

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box. 

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—” 

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.” 

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit. 

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!” 

​​You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey. 

-

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this. 

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here. 

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink. 

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing. 

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?” 

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here. 

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well. 

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.  Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies. 

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth. 

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess. 

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?” 

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?” 

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more. 

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to. 

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?” 

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.” 

Your stomach sinks. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect. 

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again. 

-

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.” 

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.” 

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it. 

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard. 

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence. 

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.” 

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it. 

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you. 

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement. 

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out. 

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath. 

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?” 

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?” 

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—” 

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.” 

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.” 

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.” 

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.” 

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.” 

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.” 

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.” 

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.” 

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting. 

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,’ when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.” 

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.” 

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.” 

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up. 

And wait.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response. 

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.” 

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.” 

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all. 

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late." 

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?” 

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.” 

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?” 

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.” 

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.” 

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done. 

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life. 

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.” 

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?” 

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.” 

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.” 

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm. 

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—” 

“Hey” 

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?” 

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.” 

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?” 

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…" 

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous. 

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.” 

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung. 

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.” 

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.” 

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?” 

“Five sharp.” 

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.” 

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much. 

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice. 

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.” 

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues. 

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.” 

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.” 

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?” 

She nods, sitting up a little.  “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?” 

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.” 

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.” 

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.” 

​​You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.” 

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine. 

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all. 

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.” 

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently. 

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him. 

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.” 

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp. 

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—” 

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table. 

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own. 

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?” 

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back. 

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—” 

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable. 

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens. 

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it. 

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. 

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.” 

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung. 

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable. 

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?” 

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” 

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.” 

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse. 

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you. 

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired. 

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.” 

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care. 

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape. 

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it. 

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?” 

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going. 

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling. 

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?” 

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.” 

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens. 

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now. 

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same. 

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different. 

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. 

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table. 

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” 

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?” 

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup. 

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.” 

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.” 

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things. 

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library. 

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies. 

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” 

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.” 

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood. 

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.” 

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type. 

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?” 

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too.. 

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same. 

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until— 

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?” 

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?” 

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?” 

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.” 

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.” 

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice. 

He looks up, amused. “What?” 

“You read it?” 

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.” 

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?” 

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. 

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger. 

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out. 

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not. 

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break. 

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.” 

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—” 

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses. 

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes. 

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down. 

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there. 

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that. 

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.” 

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him. 

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.” 

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him? 

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.” 

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him. 

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.” 

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur. 

Heeseung blinks. “You do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”  

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good. 

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands. 

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different. 

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung. 

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great. 

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands. 

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before. 

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.” 

You blink, startled. “What?” 

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.” 

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.” 

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?” 

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—” 

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.” 

Your stomach flips. “I do not.” 

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”  

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise. 

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back? 

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face. 

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.” 

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..” 

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation. 

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..” 

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found. 

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really. 

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she. 

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.” 

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself. 

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases. 

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed. 

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?” 

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.” 

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening. 

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him. 

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens. 

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?” 

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself. 

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them. 

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin. 

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene. 

“Damn.” 

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.” 

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking. 

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it. 

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do. 

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking? 

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. 

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?” 

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.” 

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.” 

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.” 

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil. 

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.” 

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.” 

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?” 

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.” 

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about? 

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.”  Oh. Oh. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—” 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.” 

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon. 

“I wasn’t trying to-” 

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—” 

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?” 

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.” 

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up. 

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.” 

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again. 

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours. 

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. 

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to. 

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..” 

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.” 

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff. 

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” 

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips. 

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him. 

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before. 

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight. 

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?” 

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it. 

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.” 

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers. 

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good. 

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed. 

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before. 

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.” 

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to. 

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was. 

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size. 

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?” 

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.” 

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet. 

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.” 

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.  

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up. 

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.” 

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit. 

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin. 

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.” 

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?” 

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.” 

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?” 

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.” 

“I know.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” 

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know. 

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.” 

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?” 

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.” 

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks. 

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with. 

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner. 

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened. 

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy. 

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless. 

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.” 

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach. 

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.” 

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. 

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.” 

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see. 

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?” 

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts. 

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for. 

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together. 

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really. 

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung. 

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.” 

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled. 

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.” 

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.” 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?” 

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door. 

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” 

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.” 

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—” 

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then make me get it.” 

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?” 

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear? 

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now. 

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?” 

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.” 

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” 

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek. 

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin. 

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you. 

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him. 

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.” 

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.” 

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.” 

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.” 

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.” 

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him. 

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.” 

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.” 

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.” 

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung. 

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?” 

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—” 

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.” 

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.” 

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder. 

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you. 

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.” 

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” 

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.” 

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?” 

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.” 

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.” 

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?” 

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.” 

“Okay”

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

[yuujispinkhair]

Boxer!Sukuna headcanons

Inspired by this lovely ask. Thank you so much for sending me that and making me lose my mind over Boxer!Sukuna.

Pairing: Boxer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: 18+, modern AU, smut, squirting. Mentions of boxing injuries, biting, blood. I know that boxers usually wear a groin protector, but I chose to ignore this for this AU because I wanted to write a sexy detail lol. Sukuna + Reader are in a relationship. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who always wants you by his side backstage until it's time for him to enter the arena. You are his good luck charm and the only one who is allowed to wrap the bandages around his hands before he slips into his gloves. Not that he needs any luck with the skills he has, but he loves seeing you press your sweet kisses on his boxing gloves and smile at him before you hug him tightly and tell him to please be careful.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gets a warm feeling in his heart when he sees how worried you always are. Much more nervous before his fights than he is. But he always reassures you, wrapping his muscular tattooed arms tightly around you and hugging you to his firm body while he tells you, "Don't worry, princess. You know I never lose."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who smiles while you help him get dressed before a fight, helping him slip into the white silk kimono he wears for his ring entrance show. He can clear his mind the best when he feels your gentle hands caressing over his broad back.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gives you his most charming smile before he grabs your chin and asks you for a good luck kiss, not just on his boxing gloves but also on his lips.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who always tells you he loves you before he leaves the backstage area. And hearing your "I love you, too" in return gives him another surge of motivation.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose ring-entrance show always makes the crowd go wild. The whole arena is bathed in blood-red light. A picture of an ancient shrine in a sea of blood gets projected onto the large screens. Dramatic classical music starts playing as a huge throne of skulls emerges from the fog, with Sukuna lounging casually on it, his head resting on the back of his hand. He's wearing the snow-white kimono and a crown on his pink hair, presenting himself as The King of Curses, which is his stage name.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose stage name fits him perfectly. One look at him and his powerful body and that dangerous and ambitious glint in his eyes, and everyone knows this guy is truly a King in the boxing ring.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gracefully walks towards the ring with an arrogant look on his tattooed face, only accompanied by his assistant Uraume, who walks a few steps behind him as if they are a loyal shrine servant who follows their master obediently. They take off Sukuna's kimono for him and bow respectfully while the crowd cheers loudly.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks intimidating but beautiful as he stands there with a posture like a God while the white silk slips off his broad shoulders and reveals all the firm muscles and the sexy tattoos on his tall, athletic body.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who drops his serious act the moment he climbs into the ring and instead smirks his most charming smirk and lifts a hand to casually wave at his fans, letting them celebrate him as if he already won.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose last glance before every match belongs to you, though. As much as he enjoys the attention and worship from his fans, he always loves your gaze on him the most. You are the one who grounds him before a fight, the one who gives him the strength and the right mindset to lead him to victory.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose maroon eyes look directly into yours while he kisses his boxing gloves, at the same spot where your lips left their kisses a few minutes ago backstage. And right before he turns around to face the referee and his opponent, he winks at you and mouths, "I'll win this fight for you, baby".

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who already mocks his opponent before the fight even starts. Smiling tauntingly at him and asking him if he is scared. "You know, you can still run, little boy."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks so sexy during his fights. All of his attacks are powerful and well-planned. He moves gracefully through the ring, like a big cat on the prowl, beautiful and deadly. Everyone can see that he isn't someone who just relies on his brute strength. Sukuna is intelligent, and he uses his mind to win his fights.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who is both hated and loved by the judges. They hate how cocky he is but admire his skills and respect him for how well-prepared he is for his matches.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who wins most of his fights with a knockout, laughing triumphantly when the referee counts down the seconds.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who only loses fights when he gets disqualified for committing a foul. Sometimes, he bites his opponents, drawing blood with his sharp teeth and laughing as he licks the blood off his lips. You know that this is also part of Sukuna's strategy. He is too controlled to let himself get carried away during a fight, but he loves the reputation those bloody attacks give him, basking in the fear he sees in his opponents' eyes when he whispers to them before a fight, "Did you see the guy I bit last month? Let's see how your blood tastes on my tongue."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who is brilliant at blocking punches but also cannot be stopped if he gets hit. You used to be worried sick when you saw him receiving blows to the head until Sukuna reassured you that he is allowing it on purpose. It's all for the show. And sometimes, because he craves the pain since, it will spur him on even more.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who laughs after every punch his opponent lands, smirking cat-like as he licks the blood off his cracked lip, and his wild maroon eyes glitter amusedly at the other guy: "Aww, was that all you can do, brat? Gimme more, come on! Punch me! Make me bleed for real, you coward!"

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks so sexy with his tattooed skin all sweaty, every muscle in his tall, strong body taut. His veins standing out, and his broad chest rising and sinking as he breathes deeply. The outline of his long, thick cock visible through his dark red boxing shorts, making you want him so much.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who wears a sexy smirk on his beautiful tattooed face when he gets declared winner. He looks deeply into your eyes when the referee yanks his hand into the air to signal his win. This first moment is always for you alone, mesmerizing maroon eyes silently telling you that Sukuna dedicates this win to you.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who then punches his fist into the air and does a little round in the ring to let the crowd celebrate him like the King that he is. He is a professional, giving his fans what they crave, even while he craves something very different at that moment after a match.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who expects you to wait for him in his private locker room backstage, naked and wet, with your legs spread, ready to get taken by him.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who takes you rough and hard. He needs to fuck you to come down again after being so pumped up during his fight. His tall, muscular body is still dripping with sweat, smelling so sexy, a mix of sweat and musk and his expensive cologne. His breath is loud and harsh in your ear, turning into low, hoarse groans as he pounds your cunt with his cock and his heavy balls, just like he pounded his opponent with his fists.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who rubs your swollen clit firmly and whispers dirty things in your ear, making sure you give him your everything and squirt all over him when you cum on his fat cock.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who coos at you and calls you his good girl, his love, as he chases his own orgasm, finally allowing himself to let go, fucking you with hard erratic thrusts, his face buried in your neck, moaning loudly until he captures your lips in a heated kiss when he shoots his hot cum into your cunt.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who cuddles you afterward, pressing himself tightly against you while he is still buried balls-deep inside you, resting his forehead against yours and thanking you for being his lucky charm and the one who gives him strength. He stays like that, pressing you down with his heavy body, kissing you tenderly until his breathing finally calms down and the sweat on his body begins to dry.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who picks you up and murmurs to you, "Hold on to me, princess," before he carries you to the shower, not letting go of you even for a second, needing his princess on his cock and in his arms.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who showers with you and lets you wash him, sighing when you massage shower gel into his taut muscles, caressing him, and cleaning him, easing the tension in his body.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who returns the favor and lets his large, calloused hands wander gently over your naked and soaped-up body while he kisses you nonstop. Who caresses another orgasm out of you while you stroke his long thick cock slowly, making him spill his seed all over your hand.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who isn't the famous boxer, The King of Curses, anymore, when he is here under the shower with you. Here he is just Sukuna, your fiancé, who is joking around with you, all playful again, grinning that sexy grin and kissing you so sweetly, whispering against your skin how much you mean to him, and asking you where you want to have a late dinner tonight.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who fucks you once more, this time against the shower wall with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips and your hands in his pink hair. But this time, it is slow, sensual lovemaking. Slow, deep thrusts and tender French kisses until you both find completion at the same time and moan into each other's mouth. The perfect finish for a successful match.

HE IS SO SEXY 😭😭 I didn't know I would write so much for Boxer!Sukuna, but I enjoyed it so much to think of his dramatic ring-entrance show and the way he boxes, etc. I hope you enjoyed it too!!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

Update: There is a Part 2 now, in which Boxer!Sukuna and Reader have a baby together

[freshlovefein]

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ RAPPER!CHRIS X MODEL!READER HEADCANNONS

HEADCANNONS of rapper!chris and model!reader ,★

warnings , mentions of sexual themes, drugs, and alcohol.

read in DARK MODE!

. ⭐️ ݁₊ ੭ RAPPER!CHRIS HEADCANNONS ,

RAPPER!CHRIS , who’s stage name is ‘FRE$H LUV’.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who’s very needy when he is high and craves attention when he is around you and becomes very touchy until you give him the right attention.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who always includes something about you in his songs, expressing how much he appreciates you and loves you and always refereed as ‘my girl’.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who make you be included in some of his songs getting you to record your laugh or you saying his name and your voice mails you send him when he is on tour.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who’s always by your side when you are around his boys, as much as he trusts them in general he doesn’t trust them around you so he makes sure he is overly touchy with you when you are around them.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who had a bad reputation before he met you, but you changed his point of view on life completely once you both started dating.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who loves when you are being bratty because he knows he is able to fuck it out of you if you carry on — ‘you want me to f’you right here or sum?’.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who loves when you give him head in the studio when you come and see him there especially when he is in the studio working late.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who always makes sure he is at every single one of your shoots when you are shooting for brands and your runway shows, so you know he is your biggest supporter.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who only focuses on making as much money as he can, his musics, you and his brothers.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who is obsessed with having phone sex when he goes away for work, he loves hearing you moan his name and beg for him to come home because you crave him — ‘mmh, ma keep using those pretty fingers of yours until i’m back okay!’.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who’s lock screen is a picture of you from one of your lingerie shoots.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who doesn’t let you do any drugs, he doesn’t want you touching any of the shit he does other then weed because he loves your high eyes.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who loves snorting lines of your tits when he is in club.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who definitely likes it when he is rough with you when fucking you in doggy — he loves watching your ass bounce against him whilst covered in hand print marks from spanking. ‘good girl, keep bouncing that ass all on me,’. ‘s’good, ma taking me all in’.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who gets your initials on his grills and always makes sure he is wearing them when around other women.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who gives you money each week so you can treat yourself get your nails done, lashes new jewellery and a new set for you to wear whilst you ride him.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who has your initials embroidered on the passenger seat headrest in his car because you are his passenger princess.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who always makes sure your in his music videos if it includes any women in them as he doesn’t want to be touching anyone other than you.

RAPPER!CHRIS , who has your name tattooed on the inside of the bottom lip so when they are making out and you bite his bottom lip you can see your name knowing only you can kiss him.

. ⭐️ ݁₊ ੭ MODEL!READER HEADCANNONS ,

MODEL!READER , who sits on his lap when they are in social settings and you slowly pushes your self into him, you love teasing him in public.

MODEL!READER , who has his name tattooed behind your ear, when he holds your hair back when you are giving him head he strokes it.

MODEL!READER , who rolls his blunts for him whilst he is on the mic in the studio working.

MODEL!READER , who moans and dirty talks in his ear quietly when you are feeling horny and are out in public so he knows to come with you and find somewhere private to go — ‘my pussy is so wet baby just from looking at you!’.

MODEL!READER , who’s whole camera is full of videos of you going to his concerts and all you can hear is you in back of them as you are his biggest fan.

MODEL!READER , who is always mentioning him when you are doing an interview and getting him in your vouge beauty secret videos.

MODEL!READER , who dances on him when you both go to parties together, making sure all the girls who have been looking at him the whole night know to look somewhere else.

MODEL!READER , who buys yourself and him matching chrome heart bracelets.

MODEL!READER , who makes sure you invite him to everyone of your shoots that involves lingerie so he can pick his favourite one on you.

MODEL!READER , who always offers to give him road head whilst he is driving you both back home from being at the studio. — ‘lemme relax you baby, you look stressed’.

MODEL!READER , who models all the clothes you get sent by brands in front of him.

MODEL!READER , who does explicit photoshoots just for him, so he can keep the photos to himself so when he goes away for work he can touch himself to the pictures of you.

MODEL!READER , who has a huge walk in wardrobe in your home that you demanded chris’ to allow you to have.

MODEL!READER , who gives chris’ ‘fuck me eyes’ when you are both across the room from each other — you love too tease him at all costs.

© chromehrts 2025

⤷ back to , MASTERLIST ✧

[bueckers]

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄 ━━━ 𝐏𝐁

a/n | heavily inspired by that clip of caitlin & gabbie LOL. kind of a blurb

summary: paige gets caught looking at you a certain way on camera while you’re practically fuming during a game.

warning(s): just sexual tension & out of pocket comments, suggestive

pairing: paige bueckers x teammate!reader

The game against NC State was remarkably close, an unexpected challenge for only the second game of the season. As the third quarter dwindled to its final minutes, a sense of frustration began to set in. You found yourself doing everything in your power to gain composure.

The same girl had been targeting you all night, her aggressive play becoming increasingly blatant as the game progressed. Your patience was wearing thin, and when she charged at you once again, a surge of anger propelled you forward, ready to confront her. However, before you could react, Paige, Aubrey, and Ines intervened, stepping in to hold you back before you did something you’d regret.

Geno had benched you, which only added more fuel to the fire. When the other team called a timeout, the rest of the team was sent to the benches, but Paige was quick to run over to you. As soon as the whistle blew, you got out of my seat and jogged over to the referee, determined to explain that he had made the wrong call. He had been the entire game. Your frustration, however, got the better of you, and your words came out heated. The referee was clearly unimpressed with your complaints and wasn’t budging.

Paige stepped in front of you, concluding your one-sided heated conversation with the referee. She grabbed your arm with one hand and placed the other on your lower back to guide you away. “C’mere,” she mumbled, steering you back to the bench. You sat down, a little calmer than before but still huffing and puffing that you hadn’t gotten to say everything you wanted to.

Paige sat next to you, her entire body turned in your direction as she nearly fell off the seat. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, and she knew exactly what to do to get you to calm down. “Talk to me,” she threw out huskily, knowing you had to actually get what you had to say out before resting. You were already on it.

“That girl has been all over me all night,” you began, words tumbling out in a rush. “Do you know how many fouls I’ve been cheated out of? It’s like she’s got it out for me. And the refs are fucking blind to it—this is bullshit..”

As you rambled on, Paige couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. She was perplexed at how you could look so good even while angry. Her eyes darted between yours and your lips the entire time, her lips slightly parted. Though you were loud, she barely heard a word, her ears blocking out all of the trash talk you let flow. Paige was captivated, caught between her desire to comfort you with reassuring words and letting you take her in the locker room after the game, which seemed to intensify with every fiery word you spoke.

Her head rested in one of her hands, and just as you finished speaking you turned to her, catching her lingering gaze on your lips. This out of all things made you crack a smile. “Paige,” you snapped her out of her short daze, her eyes averting back to yours.

“Yeah?” she mumbled, sitting up straighter now as she reached her hands behind her head to adjust her ponytail.

Your eyes followed her without your head moving for a moment, your smile only growing bigger as you realized why she was staring at you that way. “What?” she questioned, her smile being heard through it, faking her oblivion as she looked at you.

“You’re so fucking horny, bro.” you shook your head, smiling bright at her as she threw her head back, laughing, but she didn’t disagree. What you didn’t know, was that your interaction was caught on camera being televised—and of course screen recorded.

user1. lip readers get on this 😭

user2. Paige is down bad CONFIRMED

user3. The way she’s looking at her omg I physically can’t

user4. PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS!?!?

user5. are they dating?

user6. No

user7. I hope so

user8. nooo way this is real LMFAOOO

user9. her eyes shifting between her lips and eyes ohhh she’s so down bad

user10. FRIENDS DON’T LOOK AT FRIENDS THAT WAY!?!?

user11. wouldn’t be surprised if they’re fucking

user12. these comments are crazy as hell 😭

[purplereina11]

The Perfect Shot Series You experience a few firsts with Alexia

Word count: 8.8K

Warnings: Sex, there is a warning in this so you can know when to stop reading if you're not wanting to read it

You and Alexia had been dating for a number of weeks now, your mind cast back to your honesty on the beach nearly three weeks ago now and Alexia had changed one ounce with you, she was still the same kind caring thoughtful person you’d come to be very comfortable around. Tonight she’d invited you to one of Barcelona’s away games on the rare time Badalona weren’t playing, you flew in a mere hour from there away win, your team mates interests were all were peaked that you were catching a plane to Madrid instead of travelling back with them.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the sprawling football stadium. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the anticipation of the team and fans, a sea of faces buzzing with excitement. You adjusted the strap from your bag, feeling the weight of it against your chest, but today it felt lighter, almost buoyant as you set your bag down at your feet. This evening Real Madrid were taking on Barcelona at home, which was not the advantage it sounded like and should be since they were against such a strong team. One you’d learned they’d never beat in there history.

Today would be the first time you watched Alexia play in person, you’d obviously seen her play on TV before. Your eyes went down the team sheet posted on Instagram, seeing Alexia’s name sat proudly as Captain. Your thoughts danced back to the dates with Alexia, the spark of her laughter still echoing in your mind , your heart raced at the thought of seeing her in this way, she’d always been Alexia with you, but this evening she’d be the great award warning best in the world Alexia Putellas. You could still feel the warmth of her kiss lingering on your lips, a very sweet reminder of the moments.

Your head rose as you chewed your gum looking around you, as the teams took to the pitch, your eyes swept the field, searching for her. There she was, a striking figure in her team’s colours, hair pulled back tightly, determination etched across her face. The sight sent a jolt through you, a mix of admiration and something deeper. You recalled the way she had smiled at one of her teammates, that quick flash of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. 

You tried to follow the action but your gaze kept straying back to Alexia, her every movement commanding attention, your gaze lowered to your phone a text message from Carla

Am I loosing it, or are you here?

Before you could reply, a sudden cheer from the crowd erupted, pulling your attention back to the game. The opposing team surged forward, and you instinctively raised your phone, capturing the moment. Click. A brilliant shot of Alexia intercepting the ball, her fierce concentration shining through. You couldn’t help but smile.

I’m here

You finally replied, you sat up in your seat looking for Carla who was already looking right at you, you shared a little wave and a text promise to see her at half time if only briefly.

But as the game unfolded, a tension thickened in the air. You could see it in Alexia’s posture, a flicker of frustration as the opposing team pushed harder, their tactics growing more aggressive. The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and Alexia turned, her expression fierce. She shouted, her voice cutting through the air, you could hear her from where you sat at the back over the crowd. The crowd echoed her sentiment, a wave of discontent rolling across the stands. 

You lowered your eyes momentarily, heart racing at the sight of her passion. It was intoxicating, watching her fight for every inch on the field. You couldn’t help the joy and pride you felt when Barcelona scored from a corner, from your position it looked like Patri stole Alexia’s goal shot on the line, your head turned to the big screen for the replay as it was celebrated. Alexia’s shot was going wide so you forgave Patri began smiling and clapped along with the fans around you.

As the first half come to its end, she was walking across the field towards the locker room, she said something to Carla.

“Carla” She called, when they were walking in step she asked, “Do you know if Y/N is here?”

She nodded smiling, “Back left corner, near the man with the big flag”

You turned your head back from the highlights being shown to the field, she caught your gaze, and for a heartbeat, the chaos of the fans around you faded. She flashed you a sly smile, a flicker of recognition that sent warmth flooding through you before moving out of view. It was subtle but it was there. She knew you’d came after playfully telling her you wouldn’t make any promises when she asked if you’d come when she handed you a ticket for the game when you last saw her.

You smiled as your phone lit up Alexia must of barely sat down in the locker room when she text

Remind me to get you a Barca shirt

Can you put Batlle’s name on the back?

Behave

You bit your lip at the slight show of dominance from Alexia, you were becoming increasingly suggestive and flirtatious with each other, the sexual tension was building but neither of you had made the first move to invite the other into there home. Your dynamic was quite evenly balanced you were trying to explain that to Carla one evening over drinks when she finally asked about the pair of you and you felt you could share.

Yes La Reina

The second half was a little less stressful Barcelona dominated in ways they always did, you hadn’t sat down much like the fans around you, the chances were coming in waves after waves, you smiled clapping as Alexia scored 2 minutes into the stoppage time. You shook your head as she ran in your direction the unbridled joy on her face involuntarily causing your lips to smile also, she looked directly into your soul as she celebrated, she fired a kiss off waved and jogged away again.

It wasn’t long after the full time whistle went you found yourself collecting your bag you wrapped the Barca flag you were supporting more around yourself, the cold chill of the air settling around you. You were collected by Carla and taken into an area marked as authorised personal only, you were in full conversation with a smile on your face, “You have to get the tattoo Y/N ever since I’ve known you, you mention it at least once a week.

“You want a tattoo?” Your head rose as an arm came around your neck, Carla’s mouth dropped at the way you both looked at each other, both your eyes sparkling, you simply nodded, “I’ll go with you”

“You would?” You asked enjoying the feeling of being slotted under Alexia’s arm, she nodded, “Well.. ok”

“Book the appointment”

You had literally been back in Barcelona 4 hours when Alexia rang you that she was outside, she’d booked you an appointment to get your tattoo with the artist you’d been in contact with, it was a whirlwind 20 minutes until you found yourself outside the shop.

"Alexia, I must confess, my heart is racing at the thought of getting this tattoo," you say, your voice trembling slightly as you share your vulnerability. The anticipation looms large, and the reality of the moment begins to settle in. Her gaze softens, and she responds with a warm smile that radiates understanding

"Don't worry, I've got you," Alexia reassures you, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "Remember, I'll be right here the whole time." 

You nod, grateful for her presence. As you both enter the tattoo parlour, the buzz of needles and faint rock music fills the air. The scent of antiseptic mingles with incense, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere.

"First timer?" the artist asks, noticing your nervous energy.

"Is it that obvious?" you chuckle, trying to mask your anxiety.

Alexia pipes up, “She’s braver than she looks. I've seen her eat pineapple on pizza."

You playfully roll your eyes at her joke, already feeling more at ease. As you settle into the chair, Alexia takes your hand, her thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. You’d noticed over the last few meetings Alexia had got more comfortable in placing a hand in yours or on your lower back. She’d even tapped your arse on one occasion as she instructed you to walk through a door first, you both new you were bound to cross that line of intimacy sooner rather than later one of you just needed to invite the other over. One of you just needed to make that first move.

"So, have you decided on the final design?" Alexia asks, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You pull out your phone, fingers fumbling slightly as you scroll through your gallery. "I think so. What do you think of this one?" you ask, showing her the song lyrics you've been obsessing over for months, that really resonated with you.

Alexia's eyes widen, a look of genuine admiration spreading across her face. "It's completely you," she breathes, leaning in closer to examine the font for the quote you showed her. "Is that someone’s handwriting?"

You shook your head swallowing, “No just like cursive”

“Long story short I survived” Alexia smiled knowing the song because her sister was obsessed with it at one point, “It’s perfect, you should go for it”

Her enthusiasm is contagious, and you feel a surge of excitement replacing your nervousness. The tattoo artist nods approvingly as you show him the design.

"Nice choice," he says, preparing his equipment. "Where are we putting this?"

You hesitate for a moment, then pull up your shirt slightly to reveal your ribcage. "Right here," you say, your fingertips grazing the spot adjacent to your breast.

Alexia's eyes follow your movement, and you notice a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. She clears her throat and says, "That's, um, that's a great spot. I’ll be." she pointed aimlessly behind her to the wall of tattoo options clearly a little flustered you looked at yourself in the mirror and noticed it was obvious you were without a bra and she got a little flash of the side of your breast.

As the tattoo artist begins to stencil the design onto your skin, you can't help but notice Alexia's lingering gaze. She's trying to be subtle, but her eyes keep darting back to the exposed skin of your ribcage. Or the area painfully close. You feel a little thrill at her obvious interest.

"So, um, how long have you wanted this tattoo?" Alexia asks, clearly trying to distract herself her eyes not coming off the wall.

You smile, enjoying her flustered state. "Oh, for a while now. But I never had the courage until now."

"Why now?" she asks, her eyes meeting yours.

You hold her gaze, feeling suddenly bold. "I guess I just needed the right person to give me that final push."

Alexia's breath catches, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. The tattoo artist clears his throat, breaking the spell.

"Alright, so i’m going to step out whilst you get yourself ready, I’m going to need you remove your shirt and sit with your chest pressed against the back of this chair, is that ok?” He asked, with a smile you nodded as he left, even he eyed Alexia her face practically pressed up against the wall on his way past. You bit your lip at the thrill of excitement when you removed your shirt and you were bare Alexia a matter of steps away, you did as you were told, “All ready?”

“Yeah”

He came back in with a gentle smile, in the mirror in front of you, you see Alexia turn to look over her shoulder and her throat bounced. “I drew that flower we spoke about”

You looked to the artist, “Can I see?” You bit your lip when he grabbed the stencil and got a little smile, it was just what you wanted before you landed on the quote.

“Why don’t you see how you find getting this one then we’ll see about the other?” you nodded

You can't help but smirk at Alexia's flustered reaction as she moved nearer changing the wall she was staring at. As the tattoo artist begins to prep the gun, you decide to have a little fun with the situation.

"Hey Alexia," you call out, your voice playful, "Why don't you come hold my hand? I might need some moral support." Your arms resting over the back of the chair you turned one hand over in a visual request.

She turns back to you, her cheeks still tinged pink. "Oh, um, sure," she stammers, making her way back to your side, her eyes darting, but you caught the glance to your chest.

As she takes your hand, you feel a spark of electricity between you. The tattoo artist begins his work, and you wince slightly at the first prick of the needle.

"You okay?" Alexia asks, concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah, just... distract me?" you request, squeezing her hand.

Alexia nods, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, tell me about this flower tattoo you're considering. Is it going somewhere... interesting?" she asks, her gaze briefly flickering down to your exposed skin.

You can't help but grin at her playful tone. "Wouldn't you like to know?" you tease back, enjoying this flirtatious banter. The sting of the needle becomes a distant sensation as you focus on Alexia's face.

"Maybe I would," she replies, her voice low and husky. Her thumb traces lazy circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm.

The tattoo artist clears his throat, reminding you both of his presence. "So, uh, how do you two know each other?" he asks, clearly picking up on the tension between you.

You and Alexia exchange a look, both suppressing smiles. 

"Oh, we're... friends," you say, your tone playful.

"Mmhmm, friends," Alexia echoes, giving your hand a little squeeze. "Who happens to spend an awful lot of time together."

The tattoo artist chuckles. "Right, 'friends.' Got it."

As he continues working on your tattoo, you find yourself getting lost in conversation with Alexia. She tells you funny stories about her day at work, describes a new recipe she wants to try, and asks your opinion on a book she's reading. Before you know it, the sting of the needle has faded into the background and you were done

"Alright, we're all done" the artist announces. "Want to take a look?"

You nod eagerly, you took your hand back from Alexia and without a care your arm came over your chest as you stood you more than certain Alexia got an unintentional eye full by the intense shade of red she went. You got a smile on your face as you admired it in the mirror, “Oh I love it, thank you so much, it’s just what I wanted.”

The artist smiled widely, the best part of his job was seeing his customers happy faces at the end, “So..We doing the flower?” he asked with a wide smile

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at Alexia. Her eyes are wide with anticipation, a mix of curiosity and something else you can't quite place flickering across her face. You feel a surge of boldness, fuelled by the adrenaline of your first tattoo and the electric tension between you two.

"You know what? Let's do it," you declare, surprising even yourself, feeling emboldened by the rush of endorphins from your first tattoo.

The artist grins, clearly excited by your enthusiasm. "Alright! Where are we putting this one?"

You bite your lip, considering. Your eyes lock with Alexia's as you make your decision, and suddenly you’re feeling daring. "How about... here?" you suggest, trailing your fingers along the crease where the top of your leg met your most intimate area

Alexia's breath hitches audibly, and you can't help but smirk at her reaction.You notice her pupils dilate slightly. The artist, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, nods approvingly.

"Great choice," the artist says, preparing his equipment once again. "This one might be a bit more sensitive, just to warn you."

You nod, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. As you collect your discarded top, you can't help but notice Alexia fidgeting, her eyes darting between you and the floor.

"It'll look great there. I'll need you to lower your jeans a bit to access the area."

You hook your thumbs into your waistband, hesitating for just a moment before slowly sliding your jeans down a few inches. The movement exposes a tantalising peak of your underwear. You catch Alexia's gaze following the motion, her eyes widening slightly.

"Is this okay?" you ask innocently, looking directly at Alexia rather than the artist.

She swallows hard, her voice a bit hoarse as she replies, "Y-yeah, that's... that's perfect."

The artist begins preparing the area, and you lie back on the chair, hyper-aware of Alexia's presence beside you. Her eyes keep darting between your face and the exposed black panties you were sporting her fingers fidgeting nervously. You can practically feel the tension radiating off her. With her cheeks flushed, you decide to push things a little further.

"So, Alexia," you say casually as the artist begins to work on the placement of the stencil, “What do you think about flower tattoos?"

She startles slightly at being addressed, her cheeks flushing. "Oh, um, I think they're beautiful. Especially in... certain places."

You raise an eyebrow, enjoying her flustered state. "Oh? And what places might those be?"

The artist chuckles quietly, clearly amused by your banter. Alexia opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words.

"You know," you continue, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot, "I might need you to hold my hand again. This one's a bit more... sensitive."

Alexia nods eagerly, wordlessly taking your hand in hers. Her palm is slightly sweaty, betraying her nervousness. As the artist begins, you let out a small gasp at the sensation.

"You okay?" Alexia asks, her voice filled with concern.

"Yeah," you breathe, squeezing her hand. "It's just... intense."

The artist works diligently, and you try to focus on Alexia's face to distract yourself from the discomfort. Her eyes meet yours, and suddenly the air feels thick with unspoken tension.

"So," you say, your voice low, "what do you think of my choice of placement?”

Alexia's eyes flicker down to where the artist is working, then quickly back up to your face. She licks her lips nervously before responding.

"I think it's...," she says, her voice husky. “Incredibly sexy."

Your breath catches at her words, the intensity of her gaze making your skin tingle. The artist continues his work, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you two at the top of the bed.

"Yeah?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm glad you approve."

Alexia's thumb traces slow circles on your palm, sending goosebumps up your arm. You can't help but imagine those fingers exploring other parts of your body.

"You know," you continue, wincing slightly as the needle hits a particularly sensitive spot, "I might need some extra distraction for this one. Any ideas?"

Alexia's eyes darken with desire. She leans in closer, her lips just inches from your ear. "I might have a few ideas," she whispers, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn your head slightly, your noses almost touching. "Care to share?" you murmur, your heart racing.

Alexia's gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. The tension between you is palpable, electric. She opens her mouth to respond when suddenly, the tattoo artist speaks, reminding you both of his presence. "Almost done here," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Alexia pulls back slightly, but her eyes remain locked on yours. "Maybe I'll show you later," she says, her voice low and full of promise.

You feel a rush of anticipation at her words. The sting of the needle barely registers as you lose yourself in Alexia's gaze. 

"All done," the artist announces, breaking the spell. "Want to take a look?"

As the artist steps back, a sense of exhilaration washes over you. You sit up slowly, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. With a gentle nod, you climb off the bed heading to the mirror, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of your new tattoo. 

“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful!” you exclaim, your eyes widening with joy. The intricate design of the flower, capturing the essence of what you wanted perfectly. You can’t help but smile, feeling a rush of pride and satisfaction at the stunning artwork now adorning your skin.

The artist beams, clearly pleased with his work. “I’m glad you like it! You were a fantastic canvas,” he says, cleaning up his station.

You look up at Alexia in the mirror, who’s watching you with a look of admiration and something deeper—something electric. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and you can see the warmth radiating from her before you felt it when she stood incredibly close behind you.

“See? I told you it would be worth it,” she says, her voice filled with genuine happiness for you, her breathe tickling your ear. You can’t help but notice how her gaze lingers on your tattoo, tracing the lines with her eyes as if trying to memorise every detail.

“Thank you for being here,” you say softly, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Alexia’s cheeks flush slightly, and she brushes a stray hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have missed it your first time. I’m proud of you.” 

As the moments stretch, you feel a familiar flutter in your chest. It’s a mix of exhilaration from the tattoo and the undeniable connection that has been building between you two. You take a step closer back into to her, your arse pressing into her groin, feeling the heat radiate off your skin where the tattoo now rests.

“Maybe,” you suggest playfully, “you could kiss them better.. at some point”

Her eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and intrigue dancing across her features. “Oh?” she asks, her tone teasing yet curious.

Your heart races as the implications of your words settle in. The air between you thickens with unspoken possibilities, and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to just have her here. 

Her gaze holds yours, the tension palpable as a charged silence envelops you. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, a spark that ignites a longing within you. 

“Maybe we can make that happen sooner rather than later,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

The tattoo artist’s voice breaks through the moment as he gathers his supplies. “Just make sure to keep the area clean and moisturised for the next few weeks,” he instructs. 

You nod, still caught in the whirlwind of emotions swirling between you and Alexia. She clears her throat moving away as you raise your jeans back up around your waist. As you leave the studio, hand in hand, the world feels different now—full of potential and uncharted territories waiting to be explored. 

With each step you take outside into the sunlight, the tattoo feels like a new chapter in your life, one that you’re eager to share with Alexia. The journey ahead seems thrilling, and you can’t help but feel that this is just the beginning of something beautiful—something that transcends friendship and flirts with the edges of intimacy. 

As you walk side by side, laughter and playful banter fill the air, but beneath it all lies a current of unspoken desires, waiting for the perfect moment to emerge. And in that moment, you realise that this tattoo isn’t just about ink on skin; it’s a symbol of courage, connection, and the promise of more adventures to come.

++++

As you settled into the comfort of your home getting home from the Badalona home match, your eyes were glued to the screen, after turning it on to watch Barcelona, you tuned in on the hour mark shocked to see the score line. You began witnessing Barcelona’s unfortunate struggle against Levante. The match marked a disheartening milestone, as it was the team's first defeat in an astonishing 46 Liga games. Amidst the unfolding drama on the field, your thoughts were consumed with concern for Alexia, whose fate seemed intertwined with the outcome of the match.

In that moment, as the game unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable in your home so you couldn’t imagine what it was like for the players involved and in the stadium. The vibrant colours of Barcelona's jerseys, once a symbol of triumph, now seemed muted against the backdrop of their unexpected defeat. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as you watched the players battle for every inch, their determination evident, yet the elusive victory slipped further away when Levante scored a second in the 94th minute. The scoreline reflected not just a loss, but also the weight of expectations that come with being a top-tier team.

Your thoughts drifted to Alexia, whose presence brought you joy and inspiration, a player known for her tenacity and skill, an embodiment of the spirit that Barcelona fans cherish. The worry you felt for her stemmed for the emotional toll such a loss could take on her. You could see her on the field, giving it her all, and the thought of her disappointment mingled with your own.

As the final whistle blew, signalling the end of the game, a wave of melancholy washed over you. The cheers of the opposing fans echoed in stark contrast to your own feelings of dismay. In that moment of reflection, you realised that this defeat was not just about the game; it was a reminder of the highs and lows that come with sports and the deep connections you forge with players in them.

You tried to find a solace in the thought that even the greatest teams face adversity, and that this moment, though painful, would eventually lead to growth and resilience. As you pondered the implications of the game, your concern for Alexia transformed into a desire to support her, knowing that true strength is often revealed in the face of setbacks. But it was well told how when Alexia suffered a defeat she went into herself, so you found yourself in shock when little over an hour later, Alexia’s name was lightening up your phone.

“Hi” You spoke softly, she didn’t speak right away, but you wished she hadn’t when you heard the sadness in her voice

“Hola”

You didn’t know what to say, how could you even begin to comfort her after the evening she’d had. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions. You could almost feel Alexia's disappointment through the phone, her usually vibrant energy subdued."Alexia," You breathe, your heart aching at the pain in her voice. "I... I'm sorry about the match," I finally manage, wincing at how inadequate the words sound.

There's a long pause, and you could feel her struggling to find the words. Alexia sighs, a soft, broken sound that tugs at my heart. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't understand what happened out there. We were so close."

I close my eyes, wishing I could reach through the phone and hold her. "You played your heart out, Alexia. Everyone could see that."

"Did we?" There's a bitter edge to her words now. "Maybe we didn't fight hard enough. Maybe we got complacent. But it wasn't enough," she says, her voice cracking. "We let everyone down. I let everyone down."

"No," You said firmly, surprising yourself with the intensity in your tone. "You didn't let anyone down. This is just one game, one moment. It doesn't define you or the team."

You hear a soft sniffle and a shaky breath on the other end of the line, and my heart clenches."But it feels like it does," Alexia whispers. "We were undefeated for so long. And now..."

"And now you have a chance to show everyone how you bounce back," you say gently. "That's what makes a true champion, Alexia. Not never falling, but how you rise after you do."

“Everyone expected us to keep winning."

You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "Expectations can be a heavy burden, Alexia. But remember, you're human. The team is human. Perfection isn't sustainable, and that's okay."

There's a long pause, and for a moment you worry you've said the wrong thing. But then you hear a soft chuckle, barely audible but unmistakably there.

"When did you get so wise?" Alexia asks, a hint of her usual playfulness creeping back into her voice.

You feel a smile tugging at my lips. "I learned from the best."

Another pause, but this one feels lighter somehow. "Can i come over?" Alexia says softly.

“Of course” you both ended the call and you were waiting with anticipation with the Alexia you would be met with, usually her smile was ever present. But as you opened the door, that smile wasn’t there.

You open the door, and your heart sinks as you take in Alexia's appearance. Her usual radiant smile is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a weariness that seems to weigh down her entire being. Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, are red-rimmed and puffy, evidence of the tears she's shed.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping aside to let her in. She moves past you, her shoulders slumped, and you can almost feel the heaviness of her disappointment in the air.

Alexia stands in the middle of your living room, looking lost and vulnerable. Without a word, you close the distance between you and wrap your arms around her. She stiffens for a moment, then melts into your embrace, burying her face in your shoulder.

You hold Alexia tightly, feeling her body slump slightly as she finally lets her guard down. Her breath comes in shaky gasps against your neck. You don't say anything, knowing that sometimes silence is the most comforting sound.

After a few minutes, Alexia pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting yours. There's a raw vulnerability in her gaze that makes your heart ache. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean dump on you like this."

You shake your head, reaching up to gently wipe a thumb over her cheek. "Don't apologise. You're allowed to feel this, Alexia. It's okay to be upset."

She nods, taking a deep breath. "I just... I don’t normally reach out after bad games like this, i prefer to be alone but i knew you’d make me feel better”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at her words, touched by her trust in you. your heart swells with a mixture of pride and tenderness at your words "I'm glad you came," you say softly, leading her to the couch. "Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather just... be?"

Alexia sinks into the cushions, her eyes distant. "I don't know," she admits. "It's all just... jumbled up in my head."

Her body language still tense. You sit beside her, close enough to offer comfort but giving her space if she needs it. "That's okay. We can just sit here if you want."

She nods, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. You watch her, noticing the tension in her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands as she runs a hand through her hair, a gesture you've come to recognise as a sign of her frustration without thinking, you reach out and take her hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Alexia's eyes flutter open, and she looks at you with a mix of gratitude and something else you can't quite place. She squeezes your hand back, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she closes the distance and closes her lips around yours, “Thank you” she whispers, her voice barely audible, your eyes lingered in yours.

As Alexia's lips meet yours again, you feel a surge of warmth and tenderness. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, as if she's seeking comfort and reassurance. You respond gently, letting her set the pace, your hand coming up to cup her cheek.

The kiss deepens, and you can taste the salt of her earlier tears. There's a desperation in the way she clings to you now, as if you're an anchor in the storm of her emotions. Your fingers thread through her hair, and you pull her closer, trying to convey without words that you're here for her, that she's safe.

When you finally break apart, both slightly breathless, Alexia rests her forehead against yours. Her eyes are closed, but her expression seems more peaceful now. "I needed that," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

You brush your thumb across her cheek, “You don’t have to stop there” you spoke your words laced with hints of what you wanted if she wanted to also.

Alexia's eyes lift, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and growing desire. Her lips part slightly, and you feel her breath quicken. "Are you sure?" she asks softly, her voice husky.

In response, you move to straddle her lap leaning in and capture her lips again, this time with more intensity. Alexia responds immediately, her hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate as the emotional tension of the evening transforms into something else entirely.

You press yourself closer, your hands holding her face. This time, the kiss is different. There's a hunger behind it, a need that goes beyond comfort, “I want you.” Alexia gasps between kisses. She breaks the kiss, her lips trailing along your jaw and down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“Take me” your hand rests on the back of her neck as her lips find your bare collarbone kissing over to the other on, your hips moving instinctively against her.

"Bedroom?" Alexia murmurs against your skin, her voice low and filled with want.

You nod, unable to form words as desire floods your senses. You stand up, pulling Alexia up with you. Your lips find hers again as you stumble towards the bedroom, hands roaming and clothes being shed along the way.

By the time you reach the bed, you're both down to your underwear, once inside, Alexia pulls you close again, her kisses more urgent now. Her hands roam your body, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Your fingers trace the lines of her toned abdomen, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Alexia shivers under your touch, her eyes dark with want. Alexia backs you towards the bed, she gently pushes you onto the mattress, her eyes dark with want as she takes in the sight of you. She crawls over you, her body pressing against yours in all the right places.

Alexia's eyes sparkle with desire in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the balcony doors. "Are you sure?" She whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city coming alive for the evening.

Your lips curve into a gentle smile. "I've never been more certain of anything," you murmur, her fingers now tracing the line of your thigh.

You reach up to cup her face, you pull it to you, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss starts slow, it’s tender at first, a delicate exploration, but quickly deepens as the passion between you re-ignites. Her hands tangle in your hair as she pulls you closer, the warmth of her body against yours making you dizzy with desire. Her weight on top of you feels right, like she belongs there.

You run your hands along her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Alexia's lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your neck, each one sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You gasp as she finds a particularly sensitive spot, your fingers digging into her back.

"You're beautiful," Alexia murmurs against your skin, her breath warm and tickling on your collarbone. Her words make your heart swell, and you pull her back up to kiss her deeply, pouring all your emotions into it. 

Her hands explore your body, tracing every curve, every dip. Like she wants to memorise every inch of you. Alexia's fingers dance across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The world outside fades away until there's nothing but the two of you, lost in each other's embrace in your bedroom.

Your hands fumble with the clasp her bra, eager to see more of her. Alexia chuckles softly, her laugh like music to your ears. She sits up, between your legs, and slowly reaches back to unclasp the last piece of clothing she had on you bare for all to see, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. You watch, mesmerised, as she reveals more of herself to you.

Alexia's bra soon joins the clothes on the floor, and you marvel at her as your hands explore her body bumping over each of her breasts. Her lips trace a path down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, craving more.

“You’re so fucking sexy” she whispers again against your skin, her breath warm and enticing.

Your fingers tangle in her hair as she continues her journey downward, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts, paying special extended attention to each. A soft moan escapes your lips, and you feel her smile against your skin.

The world narrows even more to just the two of you, the sounds of Barcelona fading away. All that matters is Alexia's touch, her lips, her skin against yours. Time seems to slow as you lose yourself in the sensations she's creating.

Your hands roam her back, tracing the curve of her spine, pulling her closer. Your breath catches in your throat. The moonlight caresses her skin, painting her in silver and shadow. She shivers under your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Touch me,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I need you”

Alexia leans down, capturing your lips once more. The kiss is deeper now, more urgent. Your hands roam her back, feeling the play of muscles rippling beneath her skin as she moves against you. The weight of her, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, it's intoxicating. Your head went back as all four of her fingers ran down your intimate area, you got a little smile as your mouth opened, she was just where you wanted her to be.

“Why have I never noticed how big your hands are before?” You mused as her movements were methodical and slow up and down, up and down she was giving you a little bit of a taste of what was to come she didn’t dip inside your folds tantalising caressing the outside.

You roll, gently flipping your positions. Now you're the one looking down at Alexia, her hair fanned out on the pillow, her eyes dark with desire at the sudden movement of you taking control.

You hover above Alexia, drinking in the sight of her. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, her skin flushed with desire glowing in the moonlight. You lean down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. She whimpers softly, her hands coming up to grip your waist. 

"Please," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, trailing kisses down her neck, “You teased me” Savouring the taste of her skin. Your hands explore her body, memorising every inch. You want to know every inch of her, to worship her the way she deserves. “Shall I tease you?” Her quiet gasps and sighs of pleasure encourage you, spurring you on

Alexia arches into your touch as you lavish attention on her breasts. Her fingers tangle in yours when you held her hand. The sounds she makes, soft moans and gasps, are the most beautiful music you've ever heard as your free hand goes down tantalising down her body you bump over her pubic bone then pull it back up. “Mi amor, por favour”

Your lips continue their journey down Alexia's body, trailing kisses across her stomach. Her skin quivers beneath your touch, goosebumps rising in the wake of your caresses. You pause at her hip, looking up to meet her gaze. Her eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, her lips parted as she pants softly. You knew exactly what you were doing.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia nods, her fingers tightening around yours. “Si,” she breathes. “Por favor, don't stop."

Encouraged by her words, you continue your exploration, you let go of her hand as you settle between her legs. Your hands caress her thighs as you settle between them, placing soft kisses along the inside of her leg finding all her sensitive spots. Alexia's breath hitches as you near her centre, her hips lifting slightly off the bed in anticipation. Bucking slightly at the contact, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The first taste of her is intoxicating. You take your time, savouring every moment, every taste, every sound she makes. Your tongue traces patterns on her sensitive flesh, alternating between gentle licks and more focused attention. Alexia's fingers tighten in your hair, guiding you where she needs you most. Her soft moans grow louder, more insistent, as you bring her closer to the edge. 

You look up, wanting to see her face as pleasure washes over her. Alexia's head is thrown back, her eyes closed, lips parted as she pants. She's never looked more beautiful than in this moment of abandon.

"Look at me," you whisper, your breath hot against her most sensitive areas.

Alexia's eyes open, meeting yours. The connection is electric, intimate in a way that takes your breath away. You hold her gaze as you redouble your efforts, watching as the pleasure builds within her.

Her hips begin to move in rhythm with your movements, her breathing growing more ragged. 

"Oh god," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair, you enjoying the slight tugging, you slide your hands under her thighs, holding her close as you worship her with your lips and tongue.

You look up, watching her face as pleasure washes over her. Her head is thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. Her lips are parted, soft moans escaping with each breath. The sight of her lost in ecstasy is breathtaking.

You increase your efforts, your tongue moving faster, more insistently. Alexia's thighs begin to tremble, her back arching off the bed. You can feel her getting close, her body tensing beneath you. You slide one hand up her body to caress her breast, feeling her nipple harden under your palm, your hand found her neck gently forcing her to hold eye contact.

Her hips rocking against your mouth, you increase the pressure and speed of your tongue, wanting to bring her to the heights of pleasure. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, as she nears her climax

You lavish attention there, circling and flicking your tongue in a steady rhythm. You can feel her getting close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Alexia's body tenses, you moves your hand from her neck, as her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over her. Her thighs clamp around your head as she cries out your name, her fingers tightening against your hand on her breast as she rides out her climax. You continue your gentle work, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible.

As her tremors subside, you place soft kisses on her inner thighs, her hips, her stomach, slowly making your way back up her body. Alexia's eyes are closed, her chest heaving as she catches her breath, a sheen of sweat glistening on her skin in the moonlight. When you reach her face, you pepper her cheeks with light kisses, tasting the salt of her sweat on her flushed skin.

Alexia's eyes flutter open, meeting yours, dark and hazy with lingering pleasure the look she gives you is filled with such tenderness and love that it makes your heart skip a beat. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across her lips as she pulls you down for a deep, languid kiss. You can feel the rapid beating of her heart against your chest as she holds you close.

“Your turn” she whispers

A shiver of anticipation runs through you at Alexia's words. Her hands are already moving, caressing your sides as she rolls you onto your back. She hovers above you, her hair falling around her face like a curtain, creating an intimate cocoon just for the two of you.

A mischievous glint in her eye. She leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

Her hands roam your body, tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver with delight. She breaks the kiss, trailing her lips along your jawline and down your neck. You tilt your head, giving her better access, a soft moan escaping your lips as she uses her tongue.

"I want to make you feel as amazing as you made me feel," Alexia murmurs against your skin. Her words send a flush of warmth through your body, making your heart swell with excitement and anticipation.

Her touch is electric, igniting every nerve ending as she explores your body. She takes her time, savouring every inch of you, her fingers and lips leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, craving more, your body humming with desire.

Alexia's mouth finds your breast, her tongue swirling around your nipple as her hand caresses the other. You gasp, your fingers tangling in Alexia's silky hair, holding her close as waves of pleasure wash over you. The sensation is exquisite, pleasure radiating through your body her talented mouth and hands work in tandem, drawing soft gasps and moans from your lips. She alternates between gentle caresses and more insistent touches, building your arousal higher and higher.

Her free hand trails down your stomach, tracing circles on your skin. Your muscles quiver beneath her touch, anticipation building as her fingers move lower. When she finally reaches your centre, you gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily when she touched what she teased earlier.

Alexia looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “You like that?” she asks, her voice husky as her fingers move in magic circles holding the most intense eye contact.

"Yes," you breathe, barely able to form words. "Please, don't stop."

She smiles, a glint in her eye. She stops.

She got the most seductive smirk on her lips watching you a laboured breathing mess anticipation making it impossible for you to calm. She held your chin in her hand, “Please”

“Do you want it?” She asked, you bit your lip nodding, using her thumb to pull it from your teeth before nibbling it herself gently tugging at it before kissing the sting before lowering her head to trail kisses down your body. Her tongue traces patterns on your inner thighs, teasing you, building your anticipation as she settles between your thighs this time, her warm breath teasing your sensitive skin. She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire, seeking permission. You nod, unable to form words.

The first touch of her tongue against you makes you cry out, your hips lifting off the bed. Alexia's hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as she explores you with her lips and tongue. She takes her time, learning what makes you gasp and moan, what makes your body tremble.

Alexia's tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, with exquisite skill, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick flicks that send jolts of pleasure through your body. Your hands grip the sheets, your head thrown back as waves of sensation wash over you.

Her hands caress your thighs, occasionally dipping lower to tease your entrance. The dual sensations make your head spin, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. Your hips move of their own accord, seeking more contact, more friction. Alexia's free hand splays across your stomach, holding you down gently as she works you closer and closer to the edge. "Alexia," you gasp, your voice breathy and desperate. "Oh shit, Alexia..."

She hums in response, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure building within you. Your thighs begin to tremble, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

You look down, meeting Alexia's gaze. The sight of her between your legs, her eyes dark with desire, sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You reach down, running your fingers through her hair, gently tugging trying to hold on or dear life.

She responds eagerly, increasing the pressure and speed of her tongue. Your breath comes in short gasps now, your hips moving in rhythm with her. Working together towards the ultimate ending. The tension builds within you, a coiling spring ready to release.

Alexia slips two fingers inside you, the added stimulation pushes you closer to the edge. You’re so close you feel the need to tell her, “I’m so close” you gasp, your voice trembling with need.

Alexia redoubles her efforts, her tongue moving faster, more insistently against you. Her fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that makes you see stars. The dual sensations are overwhelming, pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity. Threatening to send you spiralling towards your peak.

Your back arches off the bed, your thighs trembling as you teeter on the edge of ecstasy. Your fingers moving to tightening on the sheets pulling at them as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity.

Alexia's free hand slides up your body to caress your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple. The added stimulation is the final push you need.

"Fuck! Alexia!" you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you. Waves of ecstasy roll through your body, making you tremble and shake. “Yes” you cry out, Alexia doesn't let up, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible until you gently push her away, oversensitive.

She kisses her way back up your body as you come down from your high, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. When she reaches your face, you pull her in for a deep kiss, tasting yourself on her lips.

Alexia settles beside you, her arm draped across your waist as she nuzzles into your neck, as you both catch your breath. Your breathing slowly returns to normal as you bask in the afterglow, feeling utterly content and sated.

The moonlight bathes the room in a soft glow, casting gentle shadows across her face.

You turn your head to look at her, marvelling at how beautiful she looks with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks, her eyes bright with contentment.

"That was..." you trail off, unable to find words adequate enough to describe the experience.

"Amazing," Alexia finishes for you, a soft smile playing on her lips. She reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face, her touch tender and loving. She leans in to kiss you gently, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

"You're amazing," you murmur against her mouth.

Your legs tangling together beneath the sheets, savouring the feeling of skin against skin her arm draping over your waist, “What was the score again?” You laugh gently “This wasn’t a booty call by the way” You blink, “That doesn’t mean i didn’t want to, I would never say no to you, but i want you to know i called you tonight because i wanted to see you, i had a shit game and the only thing i knew would make it better was you”

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “I didn’t think it was” you gently moved your fingers over her head massaging as she held her face in your neck her soft breathe warming the spot, the breathing soon changed and you knew she’d fallen asleep the emotion and excursions of the day catching up with her.

It took you longer to feel tired, just basking in the feeling of having her close in your bed this way, you careful to not wake her dragged the sheets up over you both, put both arms around her kissed her head closed your eyes and actively tried to get some sleep yourself.

[tojipie]

mma fighter toji? (im so happy tk see that you’re back btw ❤️)

i really do think this is the best ask i’ve ever gotten pls feel proud of ur brain before u go to bed tonight bc ily. wrote this on the verge of falling asleep if u see any spelling error no u did not.

mma fighter!toji x reader | 1k words

content: violence, injury, blood, reader objectified by stranger

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“you got it, you got—don’t fucking look at her, look at me fushiguro!” your boyfriend’s manager yells, holding a bucket to the younger man’s heaving chest with a sigh.

toji nods at the command, taking a swig of water and spitting into the vessel before wiping his mouth with an ungloved hand. fighters never drank in the ring, it’d only settle heavy in your stomach. make you easier to catch.

blood and saliva drip down his chin and onto the floor of the ring, bright red patters against black mesh.

you watch the veins in toji’s neck pulse underneath sweaty skin, decorated with swirls of black and grey ink. his tattoos extend down his chest and back, working to cover the mess of purple and blue bruises across his body.

on his rib lies a scrawl of your name, etched into his skin for millions to see every time he stepped into the ring.

the raven haired man says something unintelligible to his team before smacking his temple with his glove, almost as if he was trying to knock something back into place.

you cringe at the thought of a brain injury so early into his career. you’d heard stories before, world class fighters reduced to shells of themselves. shot memories, seizures, even paralysis. you try not to think too deeply about it.

the TV screens in front of you pan to across the ring to his opponent. ryomen sukuna, 2 years into his career with every title under the sun.

everything except heavyweight champion. the name belonging to the winner of this very match.

sukuna was terrifying, completely unfazed by the rivets of blood pouring from his temple and left nostril. you’d quite literally watched him pop his nose back into place during the first break after your boyfriend had dealt a serious blow to it. to say this man scared you was an understatement.

toji notices your anxiety, leaning against the mesh wall of the ring to look down at you in the front row.

“you watchin’?” he yells with a grin, barely coherent over the mixed sounds of cheers and boos.

you smile, though your boyfriend scowls at the onslaught of paparazzi trying to capture the tender moment. he spits at the see-through wall of the ring to serve as an unspoken “fuck you.” cheers ring out from the sidelines as the screens capture the interaction.

toji turns to you and pushes off of the mesh wall, throwing his hands out with a “tsk” and a shake of his head.

“you worried about me baby?” he teases, fully aware that the cameras are still on him. “you don’t gotta worry about me, right?.”

you laugh, motioning for security to shoo any onlookers off. the mix of adrenaline and attention was clearly getting to him, though you loved when he got cocky like this. he always fucked you hardest after a big win.

the two men settle back into the middle of the ring, the referee separating them with an stern arm. sukuna looks down at you with an unreadable expression, pinning you to your seat with just a glance. toji’s pink-haired opponent turns back to him with a sinister grin, taking out his mouthguard to speak clearly. you only manage to make out the end of his insult, blood running cold as his words register.

“..and after they give me that title? i might fuck that little girlfriend of yours, fushiguro.”

toji says nothing, expression blank. you begin to wonder if he even heard the other man, but the buzz signifying round 3 pulls you out of your thoughts. you brace for whatever may come next.

sukuna is a brick wall, but toji’s light on his feet, weaving in and out of punches with his gloves guarding his face.

he’s faster than usual, spurred on by adrenaline and anger.

he lands a kick to sukuna’s ribs, the sickening crunch reaching the front row right on impact. definitely two, maybe even three broke ribs you hear a fan spectate.

his opponent curses, landing two punches to his chest before knocking toji to the ground, just barely missing the raven haired man with a solid blow right as he springs upwards.

“you gonna fuck her?” toji scoffs, landing another kick to sukuna’s injured ribs. you can barely make out their conversation even with a front row seat, you doubt anyone in the stands has been able to understand them this whole time.

the pink-haired man winces on impact, his first show of weakness since the beginning of the match.

“huh? tell me.” your boyfriend muses, dodging a kick and throwing sukuna to the floor. cheers ring out in the stadium at the direct show of brutality, you cover your mouth in anticipation.

toji settles his body weight on the man below him, twisting his arm as far as it will go while keeping his face to the floor. his legs wrap around and under the second man, squeezing his injured ribs like a vice with his thighs.

sukuna lands a blow with his free arm, then another, then another. toji does nothing, holding his opponent down with a smile almost too wide, too sinister.

“fuck.. fuck!” sukuna yells, struggling under the weight of the man above him.

the crowd is in hysterics, the announcers are out of their seats. “an unprecedented burst of energy,” you hear them call it. nothing like they’d ever seen before during any of toji’s matches.

you have to fight off the ego boost it gives you, knowing he’s only fighting this hard for you. because another man dared to speak on your name in his presence.

toji takes a couple more punches with that same smile, finally grabbing his opponent’s free arm to render the other man motionless.

you stagger out of your seat, running into the isle to get a better view of the ring.

the referee crouches by the two men, waiting to call the match. sukuna shares a look with third man, groaning before tapping toji’s wrist three times.

the crowd is animalistic. screams, wails, jeers, all of it meshes together within seconds.

toji’s security forms a circle around you, leading you towards the ring as fans flood the isles in celebration.

that was it, he’d won the title. Fushiguro Toji, heavyweight champion.

sukuna is led out of the ring by his team, choosing to forego any post-match interviews. he doesn’t dare look at you as he passes you on the steps, humiliated beyond belief.

calls of your name echo out from the center of the ring, your boyfriend pushing past paparazzi to scoop you into his arms.

the heat from his torso melts into yours as he clutches you to his body. he’s sweaty, practically bleeding from every direction too. but he’s smiling.

it’s not the smile he puts on for press, a quick flash of perfect teeth to keep the morale light, keep his sponsors happy. not the sinister smile he flaunts during matches either, fueled by bloodlust and pure adrenaline.

not even the cocky smile he puts on for the crowd when the match gets tough, the one that gets his opponents mad, gets the crowd hit and bothered.

this smile is soft, private. a small show of love in a sea of flashing cameras and prying eyes. this smile says “i love you, I do this for you.”

you reach for his face, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. toji wipes the blood—his— from your lips with a calloused thumb, pulling your head to his chest with a soft murmur.

“i love you.”

[galaxywannabe]

Listen I know I promised a Bucky fic and it's COMING I SWEAR but I need to get this Joaquín headcanon out of my brain because it's been bouncing around in there for like a week and I can't make it stop.

Imagine Joaquín and reader who constantly call each other babygirl.

At first it started out as a complete joke.

You walk into the Captain America office one day to visit him for lunch with a big ass grin on your face, strutting right up to his station.

"Hi babygirl, whatchu doin?"

His brow crinkles with bewildered amusement, a huff of a laugh escaping his lips as he stands to wrap his arms around you.

"Babygirl?"

You shrug, nonchalant, but there's a mischievous glint in your eyes. You'd been cooking up that greeting the whole drive over here, eager to see his reaction to the new petname.

"What? You call me that all the time, I thought I'd try it out on you. What do we think, does it fit?" You tease.

He can't even pretend not to be completely enamored by everything you do, his amusement unmistakable as he gets a grin on his face to match yours.

"Babygirl, huh? Yeah, no, I think it works. I think it's cool, it's manly for sure." He tries to look serious as he nods his agreement, but he can't pull it off with his megawatt smile.

-

It was just a stupid one-off joke to get a reaction out of him, but you can't help teasing him with it later on when you're at home in your shared apartment.

He pops his head into the bedroom where you're reading a book, looking slightly flustered as he rushes to get dressed for guys' night with about 5 minutes to spare.

"Babygirl, have you seen my watch?"

You smirk fondly at his disheveled appearance, button-down only half buttoned, wallet and keys hastily shoved into the back pockets of his jeans.

"I don't know, babygirl, have you checked the charger?" You sass, your brows raised expectantly.

He freezes for a moment, buffering a little at the rather obvious suggestion, and then his face breaks out into a grateful smile.

"Totally. I totally already checked there. Thanks, babygirl." He winks, dashing out of your room to grab his apple watch and - you're hoping - button the rest of his shirt.

-

From then on, it's just...a thing. An inside joke between the two of you. And honestly it doesn't take long before it's such a force of habit, you guys forget that it's weird for you to call your boyfriend 'babygirl'.

A few weeks later Sam is over at your place. Joaquín and him are sitting on the couch in front of some sports game you pretend to vaguely understand, chatting and exchanging stories. You're nearby, listening but trying not to intrude on the bonding moment. Your man calls over his shoulder, his eyes not quite able to leave the action on screen long enough to look at you.

"Babygirl, can you grab me another beer, please?"

You roll your eyes fondly. The man usually dotes on you hand and foot, but when it's game time, you don't mind taking a turn so he can keep watching balls go through hoops or whatever. You grab his requested beverage and walk it over, holding it out with a teasing smirk.

"This one's free, but you gotta pay for the next one, babygirl."

Joaquín just chuckles at your antics, accepting the cold beer with a grin.

"Man, the bartender here's really strict..."

That first time he hears you say it, Sam pauses for a second, confused, but brushes it off pretty easily. Maybe he'd misheard you. Torres didn't react, after all, and he definitely would have if you'd said what Sam thought you said...right?

But maybe an hour or so later, you do it again, and Sam knows it's not a fluke. You've been yawning heavily for the past several minutes, and it's pretty obvious you're fading fast from the way you jolt upright in surprise when Joaquín yells at a referee on the TV screen.

You sigh, finally admitting defeat. "Alright, I'm sorry boys, I think I've gotta call it an early night. You'll just have to let me know who won tomorrow."

You walk over to Sam first, and he stands to let you give him a hug. "Sam, so great seeing you as always. You're always welcome here to drink my beers and entertain my boyfriend."

He laughs at that, and you turn to said boyfriend next, leaning down to kiss his cheek with a sleepy smile.

"Will you please clean up out here when you guys are done?"

Joaquín nods, distracted by the screen but taking a moment to meet your eyes to indicate he's heard you. "Yeah, babygirl, 'course I will. Sleep tight, we'll try not to be too loud out here."

You snort, rolling your eyes. He can 'try' all he likes, your man doesn't stand a chance at maintaining a normal volume if his team starts to lose. You glance at the score on the screen, relieved to see they're up by a few points.

"Alright, I'll hold you to that. Goodnight, babygirl, I love you."

There's no mistaking the way he makes direct eye contact with you as you say it, or the way he smiles adoringly as he responds.

"I love you too, babe."

Sam's brain screeches to a halt, and he stares at you like you're two dogs who suddenly got up and started dancing the flamenco.

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Hold up. Did you just call him 'babygirl'? Twice? And he let you?!"

It takes a second for you to even register what he's so worked up about, but when you do a Cheshire grin spreads across your face. You pause, exaggeratedly tapping your chin as you recall the past couple of hours.

"Hmm...yep. Sure did. Wow, only twice? That's honestly pretty tame for us, sometimes I feel like it's every other word out of our mouths," you chuckle, thoroughly enjoying both Sam's reaction and the brand new shade of red your boyfriend is turning.

Sam's mouth opens and closes a few times, bewildered by your nonchalance, the way you act like this is something normal couples do every day. Then he turns on Joaquín, shifting on the couch to face him better with an imploring gaze.

"Torres, man, you let your girl call you babygirl? That's her nickname for you, really?"

Joaquín looks like he'd rather be anywhere else right now, and if it wasn't so goddamn funny you would almost feel bad for him. Sam's his mentor, practically an older sibling to him, and he's always trying to impress the guy or emulate him in some way. But there is not one single thing that's cool about letting your girlfriend call you 'babygirl', and you can see the horror in poor Joaquín's eyes as he realizes that fact. He's never gonna live this down, and for a moment you even wonder if he'll try and deny it.

But your heart skips a beat when, after a moment of awkward silence, Joaquín just rubs the back of his neck and grins sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders like 'what are ya gonna do?'

"Uh...yeah, it is. It started out as a joke, but then it just kinda stuck, and now I honestly don't even notice when she says it, it's so normal" he admits, bright red but honest.

And goddamn if your heart doesn't grow three sizes that day. Cause your boyfriend just admitted in front of his hero that he lets you call him 'babygirl,' and he's definitely embarrassed, but he's trying not to be ashamed of it for your sake. Your grin melts to a soft, adoring smile as you look up at him, reaching for his hand and squeezing it encouragingly.

"You tell him, babygirl."

-

AHHH okay I'm so sorry I don't know WHY I couldn't get this idea out of my head thank you for humoring me. I wrote this on my phone in like half an hour so I know it's pretty sloppy and I know it's very dumb but for some reason it was one of the first thoughts I had after seeing the movie 😭

[shmeddieshmunson]

Roughhousing

Summary: Eddie Munson is a roughhouser without an off switch, and it eventually gets him into a sticky situation with his best friend when a wrestling match goes... Unexpectedly.

Cute and fluffy bestfriend! Eddie. This idea has been rotting my brain for years at this point, and I wanted to expand it from the silly blurb it previously existed as. I'd happily write more for this that could easily get smutty if people want it, but otherwise it'll stay a dreamy silly little one shot.

Eddie x Reader. 2nd person POV, no y/n or gendering of reader. Swearing. Smoking. non-explicit NSFW.

Word count: ~2.5k

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Eddie Munson roughhouses all the time, with anyone who will roughhouse back, at every opportunity.

“Race you to the street sign!” and he’s nothing but an echo of thundering steps as he bolts.

He’s shoved every one of his friends into a bush, several times over. Leapt into a few himself.

He’ll arm wrestle at the slightest provocation, or to solve any problem. 

“NOT IN THE KITCHEN!!” is frequently heard being hollered by Wayne in the Munson household.

Wrestling, tag, jumping up to touch ceilings, jamming himself in dumb places, climbing things, throwing shit– just shoving and smacking and being physically playful all the time. He’s covered in weird knicks and bruises constantly, because he interacts with the world and his friends so tactilely. 

Especially you, because you always play his games. You sling whatever shit he’s on right back at him, and he loves it. Two peas in a pod, duking it out happily.

Tonight wasn’t particularly different from any other night over the last year or so. He had come over to yours after his shift, where Steve and Robin were already hanging out. He’d walked in halfway through some terrible movie, reeking of the joint he smoked in his van moments prior. 

“Anyone wanna smoke?” He smiled with his whole face, not bothering with formal hellos as he pulled out another already rolled joint. General babblings of agreement had him lighting it quickly and passing it to Robin. With a new smokey warmth to the room as it circulated, he finally settled a little bit more, still not bothering to try and get hooked into the movie he’d missed so much of. 

So he talked through the rest of it.  

Throwing popcorn at the screen when the characters wouldn't turn around to see what you all could, treating it like his own personal Mystery Science Theater 3000. Although you feigned annoyance at first, shushing him and rolling your eyes, you were cracking up and riffing on the movie with him within minutes. Mocking and mimicking the lackluster line deliveries, pointing out the boom mic in shots. Reenacting the awful action sequences. All four of you giggling non-stop, but the two of you deeper in the shenanigans, as usual.

He started to smack your hand every time you reached into the popcorn bowl– like a game of Whack-A-Mole. 

You were cackling as a piece of popcorn threatened to come out of your nose, yet reached back into the bowl, assaulted with another flurry of slaps and grabbing. You smacked his hand back, hard, and he whipped his head at you with a fire in his eyes– like the opening gun shot of a race had been fired. He grabbed your wrist, and you grabbed his right back, and you were nearly instantly in a whirlwind of escalation. Steve nudged you off the couch subtly as you grappled, knowing where this was going. He didn’t feel like refereeing your daily wrestling match in his stoney state, the couch was way too comfy to be the mat tonight. 

“Hands off my fucking popcoooorn!!” he wailed, as he hooked his leg around yours and tumbled you both fully to the ground.

“It’s my– fucking– popcorn!” you grunted out as you leveled him next to you and locked his arm against your body. “You’re literally in my house!” you spat the sentence in the moment of reprieve you had from pinning him.

He wiggled and writhed, squirming right out from under you. “Slippery fucker…” you growled. The two of you rolled around like a tornado on the ground, knocking into the table, Steve and Robin occasionally yelling things you weren’t paying attention to. Though, you thought you caught a, “get his ass!” from Robin as you rolled over top again. 

Oh, you had gotten him this time. You had gotten him so good. 

You locked your other leg over him, successfully trapping him in the Full Nelson you were going for. You yelled in victory, squeezing him and laughing, your face nestling between his face and shoulder at this angle, a mocking “WOOO!” in the style of Ric Flair ringing in his ear. The entire back of his body pressed against your front. And he stopped squirming. Like… full body tense, not moving a muscle, stopped squirming. You weren’t even sure he was breathing anymore. You instantly let go of the pressure you had him with, all the silliness of the moment gone. It’s fun when you’re playing, but you feel like something went wrong.

“Whoa… dude, you okay?” you ask, working to untangle yourself from him. He comes back to in a funny moment, and starts fumbling and tripping and trying to untangle himself too. His frantic movements are making it so much worse though, and Steve and Robin start to question and gather too, uselessly trying to help unfurl the pretzel you two are in. You’re baffled as he’s kicking and thrashing, trying to scoot away while still half leg locked, anxious sounds falling out of his mouth now. 

Is he blushing? No, you’re sure you’re red in the face too from the match. 

But then you see it. 

He sees you see it.

Eddie’s got a boner.

The avalanche of words that comes tumbling out of him is barely coherent to begin with, and you couldn’t possibly fathom listening to a single word of it right now anyways. Robin is rambling back at him, their voices competing, and you’re sure she’s probably trying to help. 

You’re also pretty sure she has no idea what’s going on at all, because she might shut the fuck up if she had noticed. Or maybe she did notice and isn’t shutting the fuck up to try to divert some attention? Either way, you’re failing miserably to stop staring like you’re internally screaming at yourself to do. But your eyes are drawn like a moth to a porch light. You look back and forth between the tent he has pitched in his pants, and his completely feral and fearful face a couple of times. You open your mouth and close it again, not being able to push a single word out of your throat. He’s finally physically separated from you, gets out from under Robin’s momentarily immobilizing beratement of worry, and flees out of the room faster than you’ve seen him cross any frivolous finish line. 

You're literally slack jawed, still completely speechless. But you can feel your heart pounding, and the hotness of your now certainly blushing face. You’re not sure you’re breathing. Or you’re breathing way too heavily. You can’t tell. 

All you know is that it is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you in your life. 

You make the mistake of looking over at Steve and Robin, who are all eyebrows and wide eyes. 

“What happened?” “What did you do?” their voices collide in your head. “Is he hurt?” “Are you okay?” They’re rapid firing questions, and you start to try to answer them with the nothing that you know.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! I DON’T KNOW!!” your voice starts out soft, but is battling their volume quickly. “I really don’t know I just– we were just– and then I– and he just STOPPED and–” it’s your turn to ramble. Your hands are flailing, and you swat at Robin who’s standing over you. She grabs your hand and yanks you up, and neither of you are listening at all while the heated and chaotic discussion continues. 

You can’t get the image of his jeans, so tight and bulging in the crotch, out of your head. 

You blink at Robin, realizing neither one of you had spoken for a few seconds. You look at Steve, whose eyebrows are disappearing under the flop of his bangs. And you swear there’s a knowing twinkle in his eye now. He’s been conspicuously quiet for a minute. He glances towards the dark abyss of the unlit hallway Eddie had scuttled into, then back at you, finishing his silent diatribe with a bitchy head bob. After a moment of processing, you stride towards the hallway. Steve rolls his eyes and pulls Robin back down onto the couch with him. At least he’s a good whisperer, nothing but an occasional hushed murmur from him. A louder “What?!” gets loudly and disbelievingly whispered by Robin, but Steve shushes her and keeps gossiping in her ear. 

You step into the rectangle of light on the floor of the hallway, half obscured by the darkness now. “Eddie..?” you call uncertainly.

“Please fuck right off,” he pleads from down the hallway to your left. You immediately take a few more strides in that direction, and as your eyes begin to adjust, you can just barely make out his fluffy headed silhouette slumped against the wall. “Fuck, seriously… Please leave me alone,” he says again, but you can hear how half hearted it is. At least you hope that’s what you’re hearing as you close the distance. You lean against the wall across from him.

“Dude… I… Are you okay?” you awkwardly ask. But it’s earnest. The sigh he lets out would sound dramatic in so many other contexts. But it’s earnest, too.

“No! Fucking, I mean… yes? Shit, I…” you can hear the embarrassment oozing off his tongue while he struggles to find words. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my fucking life,” he finally mutters. If the hall lights were on you know he still wouldn’t look you in the eye right now, and you can hear him nervously shifting around. You can picture the way he might be anxiously playing with his hair.

“Hey man, it’s really okay. Shit happens. You don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s just… me… ” you offer, and you mean it, but it kinda stings to say it. 

It’s just you… You, his permanent buddy system. You, the heel to his babyface in your wrestling matches. You, his flirting sparring ring. You, his never anything too serious. You, his touchy feely best friend. And you maybe start to get an inkling of why that stung to say out loud… 

You, who is starting to realize that you may already be helplessly head over heels. You, who’s feeling like a real dumbass right now.

He huffs out a laugh. “Just you…” he says with a sadness wrapped in a little zing of sarcasm, and you think maybe he can read your mind while you stare at his shape in the dark. You can see the glimmer of his eyes now that yours have fully adjusted to the lack of light. The TV turned back on in the other room is a dull background noise compared to the pounding of your heart that feels like it’s rattling your whole skeleton. 

The next moments of silence weigh on you both heavily while your minds race separately. It’s like horses running a race next to each other– fit with blinders that keep them in their own lane, galloping hooves showing no signs of slowing. 

“I just–” you start, but you hear his voice at the same time and you both stop. Another moment of silence ticks by.

“Christ on a stick…” he mutters, and pushes off the wall to stand. He inhales and exhales deeply, and you’re literally waiting with bated breath. “We both know what happened,” he finally says, clearly working to have his voice come out somewhat steady. “And I’d be perfectly happy to never talk about it again.” His voice cracks a little on the word happy, but he musters the rest of the sentence. 

“I… wouldn’t be…” you say in a low voice, and you’re not sure if you actually said that out loud or not.

Something almost like a ‘huh?’ comes out of him, and he splutters through a few more sounds. He waits for an elaboration, which you deem totally fair. Where the fuck are you going with this?

“It’s just…” you hesitate, but you’re already this deep into it. “That’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Welp. That’s out there now, I guess. 

Your ears are ringing, but you’re picturing his straining pants again and think you might be suffocating in the silence. 

A breathy sound comes from his side of the hall. Then another. A rhythmic low toned sound cuts through the ringing, and you realize he’s chuckling. He’s chuckling at you right now. You just admitted this horrifying thought to him, and he’s laughing at you?

A few moments of mortification later, you’re starting to crack and chuckle too.

“What?!” you demand, but his laughter only gets more boisterous. The sound of it relieves you more than you were prepared for. Your shoulders relax a little, and you two are giggling almost like usual together.

“You tell me that me popping a boner while we wrestle is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you, and you expect me not to laugh a little?” he teases you. 

“How are you turning this back on me?! You’re the one who popped a boner while being Full Nelson-ed, and I'm the one who’s being laughed at?!” You two slip back into your banter and bickering so easily, it’s one of the most natural things in the world. You hear what might be a laugh in the other room, and then a smack and more shushing, but neither of you pay it much mind. 

“It’s a little sad, honestly,” Eddie snickers.

“Sad?! What’s sad?”

“That something hotter than that has never happened to you.”

You gasp and scoff in offense that is half real and half exaggerated. “Like you’ve had it any better, loser” you quip.

“Oh, me and lefty have it better every night, thinking about you,” he coos. He seems almost entirely back to himself– the words are clearly a joke, but still a little more frantic and on edge than his usual theatrics. 

“A loser and a liar,” you laugh a little shrilly. Your heartbeat has not settled at all. Where the fuck is the line of joking and seriousness right now? You realize you’ve never wondered that– you, his never anything too serious. It’s only ever been a joke.

And he doesn’t respond– he just takes the one step closer that is still between you, grabs your face, and kisses you. That feels pretty certainly like not a joke. 

You absolutely scramble at the sudden unexplored contact exploding between you two. But for the first time since you stopped wrestling… Not a single fiber of your being hesitates. It feels like the missing puzzle piece. You wonder how you’ve spent so many nights with this boy not kissing him. His soft lips mashing into yours feels like the moment an orchestra tunes and reaches harmony. Clashing, sloppy, harmony.

He pulls away briefly, “not a loser…” he mumbles into your mouth and kisses you again, “and not a liar…” he kisses you one more time, and then presses his forehead to yours. You share heavy breaths for a few minutes. Giggling, and breathing hard, and smooching, and fumbling over each other.

“Maybe still a loser… But I like you that way.” He can hear the smile in your voice as you say it, and he smiles back, laughing some more.

Eddie Munson is a roughhouser… but he’s a surprisingly soft kisser. 

You laugh again as you think to yourself how doomed that is to last as you kiss him again.

[rosierin]

power play | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; (y/n) could've sworn "power play" meant something else. (aka she misuses it in a sentence and accidentally exposes one of atsumu's kinks)

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was supposed to be a chill evening.

The volleyball match on TV was intense—national-level, high-stakes, and exciting enough to have the boys talking over the commentators.

Atsumu and Osamu were perched on the couch, already deep in a serious debate about serve formations. Suna lounged in his usual armchair, one leg hooked over the side, sipping from a half-empty can of Coke and muttering the occasional critique like a low-effort sports analyst.

(Y/n) sat cross-legged on the beanbag in front of them, a warm cup of tea in hand, eyes drifting between the scoreboard and the increasingly animated boys behind her.

The energy in the room buzzed—not just from the game, but from the commentary bouncing back and forth around her.

A particularly aggressive rally played out onscreen—fast, brutal, ending in a decisive spike that made Atsumu sit forward with an impressed “Oof!”

“S'about time!" he roared, throwing his arms up.

And then—completely unprompted—(y/n) turned toward Atsumu with a thoughtful crease between her brows.

“Wait—Atsumu,” she said, eyes shining with genuine curiosity. “You’re into power play, right?”

Even the world stopped to listen.

Three heads whipped toward her. At the exact same time.

Then slowly swivelled toward each other.

Then snapped back to her.

In the background, the referee's whistle could be heard.

Osamu’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Suna looked like Christmas had come early.

Atsumu looked like he didn't know whether to feel immense pride or shame.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” he stammered, blinking like he’d just needed to reboot his brain.

(Y/n) blinked back, confused but earnest. “Power play? I swear you mentioned liking that once..."

Within the span of ten seconds, Atsumu went from pale, all the colour drained from his face, to a fierce shade of scarlet. The kind that crawled from the tips of his ears down to his neck. “I mean—I wouldn’t say into it, but—”

Suna was practically hanging off the edge of his seat.

Even Osamu had leaned forward, jerking his thumb towards the hallway with an impish grin. “Should we be leavin’ the room, or...?”

“I just mean,” (y/n) went on, blissfully unaware, “you’re always going on about fast-paced games and momentum shifts—so I figured power play was your thing.”

Atsumu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

He started putting the pieces together.

“What... do you mean by power play?” He asked cautiously.

She gestured innocently toward the screen. “You know. When one team’s got the advantage? More players at the net, tighter rotation, big swings—high pressure, high risk. Power play.”

She said it with full confidence. With absolute conviction and positively zero clue.

And that was what broke them.

Suna wheeze-laughed, slapping his hand against the couch. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Who the hell told her that’s what it meant?!”

(Y/n) turned defensive. And frankly, a little confused. Very confused. "Nobody! As I said, i just assumed."

Osamu was doubled over. “There's no way," he said, shoving Atsumu’s shoulder. “Look at you—turnin’ beet red thinkin' she'd outed one of yer kinks."

“I thought she was callin’ me out!” Atsumu barked. “What was I supposed to do—deny it? Pretend I wasn’t into—ya know what, forget it.”

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide with creeping realisation. “Wait—kinks? I'm confused. What else does it mean, then?”

Suna, without an ounce of trepidation, smirked. “It’s a sex thing.”

(Y/n) went crimson. “Oh my god—really? No! I didn't—!”

Atsumu had officially recovered.

He grinned, teeth sharp, pride blooming now that the worst had passed. “Too late, sweetheart. It’s on record now."

Osamu was giggling. Actual giggling. Shoulders shaking like a schoolboy in sex ed.

“Oh, (y/n),” he said, wiping his eyes. “Bless yer little heart.”

“I swear I didn’t know!” she groaned, smacking a pillow into her own face. “I was talking about volleyball!”

“And yet,” Suna said, gesturing toward Atsumu like he was presenting a rare species, “you managed to expose this degenerate without even trying.”

"He's right," Osamu chimed in, eyebrows raised thoughtfully. "She said ya mentioned it to her once."

He tutted. "Ya filthy, filthy pervert."

The grin finally slipped off Atsumu’s face, replaced with something halfway between wounded pride and defensive panic.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, holding up a finger. “You all have your weird little kinks. Don’t act like I’m the only one.”

Nobody denied it.

And (y/n) cursed herself for noticing.

Her eyes flicked to Osamu—stoic, unfazed, arms crossed—and then to Suna, who just sipped his drink with that same old unreadable expression.

...Somehow that made things worse.

Her brain, against her will, began to spiral. Did she even want to know?

No. Probably not. Definitely not. But maybe...

God, her imagination was already filling in the blanks—

“(Y/n).”

Atsumu’s voice cut through her thoughts, and when she looked up, he was wearing that infuriatingly smug grin.

“If ya ever wanna talk strategy,” he said, all faux innocence. “Volleyball strategy, of course.”

He winked.

“Ya know where to find me.”

The boys howled.

(Y/n) groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Don’t start.”

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch. 3 returning the favor

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 4.5k

a/n. hope you enjoy! i really had fun incorporating a lot of the other characters in this one.

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

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|| 9:21AM Gojo Satoru sent you a photo

|| 9:22AM Gojo Satoru: Here’s our practice schedule for the week. Honestly, it’s better if you come when we do practice games or something, since on other days we just do drills or strength training, but coach doesn’t really tell us what we’re doing beforehand so would probs have to play it by ear

|| 9:27AM Gojo Satoru: Oh yeah, we’ve got a big game in three weeks on the 28th. It’ll decide if we’re automatically seeded into the top 16 teams bracket, which is really crucial if we want to eventually bring home the championship. Not sure when your assignment is due, but that would be a good official game to come to 

|| 9:28AM Gojo Satoru: Let me know as soon as you can if you want to make that game. I’ll have to ask coach to get the referee sign-off for you to be on-field during play at least a week before

You look down at all the messages he was sending you during class on a Monday morning. After he sent you that house party details post from his fraternity’s Instagram page last week, their posts kept popping up in your feed and you saw one this morning with a bunch of the guys in the frat, Gojo included, shotgunning beers until 3AM last night. You marvel at how he’s somehow not hungover beyond repair and is texting you before noon. 

Pressing and holding on to his messages, you give him little thumbs up reactions and you decide on a heart reaction for the picture he sent you of the practice schedule. Then, you set your phone down and look at the video of the men’s soccer team highlights your professor was playing from the game a week and a half ago.

“Here, here, this right here. Midfielder #24 surveyed the field, spotting #13 making a run for it down the flank. Pinpoint pass to left winger, who starts steering through defenders, but loses the ball. Then, center forward #10 steals the ball back! He steals the ball, he fucking steals the fucking ball back!” Your professor was running back and forth in front of the projector screen, his finger following the movement of the soccer ball in the video. Your heart jumps a beat when Gojo shows up on screen, with his signature #10 jersey, and some people in the lecture hall stand up in excitement with the professor. “Beelines towards the goal, and BAM! Goalie stood no fucking chance, ball sent immaculately into the back of the net. Victory for UTokyo, 2-1, in the last seconds of the game!" Your professor cheers and jumps up and down. Some people cheer with him, others sigh, others are in awe, and some simply clap. 

Another entire lecture goes by where the professor spends absolutely no time going over film photography theory and instead just talks about how soccer used to be back in his day. You approach him after class, clutching your laptop case to your chest, and it’s only when you clear your throat in front of him that he finally looks up at you from the podium. 

“Oh, y/n, how can I help you?” He asks as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, professor. Bit of a request, could I have like two extra days for my assignment? There’s this event that I really want to use for the subject matter but it’s the day before the deadline, and I would need some time to develop my photos,” you say in the politest tone you can muster up.

“Yeah, sure. Just get it in before the end of the deadline week,” he says nonchalantly. “Looking forward to seeing it. Good work on the last one, by the way.”

You give him a smile and a word of appreciation before turning on your heel and making it up the stairs to exit the lecture hall, pulling your phone out of your tote bag. 

|| 9:53AM You: i can make it on the 28th. please get that referee permission for me

You press your lips together as you press send, and then type a bit more.

|| 9:54AM You: and thanks a lot

Your stomach is suddenly growling and you’re about to head over to the student hub when your phone starts ringing. You look down at the contact name that says Nobara and pick up.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up,” you say as you make your way towards the heart of campus, enjoying the light breeze as the sun peeked through the clouds. 

“Where are you? Didn’t we have a Film Club meeting today?” She asks you, her tone a bit impatient. “We were supposed to discuss that collaboration with the school newsletter.��

Shoot. You forgot. These days, you were a bit too distracted by recent happenings, like Mina practically falling head-over-heels for a guy that was quite possibly the opposite of her type, the towering amount of class assignments that never seemed to end, and this whole arrangement you were trying to coordinate with Gojo Satoru. The Film Club meeting totally slipped your mind. You were supposed to head out of class a bit early to make it on time. “I’m so sorry, Nobara. I totally forgot about it. I’m unfortunately all the way on the other end of campus right now. I typed up some notes in the document, can you just run those by them? If we need anything else, I’ll reach out to them by email.” 

She sighs on the other end of the line. “Yeah. I’m not good at these conversations, but I guess as President I should be better at them anyways. I’ll let you know how it goes.” And then she hangs up. 

Mentally happy that you were at least free of one other obligation today, you prepare to make your way to the dining hall when your phone vibrates again.

|| 10:01AM Gojo Satoru: Will do, and sure thing. By the way, you free right now? Coach is having us do a practice game, probably for around 2 hours

You squint your eyes at his message, considering the opportunity. You didn’t have any other classes left for the day and were just going to grab something to eat before heading home, but now you wonder if you should make it to this practice session. He did say that you have to be flexible since he doesn’t even know exactly what they’ll end up doing before practice, so you figured this might be your only chance this week to practice capturing shots of them as they play, since it seemed like they had Tuesday & Friday off based on Gojo’s schedule picture. Unfortunately, you only brought your digital camera with you today since your film camera was too heavy to carry around unless you knew you needed it, but you can still do a lot with digital that would help for the film camera shoot. You could make it work.

|| 10:05AM You: yeah, i’m free. i was just gonna grab something to eat first, and then i’ll head over to the field in maybe 15 min. but i’m not exactly sure how to get onto the field, or where the entrance is…

He adds a heart reaction to your message which startles you a little bit. An accident, maybe?

|| 10:06AM Gojo Satoru: Lol, just meet me at that weird art sculpture they put up last semester. The one that cost like all of our tuition money. I’ll walk you to the field

You let out a sigh, somewhat nervous that you'll be seeing him again soon. The last time you saw Gojo was when you left him standing unceremoniously at the kitchen island with a somewhat offending comment. Nonetheless, he didn’t necessarily seem angry at you. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been way more helpful than you had ever anticipated. You started to feel like the effort you put into getting Mina to go to that house party was nothing compared to the effort he was putting in for you to ace this assignment. 

Stopping by your school’s mini grocery store, you pick up a sandwich plus some strawberry vanilla soda, and take some bites as well as some sips as you leisurely make your way to the expensive art sculpture near the sports fields. As you get closer to it, you see Gojo from a distance talking to some people. A few of them were guys, a few of them girls, and he was laughing out loud at something one of the girls said. A part of you wonders what it’s like to be adored by so many people. 

When he spots you at the other side of the cross walk, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he’s hurriedly saying goodbye to the group in front of him. Their heads turn to each other in confusion before turning their attention in your direction as he makes his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says as he lightly jogs up to the sidewalk you were standing on. You notice he’s wearing a black long sleeve undershirt with a short-sleeved blue one on top, along with some athletic black shorts and running shoes. When he brushes some of his hair away from where it had fallen near his eyes, your heart skips a beat at his handsome expression. A smile graces his face. “You ready?”

You nod, swallowing the mouthful of sandwich you didn’t realize you had stopped chewing, and follow his lead as the two of you cut across behind the batting cages of the school’s softball training area. Your eyes fell to Gojo’s back as he walked on the pavement. His shoulders were broad, shoulder blades pulling the upper half of the fabric of his clothing somewhat taut across as the rest of it freely flowed down to his lean lower back. The long sleeved shirt he wore underneath was pretty loose-fitting, but you could still see the thickness of his muscles. With every step that he took, his calves flexed in a way that made you realize he must really work out.

“What are you eating?” He says as he turns around to face you, walking backwards for a few paces as he looks at your hands.

“Oh, just a veggie sandwich,” you answer as you hold it up next to your face. “Campus delicacy.”

His smile widens. “And what are you drinking?” This time he asks with a bit more curiosity.

“It's strawberry vanilla soda,” you say as you juggle all of the things you were holding in your arms. 

“Can I have some?” He asks with a somewhat innocent tone. “The soda, I mean. I’ve never had that flavor.” 

You hesitate, but alas you were a people-pleaser. “Sure.” 

He halts his movements and so you do too, and he closes the gap between you two in one exaggerated stride. His hand gently pulls the soda bottle out from where it was tucked into your elbow to keep it from falling. You notice the veins on his hand get more defined as he squeezes & twists to release the cap and it sends something akin to a wave of arousal through your body, entirely startling you. But when he brings the bottle up to his lips with his head tipping backwards, drinking directly from it, neck bobbing as he swallows and a single drop trickles down the expanse of his jawline, the arousal directly hits you at your core. 

“Hm,” he licks his lips. “That’s pretty good.” 

You’re standing there in shock, your grip on your sandwich causing dents in the bread. He dabs the stray droplet of liquid at his chin with the back of his hand and turns around to keep walking ahead, making his way up the stairs onto what looks like a grassy field. It takes you a second to start moving too, and by then you need to do a light jog just to catch up to him. 

There’s a comfortable silence that develops between the two of you and when you glance at Gojo, you notice his eyes are closed and there’s a serene smile on his face, a gust of wind pushing the hair up out of his forehead and sending the blades of grass dancing across the hilly field. You smile too at the sensation of cool wind on your skin. It was a beautiful day outside with sparkling sunshine and quiet whistling wind.

“Can I ask you something?” You say after contemplating if you should interrupt his somewhat meditative state. 

“You can ask me anything,” he easily replies. 

“Why are you so willing to help me out with my assignment?” 

He turns his head to look at you with a neutral expression. “Because you did me a favor.” 

You sigh. “I know…but it really wasn’t that hard to convince Mina to go to that party. I feel like you’re helping me out way more than I helped you out.” A small ladybug lands on the fabric of your jeans and you marvel at it before it flutters its wings and flies away.

He’s silent for a second. “Honestly, when you agreed to help me out with Todo’s little crush, which by the way I had to do because I lost a bet, and you mentioned something about terms and conditions in your message,” he starts to say, a brief pause making its way between the sentence as if he was actively trying to relive that first night he was texting you, “I thought you were going to ask for something sexual in return.” 

Your mouth drops at his line of thinking, suddenly mortified. That’s how your message came across to him? Oh my God, you had to rethink how you texted everyone in your life from now on.

“I mean, weren’t you being a little flirty? ‘My terms and conditions will come later’. Or do I just have some weird sexual brain rot?” His eyes are still on you, his tone way too casual in your opinion for this sudden topic of conversation. You also realize that he thinks having sex with him would be returning you the favor. And then you try not to think about how good he probably is in bed. 

When you can’t think of what to say and just stare at him with wide eyes, he smiles and stretches his arms out in front of him as another gust of wind passes by. “Well, anyways, when you shared what you actually wanted from me and it ended up being a pretty earnest request…let’s just say I was emotionally moved by your dreams and aspirations.” He says that last part somewhat dramatically and you roll your eyes, sending him an annoyed look. “A little disappointed, but nonetheless moved.” 

“Wow, you’re the type of person that would trade favors for sex?” you ask him with a sneer to your tone. 

He sends a lazy smirk to you over his shoulder to where you’re trailing behind him now. “Not really, no, can’t say I’ve ever done it before,” he says slyly, “probably would’ve made an exception for you, though.” And then he’s giving you a wink.

You can’t help but blush a little. He was definitely just teasing you, some hobby of his that he does just to constantly get a kick out of the people around him since he knows he just has that much of an effect on them, so you try not to let his words get past your skin to the more vulnerable parts of you. He’s reading your expression before he speaks up again.

“We’ve already started this little return favor of yours, so no take-backs. It’s an eye for an eye. Not an eye for an eye and throw some casual sex in there, too.” He makes his way up what seems to be the largest hill across the field and he stops at the top, peering out at whatever was across from it. When you made your way to the top too, your eyes widened as you saw an expanse of flat grassiness covered in orange cones, green land markers, white chalk outlines, and netted goals. Oh, and a lot of men. “Alright, you freaky little photographer. Here are your muses.” 

You let out the breath you were holding in and smiled, hands immediately reaching for your digital camera case within your tote bag. A wave of creativity and inspiration hit you as you were finally able to lay your eyes on your subject matter and setting, and you couldn’t wait to get started. 

Gojo makes his way down the hill and you stumble after him. He high-fives a couple of his teammates that were leaving the first wave of practice and makes his way over where the second-wave practice players were stretching on the field and running laps.

“C’mon, Itadori, I’ve seen snails with a more urgent sense of direction than you! Pick up those goddamn knees!” You hear a loud voice from a few feet away from you and flinch, eyeing the scary looking man that had a…Pomeranian dog in his arms? He was wearing a black athletic jumpsuit and had extremely tinted, thick sunglasses on. His facial hair was a bit jarring and you immediately decided you were scared of him, despite how gently he was petting the little dog cradled in his arms. 

“That’s coach Yaga,” Gojo says beside you with a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Real nice guy.”

You turn to give him a suspicious look and he just returns it with a wider smile. 

“Hey! It’s y/n,” you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out and you glance at the direction it came from. You see Geto standing next to Nanami and he whacks his hand against the blonde's chest to get his attention when he makes eye contact with you before jogging over. You see Gojo put his hands in his shorts pockets in your periphery. “What are you doing here?” 

You give him a shy smile, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “Here to take some photos.”

“Are you with the school newsletter?” Nanami’s smooth voice says as he approaches Geto, standing next to him. They both were wearing matching blue tracksuits. 

“No, I’m not. Just here to…take some photos for one of my classes. It’s for a film photography assignment.” You suddenly wished you were part of the school newsletter committee, so that you could at least provide them with some positive publicity with your photos. You wondered if they would think you’re just using them. As if Gojo could read your mind, he patted Geto harshly on the back and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hear that, punks? She wants to try and take some nice photos of you lot. Be grateful! Of course, your grotesque appearances cannot simply be fixed by any technology yet known to man,” Gojo says rather loudly, continuing to smack Geto on the back. Geto has a small pitiful smile on his face and Nanami just looks annoyed. You feel lighter somehow, less tense. 

“Okay, cool, let us know if we can help in any way,” Geto says kindly as he sits down on the grass to continue stretching out his legs. “Oh by the way, Satoru, Chosou’s out sick today so you might need to cover for goalie.” 

“What? Why’s that fucker always getting sick?” Gojo says as he walks towards one of the duffle bags on the bench, and you assume it’s his. He pulls out a water bottle. “He needs to stop eating that goddamn grocery store sushi.” 

“Oh! Oh! It’s you,” another somewhat familiar voice calls out from ahead. You see a guy wearing a dark blue jacket that had a red hood approaching you from the inner field. Then you recognize he was that guy at the entrance of the house party that called you a- “It’s casual tomboy!” 

Your eye twitches slightly as you take in your appearance. Sure, you were wearing jeans again, but your top was somewhat stylish and feminine. He arrives in front of you and notices the digital camera hung at your neck. “Hey, what’s that?” He points directly at your midriff where the camera sat. He almost pokes his finger right through the delicate attachable lens that cost you nearly two months of rent.

“A little rude, Yuuji,” Geto says, grunting as he switches from one stretch to the other. 

Yuuji gets closer to you to study the camera and you instinctively lean away from him before Gojo is grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and yanking him away from you, Yuuji’s arms flailing out in front of himself in a struggle. “Hey, get back to practice. You’re not allowed to talk to pretty seniors.” 

Coach Yaga grunts and crosses his arms from where he stood a few feet away, the tiny pomeranian now barking at his feet. “I never said you could stop running laps, Itadori! Get your ass back out there! I’ll be sending you to recreational soccer for the rest of your freshman year if you don’t get your damn head straight!” Gojo lets go of Itadori’s hood and the poor boy is scrambling across the field to join what seems like the other first-years for their warm-up laps. Coach Yaga turns to you and gives a hmph before vaguely gesturing to you. “May I know what you’re doing out on my field?”

“Coach!” Gojo says, making his way over to the scary man. He slings his arm around his neck and the man just continues to glare at him through his sunglasses. “She’s with me today. Photographer y/n will be taking some handsome photographs of you that you can send to your wife, and then maybe your wife will actually want to-”

Coach Yaga puts Gojo in a headlock and Gojo’s instantly tapping on his back to get him to ease up. “I dare you to finish that sentence, boy.”

You let out a small laugh. This was certainly a lively bunch. Nanami approaches you and expresses interest in your camera. You lift it up for him to take a closer look. He pinches his chin between his bent index finger and thumb, as if he was a detective analyzing a crime scene. “I see…so this is a film camera.” 

“Ah…” you laugh awkwardly. “No, this is just a digital camera.” 

“I see…so this is a digital camera,” he repeats, equally as intrigued. 

The time eventually comes along where all the players start the practice match. There’s obviously not enough players out on the field for full teams on each side, but they’re split into 1st & 4th years vs. 2nd & 3rd years. You learn that the second wave practice group has the talented players at the top of each of their year groups. Gojo doesn’t seem to participate in the practice match despite one team having to omit having a goalie since the coach requested he sit out to watch the plays and make suggestions.  You’re a bit sad you don’t get to see him play, but figured you’ll have a chance in the future. You take a few snapshots as one of the other first-years, a quiet boy named Megumi, kicks the ball towards the goal that ends up bouncing off the goal frame. You spend some time tweaking the exposure, zoom, and focus until you feel like you have a pretty good idea of the settings you’ll need to get some fluid shots. 

When you look up over the field again, raising your digital camera to your face, you notice Gojo looking at you from across the field where he stood at the sidelines. You both keep your gaze on one another for a couple of seconds, and you boldly lift the camera up to your eye, taking a few snapshots of him. When you pull it away, look down at the results on the small screen, and then glance back up at him, his eyes are slightly wide. Something stirs within you when you remember his words from earlier: I thought you were going to ask for something sexual.

Your mind wanders back to the party from last weekend, and the feeling of him leaning down next to your ear in the kitchen as he said “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” The memory itself made your cheeks feel warm. Did he…think that something was going to happen that night at the party? Probably would’ve made an exception for you…Disappointed, but nonetheless moved. Somewhere in the haziness of your thoughts, you realize that meant that Gojo would’ve wanted to sleep with you if that was indeed your condition.

When you look to the other side of the field again, Gojo’s eyes are still on you but his handsome face looks a bit troubled, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking, but for some reason you felt like he could tell what you were. When you raised an eyebrow at him, his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head as if to say it's nothing. 

Coach Yaga’s sharp whistle cuts through the silent conversation you two were having as he yells, “alright, boys. Practice over! Go stretch yourselves out.” 

You quickly stuff your digital camera back into its case and collect your things into your tote bag. In your peripheral vision, Gojo’s making his way over to you and when he’s right next to you, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“How’d it go? Get some good shots?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Um, yeah, I think so.” You’re still not looking at him, pretending to fiddle with something in your tote bag. He leans down a bit to look at your face more clearly when he notices you’re not meeting his gaze, but you still struggle to make eye contact with him. “I’ve gotta go, can you tell the guys I said bye?” And then you’re making your way up the hill.

There’s a beat of silence as confusion washes over him from your behavior. “Hey, wait, y/n, do you know how to get back to campus?”

You spin to face him when you're at the top of the hill, finally looking him in the eye. There’s a concerned expression on his face. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks a lot for today. Let me buy you a strawberry vanilla soda sometime, okay?” Flashing him a small smile, you turn around and run down the hill, ignoring the fast beating of your heart.

a/n. thanks a bunch for reading!

➸ take me to chapter four!

[kodasmind]

United front

Rhea X Reader X Damian

The crowd at Monday Night Raw was electric, the energy pulsating through the arena as fans eagerly awaited the next match. You stood backstage with Rhea Ripley, both of you watching the monitor as Damian Priest made his way to the ring. He was set to face JD McDonagh in what promised to be an intense bout.

"He's got this," Rhea said, her eyes fixed on the screen.

"Of course he does," you replied, sharing her confidence. Damian was a force to be reckoned with, and you knew he wouldn't go down easily.

The match began, and Damian took control early on, his power and agility on full display. However, as the fight progressed, JD managed to turn the tide, using his speed and technical skills to keep Damian on his toes. The two traded blows, each near-fall causing the crowd to gasp.

Just when it seemed Damian was about to secure the victory, Finn Bálor appeared at ringside. You felt a knot of dread form in your stomach as Finn slid into the ring, attacking Damian from behind. The referee called for the bell, disqualifying JD and awarding the match to Damian. But the assault didn't stop there.

As the bell rang, Dom Mysterio, Kalisto, and Liv Morgan joined Finn and JD, surrounding Damian. They began to pummel him, their combined assault overwhelming him. The crowd erupted in boos, but the beating continued.

"Come on, we have to help him!" Rhea shouted, already sprinting towards the curtain. You were right behind her, adrenaline surging through your veins.

Bursting onto the stage, the crowd's reaction shifted to cheers as you and Rhea charged towards the ring. Rhea slid in first, immediately going after Liv Morgan, her strength and fury on full display. You followed, targeting Kalisto with a series of rapid strikes.

The brawl was chaotic, each side trying to gain the upper hand. You managed to land a solid kick on Kalisto, sending him stumbling back. Rhea, meanwhile, lifted Liv and tossed her out of the ring with a powerful slam. Finn and JD turned their attention to you, but Damian, fueled by your support, fought back with renewed vigor.

He grabbed Finn, delivering a punishing chokeslam that shook the ring. You and Rhea teamed up against JD, your combined efforts finally driving him out of the ring. With Dom, Kalisto, and Liv already retreating, the attackers regrouped on the outside, glaring up at the three of you.

The crowd roared in approval as you helped Damian to his feet. He nodded his thanks, a determined look in his eyes. "Thanks for the save," he said, his voice hoarse from the fight.

"Anytime," Rhea replied, a fierce grin on her face. "They won't mess with you when we're around."

You gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "We're a team. We've got your back, always."

As the three of you stood tall in the ring, the fans cheered louder, the bond between you, Rhea, and Damian stronger than ever. You knew there would be more battles to come, but together, you were unstoppable.

[patscorner]

could u write kate martin x reader where they’re huge basketball rivals who end up falling in love?? maybe it starts out as like a secret relationship and then the media finds out and goes crazy abt it!!

also i love love love ur writing sm

Absolutely! Love you!

Rivals

Summary: The Gophers and Iowa have a generational rivalry with each other, tensions dating back years. What happens when one of Iowa's top players injures you?

wc: 3,248

Contains: slightly suggestive, mentions of blood, insta posts at the bottom, not proofread well, hella long

______________________________

The Minnesota Gophers vs. the Iowa Hawkeyes was one of the oldest rivalries in women’s college basketball history. Whether it’s overly aggressive plays, double technicals every couple minutes, and shoves being exchanged. It’s tradition at this point to have one or two chippy moments at one of these games.

So it’s no surprise when tonight is no different. It’s tied, 83-83 in the third quarter with two minutes and thirty-six seconds left. The air is so filled with tension, it was like a heavy cloud of negativity loomed over both teams. Patience was thin on both benches, and everyone, even the people watching from home could feel it.

You’d been guarding Kate all night, and to say it was a challenge would be an understatement. She was agile and quick on her feet, and in some cases, she just managed to slip through your defensive skills. But, you were able to keep up with her, following and predicting her moves closely. She got a couple shots on you, but you didn’t let that stir your determination.

You were on your A game offensively tonight, too. Whether it was weaving through players with ease, calling good screens, or taking risky threes, you were doing it all.

It was paying off, too. Until the beginning of the fourth quarter. The game had just resumed, you guarding Kate once more. She’d been more physical, which you weren’t expecting, but you adapted, quickly matching her energy.

You had gotten the offensive rebound, running back to the Iowa basket, Kate hot on your tail. You get into position to make a layup, but Kate is right there to block your shot. She smacks the ball, but her momentum sends her body into yours, sending you flying to the ground.

You crash into the base of the basketball hoop, back hitting the floor first, followed by your head smacking into the stanchion. You squeal loudly, but the crowd's deafening cheers drowned out any noises you could’ve made. You’d made the layup, but that was the least of your concerns.

You’re grabbing your head, rolling over on your side, trying to find a position that relieves some of the pounding that has started in your head. Kate immediately goes to check on you, but that doesn’t last long when your teammates push her out of the way to get to you. One of your teammates starts yelling at Kate, who yells back, and the referee's whistle pierces through the air, signaling technicals for both players.

You’re still curled up under the basketball hoop, holding the back of your head, when you feel a warm liquid. You pull your hand away, and your eyes widen as you stare at your crimson cover palm.

Everyone who knows you, knows you hate blood. The red liquid sends a wave of nausea to your already banged up head, and you close your eyes to avoid the tears falling, and to relieve some of the tension that the lights were causing. The crowd silences as the camera shows you looking at your hand in horror.

Your breathing picks up as you continue to look at your hand. Tears fall from your eyes as you start to hyperventilate, unaware that eventually the lack of oxygen would cause you to lose consciousness.

You're only out for about 30 seconds, but that was more than enough time for you to be surrounded. You wake up to the athletic training staff, your teammates, and the coaching staff around you. You're running on autopilot, so the first thing you try to do is sit up, which doesn’t end too well for you. You attempt to lift your head off the ground, but a sharp pain shoots down your back, causing you to gasp loudly.

“Shh-stay still, honey.” one staff member assures you. You groan in response, feeling multiple hands on you at once. You don’t say anything as you try to roll over on your stomach and attempt to relieve the pain in your back. You have a pounding headache and have no idea what’s going on or what happened.

“You gotta stop moving. The ambulance is on the way.” You freeze at these words.

Ambulance?

You have no idea what happened but all you know is that you have a basketball game to play. "W-we gotta play.” You croak out, looking at your teammates, tears brimming your eyes. You watch through blurry eyes as they shake their heads.

“No, kid, I think you're done for the night."

"No, no, n-no we gotta play- we're so close." You whimper out shakily. A couple of your teammates turn their heads, your statement making an already emotional moment even more heart-wrecking.

You feel someone grab your hand and rub it soothingly, attempting to distract you from the increasing pain in your spine. The Iowa bench was kneeling out of respect, because rivals or not, they weren't fucking monsters.

You sigh, accepting that you were done for the night and probably a while after. “What happened?” You whispered to no one in particular. You felt someone adjust the towels that you didn’t realize were under your head. The once white towels were colored now, and you felt sympathy for whoever had to clean them after.

“You fell kid, but you’re gonna be okay.” one of your teammates says. You hum in response.

All you could do is pray that she was right.

The crowd gave you a standing ovation as you were put on the stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance. Despite their attempts to keep you awake, the loss of blood made it hard for you to keep your eyes open.

On the way to the hospital, they check your memory, which is pretty good, all except the moments leading up to the incident. All you remember is the girl that ran into you. When they get you to the hospital, they run their tests and find out that you had a pretty bad concussion, along with a crack in your spine. It’s safe to say you were done for the season.

Eventually, you were released, immediately starting physical therapy and, put in crutches and given a body wrap. You finally check your phone, and you see thousands of overwhelming messages from friends, family, and teammates. You respond to a couple of them, informing them that you were okay before going to instagram. Normally, you’d stay off of social media, but you needed something to distract yourself.

You’ve got hundreds of notifications on there, too, but one stands out the most.

A message from @katemartin

Just wanted to sincerely apologize for knocking you down the other night, I hope you know it wasn’t intentional. I don’t know if you’ll even read this, but you’re in my thoughts and prayers. Opponents or not, you’re a good player, and it’s devastating to see you injured. Get well soon.

Your heart swells at the message, as tears start to brim your eyes. You don’t know what to say, because this has never happened to you before. Usually, when someone gets injured, they get a pat on the back, and that’s it. But she went out of her way to message you.

You heart her message before typing a message back to her.

Thank you for the prayers, I know it wasn’t intentional, I watched the playback. I appreciate the message.

After you click send, you decide to leave it and begin scrolling through your feed. Nothing interesting comes up until you see Kate doing a post-game press conference. She’s asked her thoughts on the collision between you two.

“It was a basketball play. I had no intention of slamming into her like that. She’s an amazing player, like I seriously look up to her. The way she carries herself and the way she plays, that’s an example I think a lot of people should learn from.” she takes a deep, shaky breath, clearly trying to keep her composure. It breaks your heart to see her this shaken up about you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for being a part of the reason she’s not playing. Everyone deserves to do the things they love, and it’s not fair that I took that from her. Our teams may be hella competitive rivals, but despite that, this is a sisterhood. We aren't friends, but never would I ever wanna hurt her like that. It was an accident.” Kate’s voice cracks at the end, and her teammate rubs her back as she looks down.

“It was an honor to play with her, and I wish her the best.” she finishes, before the clip ends.

You’re in tears by the end of it, and you just want to give her a giant hug, tell her that you forgive her, and that you’ll be back on the court in no time. But instead, you stick with responding to her message she had just sent you.

How are you doing?

It’s been 4 months since your injury, and you’ve been talking to Kate non-stop. You and her had been texting back and forth, calling, and falling asleep on facetime. A lot of the time was talking about nothing in particular, with a couple updates as to where you are in your recovery.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart tighten when you talk to her. It’s like a breath of fresh air. Even though you were barely around her, you felt like you were missing something whenever you two weren’t having a conversation. You knew you were falling and falling hard. Little did you know, Kate was falling just the same.

Kate couldn't sleep well to begin with, but now she definitely couldn't sleep without talking to you. She couldn't go a minute without thinking about what you were doing, what you were wearing, what you were thinking. It got so bad that her teammates were practically begging her to ask this mystery girl out. Her daydreams were distracting her from her practices, the way she played in games, and her schoolwork.

Finally, (after Caitlin went on a ten minute rant about how painfully in love she was), Kate found the confidence to ask you out on a phone call. She was nervous and stuttering over her words, her face painted a beautiful pink.

"Maybe we could hang out sometime, like by ourselves. Like we could go to like the movies-or maybe out to eat somewhere. Or-or not, y'know we could hang out with other people, like our teammates, like not together because I don't think they like each other very much, but we could like not tell them, or we could tell them b-"

You cut off her rambling with a laugh, finding her anxiousness adorable. "Kate 'Money' Martin are you asking me out?" You ask, raising your eyebrows teasingly.

You watch as her face reddens even more, her teeth capturing her bottom as she playfully rolls her eyes at your mocking tone. "Y'know what, never mind. I take it back." She smiles at you.

"Oh, no, no, you got me locked in now." You say smiling softly back at her.

"Is that a yes…?" Kate asked in a joking manner, but you could sense a serious undertone to it.

You bite your lip lightly, staring at the blonde on your phone screen.

"Whatcha got in mind?"

Kate made the six hour drive to Minnesota that Saturday after booking a hotel room not far from campus. As much as you would've liked her to stay with you, you knew your dorm mates wouldn't approve of having her in your shared space. They knew you were talking to someone, but you were very cautious about when you talked to Kate, often doing it fairly late into the night when they were asleep or not home. You thought you were doing a good job, as they never brought up anything about it.

Either way, to not draw attention, you both decided it'd be best if you went super late at night, knowing that the second the public finds out Kate was in Minnesota, rumors would fly, and the media would go crazy. So, you came up with a shifty excuse to be out of the house at three a.m. on a random Saturday morning. You had no idea what Kate had set up, you just knew that you were meeting her at a random park near campus.

Turns out Kate had the date very planned out, from how long it would take to get from point A to point B, to where'd you'd be sitting. She took you to the beach, and even though it was dark, the sounds of the water crashing onto shore was enough for you.

Then she paid, against your will, for sushi. You went into the restaurant and you both sat in the car and ate your meal. Conversations flow smoothly all night, without a single moment of uncomfortable silence. The evening was filled with laughter and lighthearted banter, the both of you losing track of time until the sun started to bleed into the night sky.

You both were tired, tangled in the bed of Kate's truck, basking in each other's company. You were so comfortable, and you never wanted this moment to end. Kate was different from anybody else you'd ever met before. Even though this was the first time you'd even hung out with her, you wanted nothing more than to hold her forever. And to make her yours.

"What're you thinkin' about?" She asked, breaking the silence and pulling you from your thoughts. You're laying on her chest, her arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close.

You look up at her and find her gaze already in you. "The sun's coming up." You whispered, licking your lips. Her eyes trail down to them before finding their way back to your eyes. The way she looks at you almost makes you fold right then and there.

"Hmm." Kate responded as her eyes made their way back down to your lips and stayed there. After a moment, you brought your hand up to her cheek to direct her eyes back to yours. You smile as her face turns a bright shade of red.

"You're so pretty." She whispers as she seemingly examines your face. Now it's your turn to blush.

It almost makes you angry, the urge to kiss her lips. You want nothing more than to pour all your words into one kiss.

Fuck it.

You push your lips to hers, passionately expressing your feelings for her wordlessly. It takes her a second to process what's going on, but as soon as she does, she's melting under your touch. She's like putty in the palm of your hand at this point.

You adjust your body, lifting yourself so that the both of you are facing each other. You wrap your arm around her waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Your moment catches Kate off guard, causing her to moan lightly. You smile before pulling away.

Pants fill the air as you both attempt to catch your breath, letting the tension linger in the air. "Holy shit." Kate lets out a breathy laugh.

You chuckle with her, rubbing her waist absent-mindedly.

She rolls over back on her back, staring at the sky, you mimic her actions, sighing deeply. You can sense that the end of your date is near as the sun rises.

"I have to go." Kate whispers. You nod, reaching down and intertwining your fingers. You were right.

Over the next five months, you and Kate took turns seeing each other in the same way, at night, mostly ending up with you two touching each other (in more than one way). It was starting to get exhausting to hide it from your teammates, so eventually, Kate let it slip, and they weren't surprised. They already had their suspicions since the injury.

You weren't too pleased when she told you she'd revealed your secrets, but you were relieved that they didn't hate you. It gave you enough confidence to comfortably tell your team, who, like the Iowa team, wasn't surprised or upset at the idea of you and Kate being together.

It lifted a huge weight off your guys' chest, feeling better about leaving at two or three in the morning. The longer your relationship went on, the more comfortable you both got.

This was both good and bad, as you fell more in love with each other every day. But it also came with the desire to see each other more, which led to you both growing impatient and making sloppy mistakes. It started with you accidentally posting a picture of you holding Kate's hand on your public story instead of your close friends, like you had intended. Even though you couldn't see her face, you knew some people would be able to figure who it was, plus, at that point, it was an early relationship, and neither of you were ready for that kind of attention. Luckily, you deleted it before anyone could see it, but it was too close of a call for your liking.

Another slip-up happened a month later, where you posted a picture in Kate's hoodie, but you were able to pretend that you both happened to have the same hoodie.

The last straw, though, was Kate being recognized by a fan while pumping gas. You ducked down in the trunk as you watched the fan approach her and ask for an autograph and picture, which she agreed to.

The fan had a short conversation with her, which you later found out they had asked about why Kate was in Minnesota. The best Kate could come up with was that she was 'visiting a friend', which you teased her about her lack of an answer.

The fan posted about Kate being in Minnesota and why, and it shocked the internet. Some fans had done a deep dive and found dots that connected you to Kate, such as the hoodie picture. At this point, you both were tired of hiding, tired of not being able to go out during the daylight or support each other during games.

So you both decided it was time to let the people know.

Yourusername

liked by katemartin and 294,210 others

yourusername: Find your person. They make life worth living

user| oh??

user| mystery woman?

user| I knew it

-> user| I feel like we all know who this is at this point

katemartin

liked by yourusername and 968,148 others

katemartin: You're my end and my beginning, even when I lose, I'm winning

user| no wait a minute

user| pov: the dots are connecting

user| my fav enemies to lovers story

caitlinclark22| took you long enough 🙄

-> yourusername| something you'd like to share with the class Martin??

-> katemartin| @caitlinclark22 I hate you.

->katemartin| @yourusername … no…

-> caitlinclark22| @katemartin you should be thanking me 🤗(pay up)

-> user| Caitlin in the comments has me cackling

user| Caitlin instigated is something I didn't know I needed

-> caitlinclark22| I did not instigate… just gave a gentle shove

-> katemartin| @caitlinclark22 I will gently shove you off a cliff 😍😄

->caitlinclark22| awww ur so cute😗

______________________________

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @breeloveschris

[cosmicflw3rr]

cash in.

dominik mysterio x fem! reader

summary: you cash in at wrestlemania.

A/N: this is inspired by damian’s cash in, just something to put out while I work on my other things! btw pls request stuff I need to unleash my creativity 😈😈

btw in this short fic, for the inst post at the end im using pics from liv’s cash in, and a pic of bianca and montez but you can imagine yourself however you want it’s just pics i chose for the post :)

your nerves were jumbled up as you watched bayley and iyo sky fight for the title. their feud had been going on for a while now and was finally going to be resolved at the grandest stage of them all.

what they didn’t know was that tonight you’d finally cash in the money in the bank contract you'd been clutching for months. you had never found the perfect moment to make your move. yet, something in the air felt different, electric. today was the day you'd cash it in; you could just feel it.

you had to look away from the screen at the amount of close calls the match had, you moved away from the monitor sitting down on the couch in the little spot the tv crew had for the judgement day. damian, finn, jd and rhea also watched the match intently.

you held your head with your hands, sighing. your leg bouncing up and down anxiously. dominik, your boyfriend sat down next to you placing his hand on your knee to stop it from bouncing.

as soon as dom's hand touched your knee, you paused and locked eyes with him. "hermosa, talk to me," he urged, understanding the weight of the evening on your shoulders, yet not wanting you to be overwhelmed by stress.

leaning back, you let out a groan, the frustration clear in your voice. "what if it doesn’t work? what if I can't cash in the contract?" you shared your fears, the pressure mounting. "I might not get a chance like this ever again." the uncertainty of it all was eating at you.

you were convinced this was a once-in-a-lifetime shot, but dom saw things differently. he knew just how incredible you were in the ring, how you owned every match you fought and put your heart into everything you did. so to hear you think you weren’t ever going to get an opportunity like that again hurt, because he knew you would.

“listen amor.” when you wouldn't meet his gaze, he gently tilted your chin up, eyes meeting yours, and saw the worry glistening there. with a soft, reassuring smile, he whispered, "amor, don't worry. you've got this. you're one of the best wrestlers out there, and no matter what happens, there will be more chances. believe in yourself like I believe in you." his words were the comfort you didn't know you needed.

you eyes met dom’s as you nodded, understanding flickering between you. suddenly, the bell echoed, one, two, three times. your head whipped around to the screen, and there it was—bayley's victory. the members from your faction turned to you, their faces a mix of surprise and disbelief.

aithout a second thought, you grabbed your briefcase and bolted towards the gorilla, heart racing. "I'm cashing in! I'm cashing in!" you shouted at the top of your lungs. the production crew exchanged quick glances, barely able to process your words as you grabbed a referee by his shirt and charged onto the stage, adrenaline fueling your every step.

running down the ramp as your theme blared through the arena, the crowd erupted in cheers, instantly recognizing the moment unfolding. You reached the ring sliding into it with the referee on your heels. you turned thrusting the briefcase into his hands, “I’m cashing in!” you yelled.

he looked down at the briefcase his voice tinged with uncertainty, "are you sure?"

without hesitation, you shouted back, "yes, I'm cashing in, do it!" your hand came down hard on the briefcase, affirming your decision. the buzz from the crowd surged through you, adrenaline coursing wildly through your veins.

bayley staggered to her feet, unsteady. you bounced on the balls of your feet, ready, and as the bell chimed for the third time, you quickly delivered your finisher, the ripcord flatliner.

she hit the mat, motionless. yet, the roar of the crowd told you to keep going. you quickly pulled her to the ring's center, seizing her legs and cinching in a figure four lock, the cheers growing impossibly louder.

the excitement from the crowd was electric and the adrenaline in your body was hard to contain.

with the figure four perfectly locked in, bayley was trapped, dead center of the ring with no hope of grabbing the ropes. you yelled, teeth gritted, tightening the hold. then, the moment came—bayley tapped out, the bell sounding three times.

your music blared out as you released her, you scooted back, your spine meeting the ropes, shock written on your face. your hands flew to cover your eyes, tears leaving paths down your cheeks as you sobbed, the crowd's roar drowning your thoughts, the reality of the moment not quite sinking in.

wiping your tears, you turned to the referee, who held the championship title towards you. grabbing it from, you sat there dazed, just gazing at the title, a fresh wave of tears blurring in your eyes as pride swelled within you.

you got to your feet, lifting your arm, and the cheers from the crowd grew even wilder. you let out a smile, wiping away those involuntary tears. just then, at the top of the ramp, you noticed the judgement day coming out, cheering you on.

without missing a beat, you slipped out of the ring and bolted up the ramp. reaching the top, you found dominik first, waiting for you. the two of you collided into a tight embrace, him lifting and twirling you off the ground.

when your feet touched solid ground, you stepped back, locking eyes with him briefly, then sharing a tender kiss. after the kiss, you both melted into another warm hug, your arms around his neck and his on your waist.

“I’m so proud of you baby. I told you everything would work out.” he whispered, stirring fresh tears in your eyes. you nodded against his shoulder.

"I love you so much," you choked out, voice trembling, tears streaming down. breaking from the embrace, he tenderly held your face, wiping away the tears, then kissed you once more.

a smile broke through as he stepped aside, revealing the judgement day, all hyped up. In an instant, they swept you and dom up in a massive group hug.

you all erupted in cheers, bouncing around with excitement as each one expressed their pride in you, bringing a beam to your face. the group hug ended, and everyone turned towards the ring.

in a swift move, dom and damian hoisted you onto their shoulders, your hands clutching the title as you raised it high, pyro blazing in the background.

with a joyful shout, you took in the cheering crowd. after soaking in the moment, they carefully lowered you back down. you lifted your hand in triumph one last time before Dom draped his arm over your shoulder.

backstage, away from the roaring crowd, the intimacy of the moment enveloped you and dom as the judgment day trailed behind. you wrapped your arms around dom once more, this hug deeper, more personal.

tears freely flowed as the weight of your victory hit you, and dom was there, a comforting presence, rubbing your back gently. "I am so, so proud of you, amor. you've earned this and so much more," he whispered, his words a soothing balm to your overwhelmed emotions.

pulling back from the embrace, you brushed away the lingering tears, offering him a tender kiss. "thank you, babe. for everything," you murmured with heartfelt gratitude.

"this was all you," he replied, his pride in you evident.

"maybe, but your support has been my rock, the thing that's kept me pushing forward," you said, your voice laced with appreciation. his smile then met yours, and he leaned in to seal your shared moment with another kiss.

LIKED BY DOMINIK_35, RHEARIPLEY_WWE, ARCHEROFINFAMY, YAONLIVONCE & 5 MILLION OTHERS

y/n: and your new…

tagged: dominik_35

VIEW COMMENTS

dominik_35: so proud of you amor❤️

y/n: ❤️❤️❤️

rhearipley_wwe: all rise!!

y/n: judgement day is ALWAYS on top!!💜⚖️

yaonlylivonce: so happy for you! you deserve it!! 🥹❤️❤️

y/n: thank you so much liv! I love you so much!!🤍

archerofinfamy: proud of you chiquita💜

y/n: 💜

samanthairvinwwe: by far my fav name to call out tonight! congrats girl! you deserve it!! 👏💗

y/n: shhhh🤫 don’t let them know you have favorites😏

wwelover: was in sm shock watching! congratulations!!

y/n.vsp: the edits I alr have lined up for this😝

wrestlingstan: I KNEW SHED CASH IN! OMG!

WWE: your new women’s champion!

y/n: thank you to all of you who gave me the opportunity❤️.

[prettymfwrites]

CaitVi Streamer Headcanons

Streamer Caitlyn x Streamer Vi x female Reader Headcanons

1. Streamer Chaos

Caitlyn’s streams are polished, focused, and often tactical, whether she’s dominating in FPS games or discussing strategies with her chat. She’s the analytical one, always reading her opponents and responding gracefully, even in defeat.

Vi, on the other hand, streams pure chaos. She’s loud, competitive, and incredibly reactive to the highs and lows of her games. Her stream often involves a lot of trash-talking, slamming the desk (lightly), and sometimes standing up mid-game to shout at the screen.

You? You’re their grounding force, occasionally wandering between the two setups to bring snacks, drinks, or calm them down when a particularly intense game has them riled up.

2. Cute Interactions on Stream

Sometimes, you appear on Vi’s stream just to egg her on. “Babe, Cait’s gonna destroy you again if you keep rushing in like that,” you tease, leaning into her frame.

Caitlyn's chat loves seeing you pop into her stream because you always bring a sense of calm. You’ll hand her a cup of tea or sneak a kiss to her cheek, prompting Caitlyn’s infamous deadpan: “Don’t let Vi see this,she might cry.”

When Caitlyn and Vi stream together, their streams are full of back-and-forth banter, playful insults, and moments of teamwork that go hilariously wrong. You’re often caught in the crossfire when they drag you into their antics.

3. Dinner Drama

After Caitlyn utterly demolishes Vi in an intense round of Apex Legends, Vi refuses to speak. You bring dinner to the table, trying not to laugh at her overdramatic huffs and pouts.

Caitlyn doesn’t help, though. She casually asks for a dinner roll, knowing full well it’ll set Vi off. As predicted, Vi flings the roll at Caitlyn, who dodges dramatically before laughing and picking it up. “You missed, sweetheart.”

Caitlyn leans over Vi’s chair, wrapping her arms around her and pressing teasing kisses to her cheek. “I can’t believe you let this unhinged mongoose beat you,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with amusement. Vi tries to hold back a smile, but her mumbled “shut up” only makes you both giggle harder.

4. Protective Moments

Vi’s chat can get rowdy, and while most fans adore your presence, there’s always a troll or two who makes snide comments about you. The first time it happens, Vi is not having it. She stops her game mid-round, fixes her camera with a death glare, and goes on a fiery rant about respecting her girlfriend.

Caitlyn, however, handles trolls differently. She’ll casually ban them without a second thought, coolly saying, “You’re clearly not here for the right reasons. Bye.” Her chat cheers her on every time.

You feel so loved by how fiercely they both protect you, though you often tell them not to worry about the comments. “They’re just jealous they don’t get dinner rolls thrown at them by Vi,” you joke.

5. Competitive Chaos

When Vi loses a game to Caitlyn (which happens often), she’ll dramatically collapse into your lap while you’re sitting nearby, whining, “Why are you with her when she’s such a bully?”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through her hair. Caitlyn, from her desk, will smirk and say, “Because I bring her snacks and don’t break my keyboard after every loss.”

One time, Vi gets so worked up after losing three matches in a row that she challenges Caitlyn to a physical game of Mario Kart. You end up being the neutral referee, though you mostly just laugh as Vi leans so far into the turns she nearly falls off the couch.

6. Sweet Moments Behind the Scenes

After an exhausting stream, the three of you cuddle up on the couch. Caitlyn leans against your shoulder while Vi sprawls across both of you. Despite their competitive nature on stream, they’re both soft with you, taking turns to kiss your temple and thank you for always being there for them.

On Caitlyn’s birthday stream, you and Vi plan a surprise. Mid-stream, you burst into her room with a cake and balloons, and her normally calm demeanor breaks into pure joy. The chat floods with hearts as she pulls both of you into a hug, her headset awkwardly bumping against your face.

7. Dealing With the Drama

The three of you sit down together to discuss handling fan toxicity when it flares up. Caitlyn insists on stricter moderation rules, while Vi wants to call out every disrespectful fan by name.

“Babe, you can’t go to war with every troll,” Caitlyn tells Vi, amused.

“Watch me,” Vi responds, though she eventually agrees that focusing on the positive outweighs feeding into the negativity.

8. Fan Favorites

Fans adore how much Caitlyn and Vi clearly love you. Compilations of the three of you interacting flood YouTube and TikTok, with titles like "Cutest Streamer Trio Moments!"

Your favorite clip? The time Caitlyn leaned over to kiss Vi after a win, only for you to pop up in the background and say, “Forgetting something?” Both of them immediately pulled you into frame for kisses, and the chat exploded with comments about how lucky you all were to have each other.

---------

I take requests!

[three-realms-archive]

The RAD Cheer Squad

(Hi, hi! We’ve got some ideas in the inbox which i’m so so excited to get to - feel free to plop in some more! please read the rules in the pinned post first, tho.)

(for now, tho, have this stupidity.)

“Oh, my goodness…” Lucifer places his head in his hands.

“Oh, my goodness!” Asmo smiles wildly in excitement.

They lean forward in their seats, speaking at the same time… In entirely opposite tones.

The stadium erupts into applause. Demons are screaming, scrambling over each other to get a glimpse of the centre of the Fangol pitch. Ghosts are scurrying to focus their cameras on the scene unfolding there, which is streamed live to the big screen opposite the bleachers.

You wink at one of the cameras, then bat your eyelashes innocently as you giggle; hiding your mouth behind a set of glittery pom-poms. Another round of applause - and even louder cheering. Beel stands a little ways away with his team; who nudge and shove him playfully. They all know you too and the view on the screen changes to them hyping up the crowd and fondly sending you waves and salutes. The Avatar of Gluttony, a Ruler of the Underworld, has the goofiest, widest grin on his face as you cheekily blow him an exaggerated kiss. Another - another - chorus of applause.

You smile, satisfied.

It’s time to let your partner take the spotlight.

To the time of the marching band playing a rhythmic fanfare in the background, you spin, shimmy and sway your hips, showing off to the crowd. Asmo, Levi and Thirteen are waving fans and glowsticks. Satan and Mammon are clapping to the beat. Raphael and Simeon are smiling fondly, as Luke and Solomon make up silly cheerleading chants. You spot them where they’re sitting and flash your biggest smile. Then, just as choreographed, you give a dramatic pose. You wave to the audience. You gather all your strength… You take a deep breath… And you toss your pom-poms to…!

“… Lord Diavolo.” Lucifer and Mephistopheles groan, as the Crown Prince laughs heartily, sporting a cheerleading outfit identical to yours, in both design and size. He seems very happy, at least; even if he’s stiffly moving his hips in a circle and attempting cartwheels and backflips.

… Even if he’s accidentally flung one of his pom-poms into the face of the referee during one said-backflip.

…

… Even if he’s wearing the Devildom’s tightest miniskirt.

But, hey!

Now the crowd’s louder than ever!

(i’ve had this idea forever and initially wrote it with a much deeper backstory, all leading up to this single moment. but then i realised cheerleader!dia was pretty good on its own ahaha. if anyone ever does fanart of this pls pls pls send it my way.)