#and then i laughed and i was like holy fucking shit that was deep what the fuck

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook (2) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post match vibes

warning: mentions of stitches, needle, and blood

note: 2/5 parts for this mini series! thanks for the love w pt1! mwah

//

jungkook sits on the edge of the ever-so-familiar hospital bed.

his legs are spread, hands draped over his knees, and he fights the urge to shut his eyes as the overhead light casts sharp shadows over the planes of his face.

he can feel it—his blood dripping down the sides of his face. the fresh cut on his forehead stark against his skin and the throbbing almost makes him feel like shit. jungkook takes a deep breath and stays still as you prep the needle. though the sterile scent of disinfectant settles between you, jungkook is doing his absolute best to memorize the way you smell.

you smell so freaking good.

"i thought you said you were good at boxing."

your voice is light, but the weight of it presses against his ribs. he grins, dimples threatening to form despite the sting above his brow.

"i am."

"so i'm stitching you up because?"

his gaze flickers to you, dark and intent. "i've been lacking the motivation."

"to win?"

"to focus,” he confesses. “how long has it been, doc? 3 months? shit. haven’t been myself since then. every day i hoped someone would beat the shit out of me so i could have an excuse to see you.”

"so you got yourself beaten up just to see me? is that supposed to impress me?" you ask him unamused.

he shakes his head. "no, but my dedication to seeing you again is."

"do you ever take no for an answer?"

"did you even really say no to me, though?"

the air stills.

then, you exhale through your nose. pretending to be unimpressed at him before pressing the needle to his skin. as you wait for his reaction, you run through different comebacks.

but you're out of time. in fact, you barely had any.

jungkook doesn’t flinch.

it truly does impress you because this shot is a bitch. yet, you notice how his fingers curl into a fist against the sheets.

"it's okay if it hurts," you murmur. "it's not supposed to be painless."

his jaw flexes. 

"i can handle hits. stitches? easy."

"i never said you couldn't handle it. i said it's okay if it hurts."

jungkook isn’t sure what it is… but silence drapes over the room. like a heavy mist or early moving fog.

it’s thick and weighted. 

jungkook swallows. his throat feels dry. his mind races. 

all his life, pain has been an afterthought—background noise to the only thing that’s ever mattered; winning. to jungkook, if he isn’t bruised, battered, and bleeding by the end of a fight, he hasn’t fought hard enough. pain isn’t something to be acknowledged and dwelled on. it’s a consequence. a transaction. 

but now, here you are… speaking about it so simply and coated in acceptance and warmth. then, there’s also your motherfucking gaze. 

so soft. 

so kind. 

so present. 

all of these things mixed together make his stomach twist. he doesn’t know how to act. he does’t know what to say. he doesn’t know what to feel.

he wonders if this is what pain really feels like—not the kind he’s trained to endure, but the kind that sneaks up on you, curling around your ribs when you least expect it. he wonders if it’s because he’s spent so long numbing himself to it… or if it’s because, for the first time, he’s realized something worse than losing a fight…

losing the chance to keep seeing you.

because holy fuck. 

where have you been his entire life? 

seriously.

jungkook clears his throat, stretching out his fingers, forcing the tension from his knuckles. "so, doc," he starts, a smirk playing at his lips, "do you date doctors?"

you blink. "pardon me?"

"you don’t date patients, right? well, everyone is a patient at some point, but not everyone is a doctor. so, do you only date doctors?"

you almost laugh. 

almost.

"you just got seven stitches on your forehead and you're concerned about whether or not i date doctors?"

jungkook shrugs before dropping the most nonchalant information about himself; "i have a degree in nutrition, you know. used to specialize in sports nutrition. just wanted to give boxing a shot—"

"wow. i didn't know that. that’s really cool." you say, genuinely intrigued, "what school did you go to—"

"i won't quit boxing... at least, not yet... but if i ever do, just know that i can be a doctor too… if that’s who you date and shit."

“and shit?”

“and shit.”

this time, you do laugh. 

it’s so pretty. 

the sound of it and the sight of it—mesmerizing. 

it catches jungkook off guard. his eyes flickering over your face, lingering a second too long. he looks at you… he really looks at you and it’s like he just won the best thing in the world. like he’s a kid who won BINGO in his class for the first time and got to choose the scented eraser as his prize. 

he watches you and thinks; to have you is to win. 

you’re the only victory he wants. 

as he shifts forward to hop off the bed, your hands move on instinct, catching him before he can fully rise. your fingers press lightly against the firm muscle of his forearm, his skin warm beneath your touch. he stills at the contact, his gaze flicking down to where your hands steady him, then back up to your face.

for a beat, neither of you move.

the air shifts—thickens—his breath slowing as he watches you, unreadable. your pulse kicks up, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. but then jungkook smirks, lazy and knowing, the tension splintering just as quickly as it built.

"careful, doc," he murmurs, voice lower now, laced with something teasing, something else. "if you keep holding onto me like that, i might start thinking you care."

"you shouldn’t be jumping off like that so fast—"

"okay. whatever you say. hey, look at me," he says, voice quieter now, more deliberate. your fingers still against his arm. "i'm not bad looking, right? i have an education. i follow my passion, and it's going well—"

"again," you interject, "i just gave you seven stitches."

"again," he repeats, "i just needed a reason to see you."

"you requested me and refused to be treated by namjoon," you point out.

"exactly," jungkook smirks.

you bite your bottom lip, catching yourself before you react. suddenly, you’re aware of how close you are—his warmth pressing into your space, the scent of sweat and antiseptic clinging to him. his eyes are locked on yours, waiting, watching.

"___—"

"doctor ___," you correct, stepping back, straightening your coat, severing whatever was hanging between you.

"doctor ___..." he tests the words on his tongue, then nods. "i’d really appreciate it if you could reconsider the whole... only dating a doctor thing. honestly? i don’t mind school. i just don’t want to go back and be old by the time i get to your level… but if that’s really the only way you’ll go out with me—"

rolling your eyes, you brush off your coat, turning toward the door—just like last time. pushing it open, you pause before you step through. taking one final glance at him, you titl your head ever so slightly. 

jungkook mirrors you. 

"no, mr. jeon," you say, voice laced with amusement. "i do not just date doctors. in fact, i avoid dating them."

then, the door swings shut behind you.

jungkook exhales, pressing his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head as he lets out a breathless chuckle.

hope. 

that’s what this feels like.

he’s had victories before, ones that have left him bruised and battered, ones that have left him undefeated. but this? this is something else entirely. something he’s willing to lose for. something he knows, in the deepest part of his chest, he can’t afford to.

not this time.

not when it’s you.

[possessedmen]

Gym Gem

The front door slammed shut. Boots hit the floor hard. Then a thud—something solid dropping onto the couch. Heavy breathing. Low, predatory.

"Baby," a voice rumbled, deeper, rougher than usual. "Get the fuck over here."

His boyfriend looked up from his phone, brow furrowing. "Who the—?" His eyes went wide. "Oh shit."

The man in front of him was not the cute guy from the neighborhood that was possessed by his alien boyfriend he was used to seeing. This was someone new. Someone massive.

Thick, broad shoulders filling out a sweat covered body. A powerful chest rising and falling like he’d just run miles. Veined forearms. Big, heavy hands. A face framed by a trim salt-and-pepper beard, green eyes flickering with something not human.

His boyfriend swallowed hard. "Who the fuck—?"

"Me," the alien cut in, a grin stretching across his new face. "Like the upgrade?"

There was a pause. Then: "Where the fuck did you get that?"

The alien laughed, voice low and dirty, running a hand down his own chest, like he was still getting used to the sheer size of himself. "Elevator," he said, casual as sin. "Was on my way to the gym, and fuck, this guy—" He gave a mocking groan, eyes rolling back. "Sweat, musk, veins poppin’ like they were begging to be squeezed—man was built to be taken."

His boyfriend let out a slow exhale. "You possessed a daddy in a gym elevator?"

The alien grinned wider, teeth flashing. "Not just possessed." He rolled his shoulders, cracked his thick, knotted neck, then—fast—he lunged, planting a knee on the couch, hands gripping the backrest hard. "I took him, babe."

His boyfriend’s breath caught. "Shit." He was hypnotized. Mouth slightly open, hands roaming over solid, flexing muscle, his fingers squeezing and tracing every cut and ridge like he was trying to memorize it.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered again, eyes locked on the throbbing weight in his hand. "I can’t— Who even is this guy?"

The alien smirked, rolling his thick shoulders, watching the way his pecs tensed under his own skin. He flexed an arm—thick, vascular, the kind of strength built over years—then spread his lats slightly, watching his boyfriend drink it in.

"Name’s Daniel," he rumbled, flexing again, turning his hips just enough to make his cock sway in his boyfriend’s grip. "Thirty-eight. Divorced. Two kids. Fuckin’ straight as a steel beam—until I got in his head." He ran a rough palm down his abs, then gripped his own length, stroking once, slow and heavy. "Used to be a cop. Now he trains ‘em. Big guy, big hands, big fuckin’ mouth when he’s barking orders."

His boyfriend’s grip tightened, knuckles going white. "Holy shit."

"Right there in the elevator. Big fucker—strong as hell—tried to fight it." The alien dragged a palm down his new chest tracing the solid ridges of his abs. "His hands? Fucking huge. Clamped onto my shoulders like he was about to throw me off." He chuckled darkly. "Didn’t matter. I was already inside."

His boyfriend swallowed. "What happened?"

The alien leaned in, voice dropping to a growl. "I entered him with a kiss." A sharp inhale. "Hard."

His boyfriend shifted, thighs clenching. "Fuck."

"Man grunted—real deep—tried to rip me offa him, but I had his spine wrapped around my fingers, had his brain drowning in me. I made him feel it. That heat. That pull. That need—fuck, I felt his cock twitch in his shorts." He smirked.

"Jesus."

"Mm. And when I finally let go?" He licked his lips, slow. "Man stumbled out of the elevator like he’d been fucked already. Shaking. Breathless. He tried to burn me out with a workout, but I was there—curling in his muscles, whispering in his nerves, making every rep feel like my hands were still on him. By the time we hit the locker room? Motherfucker couldn’t take it."

His boyfriend’s voice was tight. "He had to jerk off."

The alien’s grin turned feral. "Hard. In a stall, fist tight around his dick, muttering ‘what the fuck’ while he pumped himself dry." He exhaled slow. "And now? Now he’s gone. And this—" He ran his hands over his new thighs, squeezing. "—this body’s mine." The alien smirked. "Oh yeah, babe. You’re about to get fucked by a whole-ass cop daddy."

His boyfriend licked his lips, gaze hungry. "Show me."

The alien laughed, low and thick. "Oh, babe," he rumbled, reaching out, gripping his boyfriend’s wrist, dragging him forward until they were nose to nose. "You’re about to feel exactly what this big-dicked motherfucker can do."

[deluluass]

It's all over now, baby blue (3/12)

Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru

Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."

General Warnings:  rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter warnings: internalized misogyny (reader pov); recreational drug use (by other characters); sexual content

“Do… you have a soulmate…?”

It was an inane question. You knew that, even before you uttered it. Ask the lady that called soulmates bullshit if she had a soulmate, why don’t you? However, as of this very moment, this woman was no longer just the same one that Hana Misaki had to impress; the one with the important title that went on for forever. 

To you, she was now the one to whom you’d committed every single social blunder that featured in your worst nightmares against– stuttering, throwing up, cursing, etcetera. You checked your pants to make sure that they’re still dry. You sighed.

Thank all that is merciful that you haven’t done that yet. 

Chief of everything, humiliation and stupidity included, was the current reality that she was now that woman whom you’re sharing a makeshift seat with, your thighs sharing warmth and shoulders leaning against each other– the only thing keeping the other’s unbearable weight from crashing. 

“Me? A soulmate?” she muttered. 

“A soulmate, yeah.”

“Nope.” The woman turned to you, smiled, before pointing to her eyes. “What would be the point anyway? These old things up here could never be trusted with blues. And other colors.”

Your heart seized. She was still amused, like she was waiting for you to laugh. You didn’t.

“I’m- I’m sorry–” Your hand, in want of other things to do, reached for hers. “That was so insensitive– I mean– I shouldn’t have just assumed that you’re–”

Her smile stretched, eyes becoming more luminous, until all of her teeth showed. This close you could see a chipped front tooth. At the confusion that must have spilled across your face, the woman threw her head back, and then laughter—the kind exhumed from the belly, bounced across the parking lot.

“God forgive me, kid,” she chortled, wiping away tears. “You’re just so easy— look at your face— I’m so sorry—”

You closed your eyes. A deep breath. Patience incarnate.

“Was that a joke?” you sought clarity.

“Yes.”

“Was that a fucking joke?”

“Yes!” she yelped, with a gasp that quickly devolved into sucked in guffaws.

You faced her, your knees knocking together. “Well, it wasn’t funny…!”

“Holy shit, kid! Live a little!” A light slap on your shoulder. “I swear, children these days would get their panties twisted about every fucking thing—”

“That was really not funny! There are people who live with color blindness or- or deficiency and their lives have been very difficult for—”

“Oh my God! Spare me, okay! Stop whining—”

“I’m not whining! Some cultures even go as far as to treat them like outcasts! It’s really not that hard not to make light of their struggles and not to be- to be- a- a dick about it!”

The woman sighed, reigning in her laughter (struggling to, you marked with a frown), then patted the back of your hand. “Alright, alright, let’s cool it?”

You grumbled.

“If it helps your… delicate—“

You rolled your eyes.

“—sensibilities,” she continued, “My cousin from my dad’s side couldn’t tell red and- what was it- green- to save his life.”

“It’s always a cousin,” you scoffed.

“No, it’s true…!” the woman exclaimed, sitting up. She clasped her hands over her knee and pulled it over the other. “Of course, this was back then, you know, people were a lot meaner—”

“More ignorant, you mean.”

“Sure was. There was the usual stuff. Some name calling. Teachers being a cunt. I knew. I grew up with the guy. Got held back when we were eight. Then, when we were fifteen, there was some kid in school who had a retired colonel for a dad— so that made him believe he was hot shit, pulled a prank on dear old cousin. After a game of baseball, while they were changing out of their uniforms, I guess he must’ve grabbed his arm or something. Then, you know… Everyone in that room saw it, but nobody said anything. ‘We’re soulmates,’ the kid told him. He must’ve thought it was funny, ‘cause they were both boys and my cousin was that kid. And then— “

Laughing, she resumed, “The funniest thing happened. Do you know what my cousin said?”

You shook your head.

“Cow dung, he said. Ever the country boy, my cousin. Y’see, he never had any trouble telling blues. Purples were a different story, but not blues. But nobody ever believed him. And red, to him, looked like—”

“Cow dung,” you snickered.

“Cow dung.”

“And then what happened?”

“He punched that little fucker. Got detention, but life was fine. Went as usual. He left when he was twenty. The country, I mean. But it wasn’t just leaving that made him realize…. Growing old made him realize too….” 

She looked at you, still smiling, but softer and less like she’s pulling a prank.

“He had his soul glow, contrary to all the assholes who said otherwise. He was— lemme see, about twenty-seven? He got married, too. But not to the same man. Different one. I asked him once, at a family function, why him? You know, not the other one. I even asked him if it was hard, making that choice. He looked at me like I was crazy. And then he said, ‘But it’s common sense! You choose the one who won’t put a pillow over your head when you snore!’ She shook her head. “I don’t know a funnier guy.”

There was a lady bug climbing up your leg. A beautiful, fragile thing; one that could fly off at any moment. You didn’t dare move.

With a gentle nudge, the woman then whispered, like she was consoling you, wiping what’s left of your tears despite having barely raised a hand:

“People live, don’t they, kid?”

Splinters came out of the shower head. It ran down your back as you pressed your head against the wall, sloughing off all debris and muck from this morning’s service. You reached for the knob and turned it higher.

A thousand frozen knives cut through every pore, every wart, every bit of tiny pimple that grew out of the sweat and follicles and dirt. 

Any moment now and even your bones would disintegrate and create a whirl pool around the drain.

The bar of soap in your hand diffused into the wet towel as you scrubbed them together. Bar of soap wrapped in towel—like baguette wrapping around fat blocks of ham. Squeeze between two hands and perhaps it would also be good enough to eat. The soap was just as pink as the ham fresh from the walk-in, too.

That’d been what you served the last customer in your shift. His hair was the same color as the imitation mahogany tables. They were actually made of plastic, just varnished to look like genuine wood. Anyway, his hair blended in too well with those tables that you even had the idea of slamming the tray over it.

You didn’t do that, of course. You went to his table and showed him the menu as usual. And when he’d smiled tightly and told you what he’d wanted, you even expected him to tell you, “Thanks, kitten.”

Weird.

His eyes weren’t as brown.

Suds and bubbles dribbled from your torso down to your toes. It slid off your chest, circulating around your breasts, and sinking into the crevices between the folds of your stomach as you scrubbed, slinking the towel around your neck, then pulling both ends together, its junction like a stone against the middle of your throat. You pulled to the point of drowning.

The pressure only eased when you let go, bleary eyed and lashes sopping, and began scouring between your legs. Your fingers clawed at the towel as you used it to get around the fatty thighs, like vultures orbiting above carrion. Each digit was wrinkly and as warm as a corpse’s. They brushed and stabbed and pierced through. You muffled a scream, and then it felt like falling off into a ravine.

Your belly was a cold, hollow pit. You parted your thighs and it salivated like a sick bitch that needed to be put down. You scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at each pit and crack.

Bits of scabs flaked off where your thighs pulled inward, making way for new ones.

Your skin split open. The soap soaked through. It stung. Maybe it disinfected everything it touched and bleached your bones along the way.   

Good.

The shower floor looked like you’d knocked over cranberry juice all over it. Fifty percent fresh fruit, fifty percent sugar. Beloved by the senior regulars.

That’s how you knew, then, that you were clean.

You got off the shower and promptly stormed through your closet. The nicest thing you owned was something from five years ago. Misaki-san told you they had their own make-up people, but you walked into a job interview once with nothing but a lip balm and was then shown the door.

Settling for the wrap-around dress, you sat on your bed and pulled out your work lipstick and blush.

Make-up looked nice on other women, but you looked at the mirror and, with that dress on, saw someone who habitually got on her knees for attention instead.

You pulled out wet wipes from your tote and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.

The sun was just beginning to set in the horizon, cranberry juice spilling all over the neighborhood, when you finally left your apartment. Your face was bare and the insides of your thighs bit into each other.

And you felt right, going on your way, because you knew then that you were clean.

It took you half a month to sign the contract. It took Wakatoshi a day.

When you finally got together in one room, his legal counsel on one side and yours, provided by the company, on the other, all that you had asked for was to make it clear— in bold, legible print— that you “will not be required to attend or make an appearance at any game involving, or of the interest of Ushijima Wakatoshi and other affiliated organizations, for public viewing or otherwise.”

Much talk went on for another week, or so Misaki-san had informed him. The contract was only granted your signature when that condition had been included in it.

Practice went on as usual. The Schweiden Adlers won a couple more games at the tail end of the season. Misaki-san had told him then, quite randomly, that you worked for a popular family restaurant, and that perhaps you would not mind a message or two, but it wasn’t anywhere within Wakatoshi’s inclination either to disrupt the day-to-day living of a person who had a far more demanding job than he did.

Neither one of you heard from the other, nor seen hide nor hair. Not until today.

“Excited?” Brandon’s voice popped in his ear. “You lovebirds haven’t seen each other in a while. Don’t get emotional. ‘Kay, big guy?”

His manager patted his chest before he went away.

From inside the café, he saw you descend out of the large van where you, according to Misaki-san, had gone to have your make-up and wardrobe fixed. They changed you out of the dress you came in with to another that stopped an inch above your knees.

The afternoon sun traced a blinding outline around you as you walked in. Your entrance disturbed the chimes above the door— tiny bells tied to ruby strings giggled lightly.

You greeted the staff with a soft ‘hello’, and your lips glittered as you gave Wakatoshi a faint, cautious smile.

The place was something out of a fairy tale book. The ones with boards for pages and watercolor illustrations of cottages hidden in forests. It was tucked somewhere along a cobbled path miles away from the main road.

Barely anyone walked by.

Misaki-san had only known about it because she was acquainted with its owner, or at least familiar enough to ask about the well-being of her sister without much preamble or niceties.  You hadn’t even been aware that a place like this existed in the city. One look and one might think that it’s one of those spots that drove up the price of the buildings within its vicinity. If not that then the product of it.

But, no. Its quaint novelty did not conceal anything calculated. It just was.   

The stones that made up its roof was overgrown with moss. Its chimney was in the same state. The brick walls showed signs of wear and tear. And being in it was like staying for far too long inside a dream, or a memory that you knew at the very back of your brain had never existed.

You were seated by the window. Purple wisterias flowed along the café’s gutter and cascaded against the glass like waterfalls. Everything about this place conveyed that it was, among other things, an heirloom, passed down with an unapologetically haphazard sort of care typically found among large families. There wasn’t a corner not occupied by black and white portraits, or colored ones taken in water and amusement parks, and bookshelves with mangas and novels that had creased spines. A place that had seen one too many daughters for it to be mistaken as some pastiche of a café designed to be a selfie studio— exactly how your group treated it at the very moment.

In front of you, Ushijima was being directed by the photographer, while the owner herself set a glass of matcha latte beside the cheese cake platter. With that, the tableaux of sweet coziness were complete.

“Then— cover your face with the phone— not too close—"

They didn’t have any problems making you do that pose. You’ve seen it countless times among the young couples at the restaurant. One holds the phone over their face, taking a picture of their sweetheart. The other mimics it, taking a picture of their sweetheart. Their cameras are pointed towards each other, so when they finally share it for everyone to see, it would have been as if they’d said, “I’ve been found. How about you?”

Ushijima, however, must not have gotten the memo for the past…six years. He seemed to not understand that the phone had to be far enough to create an illusion that it’s blocking his entire face, but that he also had to position his body in a way that made the whole thing look like he wasn’t trying at all, and not like some old man struggling to decipher what’s on his screen.

The goal today was to tease: post images that whispered coquettishly, rather than ones that proclaimed with its whole chest. 

“I think ‘soft launching’ is what people call it these days,” Misaki-san said.

The photographer, with silent permission, took Ushijima’s wrist— the one with the phone, one last time to communicate to him exactly where his hands should be, like a store manager posing a tall, overly tall, and flawless mannequin. Then, he draped his elbow over the edge of the table, as he was instructed to splay his long, muscular legs a tad. “Right! You got it, Ushiwaka! Hold that for me, please!” the photographer remarked.

You couldn’t help but wonder, as you watched him, if it was possible that Ushijima Wakatoshi was as much of a stranger to… dating, as you were. What you knew, you learned via osmosis. How much did he know? His breadth of knowledge seemed like a narrow one.

That conjecture, however, was immediately chucked away.

I mean. Just look at the guy.

With just a simple, brown-ish gray long-sleeved polo shirt hanging slackly over his broad frame, the buttons on top come undone, along with loose-fitting jeans, and his hair parted cleanly, artlessly in the middle— he was lethal enough to stop a busy street; or an oncoming traffic to a screeching halt.

You know. It was happening now.

People went on their merry way when it was you doing that. You were merely another beating flesh doing its job by the side, but with him, the mundane act of putting a phone over one’s face seemed more like a once in a decade astronomical event.

Everyone in the café had to drop whatever they were doing just to…see. Even when some of them had the view of the phone blocking his face.

It couldn’t be possible. Not him.

If he were like you, then what a tragedy, isn’t it? Someone as beautiful and desirable and accomplished as him deserved an equal on his first foray into intimacy. What sin did he commit in his previous life to be destined to a basket case?

What a relief that none of this was real.

���Ushiwaka, please, don’t move!”

The giant apologized under his breath because, apparently, you realized as you blinked, that he had turned his head to look at you.

Oh, no. Hold on. Not just look, actually.

He was watching, too.

You snatched the latte off the table and sipped, averting your eyes as they carried on. It was nice. Not too sweet. And once that was over, the photographer proceeded to capture the ensemble of caffeine and pastries between the two of you. He and Misaki-chan moved fleetly yet assiduously, like a ship captain and her second mate, discussing angles, lightings, and intent. “Do they look good here?” “I think this one looks busy” “Let’s stick to the mood board for now” etc. etc.

On the other hand, you and Ushijima were more akin to the ship’s bow and stern, as far away as you could get from one another. Not physically, though. You remained sharing the same table: Ushijima taking a bite out of a tart and you, sipping— as chatty and familiar as strangers forced by chance to breathe in the same lift. The two of you only got up to move, and acknowledge each other’s presence after the past couple of hours, when you’d been told to go to the café’s powder room, captain and second following behind.

Ushijima let you in first, opening the door for you. He had to duck to get inside that nook of a space. In there, the wallpaper was a muted shade of peach, doodles of rabbits in frilly dresses scattered about. The shelves surrounding the vanity were stacked with tchotchkes: porcelain kittens licking their paws, wicker baskets filled with buttons and marbles, and enamel portraits of beautiful women in gowns and ceremonial garbs and feathered hats.

It would’ve all been very comforting, a perfect, warmly lit spot for a prey animal to hide in, had it not been for the fact that you could practically feel Ushijima right against your back.

“For this one, we’d like to ask you to recreate—” From outside the room, they showed you an image of a couple in front of a bathroom mirror. The man was behind her, chin resting on her head and arms wrapped around her waist, while the woman held the phone. Again, both of their faces were obstructed. “Easy, right?”

It was your task to take the picture for the both of you. Maybe that’s why they thought that this’d be a breeze. You took the phone with a damp hand. He stepped closer and your heart sprinted. You wanted to close your eyes, but that wouldn’t be helpful. Some of the tiny kittens had fracture on their eyes, likely the result of being dropped by tiny, grubby hands. They smiled at you. ‘See,’ they tee-heed, ‘even broken things can manage to be cute.’ Then—

“Would it be alright to skip this?” Ushijima’s voice came rumbling.

Misaki-san, who leaned against the door frame, stood up in alarm. “O-Of course…!”

“Yeah, this does feel a bit…much,” the photographer agreed. “We can do this one some other time, Misaki-san.”

They decided to move on to the next and final location.

Ushijima waited for you to walk out first, his large hand propped above the door and keeping it from shutting on its own. You passed through with a quiet thank you, and as you did, the smell of fresh laundry and yuzu lemons wafted from above you. Bright and sparkly like a summer’s day. Dandelion fluffs waltzing with the wind.

Your fingers ached for calloused warmth.

You needed to peel off your skin.

The way to the flower shop that Misaki-san had called ahead for this shoot was just as whimsical as the café, another cobbled hill with steps made for teacup dogs, or, perhaps, elves. You couldn’t help but drag your feet climbing up, admiring the way tufts of Bermuda and wildflowers bloomed through the cracks, at the back of the trail with Ushijima behind you. A small, man-made creek ran down the side.

For just this one day, just this moment, the world felt light on your shoulders. You haven’t had one of these in a while. You would have hopped if it did not make you look all the more insane. Giggled, too. All that sugar must have finally rushed through your system.  

The photographer turned around. Although you were losing daylight, with a perky tone, he suddenly yelled, “Wait, miss!”

He pointed his camera at you. “This is a great shot! Can you look down a bit? Yes, thank you. This’ll make a beautiful candid photo, Misaki-san! Something her soulmate would’ve taken of her while they’re— uh…”

The man laughed. “Please, can you move out of the frame, er, Ushiwaka?” he requested, grinning impishly.

You looked back.

It took Ushijima a second to understand that he was being spoken to. Those sharp, penetrating eyes were— and maybe you were seeing things— soft, like dewy leaves after a heavy rain. And they were turned right at—

He’s tired. That must be it. He’d just won a game, too.

“Ah,” the giant muttered. “Apologies.” He climbed ahead of you.

The rest of the afternoon flew by.

By the end of it, Misaki-san’s team had accumulated photos that ranged from delectable to charming. The shot of the food was your favorite. The photographer had done an incredible job. You hoped, with the amount of attention that you were told this’d receive, that the café would garner the same. Maybe more. All of this would have been worthwhile then, you thought.

You were to upload most of the pictures from the café (at Misaki-san’s behest, of course) using your old account (the only one you had), which you mostly (only) opened to promote the restaurant’s special holiday group meals. Misaki-san didn’t see the problem with that. She said it would help make your pictures look organic.

The ones taken outside were to be posted on Ushijima’s account (that, upon seeing, you didn’t think the man even knew the password to). Your pictures would be a shock among still life images of volleyballs, courts, trophies, shoes, and products, for sure. The rare, sedate photos of other human beings: teammates, coaches, Ushijima flying in the air, Ushijima receiving an award, will be disturbed by you—

On the hill, looking at flowers like you couldn’t do any wrong.

Crouched down to the pavement, beckoning a stray cat to come to you.

Holding a bouquet of red tulips— “Symbols of passion, loyalty, and everlasting love,” the florist had said— their lush buds smothering half of your face.

It wasn’t until late in the evening when the company started showing signs of inebriation.

Brandon came to the izakaya after the shoot, as it was only a block away from where he had his appointment early in the afternoon. He, too, was drunk. And if the way Misaki-san didn’t mind playing bekuhai with him, then that meant, maybe, that so was she.

Her entire team, after all, was celebrating the successful first phase of their project. Even the ones who couldn’t come with them earlier showed up just for this party. They earned it, Wakatoshi thought, as he watched their group clap and sing, “The drunken god is an honest god! Please point out the beautiful one! Hey, point it out!”

The spinning top on the table stopped, pointing towards Misaki-san. The table erupted in fists and cackles.

“Ah, Tengu, Tengu! You’re so unlucky, Misaki-chan!”

They poured sake into the ceramic goblin cup, the largest one of the three, and cheered as she tossed it back. And even with all that whooping and yowling, Wakatoshi could still hear you chuckle behind your hand.

The two of you were at the edge of the long table, once again, facing each other. Your glass of mocktail was half-full and what little food you’d asked for was already gone. Ushijima had only one glass of beer and no more. He ordered another plate of gyoza.

“Hey, everyone!” Misaki-san’s assistant, if his memory served him right, shouted from the hallway. “The karaoke upstairs is empty!”

The group got on their feet like the floor had caught up in flames. “C’mon!” Misaki-san exclaimed his way, just as she did when they’d put down the bekuhai set on the table.

He chewed, then swallowed to say, “No, thank you—”

“—I’m okay right here...!”

He looked at you. You looked at him. Misaki-san looked at the both of you, then, with her whole face aflush, beamed.

“Okie-dokie!” Misaki-san’s thumb and index formed an O, three fingers up. From behind her, Brandon wiggled his brows at Wakatoshi as he slid out of the room. “We’ll leave you to it! Have fun!”

It got quiet, then. The TV by the bar droned on with its weather report. The few patrons around their table ate alone, or in pairs, conversing in mutters. Or not at all.

“Ushijima-san,”

You spoke.

To him.

Wakatoshi’s chopsticks paused from picking, as he shifted his attention to you.

“You can go anytime if you want to,” you muttered.

He dipped the gyoza in sauce. “I don’t want to,” he replied, admittedly puzzled.

“O-Oh. I didn’t mean, like, go go. I meant, go, join the karaoke upstairs, with Misaki-san and the others. Y-you can just go…if ever…you feel like it.”

“I understand.” He blinked. “So should you.”

“R-right.”

A beat. You finally plucked one gyoza from the plate.

Somebody did tell Wakatoshi once that conversations one does not wish to have are best buffered by food. One would have no recourse but to eat, just to avoid speaking. He watched, at ease, as your face brightened, humming discreetly when you nibbled.

“You don’t have to talk to me.”

You covered your mouth. “I’m sorry?” you chewed.

“I meant to say,” he said, “you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

“I- I see. Um.” You gulped, then smacked your lips. “You also don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

Your eyes were everywhere but on him as you told him that. You took another morsel as his phone piped up.

A text. “Takl 2 he rr !!!1!!!            111111 she looks LONELEY USHWAIKA,” it said.

“Many people beg me to,” Wakatoshi huffed, closing his phone. That was not necessary.

“Brandon-san?” you glanced to his phone, then winced. “Sorry.”

Wakatoshi placed his chopsticks to the side. This way, with nobody and nothing else demanding you to listen, he had all the freedom to study you as you were. All his own. It called to mind the turtle that their classroom once had, back in kindergarten. He’d forgotten what they’d named it, but it retreated to its shell every time he got close too.

He wondered what the difference was, between then and now. You did not have this reaction to him the first time you’d met. You hadn’t known who he was at that time. Perhaps it was the knowing that induced this. Besides, it wasn’t his place to compare. Then and now held minute differences for Wakatoshi too: before he’d learned your name and what you could possibly mean, and after.

Things seemed… muddled now, somehow. Like the point where colors are mixing together before they can transform into another hue.

“Do you mean that?” Wakatoshi crossed his arms together. He leaned back into the chair.

The bead of sweat that’d gathered on your forehead went to the shell of your ear. You stared back up at him, mouth agape. “Excuse…me…?”

“Why are you sorry?”

“N-no, no, I was just—” You dropped your chopsticks. “It was just an expression. I was only—"

You swallowed, then dropped your gaze. You sighed. “I am. Sorry. I do feel that I’ve been…Look, dude, can we talk about something else?”

His brow lifted. You’d raised your tone. That was new. “We don’t have to,” he reminded you. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Right. Sorry.”

There it was again. Wakatoshi frowned, but before he could say something back, the news that had been a white noise in the background became one that his ears could recognize in his sleep.

Shrill whistle, followed by a vociferous crowd. He turned to the screen. The Sendai Frogs were playing against the Tamaden Elephants. Wakatoshi tried to recall the date today. He must’ve forgotten. The camera panned to a blonde player wiping his glasses. “Folks, we have just entered the second set and the game is already this tense!” the commentator boomed. “No one is letting up! Especially Tsukishima over there! Talk about drive, eh, Miyake-san?”

Wakatoshi could hear Tendou cackling somewhere.

No doubt he’s joyous to see the blocker in a pinch, all the while impatient to see him overcome.

“Do you know them?”

He almost didn’t hear. Not just because Wakatoshi had been too engrossed, but also that you’d asked so bashfully. Again, you barely met his gaze when he looked at you. Nevertheless, at the very least, Wakatoshi was no longer confounded. Not as he’d been before.

So you did want to speak to him.  

“Yes,” Wakatoshi said.

“Like, personally?”

“Yes.”

“Th-That was stupid of me, of course you do, sorry—"

“Stop apologizing.”

“So- I just thought…I might as well talk to you about this.” You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your cheeks, eyes downcast. “Volleyball, you know. It being our common interest and all—"

“It’s not.” Wakatoshi felt the words deep in his throat. That was untrue. You did not care for it. Perhaps even averse to it. There wasn’t a need to lie for something as hollow and flimsy as keeping the conversation going. “And we don’t have to talk about it.”

You stared, face dimming. “Got it,” you mumbled, before taking the last gyoza on the plate.

It seemed that the more he talked to you, the easier it was getting for Wakatoshi to recognize the tells: the way your features sink, lashes flickering as if trying to get dirt out, the inflection in your voice breaking like fine china. He knew then that his response had brought about a sort of dejection. The last thing that he liked seeing on your face, he realized. Wakatoshi inched closer to the table.

He could watch a recording of the game tomorrow.

Shearing the edges off of his tone, Wakatoshi began, “Please forgive me. I wanted to say that I’m more than capable of conversing about other things. Not just volleyball.”

Wakatoshi had expected that that would soothe you, having expressed that he’s not being hostile as people often thought he was. It usually did the job in his experience. After explaining himself, he’d learned that most people can be quite forgiving.

What he did not expect was for you to laugh.

After that pause that looked to Wakatoshi like you’re trying to work out what he said, you suddenly broke into a snort, then slapped your hands over your mouth, then laughed.

“What?” Wakatoshi demanded.

“S-sorry-“ You snickered, coughing and shaking your head. He pushed a glass of water towards you. “T-Thank you- it’s just you- dude, you looked like you were having the worst time of your life saying that.”

 He should start getting used to surprises when he’s with you, Wakatoshi noted.

You looked like you were having the worst time of your life saying that.

Did he really? He hadn’t noticed. Nor did he feel like it. He couldn’t help but touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” Wakatoshi murmured.

“Stop apologizing,” you grinned.

His brows furrowed. He hadn’t known you were this…puckish.

“I think I get it, though,” you sighed, slumping on your chair. “Maybe. I could be wrong, but you love it, don’t you?”

You looked up at the screen. He followed you. The Sendai Frogs had won the second set. “More than anything in this world,” you continued. “Everything else must be very boring to you.”

Love.

Many people had called what he’d felt towards volleyball in a myriad of ways. “Ma’am, volleyball makes Wakatoshi happy,” his father had supplicated to his grandmother when he was young. “You only enjoy playing volleyball!” the girl he’d tried dating when he was fourteen had cried. From then on it generally oscillated between dedicated and obsessed.

But never loved.

It wasn’t a word that he— nor other people in his life, really— would ever throw around so casually, either. It had never even crossed his mind. You weren’t just throwing it around, though, weren’t you?

You’d meant that.

Not like earlier. This time you’d looked at him in the eye, and you smiled at him like you’d been there with him when he’s alone, on the rare occasions after a lost game, pondering methodically how he could make it up to his team in the next.

Wakatoshi could only nod.

“I’m saying you don’t have to force yourself.” You picked up your neglected mocktail. “I’m not completely ignorant about volleyball. I don’t know much, but I know some things. Like, that—” Gesturing towards the game, “Was their libero doing an underhand serve.”

He glanced at the screen, then to you. “That was an overhead serve.”

“Was it?” You pursed your lips.

“Yes.”

“And was he their libero?”

“No.”

“I see. Not their libero, huh.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure. Liberos wear a different jersey from their teammates.”

“Right, I remember tha— Ouh! The ball was in!”

“It was out,” he informed.

“But the referee went…” You put both arms forward.

Wakatoshi mimicked and raised his hands to his face, palm inwards. “It was out.”

“Hm.” You suddenly perked up. “That one, I know. That’s their setter.”

Sure enough, it was Hirabayashi, Sendai’s setter, that had tossed the ball to Koganegawa. A rally ensued. 

“That was a dump!”

The crowd roared as Tamaden’s blockers dove to the floor. Wakatoshi almost rankled at the sight, if not only for…

“What a powerful jump serve,” you said, almost to yourself. But, then, your commentary halted completely when the camera zoomed in on Sendai’s opposite hitter.

It’s as if all your interest in the game had died, and with it all the light and mirth that had set you aglow in the past couple of minutes.

“Another player that’s been the talk of the town,” the commentator supplied. “A dark horse, one might even say. Not as illustrious as his teammate Tsukishima, whose had an impressive high school career, but don’t you underestimate this guy! Kyotani Kentaro is one tough nut!”

Wakatoshi hadn’t had the opportunity to play against him, but he could recognize the hitter from Aoba Johsai’s game against Karasuno, all those years ago.

You looked back down at the table, but having nothing to distract you with, settled for feeding your teeth with the blunt nail on your thumb. You gnashed and tore. Wakatoshi tempered the instinct to pull your hand away.

That would be impolite, Wakatoshi reminded himself.

He contented himself with observing you.  

A lack of rudimentary knowledge about volleyball, as if all that you’d been made aware of were things that had to do with the roles and skills of the setter. There’s also that reaction.

The muddled colors swirled, melting into each other, once a muddied shade now becoming more distinct— something so unlike what it was, but unequivocally itself.

But not yet.

“Do you dislike volleyball?” he asked, jolting you back to him.

You discarded your nails back to your lap, before looking at Wakatoshi like you’d been scandalized by your behavior. He could make out the beginnings of an apology on your face, which you wrangled back with a grimace. How could he have ever thought you to be a mystery?

Everything is right there for him to see, isn’t it?

“Not- Not really… I don’t give off that impression, do I? Oh, God. It’s okay,” you prattled. “It’s okay. Really. I can’t judge. Clearly, I still have a lot to learn.” A frail chuckle.

“Do you want to?”

Your forehead creased. “Learn? To play? From you? As in, learn how to play? From you?”

Wakatoshi nodded through it all.

You barked, all smiles. 

“That is so generous, Mister Olympic MVP, but no! Are you insane?!” you giggled.

He shrugged. He tried.

“Why not?”

You swallowed. The light snuffed out. In a blink.

“…Got hit by a ball in high school,” you lied. “Square in the face. Brings back bad memories. I wouldn’t wanna embarrass myself like that…again. Especially not in front of you.”

The thousand-yard stare returned with vengeance.

Where do you go when you do that? And how do you do it so easily? Are you subjected to this capricious maelstrom that comes to pull you away without your consent? Or is it just that you’ve always been there— in that place that even Wakatoshi cannot reach?

Something like this happened to him once, when he’d finally been prepared enough to hike Orla Perć. He was halfway to climbing the peak, but then what was once a placidly sunny day became abruptly beset by a storm that had engulfed the trail, strong enough to knock him off where he’d been hanging. Worse, it had stolen the few slants of light that guided Wakatoshi to his destination.

Below him was a steep drop, and behind him only darkness.

Wakatoshi had not known the cold in that way before.

All he could think then, with his hands gripping the metal rungs, was that regardless if the storm had been there to stay, regardless if the few drops of sun had disappeared forever, Wakatoshi had no other choice but to drag himself out of there, and into the light— bleeding, if he had to.

And so, he thought the same now, looking at you. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

The shutters blew open. “I- Ushijima-san- I don’t…follow- I…”

Neither of you said anything more after that. However:

“…You make me nervous,” you whispered.

Wakatoshi breathed in, then nodded. “Many people have said the same thing.”

You huffed, smirking. “I believe that.”

“I’ve heard our opposite hitter from my last team once say about me that—” Wakatoshi tipped his head back in an effort to conjure the words front of his mind. You waited patiently, hanging on. “He said, ‘Pan Ushijima may not be the anti-Christ—”

Both your eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“—But I would not hang out with him willingly.”

You pressed your eyes shut, looking as if you’re about to sneeze. “Oh my God?”

“And not even with a gun to my head,” he continued, even when you’re already reduced to convulsions on the table. “Apparently I always made him feel like he’s never left the court.” Which, to this day, Wakatoshi still did not find the problem with.

That was lost on you, however, as it seemed that you’d been robbed of the ability to form a coherent sentence. Your shaking back was accompanied by shrill cackling that soon became a soundless, breathless thing. It made Wakatoshi fear that you might be on the verge of a cardiac event, but rather than asking if you were okay, or if you needed help, or water (again), he found himself smiling along instead.

Wakatoshi did not have the heart nor the desire to interrupt the sound. Although neither melodious nor the kind his grandmother would call appropriate for a lady, it was pleasant all the same.

It meant that you were here, with him.

“S-sorry, that was just so mean!” you gasped. “Why would he say that oh my god,” you snorted. Wakatoshi nodded. Indeed. “For what it’s worth, I- I think I’d hang out with you willingly, Ushijima-san, oh my god that was still so mean though!”

You laughed. Wakatoshi tilted his head slightly, pensively, looking at you. Watching.

“You think?” he pushed.

You stopped. Your mouth closed and opened like a fish. “Oh, um- yeah- you know what I mean-“ You touched both of your cheeks. He’d bet that if he held your face in his hands that it’d feel like a fresh cup of coffee. Wouldn’t that be something?

“I just think- now, you know, that we’ve- that we are speaking- like this- not like before- sor- I think that maybe- you’re cool? I don’t know. I think. Which is not to say that you’re not, Ushijima-san. All I’m saying is I’d do this again even if Misaki-san didn’t ask us to…”

You were already panting. “…I think.”

Wakatoshi smiled. “I would too. I would like to hang out with you again, please.”

For a second, he’d thought he’d said the wrong thing. You just stared at him as if he weren’t real. Then, your expression crumpled, a misty film over your eyes, and it was like your toes had been stepped on and the person who’d done it didn’t bother apologizing.

He felt the pain shoot up to his chest like it’d been his own.

“That—” you snarled, grinning ruefully, “is something I have not heard in a very long time.”

You grabbed your mocktail and chugged, finishing it, before swiping away its traces with the back of your hand. You looked up, keeping your tears unshed, then exhaled.

“Thank you, Ushijima-san, for saying that,” you croaked.

Simple honesty did not warrant such a reaction, but Wakatoshi chose not to say that. As such:

“I’ve been hit on the face too,” Wakatoshi told you at length. “Only that one time. In the middle of a game.”

You sat up, blinking. “No way?”

“Yes. I was ten. I bled and I had to run to the infirmary right after.”

Your eyes narrowed. “After you bled or after the game?”

“After the game,” he clarified. “I had to make the point.”

“What?!”

The couple nearest to the table turned to you, to whom both of you regretfully bowed your heads to. You leaned towards him. Wakatoshi did the same.

“What?” you continued, hushed this time. “So you played while bleeding?”

He nodded. He could see all the blemishes this close.

“That’s crazy!”

“I suppose,” he muttered. “It wasn’t a smart decision. I made a mess on the court.”

You gawked as if Wakatoshi had beheaded a man in front of you.

“Of course you did!” you cried.

“My mother had the same reaction,” Wakatoshi recalled. That was the first time he’d seen his mother yell at someone other than his father. He still owed a great deal to his coach for bearing it. “She was deeply cross with me.”

“I would be too! I can’t believe your coach forced you to play in that state! That’s very irresponsible.”

You shook your head and Wakatoshi wanted to pinch your cheeks.

“No one can force me to do anything,” he said. “I refused to leave the court.”

“What…” Your smile hung on your lips. “You were still a kid, you know?”

That was true. However, “I was also team captain.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You nodded emphatically.

“But,” Wakatoshi conceded. “You’re right. That was irresponsible. And it wouldn’t happen now. I wouldn’t be allowed to.” It was reasonable. It was also, in Wakatoshi’s heart of hearts, quite annoying.

You chuckled, gazing at him knowingly. “Of course.”

Silence dawned, but not the kind that you didn’t know what to do with. Silence shared between the two of you, Wakatoshi had realized, was cushy enough to lean into.

“Were you close with your mom?” you asked after a beat.

He considered the question for a minute. “No,” he finally answered. “She didn’t like me very much. Although I believe she tolerates me now.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, delicate yet firm.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry anyway.”

“How about you?” Wakatoshi asked this time, and was rewarded for it with a sure and even a tiny bit defiant smile, as if you were daring him to oppose you. He came to the conclusion that he liked you best like this.

“Yes,” you avowed. “Well, I like to think we are. She cares for me even after all the trouble I’ve brought her, so there’s that at least.”

Wakatoshi would’ve been more than happy to ask some more— Are you an only child? Yes, he would assume by the way your eyes lingered at the family pictures back at the café; Do you like your father? He couldn’t be sure, but he’d readily say that he does; Doesn’t alcohol suck? Yes, absolutely, he’d agree with you; Would you like to have a family of your own? — but the clambering return of Misaki-san’s party had taken the opportunity from him.

Both of you left to catch those who’d almost tripped on their way to the table. Brandon was being carried by two men whom Wakatoshi had never met before. They handed him to Wakatoshi with a winded thank you.

“Maaaaaan! You kiddies shoulda been there!” Misaki-san hiccuped as she tackled you into a hug. “We sang our hearts out! You are always gonna be my love! Itsuka-” Her assistant pulled her away from you, followed by an outburst of apologies. Hamasaki-san, who was tasked to drive the large team van, seemed to be the only one who’d stayed sober. The man only shook his head and laughed as he lugged his traipsing co-workers out of the restaurant. 

The entire company made a trail of drunken, rambunctious Utada Hikaru songs towards the parking lot.

With Brandon in his arms, Wakatoshi quickly retrieved his manager’s car keys in his (slightly moist) back pocket. He laid him at the back of his car and started the engine. You knelt to the floor to pick up some dropped wallets and makeup bottles, while Hamasaki-san set the team to rights inside the van. Wakatoshi went to you to help.

He picked up a watch, then another. You faced each other as you closed some loose caps, before placing them inside a bag that had his sponsor’s logo on it. He slipped his finds there.

“Being soulmates with me must be overwhelming.”

You paused, staring at him. “Not…really…” you lied, again.

But you just looked at each other and exchanged stifled chuckles.

“May I ask you something?” he then murmured.

“Hm?”

A few coins fell from your hands.

Wakatoshi retrieved them for you.

“Why did you run?”

He was looming over you, even as both of you were on your knees. This was how it must’ve been, that first time, but you’d just been too out of it to even be conscious of that. But his presence wasn’t as it was, wasn’t it? A mystery, how far a brief conversation can take two strangers.

It was no longer as fleeting and dream-like as the first, nor as daunting as the second and third.

Wakatoshi Ushijima felt more…tangible now.

There was a distance between the two of you, but you feel every one of his breaths like you’re the one catching them, wrapped in a blanket of yuzu lemons.

Why did you run?

Ushijima waited for your answer.

You knew you shouldn’t have done that earlier, opened a conversation like that. Dumb dummy. Was his smile, watching that game, really that striking? Like you were looking at a different person?

Really? Really, little girl?

Now look at what you’ve done. What will you tell him, huh? Not even the answer closest to the truth would sound believable from your mouth.

Dummy.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said as he put another a compact powder in the bag.

“No…!” Your hand trembled when you pulled at his sleeve. “S-sorry.” You let go.

You didn’t answer, in the end. Instead, you asked, “What did it feel like for you, the first time it happened? When our palms…”

Unlike you, it didn’t take him a meltdown to give a reply. “Weird,” he answered. “I’d long believed that it was impossible for me. So it was a shock when it finally happened. You?”

You looked up at him.

He wasn’t so bad: you’d thought that earlier. You were still thinking it now.

Wakatoshi Ushijima was an unscalable a tower as ever, perhaps not even years of acquaintanceship would change that for folks such as yourself. But you’d accepted now that he was also the type to pull a woman whom he didn’t know from a can of paint out of the hell residing in her mind; the one to say “You did well” and the one to give a forthright sort of kindness without asking for anything in return.

This unscalable tower, who’d bled from his nose when he was ten because he couldn’t leave his volleyball team without winning first.

So, would it be so bad?

“I was…” you choked. “I felt…” You breathed in. “…scared.”

You kept your head down as you got up, dusting off your dress, before pulling at the bag’s drawstrings. When you met his eyes, he had already been there expecting you, still on his knees. You haven’t watched any of his games yet, had never seen him play, but this must be how he looks at his opponents when he does.

It’s a wonder how anybody can survive this.

Wakatoshi stood, gazing down at you, as he handed you something with a closed fist. Something pink and translucent peeked through his thumb; it was the shimmery gloss they’d used on you.

You opened your palm for him. His warm, calloused fingers brushed forked and dashed lines and you’d felt like crying again. You almost caught them with your own.

He stepped forward, not too close, but he leaned just enough for you to hear.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he told you as he took the hefty bag from your hand.

Ushijima walked with you to the van, then bowed and thanked the team, leaving the bag inside the compartment. You watched him through the rearview mirror, watching the car leave, as you mulled over what he’d said.

Did he mean that you didn’t have to be scared anymore because he’s really not as scary as he seems? Or was it that you didn’t have to be anymore now that he’s here?

Was it a promise? Or a threat?

The line between the two seemed to blur with someone like Ushijima.

As soon as you got home, you’d called your mother to share about the things that’d happened at the shoot, how the people treated you (They were all very nice, mama!), how Ushijima had been (He was…nice, too!), what you’d done (We just took some pictures, then had a dinner party), and other gossip here and there (Did you know they have people in their teams who are dating but they’re not allowed to be public about it?). Finally, she asked you if you had fun.

You said yes, meaning it.

She also asked how you felt now that this wonderful and romantic thing was finally happening to you, as she’d always hoped it would. And you’d only said that you felt happy, keeping the other bit to yourself for fear that she might worry about you again.

Although you really did want to say it, that something much more miraculous than a soul glow had occurred, because it'd felt that, after all these years, like you had finally made a friend.

The sweltering heat melted Wakatoshi’s skin and clung to his shirt. Bass imploded under his feet, thumping an unending rhythm as he weaved his way out of the pack of swaying bodies.

Ahead, Nikola-san had already reached the couch where Matias Ruiz and his teammates were waiting. They embraced and clapped each other’s backs. A stark contrast to two days ago when they had been at each other’s throats on the court, crying foul and cursing at the referee.

The two had played together in an international league when Wakatoshi was still an amateur, and he could see them calling each other brother even through the pulsating kaleidoscope that engulfed the spacious room.

He picked up his pace, gingerly pushing the ones who’d knocked into him out of his way, apologizing even though Wakatoshi knew he couldn’t be heard among the din.

“Hey! Asshole!” An American accent. Wakatoshi looked down to see a woman. “Watch where you’re go—”

The woman seemed to have forgotten what she was about to say, gaping at him. He didn’t have the time to wait for it. The renowned outside hitter called out his name, and Wakatoshi speedily escaped the labyrinthine crowd.

Matias and Nikola-san flanked him, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Fédération Internationale de Volleyball’s Most Valuable Player of the Year!” they declared.

The men whistled, raising their glasses. “Salud!”

Andrzej, Janek, and Daniel were already sprawled on the couch. Their youngest grinned, yelling.

“…flacha!” he caught from Janek.

Nikola-san ruffled the boy’s hair, to the entire couch’s amusement, before offering a shot to Wakatoshi. He shook his head.

“Co tam?” the older man asked, scrunching his face when Wakatoshi answered.

“Git,” Wakatoshi repeated. Nikola-san nodded, then shoved the tiny glass to their middle blocker. Daniel accepted it gleefully.

Beside his teammates were Valentin Paez and Martin Cufré. The rest of them stood up to join the dance floor, while the others were engaged in arm wrestling. The only one missing was—

“Chabón!” Wakatoshi stooped under the sudden onslaught of Federico Muñoz’s arm. “Buenos Aires ni irasshaimase!”

Wakatoshi bowed slightly.

“The fool is drunk, please excuse him, Ushijima-san!” Matias hooted with laughter.

“Tomé bocha…birra….!" he caught from the intoxicated libero, who’d grinned at the men on the couch. Then, to him, “You gave us hell out there, brother! You are a… How do you say… tensai!”

He patted Wakatoshi’s chest and proceeded to slump on the low glass table in the middle.

Just behind the couch was a fire exit. Wakatoshi was filled with gratitude seeing it. He excused himself from his team.

The night air welcomed him in its cool bosom. He welcomed the sound of the muted honking of cars below, inhaling, but a trace of musk and a familiar burning smell prompted Wakatoshi to halt, and turn around.

Aleksander, a fellow opposite hitter, was there, leaning against the railing, head to the starless sky. Standing next to him was Klemens, who had something pinched between his fingers. Its end glowed and emitted smoke.

“Pan Ushijima,” Aleksander sing-songed, blowing out a cloud.

Klemens followed, smiling dazedly. "Zioło?” He extended the thin roll to Ushijima.

It was snatched by Aleksander, who’d then spat, “The MVP is too good for smoking. Winner like him, does not do things… such as this.”  

Yet another thing he’d gotten wrong about him.

“I have,” Wakatoshi explained. During his stay in America. His roommate had a habit, and he was quite adamant that Wakatoshi would take well to it, but, “It only made me hungry and unproductive.”

Aleksander sneered. “Idiota.” Klemens, red eyes drooping, glanced to Wakatoshi, and was about to reprimand the taller blonde, but:

“Excuse me, se��or.” They all turned back to the door. “What a mean thing to say to your teammate.”

Nahuel Caneo addressed them with a smile, a bottle in each hand. He bowed briefly to Wakatoshi.

Wakatoshi bowed back.

His teammates, clearly perturbed by his presence, left in haste. Aleksander, however, grumbled along the way. Wakatoshi had never seen an angrier man who’d indulged in the purportedly calming drug. Fascinating.

“You must forgive him,” Nahuel told Wakatoshi as the door shut close.

He looked at him. “They haven’t harmed me.”

Nahuel laughed. “You’re just as they say, Ushijima-san.”

A frosty, unopened bottle was handed to Wakatoshi.

“Felicidades.” The setter beamed. “That was one of the most delightful games of my career.”

Wakatoshi felt his chest expand. “It’s an honor, Nahuel-san.” He bowed once more.

“I hope it’s to your liking. I heard from Nikola that you would only partake in beer.”

The one given to him had low alcohol content. He’s had it before. Andrzej must have told him. A quiet thank you, then Wakatoshi borrowed a discarded bottle cap and used it to break his open. Tangy sweet ginger refreshed his parched throat.

They rested their arms against the railing, drinking in silence as they watched over the traffic.

“Getting benched is one thing. Staying benched is another. A sort of death,” Nahuel suddenly uttered. “Sometimes death is better. Less shame to it.”

“Aleksander has not died. He’s just not good. Not right now. He is blinded by expectations of his potential.”

Nahuel paused from drinking. “Aren’t we all, at that young age? Aren’t you?”

“No,” he replied, sipping. “I only see what I can do and what I will. What others expect of it is none of my business.”

The older man shook his head, chuckling. “Spoken like a champion. That one only had his eyes on you, you know. You two— truly something else. You do acknowledge that it was a very close call?”

Wakatoshi huffed, smiling. “I do.” It was the best game of Wakatoshi’s career, too.

“A pair of prodigal sons,” Nahuel muttered around the lip of the bottle. “Your motherland must be weeping for the loss of you two.”

“Japan doesn’t hold a grudge against us.”

Nahuel laughed kindly. “No, no. Please excuse me. I mean to say…they must want for the both of you to come home and play there.”

He considered this. “Perhaps. But they can’t be wanting that much. We’ve no lack of competent players.”

A flash of pride in Nahuel’s eyes. He offered his bottle for a toast. Wakatoshi accepted.

“There are rumors of Romero…”

“A land of beasts.” Nahuel frowned, shivering. “Please, I take back what I said. Do not ever come home.”

Wakatoshi chuckled lowly.  

“But do you plan on going back?” Nahuel asked.

“…In a few years,” he answered.

After emptying the bottle, Nahuel patted his back to say goodbye. “I must get going. Matias might be undressing as we speak.”

Wakatoshi nodded, then, “Do you happen to know where the toilet is?”

“Take those stairs.” He gestured behind Wakatoshi. “The one for the customers smell. Use the one for employees. It’s okay. They’re fans too. They know you know us. And we know the guy who runs the place. Good guy. Wife and four kids.”

Wakatoshi bowed, thanking Nahuel.

Then, just as he was turning to leave, Nahuel called his name. He spoke, but Wakatoshi did not recognize the words. It must be his native language.

“It’s something my grandmother used to tell me,” he elucidated with a gentle, patient expression. “I hope everything that occurs to you will be as joyful as a dream.”

“You too, Nahuel-san,” Wakatoshi said.

Nahuel smiled, waving as he turned back.

What a man.

He followed the older setter’s instructions. The men’s room was unoccupied and, although dimly lit, was as clean as Nahuel had said. Wakatoshi washed his hands after having done his business. He was about to go, send a message to his teammates and retire for the night, when a loud thud alerted him to the cubicle at the farthest corner of the room. It was the largest one, painted a deep maroon like the others.

Another thud, then a groan.

“Hello?” His voice echoed back to him. “Is everything alright?”

A strangled cry prompted Wakatoshi to march to the cubicle and force his way inside. The door unhinged partly at the top. It hung open.

A man in a black shirt, with the club’s logo stitched on the chest, stared back at Wakatoshi.

He’s shoved against the wall, his wrists pinned above his head. His eyes were blown wide open, grinning blankly, as a large, veined hand smothered his mouth into muffled keening. The other taller man who’s got him there is on his throat, a thick head of brown hair facing Wakatoshi, as his hips thrusted in wild abandon into the smaller one.

“Oikawa,” Wakatoshi growled.

The hand left his mouth, and the man let out a sharp howl, his entire body caught in trembles. Oikawa whispered something to him, pulling an absent, empty giggle out of him, before he fixed his pants and stumbled out of the cubicle, then out of the room. Wakatoshi glanced at the sopping pile of rubber beside the toilet. 

Oikawa slumped to the floor; belt still unbuckled around his waist. A sheen of sweat glistened against his pale face. He looked up at Wakatoshi, who then knelt next to him without another word.

His pupils were massive, shining black marbles. He should’ve brought a bottle of water with him, Wakatoshi thought.

“What did you take?”

Oikawa bared his teeth to grin at Wakatoshi, then stuck his tongue out. A bright, bubblegum blue pill sat there, still perfectly round.  Before he could roll it back in and swallow, Wakatoshi grabbed him by the nape, pulled, and shoved his tongue inside Oikawa’s mouth.

His lips were pillowy and wet against his, and he tasted bitter, almost astringent, as Wakatoshi swiped the fat of his tongue to catch the pill. He pulled away, already hard in his pants, and spat it into the toilet next to them, slamming the lid down.

In the next breath, Wakatoshi is on his back. Oikawa is on top of him, fist wrenching his collar. “Don’t leave me hanging, you fucking dog,” he drawled, chuckling.

He spat into Wakatoshi’s mouth. “Just like old times, huh?”

Wakatoshi grunted. He found himself unable sit up, until he pulled Oikawa by the hair and sunk his canines into his throat. Copper and salt mingled in Wakatoshi’s tongue. Oikawa moaned, grinding his ass down into Wakatoshi’s stiff cock as he made quick work of his pants.

Around his fingers, there’s a tacky downiness to Oikawa’s chestnut strands that made Wakatoshi grin. It almost felt like coming back home. He tugged harder, until Oikawa is facing the ceiling. The brunette cackled as he swiveled his hips.

“My greedy, little virgin boy,” he groaned. God, he wanted to slam himself inside that tight heat so fucking bad. “A trophy isn’t enough for you, huh? Want my ass too?”

“Fucking tease,” Wakatoshi grounded between his teeth. Blood trailed down Oikawa’s throat. He licked it up, feeling his Adam’s apple bob under his tongue.  

Oikawa cackled, sighing, as he stroked himself. “Iwa-chan.”

The world turned red. Wakatoshi snarled, then grabbed Oikawa’s arm with the other hand, and lunged him to the wall, both of them a couple of scrambling feet. Oikawa barked, sneering, as he pushed Wakatoshi to the plank of wood dividing the cubicles, his arm locking Wakatoshi by the shoulders.

The divider cracked under the impact. The hinges of the door creaked in protest.

“You think you're all that?! Think you’ve won, motherfucker?!” Oikawa snapped. They heaved into each other’s panting mouths.  “You haven’t won shit!”

Hot flushes fluttered in Wakatoshi’s chest. He laughed. “You’re a sore loser.”

“Yeah, better a sore loser than a— fuck me,” Oikawa groaned, “—than a desperate one. Hm?”

He’s already got Wakatoshi in his grip, their cock heads twitching and leaking into each other. Wakatoshi felt each heavy drop of Oikawa’s pre-cum on the tip, then slithering down to trace every vein on his shaft.

His cock was as pretty as him. The pink, curved head caught around Wakatoshi’s thick girth. Their fingers probed and scratched against each other as Wakatoshi stroked along with Oikawa. They bucked their hips forwards and backwards in a slow, frenzied rhythm.

They throbbed against each other, the meat of their cocks grinding and kissing. Sticky, wet sliding noises reverberated across the room.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moaned, those enlarged pupils laughing at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Wakatoshi growled, thrusting his fingers into the brunette’s waiting mouth.

He gnawed until they bled. Wakatoshi hissed, but watched anyway, transfixed, as Oikawa sucked them dry.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” he crooned around his fingers.

Their once measured movements became erratic, and his heart careened along with it. The light behind his eyes bursting, a volatile thing, sending shockwaves in his nerves.

“My baby? My prince? S’that what you want? You and that fucked up savior’s complex of yours?” Oikawa spat, sighing into his ear. “My prince? Have you come to save me? Ah, right there— My prince — fuck, baby, I’m so close—”

They spilled all over each other’s hands, shivering and gasping.

Oikawa fell to him, his damp forehead resting on his equally damp shoulders. For a while, there was only the sound of their strained breathing. Then, whimpering.

He wondered if the high had worn off and if it was causing him pain. Wakatoshi tried to shake him off just so he could see his face, but Oikawa stubbornly pressed into his cheek instead. He let him. Only for a minute though. They needed to clean up soon.

A steady trickle of sweat dripped from Oikawa to Wakatoshi’s neck.

Oikawa was blabbering something. He might still be up there after all, swimming in a river of adrenaline. However, the more he did it, that high-pitched blabbering, the less convinced Wakatoshi had been that that was indeed the case.

He was repeating a name, whispering it like a prayer, almost like sickly plea.

Wakatoshi understood then that Oikawa was no longer provoking him.

It wasn’t even Iwaizumi Hajime’s name.

It was somebody else’s.

One he couldn’t recognize.

And the sweat that flowed unceasingly didn’t seem to be just that.

[serenelystrange]

yay for prompts!! would love to see your take on forced proximity (nr 4)!

Pinky Promise

Rated G

Here be so much fluff. Hope you enjoy!

“Well, shit,” Eddie says. Fat wet drops of rain are starting to come down through the thick trees of the forest.

He curses himself again for not double-checking his tent before leaving, not catching the entire top seam that’s fraying and dotted with pinpoint holes. It’s perfectly serviceable for dry weather, but the weather forecast is currently proving to be bullshit, the ground getting steadily wetter around him by the second.

“What’s taking you so long to pitch a tent?” Buck asks, barely holding back the smirk on his face as he emerges from his own one-person tent and inspects the useless nylon in Eddie’s hands.

“Well, shit.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh, grin twisting into a grimace as thunder shakes the trees around them.

“Guess we’re bunking together,” Buck shrugs, taking the tent from Eddie’s cold hands and wrapping it back up into its bag before resting it against the tree. “Get in there before you get soaked, man.”

Eddie shakes himself from the frozen moment and grabs his still mostly-dry sleeping bag and dashes for the tent, Buck hot on his heels as the rain picks up.

“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” Eddie grumbles as Buck zips up the tent securely.

“At least we have one dry tent,” Buck says, shrugging easily, unbothered.

He has to crouch to avoid hitting the top of the tent, and quickly settles down on the sleeping bag that he drags as far to one side of the small space as he can.

Eddie looks around, realizing he could practically touch each side of the tent with his arms if he stood in the middle. He’s used to being close to Buck, but this is pushing the levels of comfortable.

“Good thing Chris refused to camp with us, after all,” Eddie says as he kicks off his boots and shoves them into a corner before unzipping his sleeping bag and sitting inside it.

“I bet Hen and Karen are letting him stay up way too late eating junk food and playing video games,” Buck says, wistfully. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Almost nine,” Eddie laughs, looking down at his waterproof watch. “It’s not even Chris’ actual bedtime yet.”

“Feels later,” Buck yawns, looking up at the raindrops beating down on the tent relentlessly.

“We did swim for hours,” Eddie says. “Before the sky decided to open up.”

“At least we ate already,” Buck offers. “Rain won’t stop animals from sniffing out food if we left it out.”

“There is that,” Eddie begrudgingly agrees. “I wanted to make s’mores though.”

“You’re worse than Chris,” Buck laughs.

“That doesn’t sound very supportive of my journey to find joy,” Eddie snarks back. “I will absolutely rat you out to Father Brian.”

“I’m not afraid of a priest,” Buck scoffs playfully. “I’m not Catholic, they have no power over me.”

“You’d never expect it,” Eddie teases a warning, “that’s how they get ya.”

“What’s the opposite of holy water?” Buck muses, “I’ll have to get some of that to ward the Church off.”

“Uh,” Eddie thinks, “hellfire?”

Buck wrinkles his nose. “They probably don’t sell that at Whole Foods.”

“There would definitely be import fees,” Eddie agrees wryly.

Buck grins, always so pleased when Eddie plays along, a fact that he couldn’t hide if he tried.

“Go to sleep, Firestarter,” Eddie says, wiggling down into his own sleeping bag and curling up, grateful for the built in pillow.

He’s asleep before he can see if Buck listens or not.

Daylight wakes Eddie up with what sounds like an explosion, and he has to take several deep breaths until he can convince his racing heart to calm down. Peering up at the roof of the tent, he sees it’s still the middle of the night, thunder and lightning waking him instead of sunlight.  

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, turning to check on Buck, only to meet his wide shiny eyes, barely visible in the dark tent.

“Hey,” Buck whispers. “You ok?”

“Just startled me,” Eddie says, now that his breathing has returned to normal. “Are you ok?”

Eddie sees it in Buck’s face before he’s even said it; the automatic dismissal of his own feelings, the years of shoving everything deep down into the dark.

“We don’t lie to each other,” Eddie reminds him gently. “You pinky-promised. Pretty sure you Buckleys consider that a legally binding agreement.”

Buck laughs wetly, and nods. “Damn right, it is.”

“So tell me the truth,” Eddie says, reaching out across the cramped space and clasping a hand around Buck’s shoulder. “Are you ok?”

Buck shakes his head, swallowing around a tight throat and curling up until his knees are practically flush to his chest.

“I’m freaking terrified,” he admits, voice soft like he’s still half-expecting to be punished for using it.

Eddie’s heart breaks for him, both for his best friend and for the scared little kid he knows still lives in Buck’s chest.

“Come here,” Eddie says instead of voicing his wishes to cut the Buckley parent’s brake lines.

Buck freezes for a moment, giving Eddie a cautious look. They’re closer than most best friends, but they’ve never just straight up cuddled before.

“No funny business,” Eddie laughs quietly, holding out his arms with a flourish. “Just come let me protect you, alright?”

Buck hesitates another moment, before the tent illuminates a shocking white again, followed by the ground beneath them rumbling. Losing any reservations, he scrambles over into Eddie’s unzipped sleeping bag and open arms.

“You’ll be cold,” Eddie says against Buck’s hair as he practically melds himself into Eddie’s neck.

Buck reaches back with one arm and grabs his discarded sleeping bag and tucks it over himself, all without opening his eyes.

“Good enough,” Eddie says.

“Thank you,” Buck puffs against Eddie’s skin, and maybe it should be weird, but all Eddie feels is an overwhelming sense that nothing has ever felt so right.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says, squeezing him reassuringly. “Go back to sleep, I’ve got you.”

To his surprise, Buck just squeezes back and does what he’s told.

By the time the actual sun rises, Eddie has a crick in his neck and he’s pretty sure his left arm is completely numb, but he feels surprisingly refreshed. Buck is still asleep, head pillowed on Eddie’s numb arm and one of his own arms slung snugly across Eddie’s chest. His hand is curled around Eddie’s rib cage, and Eddie has to force a breath around the sudden rush of blood in his ears as he thinks about how perfectly he fits in Buck’s hold.

“Too early,” Buck mumbles as he wakes up slightly. “Five more minutes.”

“We have hours,” Eddie whispers. “The sun just came up.”

“No more storm?” Buck asks, eyes still firmly closed and his hand idly tracing Eddie’s ribs through his t-shirt.

“No more storm,” Eddie concurs, reaching up with his free hand before he can stop himself and ruffling Buck’s humidity-puffed curls.

“Good,” Buck says sleepily, tucking his head back against Eddie’s throat for a moment before tensing up as he remembers their current arrangement.

“Relax,” Eddie says, locking his arms as Buck goes to move away. “You’re fine where you are.”

Buck sags back against him, smiling against Eddie’s skin.

“Rethinking the no funny business thing?” he teases.

“Maybe,” Eddie says, flushing warm at even the thought of it all.

“Good,” Buck says, before tilting his head up and pressing a short but firm kiss against Eddie’s surprised lips. “I love laughing with you.”

“Yeah, well. I’d hug you right now,” Eddie laughs, “but pretty sure my arm is dead.”

Buck cringes in sympathy, before untangling himself from Eddie’s hold and pulling away.

“I didn’t want you to move,” Eddie says, watching with confusion as Buck just stretches out on his back beside him.

“Your turn to be the teddy bear,” Buck grins, holding out his arms until Eddie finally takes the hint and shuffles around until he’s resting against Buck’s chest, surrounded by his warm arms.

“This is pretty nice,” Eddie admits after a few minutes. Buck is idly playing with his hair with one hand and tracing patterns into his back with the other.  “I’ve never.. I mean. Nobody’s ever held me like this.”

“Like what?” Buck asks, his voice rumbling comfortingly where Eddie feels it through his chest.

“Just to hold me,” Eddie says quietly, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the imagined pity in Buck’s.

“Yeah, well,” Buck says firmly. “They’re all idiots, obviously. I’ll hold you every day if you want.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, pressing a kiss into the cotton above Buck’s heart. “You promise?”

Buck grins and hooks one calf over Eddie’s knee, holding him together with ease.

“Pinky-promise.”

The End

[apollo-zero-one]

Man I can't believe I had the chance to go to a performing arts school up through middle school and I fuckin quit after 6 months just because I got bullied. BRO YOUR HOMEWORK WAS POETRY!! YOU HAD TO PRACTICE DANCING TO COTTON EYE JOE AS YOUR BIG UNIT TEST. GYM CLASS HAD A CIRCUS UNIT!! YOU HAD A WHOLE DAILY CLASS ON IMPROV!!! YOU FOOL!! YOU ABSOLUTE IMBICILE!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN A YOUTUBER!!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THOSE TWEENAGERS GETTING LOADED BY MAKING SHITTY YOUTUBE SHORTS IN 2008-14!! But noooOoooOOOoo little miss Noellie (who WANTED TO GO!! who worked SO HARD and sent in an application essay and did an INTERVIEW to get in!!) couldn't handle disruptive classmates or little scuffles and petty grudges and general Attitude of the other students and cried to mommy to put her back in public school. I am EATING MY HAIR over what Could Have Been. I COULD BE SOMEONE'S ANNOYING YOUTUBER!! I could be a DISGRACED DISNEY CHANNEL STAR!! I could be an America's Got Talent winner! A mild to moderately successful comedian! I could be making short films!! But no no no precious thin skinned baby me heard a few new cus words and watched a teacher get heckled and begged to give up The Dream in favor of?? Quiet math tests?? I am such a fucking quitter I quit everything the second it gets too hard I always take the out as soon as it's offered what's my fucking damage.....

[kerosene-saint]

my voice got deeper

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.

[mediocre-writing]

That it? | LN4

Summary: Y/n decides to trick her boyfriend with a fake hickey.

Pairing: Lando Norris X Fem!Reader

English is not my first language, requests are open!

Y/n controls herself from laughing out loud when looking at herself in the mirror, that hickey was very convincing.

She looks at the hidden camera next to the sink counter, which also takes up part of the room, and gives a small wave.

"Where are you kitty?"

She takes a deep breath as she hears Lando's voice calling her from downstairs.

"Here in the bedroom bathroom, love."

Y/n picks up a face brush and pretends to be finishing her makeup.

"Hi princess" Lando says entering the bedroom's bathroom and hugging his girlfriend from behind.

"Are you ready?" He says, looking at her admiringly through the mirror.

"I'm just going to finish putting on my lipstick."

"Okay." Lando says, stepping back a little and analyzing his girlfriend from head to toe. "I'm so excited, it's been a while since we-" He stops talking as soon as his eyes reach her neck.

"What?" She says looking at his terrified expression through the mirror.

Lando doesn't really know what to think, had he done that?

They haven't been out together for a few days, and they've both been so tired the past few days that they haven't had many intimate moments.

"What's that on your neck?" He says seriously, his eyes still fixed on his girlfriend's neck.

"That's it? You did that, love." This makes Lando look at her in disbelief.

"Me? No, it wasn't me."

"Yeah, you did that last night." Lando feels like he's two seconds away from losing his mind.

"No I didn't, I'm sure I didn't do that to you." He says getting angry.

"Okay Lando." Y/n says, dropping the brush and leaving the bathroom.

"'Okay Lando'? What the fuck does that mean?" He says following her, already a little upset.

"What do you want, Lando?" She stops in a part of the room where she knows the camera will catch it.

"I don't know, my girlfriend has a fucking hickey on her neck that I clearly didn't do, if it were me, how would you feel?" Y/n sees her boyfriend's eyes get brighter and she's one step away from abandoning this prank.

"You don't have to make such a big deal out of it."

Lando looks at her in disbelief.

"What did you do to my Y/n?" okay, that hurt a little.

"Land-"

"No, fuck no! My Y/n would never lie to me like that, and she would never throw my feelings out the window like you just did, you know what, just tell me who it is!" Lando says, speaking louder now.

"Fenty Beauty" Lando looks at her confused. "Is that a fucking rapper?"

"What the hell is that-"

" Fenty Beauty , the makeup brand I made this for." She says smiling at him and Lando just wants to throw himself out the window.

"Are you kidding?"

She runs her hand over her neck with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and shows it to him.

"It saw?"

"Holy shit." Lando says sighing and closing his eyes.

"Sorry love, I couldn't resist." Y/n says, getting closer to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You almost killed me, babe." Lando says, leaning his head against hers with his eyes closed.

"Sorry, but you know I would never trade my favorite driver for anyone in this world, right?

"And you know I wouldn't accept that so easily, right?" He whispers in her ear.

"Oh my boyfriend is possessive?" She says kissing his cheek.

"Completely." Lando says kissing her neck. "How about we do a real one now?"

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇵​​🇪​​🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇱​​🇾​ ​🇧​​🇴​​🇽​

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲!𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲!𝐉𝐉 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝙹 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

cw | smut, swearing, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, choking, fingering, squirting, fighting, mentions of blood, oral (male receiving simultaneously), threesome (<- rafe and jj don't kiss - sorry 💋), anal, spanking shower sex, name-calling

𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓻: 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓮𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮-𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 💕🩷

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The air at the rink was crisp, carrying the faint scent of ice and sweat. Rafe stands on the opposite side of the boards, his helmet hanging loose from the blade of his hockey stick. His eyes stay locked on the beautiful figure gliding effortlessly across the rink.

You move gracefully, shifting like water, making everything else disappear. You leap and bend, turning like a top—fiercely athletic, leaving him in awe.

He couldn’t look away, not even if he wanted to.

The sound of your blades carve into the ice, rhythmically, unlike his own. It wasn’t just your skill that had him in a daze. It was your sheer focus, the ease with which you did the effortful, effortlessly. It was how you smiled when you landed a jump he couldn’t even begin to compute.

“Holy shit…”

“I know, right?” Rafe responds, JJ’s words hitting him like a slap. He blinks his blue eyes a few times, his head snapping to the left. His teammate stands next to him, his chin resting lazily on the butt of his stick, staring at the same figure skater with addled eyes. Rafe exhales, realizing he’s been holding his breath. He drags his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Fuck, man. She’s somethin’ else, huh?”

JJ doesn’t respond, too consumed with watching you. Your body turns into a triple toe loop in the air, executing it flawlessly. Rafe looks back at you, feeling a strange mix of admiration and the sting of something else as he catches onto JJ’s mutual desire for you.

“No way she goes here–” JJ mumbles dreamily.

“Nah, I haven’t seen her around campus,” Rafe replies, his voice a little tighter now. He follows your movements on the ice, eyes scanning the sheet, knowing you’d be stepping off any second—his pulse quickens, hands clammy inside his gloves.

The door swings open beside them; a few of their teammates spill onto the ice before you can even get off. They lose you in the crowd, looking around big bodies as they move toward the door themselves.

When the boys fan out of the ice, the skater is gone. Rafe’s eyes scan the arena, catching JJ's search as well, making him more frantic. “Who are you lookin’ for, bud?” Rafe snips, making JJ scoff in disgust.

“Nobody,” JJ answers, letting his lips curl in a smirk.

“You’re such a bitch, dude,” Rafe cracks disgustedly, shoving JJ against the boards.

“I’m a bitch…” He points his gloved hand at his chest, cocking an eyebrow at Rafe. “Comin’ from you, that means shit,” Maybank laughs as he shakes his head.

“The fuck does that mean?” He asks as he slashes him tauntingly with his stick, making JJ throw a punch, nailing Rafe’s arm.

“You know exactly what that means–” JJ's voice trails off as he watches you round the arch of the rink, walking toward the two of them, skimming through your phone. You look up, smiling at the two of them.

Rafe opens his mouth to speak, but the words get lost somewhere between his brain and tongue. JJ steps forward, tripping slightly on his own skate blade, muttering a rushed, “Uh, hey,” before Rafe can get a word in.

“Hi,” you giggle and tilt your head slightly in amusement, looking up at the two men in passing.

Rafe clears his throat, forcing himself to recover, catching your attention. You look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes again. “That was… Umm. What you were doing out there was amazing,” he praises.

“Yeah, seriously,” JJ adds a little louder, not to be outdone. “Olympic level, shit. You’re probably the best skater I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” Rafe’s eyes narrow on JJ before returning to you. “I couldn’t do that if I tried.”

Your cheeks warm up at their sweet words. You turn toward them, taking a step closer, making them both blush. “Thank you–” You drag out the word, hoping they’ll fill in the blank with their names.

The names come out in a jumbled mess as the two boys speak over the top of each other. JJ slaps Rafe in the gut with his glove annoyedly, his eyes still locked on yours.

“Rafe Cameron,” Rafe repeats himself with a smile.

“I’m JJ,” he jumps in. “JJ Maybank. And you are?”

You introduce yourself, the sound of your name leaving your lips seemingly making the burly boys swoon. Rafe’s pulse quickens as he watches you smile up at his teammate. “Do you skate here often?” Rafe asks.

“No,” you shake your head and smile, “I go to Harvard… They didn’t have any ice time–”

“Harvard?” JJ questions.

“Mhmm… Just borrowing your ice—”

“You busy tomorrow, sweetheart,” Rafe cuts in, catching you off guard. JJ’s lips tightened, brows furrowing as he looked over at his teammate, frustrated with the forwardness he wished he had at that moment. “We have a game if you want to come. I can put some tickets aside for you.”

“Your game?”

“Yeah,” they both say simultaneously, causing them both to roll their eyes in frustration with each other.

“It’d be awesome to have you there,” JJ smiles as he turns back on the charm.

Their coach's whistle rips through the area, tenseing them both. “Cameron; Maybank. Ice, now!”

“I’ll think about it,” you smile as you adjust your bag on your shoulder, still smitten despite their awkward delivery. You walk away from the two, your figure skating skirt teasing them with each step. The two boys stand back in a daze, watching you until you fall out of sight.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉

“So,” JJ asks, breaking the silence as he tosses a tennis ball lazily, catching it in his hand as he feigns nonchalance. “What’s the move here?”

Rafe flicks his wrist, stickhandling the ball on the carpet as he does the same. Rafe chuckles and shakes his head before looking over at JJ. “You mean my move, yeah?”

JJ snorts in annoyance. “Didn’t say that. Fix your fuckin’ ears, bud.”

“Why is this complicated, huh? I walked out of the locker room first. I saw her first–”

“By a second,” JJ mumbles.

“And?” Rafe asks as his annoyance builds, his stick blade snapping against the puck a little harder.

“Calm the fuck down, Cameron,” JJ taunts as he throws the tennis ball across the room, whizzing by Rafe’s head, making him flinch before hitting the wall, bouncing back to him.

The boys fall silent, focusing on their distractions in hand, trying to mind-read what the other is thinking.

Rafe drops his stick, plopping down on the couch across from JJ when he sees him take out his phone, doing the same himself— he watches as JJ scrolls aimlessly, with a suspiciously focused expression.

Rafe studies your feed–a mix of professional skating shots, pictures at your university, and sexy shots with your friends from your nights out in Boston. He couldn’t stop— each new photo made you seem perfect.

“You’re stalkin’ her profile, you dog,” JJ mumbles, his eyes still locked on his phone.

“Nah…”

“Nah…” JJ mimics Rafe’s tone, his eyes shooting to him and then back to his phone. “Don’t even try to lie. You got that stupid fuckin’ little look on your face.”

“Fine. Maybe. But you can’t tell me you’re not doin’ the exact same thing.”

JJ shrugs, challenging Rafe with his glare. “At least I own it.”

They sit in silence for another moment, the tension building between them until one breaks again. “She didn’t accept my friend request…” Rafe mutters, his voice just above a whisper.

“Same.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know it’s me–”

JJ cackles and grabs the bill of his hat, pulling it over his face in exhaustion with Rafe. “How many Rafes do you know, man?” JJ sneers before letting out a sleepy yawn. “Stupid fucking bitch ass kook ass name,” JJ grumbles just above a whisper.

“You good?” Rafe laughs.

“Never better, Rafe.”

Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance, continuing to flip through your account. “We don’t even know if she’s comin’...”

“True… You DM her?”

“No,” Rafe says firmly, shooting JJ a side-eye. “Did you?”

“Nope,” JJ’s reply comes out quick and unreadable.

“You’re lyin’,” Rafe scoffs.

“You’re projecting.”

“Big word for you, Maybank,” Rafe chuckles cruelly.

And the truth is, they’re both dying to text you. They knew it was risky—that it would come off as desperate at the very least… as if they weren’t.

Rafe taps his thumbs against the edges of his phone, nerves rising. Fuck it, he thinks as he opens Messenger anyways, shooting his shot.

Rafe: hey its rafe. Just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you earlier. I’m just wondering if you give lessons? Askin for a friend.

He hits send before he can think about it anymore, throwing his head back in instant regret, wishing he would have said something else.

Across the room, JJ’s doing the same thing.

Hey, it’s JJ. I hope you’re havin a great night. I don’t think we mentioned it but the game starts at 8 tomorrow if you're still thinking about it. Hope you can make it

Both boys sit back in their respective spots, trying to act casual. “So,” JJ hums after a moment, turning his head to watch TV, “what are you workin’ on over there?”

Rafe throws his hand behind his head, lounging a little more into the couch. “Doin’ the discussion board for English–”

“Fuckkk,” JJ groans as he picks up his phone, doing the same. ‘Same’, meaning triple-checking to see if you responded to his message or not.

His eyes widened on the screen as he sees the announcement for one new message.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝓀𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓃𝓀

The buzz of the game is electric–a sea of maroon and gold–all packed in the bleachers. The student section’s alive with fans, but Rafe only has eyes for one person. You were there, just like you said you’d be, casually dressed in a sweater and jeans, and he swears he’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

Rafe skates onto the ice for warm-ups, forcing himself to focus, but it’s useless. His eyes drift from the game to you. You smile at him, making his heart skip a beat.

“Goddamn, dude,” JJ snaps as the boys nearly collide, his tone teasing but laced with venom nonetheless. “Watch where you're goin’, huh?”

“Please…” Rafe huffs.

“Woah… Look who’s here,” JJ smiles, pointing at her playfully like it was some kind of personal victory.

Rafe’s grip on his stick tightens. He glances toward you again, catching the way you giggle and smile at your friend, hoping you’re saying something about him.

When Rafe turns back to JJ, he sees the same thing mirrored in his teammate’s face. The boys stand there for a moment, the sounds of pucks hitting the boards and teammates shouting fades into the background.

“We’ve got a game to play, Maybank. Focus on that, yeah?”

“Sure, Cameron. You first, huh?” JJ chirps as he passes the puck to Rafe a little harder than usual.

Rafe glares at him, but their coach’s whistle slices through the air before he can retort.

They skate to their positions, consciously trying not to look at you. The first puck drops, both boys know one thing: the competition on the ice isn't the only battle tonight.

The situation took its toll on both; Rafe's focus was broken each time he caught a glimpse of you; meanwhile, JJ’s game was nothing short of reckless in an attempt to impress you. Until it finally paid off, JJ gave the Eagles a 1-0 lead 54 seconds into the third period with a power-play goal, scoring on his own rebound.

The student section erupts with cheers. Rafe glances at the stands, watching you cheer, banging your gloves against the glass, following JJ as he celebrates with his team, feeling a flare of jealousy burn in his chest.

After that, Rafe played like a man possessed: sharp passes, clean footwork, calculated shots until he scored a goal of his own. Of course, the celebration happened against the boards right in front of the student section— Rafe riding that high until the last possible second.

During the third period, everything came to a head. The teams were playing more aggressively, post-whistle trash talk started to become a little more targeted.

Rafe and JJ’s chemistry, usually the glue holding the team together, began to crack. Missed passes, botched plays, and a growing animosity between them became impossible to ignore.

“Rafe! JJ! Pull it together!” The coach screams from the bench, red-faced and furious.

The rival team starts to notice, too.

One of their forwards, leaning on his stick during faceoff, smirks, “What’s the matter, boys? Trouble in paradise?”

Rafe’s mitts tighten around his stick, his blood boiling at the comment and the fact that he let it get this bad.

“Fuck off—”

“Saw you two bitchin’ at each other. What, you fighting over her?” He nods toward the stands. “Pretty little thing.”

The puck drops, and the action starts again, Rafe quickly scoring on a power-play goal from the slot, adding another point to the board.

Before he can celebrate, he gets shoved from the back, sending both teams into a frenzy. Rafe drops his gloves first, lunging at the forward, his fist connecting with his jaw. JJ was right there with him, shoving a rival defenseman to the ice, yelling something incoherent as the refs blow their whistles, trying to pry the teams apart.

The defensemen shoves JJ, sending him back, knocking Rafe in the process. “The fuck are you doing?” Rafe shouts at JJ.

“Me? What are you doing?” JJ fires back, getting in Rafe’s face. “You’ve been skating like shit all night!”

“You’re the one showboating, bitch!” Rafe shoves JJ back; Maybank uses the contact to send the two of them to the ice. The crowd gasps, and the opposing team watches on in confusion as the coach loses his shit from the bench until the two get ripped apart.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” JJ hisses, jerking his arm free from Rafe's grip.

“I’m embarrassing myself? You hit me first!”

“I TRIPPED,” JJ snaps.

“Un-fuckin-likely,” Rafe spits as the two boys get thrown into the penalty box.

They sit there in silence, glaring at each other before one of the boys from the other team skates by, tapping on the glass with a smirk.

“Yo, what’s her name, boys?”

Rafe bites down on the finger of his glove, pulling it off, giving him the finger as he skates back to the center line.

“This is all your fuckin’ fault,” Rafe mutters, his voice low but sharp as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“My fault?” JJ shoots back, kicking out his skates as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Not my fault you can't find the fuckin’ goal, Rafe”

Rafe snorts and laughs. “Oh? You hogged the fuckin’ puck every chance you got just to show off for her.”

JJ laughs bitterly. “At least I have somethin’ to show off. Got two goals, bitch. You got one.”

“I got two, too, you dumb fuck. Is you’re head that far up your ass?”

JJ laughs wickedly, letting his head fall against the glass. “You’re easily forgettable, man. My bad-”

“Check your fuckin’ ego, bitch. We can go round two in here.” Rafe’s stomach drops, JJ’s quickly doing the same. “Wha-What the fuck?” Rafe stammers. “She’s leaving?”

JJ lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yup. And it’s on you, asshole…” He mumbles as the ref skates over, opening the door.

“Me? Maybe if you hadn’t been such a jealous prick—”

“You’re the one who couldn’t handle a little competition!” JJ snarls, cutting Rafe short as they step back onto the ice. Rafe pokes out his stick, tripping JJ slightly as he skates back toward the bench. “Do that again. I fuckin’ dare you,” JJ hisses.

“Calm down,” the ref warns as he skates between them, cutting the tension for a moment.

“I’m going after her,” JJ mumbles as he crashes down on the bench.

Rafe raises an eyebrow. “Good luck with that. You don’t even know where she lives.”

JJ looks across the way, smiling to himself. “Actually, I do.”

“What?”

“She gave me her address last night,” JJ answers smugly, elbowing Rafe tauntingly.

“Well, joke’s on you, pussy. She gave it to me, too,” Rafe smiles that same devilish smile, elbowing him back a little harder making JJ hiss out a sharp breath.

“Game on, Cameron.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

“Hopefully, that beaters faster than your skatin’, bitch!” Rafe scoffs as he shoves open the arena door.

“Says the guy who gets lost in a fuckin’ parking lot. Good luck finding her place first, dumb fuck,” JJ fires back before pushing past Rafe, sprinting to his Bronco.

“Fuck,” Rafe huffs, not prepared for a foot race, his dress shoes pounding against the asphalt as he closes the gap between him and his Audi.

Rafe slams his car door shut, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he peels out of the parking lot. It’s a short drive, only a few blocks, but it feels like forever. His ringed fingers twist around the leather steering wheel, anger rising with every red light he hits.

He pulls into the parking lot, muscles tightening as he hears JJ’s SUV screech to a stop; he doesn't even need to look back to know the race isn’t over. Rafe charges to the front door, tearing it open before running to the elevator, rapidly pushing his finger against the up button.

“Ohhh fuck you,” JJ groans as the elevator shuts just before he can reach it, settling for running up the stairwell instead. The elevator crawls upward. Rafe pulls the door the rest of the way open impatiently before sprinting down the hall, watching as JJ barrels toward him in the other direction.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” Rafe growls, his voice low and lethal.

“Out of my way,” JJ snaps, shoving Rafe’s shoulder as he reaches the door.

“Oh, hell fuckin’ no,” Rafe shoots back, grabbing JJ by the arm.

The shoving turned into grappling, the boys wrestling to the floor. “I was here first!” Rafe grunts, trying to pin JJ against the ground.

“Like hell you were!” JJ barks, shoving the bigger boy off him.

The noise echoes through the hallway—shoes scraping, muffled swears, and the occasional thud, so chaotic you hear it from the other end of the door.

Both boys freeze mid-struggle, their hands still gripping each other’s suit jackets when you open the door. They turn to you, seeing you standing there wide-eyed, dressed in a satin robe, stunned and silent.

“Uh…” JJ starts, but his voice cracks as he struggles to his feet.

“We–Umm. We just…” Rafe stammers, releasing JJ as he stands up, combing his messy hair back as JJ fixes his tie.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest, lips twitching as you fight back a smile. “That was fast,” you say, your voice light and teasing. “You both smell like hockey, you know?”

Their cheeks flush in embarrassment. Rafe hangs his head and nods as JJ looks away–the boys trying their best to collect themselves.

Rafe lifts his head, his pretty blue eyes resting on yours, replaying your words before his face lights up. “You… were waiting?” Rafe asks, his words still breathless from the struggle.

You nod, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah. I figured you’d both get here eventually. Though I wasn’t expecting this.” You giggle, gesturing to their sweat-soaked bodies and disheveled game-day suits.

JJ scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Rafe before looking back at you. “We just… We both just want to–”

“Talk,” Rafe adds, quickly cutting JJ off.

“Talk?” You ask as you quirk an eyebrow. “You just wanted to talk to me?”

Rafe and JJ exchange a look, suddenly at a loss for words. You sigh, stepping back to open the door wider. “Let’s talk then...”

The door closes behind them; Rafe and JJ shuffle in awkwardly. Your space is cozy–warm lighting, a comfy couch, and the faint scent of a vanilla candle wafting through the air.

“So,” you ask as you sit down on the couch. Your robe falls open slightly, showing off your upper thigh, the top swooping low, giving them just a tease of cleavage. Rafe’s eyes fall to a lusty haze, JJ’s lashes fluttering as he swallows thickly. “What’s going on, boys,” you ask through a half-laugh. “What was that about?” You gesture toward the hallway.

“It’s because of you,” JJ says bluntly, though his tone softened. “We both… like you.”

“Both of you?” You ask with a smile.

“I mean… You were talking to us both,” JJ sulks under his breath. “‘Course we do—”

“Look,” Rafe says, “I think we both got carried away. But the thing is… I’ve never met anyone like you.”

JJ nods in agreement. “Same. You’re incredible. I just didn’t expect him to get in the way,” JJ gestures toward Rafe, letting his annoyance bleed through.

“Fuck off,” Rafe mumbles. “We both know who saw her first—”

“You two are impossible,” you giggle. “I mean, I knew you were competitive, but this?” You wrinkle your nose teasingly. “Did I mention you both stink?”

Rafe winced. “Sorry about that, sweetheart.”

JJ looks at you sheepishly. “Yeah… sorry, pretty.”

“Mhmm…” You hum. “And you,” you whisper as you stand up from the couch, walking over to Rafe, watching as his breath catches in his chest. You run your thumb along your tongue before smudging the little bit of blood off his gashed cheek. “You're bleeding. Did you know that?”

He shakes his head ‘no’ and bites his lip, looking down at you with a smile. “Here’s the thing,” you say, your voice quiet as you lean closer. “I didn’t want to pick between you.” You keep your eyes set on Rafe’s as you reach over, grabbing JJ by his suit jacket and pulling him closer.

The boys blink, their heads tilting slightly as their brain plays catch up with the words leaving your lips. “What?” They mumble in unison.

“I like both of you,” you whisper. “I don’t think I could choose. At least… not right now. Are you gonna make me?” You tease.

“N-No—” JJ stammers

“No. Fuck no,” Rafe pushes out the reply JJ’s too flustered to get out himself.

“—But you two just wanted to talk, huh?” You flirter as your fingers toy with the satin bow at your waist, tugging at it.

“Absolutely not,” JJ blurts. His jaw falls slack as the delicate material falls to a puddle at your feet. Rafe and JJ exchange glances, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. “Holy shit, you're serious…” JJ’s voice comes out needy and hoarse.

Rafe let out a slow breath, his mind racing as his eyes fall down your body.

You take Rafe by surprise, pressing your lips against his. As soon as you do, he’s fighting off his suit jacket between messy kisses, the two of you working on the buttons of his dress shirt.

Rafe smiles against your lips as his shirt falls to the floor, quickly pulling you closer, pushing his skin on yours.

You reach over, grabbing JJ by his tie, pushing Rafe back slightly, and just as you turn, JJ’s mouth finds yours. Your fingers scratch into JJ’s damp hair, tugging him closer as he tilts his head, letting his tongue slip inside your mouth as Rafe works on his pants.

Rafe pulls down his boxers and hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you off JJ’s lips and back onto his. His tongue dips in your mouth before sucking off yours. Rafe slows down slightly, letting the rough pad of his finger circle your nipple, making you whimper against his lips.

JJ steps closer, his hard cock brushing against your thigh; his lips find your neck, sucking down harshly as your tongue swirls with Rafe’s.

“Shower... Now,” you mumble as you pull away from Rafe, pressing a kiss against JJ’s lips next.

“Yeah, Princess?” JJ asks, but before he can snatch you away, Rafe takes you into his big arms, picking you up off your feet.

“Start the shower, Maybank,” Rafe hums smugly against your lips as he gets you to himself for a minute. JJ scoffs, rolling his eyes before heading toward the open bathroom door. You scratch your nails into Rafe’s hair as he deepens the kiss, rolling your body into him, feeling your wetness transfer to his hot skin as JJ turns on the shower.

“Hurry the fuck up, man,” JJ mutters as Rafe saunters over, taking his time with you. “Set her down,” JJ snips as the two of you pass through the threshold into the bathroom, making Rafe chuckle darkly–heat already swirling around, the sounds of water pouring out the head and panting breaths filling the small room from your kiss.

Rafe pulls back, looking at you half-lidded, the pupils of his blue eyes blown with lust as he mumbles a simple. “No,” to JJ with a look on his face lets you know he means it.

You lean in, brushing your soft lips against his. “This isn’t gonna work if you don’t share,” you whisper.

“Do I have to,” Rafe hums.

“Yes, you fuckin’ have to,” JJ answers for you, his brows pinched together in disgust.

“I’m listenin’ to you. I'm not listenin’ to him,” Rafe replies as he steps with you into your walk-in shower.

“Share,” you chuckle breathily. Rafe sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes, setting you down on the cool tile floor.

You shiver from the chill as you adjust to the temperature; Rafe and JJ’s hands are all over you fast. They alternate between kissing your lips and kissing your neck, handing you back and forth as your hands run down their broad chests, dipping into the divots of their cut abs.

You pull away from their lips, reaching over for the soap. The boys do the same, their slick hands gliding over your curves with ease–toying with your tits, squeezing your ass, teasing your inner thighs, both too hesitant to play with your pussy just yet.

That all changes when your fingers wrap around her cocks, pulling to the tip, making low moans rumble in their throats. Their hands quickly bump into each other, fumbling to get to your pussy first. Rafe smiles against your lips as he takes the win, circling your clit. You gasp against his lip as JJ slaps your ass.

“Co’mere,” JJ hums, beckoning you off Rafe’s lips and onto his. JJ’s hand sneaks between your ass checks, the tip of his finger rubbing over the tight rim of your ass as Rafe stuffs two long fingers in your pussy. Rafe rolls his thumb on your clit, curling his fingers in your soaked pussy.

Your thighs start to tremble uncontrollably, breathing a little quicker as Rafe’s skilled fingers work on you.

Your moan bounces off the wall as Rafe pushes a third finger inside you, quickly sending you over the edge. Your body flutters around his thick digits as you come undone.

He slips his fingers out of your slick cunt, bringing them to his lips before sucking them clean.

“Holy shit,” JJ mumbles in disbelief as his pretty blue eyes follow you to your knees. Rafe looks down at you as well, breathing heavily, his muscular chest heaving with every deep breath.

“Is this okay?” You ask as you look up at them through wet lashes, your fingers ghosting up the bottom of their dicks to the tip just like you did before, this time just inches from your lips, making them both take a step closer in anticipation.

“Is this okay?” Rafe laughs as he repeats your words, his long, thick cock throbbing in your hand.

“Mhmm,” you whisper as you lean closer to him, letting your tongue flick up his fat tip, catching a bead of precum before it can get washed away.

“Fucking perfect, princess,” he mumbles as his lips part, mimicking your own. He belts his large fist in your hair, pulling you closer. You wrap your lips around his tip, making his muscles flex as you take more and more. “Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe praises as you gag on as much as much of him as you can get.

You bob a few times back and forth on his length as your other hand palms JJ’s balls, rolling them in your slight hand.

You push away, turning your head toward JJ, before wrapping your lips around him. Your hand continues to stroke Rafe’s cock, drawing out deep moans from them both. You curve your tongue around the bottom of JJ’s dick, tracing to the tip before swirling around his crown, making him clutch the tile wall for support.

Rafe grabs your wet hair, pulling you back to him, thrusting into your mouth, causing tears to spring in your eyes, the water from the shower quickly carrying them away as JJ fucks your fist with the same vigor.

Their moans and breathing get louder and heavier, the two men moving closer until you're practically bouncing between the two of them: stroking, sucking, swirling, kissing, until they’re both mumbling orders telling you to open wide.

You lay out your pretty pink tongue–ropes of pearly white cum quickly panting your face and tongue as they finish in succession; one after the other.

The boys breathe heavily, heads thrown back to the ceiling as the water washes away the rest of the mess on your face, you, swallowing the rest.

“Goddamn,” JJ groans in satisfaction as he helps you to your feet, quickly pulling you into a tender kiss. Rafe fingers lace in yours, tugging you to him for the same.

“What do you want from us, baby?” Rafe asks.

His tongue slides against yours as his large hand traces between your thighs, cupping your pussy in his big hand, making you whimper against his soft lips.

“Fuck, Rafe…”

“You make such pretty sounds, princess,” he whispers as JJ cuts off the water.

“I want both of you,” you smile against his lips.

“Yeah… I can feel that,” Rafe chuckles deeply, feeling the silky wetness of your arousal on his fingers. “What do you want, pretty?”

“Yeah, princess,” JJ murmurs as he walks behind you, finding the sweet spot on your neck as his large hands grab your hips. You giggle breathily as the two boys sandwich you together; the heat of their big bodies keeping you warm. “How do you want us?”

“Just like this…” You whisper against Rafe’s lip as you arch your back slightly, pressing your ass into JJ’s hard cock.

“Yeah?” Rafe asks with an airly rasp, speaking to you like he’s living in a dream. “You want me to cum in your pussy?”

“Mhmm–” You mumble. “I want you to cum in my pussy. And you,” you whisper as you reach your hand back, hooking around the JJ’s neck, kissing him over your shoulder. “I want you to fill my ass—”

“—Holy fuckin’ shit,” JJ mumbles under his breath, riding the same high as Rafe.

“Corner of the bed; I’m gonna ride Rafe. And you’re gonna take care of me. Think you can do that, baby?” You ask JJ as your lips brush against his.

“I can do whatever you want, princess,” JJ mumbles as he pulls you into his arms this time, lifting you off your feet.

The three of you move into the bedroom; Rafe reaches for you fast, doing exactly what he’s told.

You straddle his lap, grinding your slick cunt against him as you kiss him deeply.

You jump and squeak as JJ’s large hand cracks down on your ass again, spanking your bare skin hard enough to leave behind a stinging heat that has you aching to be filled.

JJ rubs his large hand over it, soothing the pain as you circle your hips on top of Rafe, driving him insane.

You push Rafe to his back, the man quickly grabbing your wrist, taking your fingers in his mouth, biting and sucking as JJ bends you over slightly, thumbing over your taunt hole just like before, running a line of spit down on your body.

You reach between your thighs, clutching Rafe’s thick cock in your fist, stroking as your lips meet his.

JJ taps his swollen tip against your ass before gliding his dick through your soaked slit, using your slick as lube.

You trace Rafe’s velvety tip around your drooling hole as Rafe looks between your legs, eyes dazed as your pussy swallows him whole. “So fucking wet,” he moans through panting breaths, your eyes fluttering shut as you take him all.

Your nails sink into Rafe’s muscular chest, breasts moving with you as you bounce on his cock. Rafe bites his bottom lip between his teeth, trying his best to keep his eyes on you, fighting to keep them from rolling back.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe mumbles–his voice fucked-out and hoarse–muscular body glistening from the shower still. He raises his hand, pressing it against your stomach, feeling himself work in and out before letting his hand fall lower.

You gasp and moan as his thumb finds your clit, rolling on top as JJ pushes his girthy tip into your tight hole.

“Sh-Shit,” you whimper, feeling your eyes glass with tears at the burn and the stretch, the men pushing your body to the limit.

Rafe wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you down to his lips as JJ spits on what’s left of his cock before gliding the rest of the way in as Rafe swallows your moans and cries.

Your body trembles in Rafe’s arms as you adjust to two men, filling you fully. “You okay, princess?” Rafe asks softly against your lips.

“Mhmm… So fucking good, baby,” you hum, feeling him smile against your lips.

“You like me better,” he breathes, his voice barely heard over your panting breaths and JJ’s. “Don’t you, pretty?”

“Are you gonna tell on me?” You whisper.

“Maybe,” he smiles as he grabs hold of your hips, lifting you slightly before fucking up into your pussy nice and slow.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you mouth as you look down at him. He shrugs teasingly, looking at the space between you, watching the way your wet pussy drips down his rock-hard shaft, running down his balls onto the mattress below.

“Mine,” he mouths back smugly, making you smile; JJ’s none the wiser.

JJ starts to stroke nice and slow, too, wrapping his hands around your body, taking two fistfuls of tits.

The two boys start to move in and out, hitting all the right spots, your pleasure so strong you feel like you could pass out.

Rafe drives his heels into the floor, throwing his hips up into you again and again, the angle making your toes curl, your hands reaching up to grasp JJ’s wrists for support.

“So fuckin’ tight,” JJ mumbles, warm against your neck. He snaps his hips. His toned body clapping against your ass with each stroke, making your vision blur.

The sounds of your pleasure fill the room as they keep a brutal pace, sending you closer and closer to the edge.

Your eyes slam shut; body unable to take much more. Rafe grabs your wrists, forcing your hands onto his chest again. He reaches up, gripping your cheeks with a single hand, making your heavy eyes lift open on his.

“I know you’re gonna cum, baby. So am I. Cum with me,” he mutters as their movements get messier and rougher.

“Fuck,” you scream as your body gives way, pussy gushing and pulsing around Rafe’s throbbing length, your climax pulls the boys with it, the two cumming hard, filling both holes to the brim.

You tumble down on the bed, falling into Rafe’s arms as JJ clutches your hips tightly, pushing himself as deep as he can go.

Rafe turns your cheek, lifting your lips to his for a gentle kiss, the two of you breathe heavily together as the three of you come down from your highs.

Rafe smiles in satisfaction, burying himself in your neck, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You’re mine, princess.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

tags: @rafesthroatbaby | @marleymarleymarleymarley | @chelzaa | @rafesheaven | @nemesyaaa | @starkeysbabygirl | @littlelamy | @cameronsprincess | @lottalove4evelyn | @yasmin-oviedo | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @watchmerora | @rafeslovergirly | @buckybarnessweetheart | @anamiad00msday | @namelesslosers | @cades-outsider | @romaescapes | @starkeysprincess | @lish-0 | @oxpogues4lifexo | @unrealmirrorball | @lilithblackkk | @sleepiibunniiii | @gri959 | @rafesgiirl | @daryldixon83 | @akobx | @hyperfixationgirl | @lhhlver | @rrafeswhore | @slut-4-gojo | @blair-bears-blog | @loveesiren | @rafescorpsebride | @rafegf-real | @alphabetically-deranged | @ariana2saucyy | @rafestoothbrush | @hauntedfawnn | @laniirackssss | @wtfdudesblog | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @jkrafe | @alejstarkey | @rafe-cameronswife | @rafedaddy01 | @st8rkey

dividers | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[hoshifighting]

sucking off svt until their tummy caves in a little?

seungcheol thinks he’s in control… until he’s not. he’s all cocky at first, like, “yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that,” but the second you hollow your cheeks and really get into it = his voice cracks. literally. you’ve got him gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. his abs are tensing up, his eyes roll back, and his hands fly to your hair, but not to control you—he’s just holding on for dear life. “f-fuck, baby… what the hell are you doing to me?” but you know he doesn’t really mean it. he’s loving it, and you can tell by the way his hips are bucking into your mouth, half against his will. “goddamn… you’re gonna kill me.”

jeonghan tries to tease you. “is that all you got?” he’s smirking, like you’re not about to ruin his whole life. the second you start working your tongue, his smirk falters. you feel his thighs start to shake, and he’s pressing his head back into the pillow, gasping haard. “oh fuck… okay, okay, i get it—jesus—” he’s laughing, but it’s breathless, like he’s losing his mind, and he knows he’s not the one in control anymore. he’s letting out these choked noises.

joshua’s the one who tries to stay all proper at first, but you’re sucking him off so good, he’s losing his damn mind. his hands are gripping your shoulders, and his mouth falls open, this breathy little whine slipping out. “holy shit... you tryna destroy me or something?” and his head’s tilting back, all flushed and fucked out. he’s trying so hard not to swear too much, but the second you take him deep, he curses, his hips jerking up without thinking. “breathe, y/n… breathe.” but it’s him who’s struggling to catch his breath.

junhui’s a mess almost immediately. like, you’ve barely started, and he’s already grabbing the back of your head, eyes squeezed shut, muttering some shit in chinese under his breath. muscles twitching with every move of your mouth. “fuck, babe, i—i can’t—gonna cum quick asf” he’s got his eyes clenched shut, his voice shaky as hell, and when you go harder, his voice cracks, turning into these low, broken moans that you know are real.

hoshi tells you how good you look between his legs and etc. “shit, shit, shit! oh my god, baby, what are you—oh fuck!” but the second you really get into it, he’s gone. the words are lost in his throat, his hands are gripping your hair so tight, like he’s trying to ground himself. “holy fuck, i—i’m gonna—” his whole body jerks, and his abs? they’re going wild, twitching like he can’t control himself. when you don’t stop, he’s whining, high-pitched and breathless. “you’re gonna suck the soul outta me!”

wonwoo is just breathing deep and letting you do your thing, but his cool cracks the second you start going harder. you hear him let out this low groan, his hands flexing on your shoulders. “you’re… too good at this,” he murmurs, voice all low and husky. his stomach’s tensing up, muscles flexing like he’s trying to hold it together. and when you hollow your cheeks, really taking him deep, his voice gets rougher. “fuck—keep going.” he’s barely holding on, eyes screwed shut like he’s about to ascend.

woozi’s done for. you hear him choke on a gasp, his abs caving in like he’s trying to breathe through it. “oh my god—fuck, slow down,” he mutters, but you know he doesn’t mean it. his hands are tangled in your hair, and every time you take him deeper, he’s letting out these broken, breathy moans that he probably didn’t even realize he could make. “fuck… fuck, i’m gonna… if you keep—oh shit.” his body’s shaking like crazy.

minghao’s the quiet type, but you know you’ve got him when his thighs start trembling. “fuck, so good, so good” he whispers, almost too quiet, but then his abs are caving in, and his hands are gripping your neck. he’s not saying much, but his body’s doing all the talking—his hips twitch up into your mouth, and his breathing gets all ragged. you hear this whiny moan slip out, and when you look up, his head’s thrown back, mouth open, and you know you’ve got him. “don’t stop,” he finally whispers, voice raspy.

mingyu’s gone from the start, honestly. you’ve barely even started, and he’s already letting out those moans that doesn't even match him, like he’s feeling it in his soul. voice is all shaky when he tries to talk. “holy… fuck, baby, slow down!” his hands are in your hair, half pulling, half just holding on. when you go harder, his voice breaks, and he’s gasping. “oh my god, you’re too good at this…” he’s laughing breathlessly, but his moans are way louder than his jokes.

seokmin’s moaning so loud he shocks himself. “oh my god, wait—fuck, fuck,” he’s saying, his body jerking every time you take him deeper. his abs are flexing like crazy, and he’s got this absurd look in his eyes like he can’t believe what you’re doing to him. “how are you… fuck, i’m gonna lose it.” when you don’t let up, he’s almost crying, voice all high-pitched and breathless.

seungkwan’s absolutely losing his shit. “oh fuck—wait, wait,” he’s gasping, his hands flailing for something to grab onto. his stomach’s twitching, and his voice is breaking into these high-pitched moans that he’s probably embarrassed about, but he can’t control it. “holy shit, i’m gonna… fuck, i’m gonna come.” his hands are shaking as he grabs your head, he’s crying as you suck the soul out of him.

vernon’s gripping the sheets, abs tensing so hard you can see the muscles twitch almost wanting to rip his skin, and he’s got this breathy, broken moan slipping out. “you’re gonna suck the life out of me.” his whole body jerking with every deep suck.

chan's stomach tightens, caving in, the muscles squirming exhaustively. “oh my god… y/n, what the fuck?!” his stomach’s contracting, and he’s moaning so loud he can’t even control it. “shit, slow down, i’m gonna… fuck!” his legs are shaking, and he’s whining, moaning, chuckling. “i’m not gonna last like this!”

[pure-smut]

haikyuu boys - nsfw headcanons.

featuring: Koutarou Bokuto, Wakatoshi Ushijima

contains: breeding kink, creampie, slightly rough s*x (Bokuto), size kink, mentions of f receiving oral and fingers (Ushijima), f!reader for both

note: all characters are aged up to 18+!

word count: 1k

masterlist

MDNI | 18+ content

Koutarou Bokuto // breeding kink

Bokuto and you have been in a relationship for a few years now so you decide you want to switch from condoms to the pill. You keep it a surprise, waiting until the next time Bokuto is slotted between your thighs, grinding his bulge against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at yours.

Bokuto’s just won a game – a practice, but still – and is brimming with energy as usual. His hands grope your tits, teasing your nipples the way he knows you like. You moan into his mouth, growing wetter by the second.

“Inside me, Kou,” you plead. “Need you inside me.”

Bokuto’s only too happy to oblige. He quickly strips down as you tug your panties off, before repositioning himself between your legs again. It’s only when he reaches for the nightstand to get a condom that you stop him, hand on his arm. Bokuto looks down at you, eyebrows raised.

“We don’t need it,” you say with a coy smile.

Bokuto thinks his heart might burst out his chest. His golden eyes flick down to your naked pussy and his mouth waters at the idea of being inside you raw.

“Are you sure?” he croaks out. “What about…?”

“I’m on the pill.” You reach down to stroke him, feeling him throb under your touch. “I want to feel all of you, Kou.”

Bokuto makes a half-strangled noise, almost dizzy as the blood rushes to his cock. You guide him to your entrance before he takes over, leaning over you with his broad form.

As Bokuto pushes himself inside you bareback for the first time, he nearly cums on the spot.

Your walls suck him in, so warm and soft and tight. You whimper as he stretches you, the thick ridges of his cock dragging along your nerves. Bokuto wants so badly to savour this, to take his time with you, but it’s like his brain has short-circuited.

He slams himself inside you, swallowing your cry with a deep kiss. Bokuto moans into your mouth as your sweet little pussy massages his cock. There’s nothing between you and the intimacy of that alone is enough to drive him to the edge. More than that, he imagines if you weren’t on the pill.

The thought is so sudden it nearly takes him off guard. But he can’t stop thinking about it. Bokuto looks down at you, your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your beautiful face scrunched in pleasure, and imagines getting you pregnant.

“Oh, fuck…” Bokuto groans at the thought, his cock throbbing.

He imagines your swollen belly and heavy breasts. He imagines getting you there, spilling his seed in you night after night until it takes. Your fertile womb soaking up his cum.

“S-shit, Kou-!” you cry out as Bokuto picks up his pace, hips snapping against yours as he fucks you harder than he ever has.

“You want my cum, baby?” Bokuto’s eyes are intense, his biceps bulging as he holds himself over you.

“Y-yes, Kou, I want your cum,” you gasp. “Cum inside me. Please.”

“Fuck!”

Bokuto cums so hard he sees spots, shooting thick ropes deep inside you. He collapses on top of you, expression dazed and chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he breathes before huffing a laugh. “Give me five minutes and then we’re doing that again.”

Wakatoshi Ushijima // size kink

Ushijima never gave much thought to his size. It didn’t come up much as he wasn’t all that interested in getting laid. That is, until he got a girlfriend.

Ushijima’s never had penetrative sex before. A few girls have complimented him on his size but he was able to get them off without his dick so it didn’t really seem to matter to him. It’s only when he has you naked on his lap, a nervous look in your eye, that he considers his size for the first time.

“Is it too much?” he asks, a notch of concern between his brows.

“N-no, ‘Toshi.” You shake your head. “It just might take me a while to get used to it.”

That’s understandable. He nods, hands firmly on your hips as you hover over the fat mushroom tip. It’s already leaking precum, the look of you naked and beautiful in front of you while he can feel the warmth radiating between your legs. He’d made sure you’re prepped, licking your delicious pussy and stretching you out with three fingers before you got to this point. Still, you’ve never encountered a dick this big before and you can’t quite seem to quiet the nerves.

Ushijima watches with rapt attention as you slowly sink the tip of his cock inside you. His breath hitches, feeling your hot, slick walls for the first time. He realises he’s been an idiot – his fist can’t compare to this. His cock throbs as you slide down a few inches deeper.

“Good girl,” he compliments, making your cheeks tint pink. “Can you take any more?”

“M’trying.”

You bob up and down shallowly, coating his cock in your juices. Ushijima’s eyes become half-lidded, his lips parting slightly. There’s something hypnotic about watching you work him inside you, watching your brow furrow in concentration as you go deeper, so determined to take him all. He swallows hard.

“You’re doing well,” Ushijima tells you truthfully.

You try to say thank you but you’re too caught up in the feel of his cock stretching your walls. Every time you bounce, he strokes against the nerves deep inside you, making your pussy drool for him. Your juices run down the sides of his cock. Ushijima can’t stop watching – he’s never seen something so erotic.

He moves one of his hands so he can rub your puffy clit with the pad of his thumb. It elicits a lustful moan from your lips and your pussy pulls him even deeper inside you. He’s already close to cumming and you haven’t even taken him all yet.

“So… big, ‘Toshi,” you moan, eyes closing, and he has to resist the urge to fuck up into you.

Ushijima might never have given much thought to his size before but now he’s addicted to the look of you struggling to fit him.

He locks eyes with you before commanding, “Tell me again.”

masterlist

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[moonlight-prose]

hi! i recently read the grave of lust and fr stared at the wall after to process it because holy shit. the way you write logan is impeccable & beautiful. old man logan deserves so much more love, like he’s so FINE. that being said! i saw your requests were open for logan 👀 i have this hc that old man logan especially would be really into dry humping…& i’d love to read your take on that in a little drabble or whatever you’re up for!

SLOW

note: thank you darling!! i don't know what it is about that old man that makes me want to jump on him. and when he wears his glasses? i'm done for. sign me up for being his whore - IMMEDIATELY. also it's a drabble, but also i couldn't stop myself from adding that gif.

word count: 0.8k

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, dry humping, old man logan who takes it slow in life, aching bones, sweat, again he's filthier when he's older.

He eases you through it. Each kiss soft and languid—his hands a heavy press against the meat of your hips. A long day spent outside left the both of you withered by the scorching heat of the sun. The weariness lingered on your bones, wringing you free of what little energy you managed to hold onto.

"We gotta shower baby," he mumbles, his words a soft puff of air on your cheek.

Sweat still clings to the back of your neck, sticky and warm. And Logan bets if he drags his tongue along your throat he could taste the salt directly off your skin. The sweetness of it, a drug he couldn't resist.

The many times you claimed to like him like this—sweaty and hot from a day's work—he laughed. Just another sugar coated jumble of words to make him smile, to give him something to be happy about. He started to believe you the second you clambered into his lap, sitting pretty and soft on his thick thighs. Fingers now a tight latch in his hair as he shifted you closer.

"Not yet," you whisper.

His argument is on the tip of his tongue—ready to release with a tap to your ass. Your hips dragging heavy along his cuts him off from every saying the words. The groan that rips from his chest is loud. Unhinged and desperate. And you smile into his skin knowing you have him right where you want him.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me one day."

"You're not dead yet old man."

He grunts, fingers a deep dig into your hips, and drags you across his lap again. There's no denying the delicious ache that begins to tug at his body at the feeling of you grinding on his growing cock. You whimper in his neck and tug at the back of his hair and Logan yearns to keep you right there for the rest of the fucking day.

Fuck taking a shower. He's only getting messy the second your own and naked for him to play with.

"Think you can cum for me bub?"

Working your hips over him in quick thrusts causes your legs to stutter, muscles pulling tight with al scream of protest. The soft heat of a building release teases at your cunt. A rhythmic pulse each time your jeans catch perfectly against your clit—his body strong and hard beneath you.

You wonder if he's leaking into his jeans. If his cock is that exquisite color of deep red that led right along the thick vein you could practically taste.

The sharp groan echoes in the small living room, his chest rumbling beneath you with each quick panted breath. Your lips find their way back to his in a wet and sloppy kiss you feel down to your toes. His tongue is a hot press inside your mouth—hips jerking up to meet you with each thrust.

Until you can no longer deny that you're about to cum right fucking now and you want him to do the same. Biting down on his lip, you suck it into your mouth as he fucks up into you like the clothes no longer exist. The barriers disappear, his touch isn't clutched into your t-shirt and yours isn't lost in his white beater. You can practically feel his cock plunge into your soaked cunt.

The thought leaves you panting, begging for more.

"I'm gonna–"

"I know," he growls, his hips a rapid drag along yours. "Let go, yeah? I'll fuck ya right after this."

His cock jolts in his jeans and that does it. You're moaning into his mouth, clamping tight around nothing, and trembling on his lap as if he'd just fucked your second, third, and fourth orgasm from you. It's debilitating how that sucks everything out of you. How muscles you didn't know were real now shouted at you in pain.

You pull back fast enough to see his eyes fall shut, lips parting in a hoarse shout as he grinds his hips up into you one last time. Spurting directly into the denim he'd have to chuck in the wash minutes after this.

The sigh he lets out is heavy. All the energy he had left to get in the shower, now withers into the couch cushions. And if he was a younger man, he'd fuck you on them minutes after this. He'd peel the clothes off your sweaty body and lick the mess between your thighs clean.

He'll be lucky if he can open his eyes to see you though.

"Nap?" you ask softly, head burrowing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. A place solely meant for you.

"Mm." He sighs again, hands sliding up your back. "Shower."

"Logan–"

"Then a nap."

The laugh you muffle against the skin of his shoulder is answer enough for him.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

boob obsessed ethan!!

I have very few smut requests for Scream characters and I'm in that mood to write that... Please send more for Ethan and Billy (I can do Billy x reader x Stu too)

Warnings: 18+, boobs touching/sucking, Ethan being obsessed

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all started clicking one night you and Ethan were studying for finals. He was having difficulty concentrating, easily distracted by flipping his pen or even whistling, so you decided to give him a little bit of motivation.

‘’If you get five answers right, I’ll show you my boobs.’’ 

Automatically, Ethan’s eyes lowered to your boobs — still covered by your shirt — and bit the inside of his mouth to not moan. 

‘’And if you get ten right,’’ you added, ‘’I’ll let you touch them.’’ 

His jaw almost dropped. There was no way you were being serious. No one ever made deals like that and honored their part of the deal — except in his late night fantasies.

‘’Y-you’re playing,’’ Ethan said, shifting on the bed, feeling himself harden just at the thought of your breasts.

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘’I’m not. You helped me when I was struggling last semester, now it’s my turn to help you. Do we have a deal?’’ 

Seventeen minutes later, you put the pile of flashcards down and Ethan held his breath, knowing what was coming. He got five answers right. It was an understatement to say he was nervous, however he was also so excited — very excited. 

You grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off, then unclasped your bra, nipples hardening from the cool air of the dorm. 

Watched intently, Ethan let out a strangled moan, his eyes wide with wonder and staring directly at your chest. ‘’Holy fuck, those tits are so nice. Way better than what I imagined through your shirt,’’ he said, his blunt honesty making you laugh. ‘’Shit. Did I say that out loud?’’ His face flushed, embarrassed at himself. He really wanted to crawl into a hole and die right here.

‘’You did,’’ you confirmed. You gave Ethan a soft smile, pulling him out of his trance by placing your hand on his kneecap. ‘’Let’s not get distracted. If you want to touch, you gotta give me five more good answers. Remember?’’ 

Ethan nodded, shifting again to cover the slight tent in his pants. Controlling that part of his body was impossible. He took a deep breath and you hit him with the next question. 

It was harder to concentrate this time, his eyes dropping back to your chest every three seconds, but he did it, successfully correctly answering five more flashcards.  

‘’Can I touch them, now?’’ he asked shyly, his fingers tingling with excitement. 

‘’Go for it.’’ 

That's exactly what he did. Ethan placed both of his hands over your boobs, covering them with his palms and splayed fingers like a kid discovering something for the first time. He squished them both, his fingers sinking into the softness of your breasts. 

Ethan could feel his cock twitch slightly in his pants as he continued to feel you. ‘’Oh my god. Oh wow,’’ he said, breathing heavily. His finger tweaked your nipple, experimentally pinching at it and rolling it between his fingers, drawing out a soft gasp from you when he used more pressure than you were expecting. ‘’I could cum just from touching them—’’

‘’Ethan!’’ you gasped, shocked by his words. 

His eyes snapped up and he mumbled apologies, but you just laughed.

—

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[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - BLAST FROM THE PAST

A/N: And something new, that I've been working on for some time. The ending sucks, but I tried. Maybe it won't make sense, I don't know. It was supposed to be spicy, but I didn't know what to put there.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 5400+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - BLAST FROM THE PAST

Logan needed some time off. Was it from the students? The missions? He didn’t know. But he longed for some peace. A weekend away would be perfect. A week would mean the world to him. And yet, he’d never asked for that. Deep down, he liked teaching the students. He enjoyed the missions even when he was grumpy about it. 

He leaned against a pillar at the entrance, inhaling the cold wet air. The had been pouring for hours. It was a matter of minutes before the first thunder would start. With midnight slowly approaching, the scenario in front of him was very peaceful. It was exactly what he needed, even if it was only for a few moments. 

Logan took a cigar out of his pocket, lighting it up. No one would bitch about it now. When he took the first drag, his mind wandered to Jean. He would think about her here and there, always wondering… what if? What if she chose him? What if she never dates Scott? But it wasn’t like that. It sucked she chose Scott. It’s been a long time now. It was time to get over it for good.

Out of nowhere, he scoffed. There was only one person who would stupidly comment on it. Logan perfectly pictured his best friend beating his ass for acting like a fool. Like a love-sick puppy, she’d say. And would laugh, even now. 

Logan frowned. Now, his mind was preoccupied with the images of his best friend - Y/N. They met over two years ago. Or was it longer than that? It was at a time when he was cage-fighting for money. He wasn’t a teacher or an X-man. He barely knew who he was. He was blessed with that woman, to be honest. She sneaked into his life and nestled somewhere in his heart. 

He chuckled when he remembered how she would mock him. They had a similar sense of humour. She was a powerful mutant, also on the run from everything and everyone - even herself. Life with her by his side was easier. Their paths separated a few times, only to be brought together by some miracle. 

But then Rogue came and his life changed. The last time he met her was, again, a total coincidence. Because that’s what the universe had decided to do. Logan was on a mission with Storm, looking for more mutant children to be saved and protected. Turned out, Y/N was on her own mission, to help them. The meeting was short, amusing and before he blinked, she was gone. 

He kept wondering what his life would be if they stayed together. What if she was here with him? What if he stayed by her side and never set foot here? 

He took another drag, the taste lingering in his mouth a bit more than before. Logan’s eyes scanned the surroundings. The driveway to the school was empty. He didn’t sense any danger. And yet, he frowned. Something seemed off.

There was a scent lingering in the air. It was distant, mutant-like. Taking another sniff, Logan tilted his head. Odd. The scent was familiar. Too familiar. With every breath he took, he was sure he knew that person. That’s when his eyes captured a figure limping through the rain forward. He straightened his back, eyes wide. Could it be…?

“Am I delirious?” he heard the well-known feminine voice. “Is that the grumpiest man who ever lived?” 

Logan chuckled. Of course, she would greet him with words like that. “Y/N?” What the hell was she doing there? “Holy shit, is that you? How the fuck?” he asked in disbelief. 

“That’s how you greet your good friend?” she asked, chuckling. Y/N came closer, trying to keep her weight off her right foot. “I was expecting confetti and champagne.” 

The cigarette was immediately abandoned. Logan walked into the rain. It took him five large steps to approach her. His big arms wrapped around her body in a tight hug. “This has to be enough.”

“A warm hug from you? Worth it,” she laughed as she pressed her drenched clothes against his dry one. She rested her head against his hard chest, smiling. “But seriously, what the fuck are you doing here? Of all places?” 

Logan looked at her, eyes travelling from head to toe. She was a mess. “I think I should be asking that question, don’t ya think? Come on, let’s get your ass inside before you catch fucking pneumonia or something.” Before she could reply, Logan dragged her inside the school, away from the cold rain. 

“Holy shit,” he heard her gasp when Y/N stepped inside. She kept twisting and turning on her heel, scanning the interior. Her mouth was open while trying to take it all in. “Don’t tell me you fucking live here, Howlett,” and she punched him in the bicep. “Have you won the lottery?”

He held a chuckle and shook his head. “Still got that mouth on you,” he stated. 

“And yet, you still love me,” she had gifted him with a bright smile. That quickly turned into a scowl and a gasp. 

Logan noticed before she was limping. Now, under the light, he saw her swollen ankle. “What happened there, kid?” he pointed at her foot. 

She looked down, eyeing her injury. “Shit,” she mumbled. “On my way here, I slipped on a fucking mud and twisted it. Otherwise, I am fine.”

He could smell the lie on her, but for now, he decided to ignore it. She would sing eventually. Logan knew her damn well. Fuck, he couldn’t believe she was standing before him, here at school. Either this was the universe bringing them together or there were more lies behind those gorgeous eyes. 

Her feet moved. She kept turning around, looking at the interior. “Fancy. So, this is where you live now? What is this a school?” She stopped and turned back to him. “Don’t tell me you are a teacher.” 

Logan watched as she wrapped her arms around her body. The wet clothes were hugging her figure in the right places. “I know it’s hard to believe but that’s what I am now.” 

She chuckled. “From a fighting cage to becoming a teacher. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming. What do you teach?” 

“Ethics,” he said seriously. When he noticed how she raised a brow, he continued. “Believe it or not, I’m very good at it. I’ve got a way with words. You’d be surprised.” 

“Did you lose your mind again while we were separated?” she asked. “There’s no fucking way you, of all people, are teaching ethics. That’s… unethical.”

That’s when he started to laugh. He got her good. “Nah, I’m kidding, kid. I teach combat training or PE and history.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, exhaling loudly. “Fuck, you got me there.” Her whole body shivered. “S-so, how the hell did you end up being a teacher? Last time, we didn’t have that much time to chit-chat. You were saving the same kids as I was.” 

Logan’s eyes couldn’t watch how he kept shaking like an abandoned puppy. With long strides, he went to another room and reappeared with a fluffy blanket. He threw at her. “Here.” 

“Thanks,” she smiled. She wrapped around her, sighing contentedly.

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah?”

“Why the fuck are you here? And don’t give me some shitty story. Tell me the truth,” he said strictly. He crossed his big arms over his chest, flexing them. 

Y/N brushed the wet strands of hair from her face, her lips shivering. “I was sent here,” she said simply. Logan opened his mouth to demand more. “This might sound crazy, although, in our world, nothing is fucking crazy. Someone contacted me - no, that’s not the correct word. Someone connected with my mind. A telepath, a powerful one. He, I remember it was a male voice, helped me come here.” 

Logan shook his head in disbelief. “Charles,” he mumbled. “He’s the founder and headmaster of this school. He’s the one who contacted you.” 

“Well, shit,” she was surprised. “I was not expecting that. Does he know we know each other?” Y/N sneezed loudly. And then again. “The better question is, why me?”

Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”

“Is it okay that I’m here? It’s the middle of the night,” she had to ask while walking up the stairs, following her friend. 

He snorted. “Don’t play timid now, Y/L/N. This shit doesn’t work on me.” 

One simple glare and he had to laugh. “Damn, you know me too well. But seriously, everyone is asleep and I feel like an intruder.” 

Logan took her to his room and closed the doors silently behind them. “You are a fucking annoying intruder, but I don’t mind, darlin’,” he grinned at her. “Welcome to my room, don’t fucking sit anywhere with those damn wet clothes.” Logan moved to his closet and took out a shirt with long sleeves and some boxers he never wore. Again, he threw the clothes at her like he did with the blanket, making her curse. 

“I’ll be swimming in those clothes.”

“Shut up and be grateful.” Logan pointed at the second door in the room. “That’s my bathroom - change, shower, do whatever you need.” 

“Careful with your words, mon ami,” she winked at him. “Thank you, Lo’. I appreciate this.” 

“Save it, kid.” 

Y/N showed him her tongue on the way to the bathroom, grimacing before closing the door behind her. 

Alone in Logan’s bathroom, she smiled. Damn, she missed him. He was the only man who treated her like an equal. They shared the same humour, the same views. He was a strong mutant and so was she. 

Sighing, Y/N undressed from the wet clothes, hanging them on a heating rack to dry. Her ankle still hurt. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Bruises covered her body. Some of them still hurt like a bitch. 

One quick shower later, she felt better, warmer. Although, she smelled like him. It made her smile. She had to use his shampoo because there wasn’t anything else. In the end, it was better than nothing. As predicted, his clothes were too big for her. One of her shoulders was exposed, the boxers were low on her hips. 

Logan was still in his bedroom when she walked out. First, their eyes locked. Then, his eyes travelled south, scanning her figure and his clothes hanging on her. Has she ever worn his clothes before? He dryly gulped. “Yeah, you are swimming in my clothes,” he chuckled. “Now, get in the bed.”

“Woah, first buy me dinner you ass,” she laughed. “I’m not that easy.”

One glare and she was laughing even more. “Of course, you are the one with a rotten brain,” he commented. “One night we’ll share. We will figure out the rest tomorrow after you meet the rest of the X-men.” 

“I mean, we shared a bed once. It was during a winter, a shitty snowstorm got in our way,” Y/N grinned like a winner. “I was surprised when you cuddled me.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “You were cold and asked me to help you,” he reminded her. 

“But you decided to do it,” Y/N grinned at him. “If you’d like, you can cuddle me tonight, too. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Damn you, woman,” he growled. “Just get in the damn bed and shut your noisy, annoying mouth.” 

“Again, you love me,” she winked at him and climbed into the bed, taking the right side. Luckily, the bed was big enough to accommodate them together. “So comfortable,” she sighed contentedly. “You are treated well here.” 

“Benefit of being a teacher here,” he chuckled. “Sleep, Y/N. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” 

Her eyes were heavy. She didn’t have the energy to give him some witty comment. She simply turned her back to him, cuddling to her pillow, drifting into the realm of dreams. 

At least for a few hours before she was up again, surrounded by darkness and gentle snoring. She turned her head to see the silhouette of her friend deep asleep. Sighing, she slowly left the bed, legs bringing her to a big window. The rain never stopped. It kept pouring on the grass, the wind swaying the trees. Her whole body ached. She had a couple of rough months behind her. Now, she was safe. 

Y/N didn’t slip on the mud. She was on the run for several days in searing pain. Her wrists remembered the cuffs around them, not letting her move. What mattered now was the fact that the dark times were gone and she was in a place where she had someone she knew well.

Logan shifted in the bed, turning on the other side, still asleep. At least he was able to do that now. Maybe his mind was in a better place, healed. He deserved it. 

Y/N rested her elbows on a wooden window sill and put her head on her hands. Watching the rain was better than sleeping at this point. It soothed her, washed away the pain, the distress. 

In the morning, when she came out of the bathroom, Logan was sitting on his bed, frowning. “Already grumpy?” Y/N asked with a teasing smile. 

“You didn’t sleep,” he glared at her. 

“I did,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not the whole night, but at least a few hours.” There was no point in lying.

He shook his head. “Staring at the rain is better than resting in the bed?” he asked. “I knew damn well you were standing at the window for hours.” 

“You are a damn spy,” she said dramatically. “Fine, I was up. So what?” 

“You should have rested, kid.”

“If you knew I was up, why didn’t you say anything?” she challenged. 

A sigh escaped his lips. “You are a pain in the ass, ya know that?” He huffed. “I figured you needed a moment to collect your thoughts, as you like to say.”

Without a word, he stood up and locked himself in the bathroom. Y/N rolled her eyes. Grumpy Logan in the morning was a blessing. She fixed the clothes on her body, sighing at how loose everything was. Her own clothes didn’t smell good. They needed a good wash. 

Her ears registered noise coming out of the hallway. The voices shaded into each other. The students were up and ready to start their day. At first, she thought there’d be only a few kids. By the sounds of it, there had to be way more. How many kids did they save? 

Once Logan was out, he was already in his jeans, just putting on his white tank top. It was only a second but Y/N got a perfect glimpse of his hard abs and a path of hair. Her eyes moved up to his face. 

“I’m taking you to Charles,” he said. “Since he was the one who brought you here.” 

Y/N showed him a thumbs-up. A second later, she stopped. “Wait, I can’t meet him like this,” she pointed at how she was dressed. Logan's clothes were too big on her body. Also, it would look… weird. What would the people around here think? 

“Give me a minute,” he said and left the room, leaving Y/N standing there alone. 

Logan came to a different room, knocking on it. It took ten seconds for the person to open the door. His eyes met with Rogue’s. “It’s too early to give me any pep-talk you have in mind,” she said, annoyed.

“I need a favour,” he said. 

That piqued Rogue’s interest. “Alright, what is it?” 

“I need to borrow some female clothes,” he said, not looking at her. He wanted to avoid that teasing look on her face. “Before you start asking shit… I have a friend here and she needs some clothes to wear.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, grinning. “A friend you say? Is it really just a friend, Logan? What happened to her clothes? Are they torn?” 

He glared at her. “Will you help me out or nah?” 

Rogue bit her lower lip, trying her best not to laugh at him. “What is her sizing?” she asked. 

Logan described her body type. He didn’t give her too many details. Just enough so Rogue had a picture of her. “I think I have something here. Can I meet her?” she asked. 

“You are nosy, ya know that?” he tilted his head, patience wearing off slowly. “You’ll meet her later, okay? I have to take her to Charles. He was the one who brought her here.”

“Huh?” she was confused. “Hold on,” and hid in her room where she tried to find some clothes that would fit Logan’s mysterious female friend. Once she handed him the clothes, she put a teasing smile on her face. “I wanna meet her.” 

“Later, kid,” he waved a hand. He went back to his room. 

When he entered, Y/N was sitting on the bed, looking at her nails. He threw the clothes at her. They smacked her face. “Here, put this on.” 

She raised a brow. “Whose clothes are these? Please don’t tell me your girlfriend’s, that would be fucking weird.” 

“They belong to a student I saved some time ago,” he explained. “She’s a good kid. She also has a big mouth. You two would be great friends,” he chuckled. 

Y/N made a face. “Kinda hard to believe, but okay.” Taking her clothes, she went back to the bathroom to change. To her surprise, the clothes fit her nicely. They were simple sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Once she got out, Logan’s bed was perfectly made. 

He noticed some bruises on her arms but decided not to comment on it yet.

Logan took Y/N through the vast hallways of the school to the lower levels where Charles had an office. Some students eyed Y/N from head to toe, not knowing what to think of her. There were whispers here and there, pointing their fingers in her direction. 

“I feel like I am a zoo animal,” she snarled a little. “I’m surprised they are not taking pictures of me, yet.” 

“Give it time,” he teased. 

“Fucking great.” 

Logan knocked on the office door three times before entering. For the first time, Y/N was able to see the man who connected with her mind. He was old, bald, in a wheelchair and dressed fancy. 

“Y/N,” he said her name with a smile. “I’m glad you are here. Please, sit.” Then, he turned his eyes to Logan. “Thank you for bringing her. I’ll speak with her alone.” 

The Wolverine didn’t comment on it. He gave him a nod, patter Y/N’s shoulder and left the Professor and his friend alone in the office to talk. 

Typical Professor. He’d keep his secrets to himself until things when to shit. Logan hoped he’d give him an explanation. And if not him, he would hear it from Y/N. 

Damn that woman. They had known each other for many years before he became a teacher at this school. They were close, sometimes wondering how close they would be if… He shook his head. It was useless to think that way. Yes, she was fucking sexy and beautiful. He would be lying if he said the opposite. It made him question things back in the day. Even now, when he saw her face this morning, there was a question lingering in his mind. What if..?

“Where is she?” Rogue startled him. “I wanna see her.” 

“Jeez, kid. You are acting as if you want to catch Santa during Christmas,” he said. 

Logan and Rogue walked into the kitchen. He made himself a coffee while Rogue got cereal and milk. She had that teasing smile on her lips, waiting for something juicy from Logan.

“I’m curious. Is she pretty?” 

He almost choked on the coffee. “Shit,” he mumbled and coughed. 

“Well, she must be if you are acting this way,” Rogue smiled. 

“What do you mean, kid? I act normally. The damn coffee went down the wrong pipe,” he glared at her and put the mug on the counter. 

“Whatever you say, Logan,” she giggled. “How come you never told me about this friend of yours? Or shall I call her a crush?” 

“Have you ever told me about your friends?” he asked back. “And what am I, five?”

She put a full spoon of cereal in her mouth and shrugged. “This is different,” she said after swallowing the food. “I can confidently say I know you well, Logan. But since this morning, there is this different energy coming out of you.”

“How is this different?” 

“It’s you we are talking about,” she said. “The grumpy guy who doesn’t let anyone in. And suddenly, there is a woman that is supposedly his friend. Ask anyone, they’d say it’s… unusual.” 

His ears registered the sound of wheels and Y/N’s gentle voice approaching. He took a deep breath, preparing for their entrance. It seemed Charles had decided to give her a tour. When they entered the kitchen, Logan noticed how Rogue’s eyes widened when her eyes captured Y/N at the door in her clothes. 

And they both smiled at each other. Fuck. Rogue and Y/N would be a deadly combo for him. He would never hear the end of their nagging and teasing.

“You’ve met Logan,” Charles chuckled. “This is Rogue. Logan saved her some time ago.” 

“Hi!” Rogue said cheerfully, too cheerfully for Logan’s liking. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You will meet more people as the day goes by,” Charles said to Y/N. “Some of them are on a mission in Salt Lake City. They should be back in a day or two.” 

Logan turned his gaze to Y/N. “So, you are staying?” It sounded rougher than he intended to. He would be glad to have her here, with him. “Wow, wasn’t expecting that,” he added. 

She shrugged. “I think it’s time to lay low. My life has been hectic for years. Now, I got the opportunity to have some sort of stability - in a matter of speaking.” 

“If you excuse me,” Charles said politely, “I have a class to teach. We will speak together more this afternoon. We’ll arrange a room for you and some clothes since you don’t own anything.” 

“Thank you.” 

 . . .

Y/N sat alone in a room they assigned her. Some would say it was small. To her, it was luxurious and vast. She never had a room like this. As a kid, she would share the sleeping space with other kids. And then, she would travel from place to place, sleeping wherever it was possible - benches, couches or in a van when she was with Logan. 

She thought about the time she would spend time with him. How they would share his van. That man had a kind heart. He wouldn’t let her freeze to death when he found her. And since that day, their friendship blossomed. 

That man. Shit. Was there a time when she imagined his hard muscles under her hands? Yes, many times. When they were together, she could never cross that line. It was rare to have a good friend in her life who was willing to take her in like a stray. She wouldn’t want to screw that up. 

A knock brought her back to reality. Rogue came inside her room with a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “Hi,” she greeted Y/N. 

“Hi, uh, Rogue, right?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Is it okay to come?”

“Sure,” Y/N pointed at the spot next to her on the bed. “So, you are the girl who gave me some clothes to wear,” she tugged at her sweatpants. “Thanks. That was very kind.” 

Rogue kept the smile. “I know what’s like not to have any clothes. They gave me everything when I got here. I have a bed to sleep on, food to eat and friends.” 

Y/N nodded. “That’s good.” 

“So, what’s up with you and Logan?” she asked boldly, making Y/N snap her head up and look at the girl.

“We are friends,” Y/N said, unsure what Rogue meant by it. “We’ve known each other for years. We separated a while back and now, the universe has brought us together,” she explained. 

“Universe,” Rogue grinned. 

The door opened without knocking. Logan walked in as if it was his room. “Sure, come on in, this room is a public space,” Y/N commented with a smirk plastered on her lips. “What do you want?” 

Logan glared at Rogue. “What are you doing here, kid?” 

“Getting to know your friend,” she smiled at him. It was followed by a wink. 

“Don’t you have classes?” he questioned. 

Rogue huffed, annoyed by him. “We’ll talk later,” she waved a hand as she was leaving Y/N’s new room. She gave Logan one last teasing look before she left. 

“You are such a dad,” Y/N laughed at Logan. “Strict hand, not taking any shit.” 

Logan poked her forehead, making her laugh. “Have you hurt your head, kid? You are talking shit.” 

“What? You don’t like being called a dad? How about ‘daddy’?” she put a wicked smile on her face, waiting for his reaction. When his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, she started to laugh at him. 

Logan shook his head. “I think it’s time for you to start singing, Y/N.” His voice got deeper. The teasing was gone. He demanded answers. “I talked to Charles. He didn’t want to tell me what happened to you, or the exact reason why he found you. In his words, you should be the one to tell me.” 

Y/N eyes lowered. She knew it would eventually come. Her eyes trailed over the few bruises that were on her arms. “I was locked in a mutant testing lab,” she whispered. 

“What?!” Logan’s voice raised. “How long?” 

She rolled her eyes from one side to the other, counting the days. “Over a month,” she said. “I got information that they had some kids locked there and I wanted to get them out. My goal was to take them to an underground network that helped mutants. Unfortunately, they captured me and locked me with them.”

“Y/N,” he sighed. 

“Don’t,” she glared at him. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. Don’t be over-protective when you were here, living your life.” 

She was right. He wasn’t with her. He didn’t have the right to act this way. “What happened there?” Logan’s voice sounded more neutral. The anger behind it subsided. 

Y/N started to play with her fingers, picking up dirt under her nails that wasn’t there. “They experimented on us, abused us,” she shrugged. “I wanted to get us away, but I only made it worse.” 

“What happened?” he demanded this time. 

“I blew up the whole place!” she raised her voice. Her eyes met his. “Many people died. I wanted to get them out and I… I killed them, Logan.” 

Y/N’s mutation was a dangerous one. She was able to blow things up. Because she lacked control over the mutation, no wonder things went quickly south. “I didn’t want to,” her voice broke. “I’ve never done anything like that before.” 

“Holy shit,” Logan shook his head. “How many dead?” 

“I don’t know. I panicked and ran away,” she admitted. “Everything was on fire.” 

There was silence between them. Logan wasn’t commenting on it. Y/N didn’t want to talk more about it. It was too fresh. The wounds didn’t heal. She killed many people, including mutants. 

“So that ankle,” he pointed at her leg. She wasn’t limping that day, but it was still a little swollen. “You didn’t slip on a mud.”

She shook her head. “No. All injuries were from…” her voice faded into nothing. Y/N’s head lowered, not daring to look at Logan. She tried to hold back the tears and not to cry. She felt ashamed of lying, not telling the truth to the one man she kind of trusted. “Can’t believe the Professor wants me here after everything.” 

“This is the problem,” Logan started to talk. “You never told me when something went to shit. Whether it was you being attacked as it happened at the Canadian borders when we travelling together. Or when your powers got out of control. Now, it’s still the same. Here I thought you could trust me.” 

“I’m sorry,” she jumped in. “I didn’t want to seem like a damsel in distress or a weak mutant that doesn’t have things under control. Plus, it’s not something I wanted to brag about when there were casualties.”

“And again, you didn’t have your mutation under control,” he spat. Logan was upset and he didn’t understand why. “Why do I have a feeling that you cannot trust me? After all those years? You think I’d judge you? Come on, princess.” 

“I trust you.” 

“Do you?” 

She opened her mouth to argue. Logan stopped her by raising a hand. “Don’t even try.”

The anger mixed with dread. Logan cared for her more than he ever realised. However, he was upset that she didn’t trust him enough to tell him what happened. She had to lie just to present herself as strong and brave. 

He went out to smoke and calm down. Why couldn’t she admit that she fucked up and was injured? Stubborn woman. 

. . .

Logan and Y/N didn’t talk for the rest of the day. She stayed in her room, hidden from the world while he dealt with students. Also, he wanted to know more information from Charles. He gave him a better glimpse into what happened. It seemed some mutants got away before Y/N blew up the whole building. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me anything about it,” he said. 

Charles sighed. “I understand you two share some past. Your paths separated for some time and things changed. You can’t blame her for not trusting you enough.”

Logan frowned at him. “You know awfully a lot, Charles.”

“Sometimes your mind is too loud, opened for telepaths like an invitation to an open house,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Then don’t snoop around,” said Logan. 

Charles took a deep breath, ready to speak, when his face went stoic. He knew something was off. “She wants to leave,” he announced. “Rogue is talking to her at the entrance door.” 

“Fuck,” Logan gritted his teeth. His legs took him out of the office and straight to the front door where Rogue was talking to Y/N. The woman had new clothes on her and a backpack. She was serious about leaving. 

“Stay,” Rogue said. “You need to talk it out.”

Y/N shook her head. “I have to leave. Too many ghosts in the closet,” she shrugged. 

“You’re not goin anywhere,” Logan lurched forward. “You just came here and I ain’t letting you go that easily.” 

“Logan,” she sighed. 

“No,” he shook his head. He grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her back inside the mansion. “I get that you re upset about what happened, but we can talk about it and deal with it together.” 

“Logan, it’s not that easy, I killed all those people…”

He huffed. “Y/N, stop it, okay,” he shook his head. “We can help you here. We can make you understand your mutation better. You will train with us, how to use it, how to control it. What do you say?” It seemed as if he was pleading now. 

She opened her mouth, ready to ramble some more. Logan reached for her, grabbing her by the neck and pressing her body close to his. His lips found hers in a kiss that took her breath away. 

Rogue’s mouth almost dropped to the floor, but she was glad that Logan made the step. She knew that man liked Y/N. Because she didn’t want to ruin the moment, she slowly stepped away from them, giving them space. 

When Y/N slowly pushed away from Logan, she was speechless. Like a fish on a dry land, her mouth was opening and closing without making a sound. 

“Stay,” Logan said softly. “Come on, princess. Let me help you, give you a safe place.” 

She bit her lower lip. “Will it come with more kisses from you?”

He snorted. “As much as you want, darling.” 

[sturnioz]

⌗︙— giving chris a strip tease ! authors note. ok so this was supposed to be a short drabble but it ended up being 1.1k words.. :/ the fuck (also no part two for this for the time being !!)

"what the hell are you doin'?" chris laughs lightly as you push at his shoulders, forcing him to sit down at the edge of your bed, instead of greeting him with a kiss when he walks through the door after spending a few hours with his brothers.

although he had fun, he wanted nothing more than to come to your place and spend the rest of his day with you in your arms, so he's surprised by your abrupt actions — rather than your usual welcoming kiss.

the smile still lingers on his lips as he curiously watches you walk to your desk, pick up your phone, and scroll for a few seconds before tapping the screen. suddenly, a familiar song starts playing from the portable speaker he had left at your place a few days prior.

chris finds himself humming along, and he drums his fingers against his thighs and nods his head to the beat. but all of his movements come to a slow halt when he sees you pull at the silk robe you're wearing, revealing his favourite set of lingerie beneath. he swallows thickly, his mouth going dry at the sight.

"holy shit..." chris exhales deeply, blinking at you in shock as he struggles to tear his eyes away from your body. "what are you—what are you doin'?"

"nothing," you quip with a teasing smile, allowing your body to move to the rhythm of the music. you watch as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, struggling to use his words.

chris goes to stand up from the bed, but you shake your head, telling him to remain seated. he huffs in response but does as he's told, his hands curling into tight fists on his thighs as he watches you intently.

he eyes you like a hawk, taking in your languid movements with deep breaths. his cock hardens in his jeans and he shifts uncomfortably on the bed, wanting nothing more than to free himself as his fingers graze over his belt buckle, but he stops once again when you give him a look of warning.

chris laughs in annoyance, "are you, like, fuckin' around with me right now?"

you don't answer. instead your fingers reach behind you to unclasp your bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders before it pools to the floor, your breasts on display.

chris groans, his tongue prodding at his cheek as he tilts his head back with an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. he then looks back at you, biting down hard on his bottom lip while shaking his head.

you feel a sense of proudness and excitement seeing him so worked up over your mini performance.

you turn your back to him, swaying your hips side to side as your hook your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, and you slide them down your legs, revealing yourself bare to your boyfriend.

your lips stretch into a smile when you hear him curse behind you, and you peer your head over your shoulder to see his eyes staring at your ass, his fists twitching to touch you.

you turn back around to face him, and you slowly walk over to him. he leans back, his lips curling into a grin and his eyes shining as you crawl onto his lap and sit yourself down on his thighs.

he looks up at you, his hands coming around to slide over your hips before caressing your ass, pulling you against him but you tut with a shake of your head.

"stop trying to touch me." you tell him, tone light and teasing despite meaning it.

"i want to fuckin' touch you," chris shoots back, craning his neck to ghost his lips over yours to kiss you, but he huffs in disappointment when you pull away from him again. "i have my girl sittin' naked on top of me and i'm supposed to not to touch her? that's fuckin' crazy."

"just be patient."

"i don't have patience."

you roll your eyes, but you take a hold of his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. you litter a few, gentle kisses across his knuckles before pressing his fingers to your lips.

his eyes widen slightly when you push his index and middle finger past your lips and into the warmth of your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers while keeping your gaze locked on his.

"hah—fuck," chris pants, laying his fingers flat against your tongue, shuddering when he feels you start to suck. "why are you doin' this to me, ma?"

pulling his spit covered fingers from your lips, you smile at him sweetly, "i'm putting on a show for you."

chris goes to tell you that this is definitely some sort of torture, that all he wants to do is flip you around and have you beneath him to fuck you instead. but his mouth drops open in shock when you slowly take his hand down your body and press his wet fingers to your cunt, hearing you moan so prettily as you ease them inside of you.

chris watches in silence as you fuck yourself on his fingers as if it were his cock, and he resists the urge to move — to rip himself out of your grip and hold you down as he fingers you until your legs give out.

but he's in a trance, watching you do everything yourself, hearing the moans and whines spilling from your lips that he wishes he could kiss.

"oh my god," chris murmurs when he feels your spongy walls clench around him as his fingers brush against the spot that has your body tensing above him. "a'ight. you gotta let me do somethin', ma."

you shake your head, breathless as you answer. "no."

"will you just—" chris cuts himself off with an exhale. he closes his eyes. "please? just let me fuckin' do somethin'. let me kiss you or—"

chris grunts when one harsh movement of your hips grinding on his fingers causes you to rub again his cock, making his eyes shoot open at the pleasure that trickles down his spine.

"you're gonna make me cum in my—shit, ma—"

"you sound so pretty when you beg," you hum softly, breath hitching at the back of your throat as you thrust his fingers deeper inside you, unable to control yourself as your head dips forward, resting your forehead to his.

"i'll beg all you want if you let me do somethin'," chris whispers quietly to you, panting due to the friction against his cock. "i'll beg for you all night, okay? just... just let me make you feel good too. let me touch you."

© sturnioz

[readychilledwine]

Idk if you do requests but holy shit you are amazing but like on the off chance you do I’m feral over this idea you would absolutely kill for cassian or Azriel

I’m dying for a smart ass foul mouthed girl in the dirty book club that’s like half his size to get him all worked up teasing him every time he sees her but when he finally gets her alone she literally was all talk and is clueless and timid and he blows her fucking mind

I talk a big game but it’s all a bit and I have zero confidence to back it up 😂

Bonus points and my first born for…

Dumbification

Big ole size kink

& a praise link to feed the ✨ daddy issues ✨

All For Show

Summary - Cassian has gotten tired of you and your pretty little mouth. He just had to wait for the right moment to correct it.

Warnings - smut, praise kink, degradation, slight dumbification, shy reader x bold cassian, fingering, oral (male and female receiving), implied size kink (little reader x big cassian), public-ish sex, unprotected sex, a hint of Voyeurism, best friend ex dynamic, loose editing, I'm probably missing some to be honest.. oh, gwyriel mentioned. I apologize if it isn't your preferred ship, but it felt right for this fic.

A/N - I've shamefully written this three times because I wanted bonus points while also giving it plot 😅

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

Your mouth was going to get you in trouble one of these days, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as you laughed with the Valkyries. 

The 4 of you were deep into your book club meeting, discussing the recent salacious read that had Gwyn’s cheeks matching that shade of red hair you'd grown to love so much. Emerie high fived you, fingers linking together as the newly added Pegasus charms on your woven friendship bracelets made a soft clink. 

You were bold, especially with these 3, and your interest in the sex scene you all had just read was immediately noticed. “I mean,” Nesta genuinely laughed, “Who wouldn't want to have sex with their mate in front of their equally attractive friends?”

Gwyn shrieked, “Nesta!”

A deep throat cleared at that, reminding the four of you that you were in an open room of the House of Wind. That Cassian and Azriel were sitting right next to you. Gwyn shrunk further into her chair, Azriel smirking and chuckling at his.. whatever they had decided they were today, meanwhile Cassian had his eyes locked on you, a brow raised as you began to play with that bracelet. Deep pink, deep orange, and a purple-y navy stared back at you, the blend reminding you of a sunset. “Something to say, General,” Nesta looked her former lover up and down. “Y/n isn't interested.”

Oh, but you were, and he wasn't blind to that. “Just think this is interesting, that's all,” he grumbled. “Especially considering, y/n gets flustered when someone so much as touches her hips to adjust her stance.” Your glare shot his way as your friends began to laugh. Azriel hid a chuckle behind his hand. The tension between you and Cassian had been growing, especially due to the private hand to hand lessons he was giving you. 

“You grabbed me by my inner thigh,” you retorted, eyes rolling.

“And you turned the same shade of red aa the threads on that bracelet Ness wears,” he stated. “You talk a big game, sweetheart. Someone is going to call you on your shit one day.” If you were a smarter female, you would have realized that was a warning. 

Cassian was showing no mercy the next night as he threw you to your hands and knees for the fourth time in your 2 hour session. “What the hell, Cass?!” You were panting as you sat back in your heels. “Did you not get the memo that I am just a girl?”

His eyes rolled, “Stand up.” The part of you that had never responded to demands well sent him a look, head tilted back to study his imposing frame. The look you gave him was enough to break his calm. He was a General, a commander, practiced and poised, but you were ruining him. The tension between the two of you was ruining him. He had denied himself so much in this life, lost so much more. Why deny both of you what he knew you both wanted?

“You know what,” he muttered more to himself than you. “I can't do this anymore.” A hand found its way into your hair, strands wrapping around strong fingers as he pulled you to one of the benches, forcing you between his legs as he sat. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What-”

“Show me what you brag to your little friends about. Show you these skills you think you have.”

Your flush began immediately, “Cassian-”

"I knew it," he interrupted you, “Admit you're inexperienced.”

“I'm not inexperienced! I'm just shy!”

He studied you, hazel eyes taking in every inch of your skin as if you were some display. Even with your clothing on, you had never felt more exposed under his gaze. “Shy but can run your mouth to Ness? To Gwynie? To Em? Are you shy or do my hands make you shy?”

That furthered the flush as said large hand pulled your hair, angling your head back to look at him. “Cass-”

“I'm so tired of hearing you speak.” His lips crashed on yours then, forcing you into his lap, legs straddling one of his much larger thighs. Even like this, Cassian towered over you, consumed your frame. You had never considered yourself the smallest female, but with Cassian? Every female could feel small with Cassian.

His free hand slid down, tracing the curve of your breast, your waist, your hips before grabbing and squeezing your left thigh, forcing it over his other leg so you were fully straddling him and open to him. 

He pulled back, lips still close as you tried to catch your breath, “Good,” he almost seemed to vibrate with his lust. “That's my Good Girl.” 

There was no patience as he pulled your training top off, no ceremony as he took your bra off after it. Cassian was a male in need, something you felt every time he moved and his hips ground his covered length against you. 

A silent prayer was sent to the Gods, thanking them for Nesta being in Autumn with Eris for the next week. While it didn't promise no one would walk into the training ring on you two, it did promise at least Nesta wouldn't. His mouth moved down your neck, kissing and nipping until he found the spot that had you melting to his form. “That's it,” his voice had grown deep as he licked at your skin. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me have you.” 

Maybe it was because your brain stopped functioning. Maybe it was because something in you just seemed to float in his presence, but you didn't remember getting laid back on the mat, nor your leather pants slowly removed inch by inch as he whispered praise. You didn't remember his own clothing meeting the pile of yours somewhere off to your side. But you remembered his kiss bringing you back to him, “So we go dumb?” He forced you to nod. “I bet you just love being cock drunk, don't you, princess,” the nod wasn't forced this time, his smirk growing as he looked to the sky as if to say his own thank you. 

His hands and lips explored every inch, the soft gasps and noises you made his consent, the way you squeezed his fingers encouragement. His tongue swirled your nipple, wetting the tender nerves before latching onto it, rolling and sucking. You couldn't help but arch your back, whispering his title, his name. 

“You sound like I imagined you would,” he murmured as he kissed his way to your other breast, offering the same treatment as his words shot to your core. He had imagined you. Imagined how you would sound below him, maybe on top of him. 

His kisses began to trail lower, paying extra attention to the sensitive spots he found. He stopped at the hem of your panties, eyes glancing to meet yours, “This is your chance to tell me to stop. If I keep going, that's it. It's you being manhandled by me until I'm done with you, understand?”

The whimper that left your throat at that was almost sinful, “Cassian, please.”

“Use your words,” he demanded. “Use that your mouth to tell me what you want done. You like to run it when you think I'm not listening. Talking about how you want to ride cock and be tied up and used like you aren't telling everyone my dreams.”

Another whine as he licked your core, protected from that skilled tongue by thin lace. “Words,” he demanded again.

“Please taste me.” The tear of fabric followed that plea, all caution thrown to the wind as he dived in. 

Cassian wanted to taste every inch of your core. His tongue running over the left side, the right, your clit, your wet entrance. Emerie had told you once enthusiastic partners made sex better and you knew why now. Cassian not only knew what he was doing, but it was clearly his pleasure to be doing it. Each plunge of his tongue inside of you was met with him moaning or groaning, lips vibrating the sensitive parts of your body and building the feeling desperation that slowly wanted to kick in. You sat up on your elbows, watching him as he glanced up, hazel eyes dark and watching your face. Each reaction was a reward to him, your heart seeming to tug at the pride gleaming in his eyes at each little noise that escaped you. 

No novel compared to this. 

No words could describe it. 

Your stomach was growing tight, head falling back as he feasted as if you were the most delicious meal he'd had in over 500 years of life. His lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, tongue making half circle shapes around your far too aching clit as a thick finger ran your core and gently pushing in.

“Cassian,” your body seemed to shutter in pleasure, tightening around that single digit. “Cauldron fry me,” you moaned as he curled his finger up, immediately locating that special spot inside of you. 

This was just his finger. Just his finger had you feeling like you were stretching to a limit as he worked his tongue and hand in time, the band inside of you going taunt. He was careful as he added in a second, watching your face as if he knew. As if he could feel that little panic building in your mind. 

He washed it away as he changed how his tongue was moving, now giving teasing motions with just the tip directly where your body was screaming to be touched. He watched your eyes close, watched your guard drop as your hips moved, wanting to ride his face and fingers. He would have normally allowed it, but not this time. Not when he so desperately wanted control and to prove you were all talk. Not when he so desperately wanted you to be his. Your walls began to tighten again, his name becoming something you couldn't even finish as your gasps and panting increased. 

Then you tumbled. You fell from the edge, squeezing those two fingers so hard he struggled to work you through your high with them. His free forearm pushed down on your hips, forcing you to stay still and at his mercy. He only slowed down when your trembling did, fingers coming out of you so he could lick them clean, his own hazel eyes fluttering shut. He moved up, kissing you again and forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Off,” you begged, mind going hazy as you tugged his own leathers. Your request was met, Cassian standing over you as you instantly moved to your knees, watching his hands unlace before pulling down. His cock stood hard for you. It was thick, long, veins in places you knew were going to touch the perfect spots inside of you. 

Cassian was larger than any male you'd ever been with, and it had been a while since you had been with anyone. He was a challenge, one you were prepared to meet as you felt your mind fully slip away. “Open,” he whispered. His own stomach flipped with excitement when you obeyed, hand grabbing your high ponytail as he moved his hips and your head forward. This was something you knew, mind immediately working on the sole goal of his pleasure as you began to lick and suck, head bobbing. His hips met your pace, not pushing or forcing. “Just like that, sweetheart. Putting that mouth to good use for once,” he groaned. He tasted of something purely Cassian. Of salt and power. “You look beautiful like this,” his hips increased slightly, encouraging you to do so as well. “Mouth wrapped around my cock, looking up at me with those pretty eyes. Such a good girl.” 

He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of making him finish like this. No. He wanted that to happen when he was buried inside of you, you ass bouncing with each thrust he would give you. He watched you closely as you sucked him off, tongue and lips wetting him until he was sure he wouldn't last if you kept going.

Whines of protest left you as he pulled you off, walking you the bench and forcing you to crawl with his grip on your hair. “Hands on the bench.” An order you were not dumb enough to deny, positioning yourself as he asked. He kneeled behind you, kissing your spine as he forced a knee up on the bench as well. It wasn't comfortable, but it would be effective. “Breathe.” Another command from the General of the Night Court as he lined up with you and began pushing in. 

“Gods!” Each inch of him seemed to knock the air from your lungs, your breathing ragged. “Cassian, I can't-”

“You can,” he silenced you. “Breathe. Breathe like we taught you.” He timed his entrance with each deep breath, groaning once he was fully inside of you. His hand went to the small of your stomach, dirty thoughts about wanting to be big enough he could feel and see himself inside of you.

The first rock of his hips had you almost shouting your moans. He reached places you'd never known. Places no one had ever touched. You were like a vice around him, the stretch burning and adding to your pleasure as he began to move, stroking that building fire with care. It didn't long for the training area to smell like sex. To be filled with the sounds of his deep groans, you gasps and pleads, the sounds of skin hitting. 

His hands reached forward, wanting more control of you as he grabbed your arms, holding and forcing them behind your back and making you arch more for him. Helpless. You were helpless. 

And that's when the Cassian Nesta had described to you all began. 

His thrusts became fast and hard, hitting your g spot over and over. His hand that wasn't holding your wrists found your throat, resting there and giving one squeeze to test the waters. You couldn't even moan his name anymore as that fire grew, all words were lost to you, all thoughts eddied before falling to silence. Your body wanted to feel. And feel you did. 

Every drag was a spark, every word he whispered in your ear a kindling. You would burn. You would burn alive if he didn't stop. That tension built again, faster than it had with any other partner. 

Cassian was a God. No one could convince you otherwise as those scarred lips pressed against your temple. “I won't last,” he muttered. “You're too warm. Too tight. You have me, princess. You and this pretty pussy.” He smirked as a wanton moan left your throat, the heat of his body sending you into overdrive. 

You wouldn't last either.

Frankly, you didn't want to. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, his pace becoming less patterned and wild. He was chasing your high like a predator closing in on its next meal, and when you seemed to freeze, body tensing before a scream tore through you, he served himself. 

“That's it, y/n. Doesn't that feel so right, angel? Falling apart with me inside of you,” he grunted as he fought off his own high. “You feel like heaven, y/n. So good, baby. So fucking good.” His voice prolonged your high, forcing you into a state of overstimulation. You collapsed against him, body putty to his will as he chased his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he yelled before you felt him give one last hard push into you, warmth spreading as his spilled inside. His hands moved, one shooting out to wrap around your hips, forcing you to stay down. The one found the bench, stopping the forward motion from you both falling into it, protecting you even as his mind clouded to the feeling of you squeezing around him.

This didn't just feel like heaven. It was heaven. 

He moved your leg down once he was done, his hand now finding your chin to tilt your head and kiss you softly. “You did so well,” he said against your swollen lips. “So responsive for me. Felt so good. Was it good, sweetheart?” You only nodded, biting your lower lip as he showered you with more praises. “Let's get you dressed so I can get you in a bath.”

Your arms held his right one once you two were dressed and walking towards the house. He only paused when the door opened, and Azriel sighed, holding Gwyn against him as she blushed and squirmed, “You couldn't have kept going,” Azriel teased. “Gwyn was enjoying the show.” Your face fell, realizing you had been caught and watched. Teal eyes met yours, her own blush spreading out from where Azriel had a hand on her mouth. “Come on, my light,” Azriel purred to her. “Time to go do dagger training.”

Cassian laughed as he continued pulling you in the house, pulling you to his room, to his tub. 

You could face the consequences of Nesta potentially finding out later. All that mattered now was the feel of his hand, slipping down your body and below the water for round two.

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