#got me cheering for the yellow team

[mo-ok]

Kiyama DenziYellow wearing his glasses. very important (you agree)

[imaginedisish]

Close to You (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Oh my god. I got so carried away with this. It was not supposed to be this long. Anyway, here's the beach fic, y'all. This one is inspired by "Close to You" by Gracie Abrams...which is an absolute banger. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: The team goes away on a weekend beach trip, and your pining for Logan comes to a head when you're forced to share a room...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!! Thigh riding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, soft!Logan, feelings, fluff, afab!reader/fem!reader, reader wears a bikini (no descriptions at all, though!), one bed trope (muahaha), friends to lovers, cursing, absolutely some grammatical errors bc this fic is so long, I think that's it!

Word Count: 6,577 this was so self indulgent

You step out onto the concrete and the salt in the air immediately coats your skin. The breeze is sticky and slightly humid, but it smells so good. You can hear the waves crashing against the sand, seagulls squawking above. Laughter on the boardwalk. Carnival music blaring from all the rides. It’s perfect—the sun is high, fluffy white clouds framing the endless blue sky.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Jubilee cheers, closing the car door as she slides out of the Jeep. 

Jean and Scott step out of their car, parked just up ahead, unloading their bags. “It’s so nice of the Professor to give us the weekend off!” Jean says excitedly, placing her bag down onto the sidewalk and wheeling it up to the porch of the house. “I can’t believe he rented this place for us.” It’s a yellow, two-story cottage with a lemonade porch, adorned with white shutters and a shingled roof.

Logan makes his way to the trunk of his Jeep, pulling out bag after bag. You rush to his side, reaching inside the trunk. “Let me help you,” you mumble as the rest of the team excitedly approaches the house. 

Logan smiles and shakes his head, reaching for the same bag you are. His fingertips brush yours as he takes the bag away, your heart beating in your chest at the sudden contact. “Don’t worry, princess,” he huffs, smirking as he places the bag down in front of you. Heat rises to your chest at the nickname. “Don’t lift a finger. Go inside and check out the place.” He nods his head towards the front door and grabs another bag. 

You smile, throwing your backpack over your shoulder, grabbing two bags, and carrying them to the front door in protest. “Gonna help you anyway,” you say over your shoulder. Logan chuckles as he closes the truck, grabbing the rest of the duffle bags and following behind you. 

He meets your side as you walk through the doors. The walls are pale blue, and the bottom halves are lined with white shiplap. Beechwood covers the floors. The living room is light and airy, white curtains floating through opened windows. The kitchen is off to the side, and to the back is a large open sunroom. Just straight ahead are the stairs. 

Jean and Scott settle some groceries on the counter as Jubilee, Kurt, Rogue, and Gambit head upstairs to see the bedrooms. 

“Hey, guys?” Jubilee calls from upstairs. You can tell by the sound of her voice that something is off. “I thought the Professor said there’d be six beds.”

Jean puts away a bag of chips and steps back into the living room, following Jubilee’s voice up the steps, and disappearing as her feet hit the landing. “How many are there?” She asks, her voice muffled.

“Five,” Jubilee answers. “Three queens and two bunk beds, and Kurt and I took the bunks already.”

“That’s fine,” Jean says, shrugging her shoulders as she heads back downstairs. “We’ll all just be a little tight—closer quarters than usual.”

And that’s when it finally hits you. Three queen beds—and Kurt and Jubilee took the twin bunks. 

You’ll be sharing a room with Logan.

You turn to him and find that his eyes are already on you. “You okay sharing, princess?” He asks, nodding to the steps.

You swallow harshly, trying to mask your nervousness, hoping Logan can’t hear the way your heart beats out of your chest. “Yeah!” You say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Totally fine with it.”

He nods, smiling softly as he walks towards the steps, his bags in his hands. You follow behind him, the wood stairs creaking with every step you take. 

Jean was not exaggerating; the upstairs of the house is extremely small. There may be four bedrooms—but bedroom is a generous title. Each room is only large enough to hold a queen bed, a single dresser, and a small nightstand on either side of the bed. There’s little to no walking room. One of the rooms—Kurt and Jubilee’s—has just a bunk bed and a nightstand, with a tiny wardrobe in the corner. In the center of the tight hallway is a bathroom with a simple sink, toilet, and a stand-up shower. 

Logan steps into the first bedroom to the left of the stairs and puts his bags down on the ground. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, watching as you put your bags down next to his. “I can sleep on the couch if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head, walking over to the window and taking in the view of the ocean. “Don’t worry,” you say, watching kids run across the sand, trying to distract yourself from how close Logan is to you in this tiny room. “We’re adults.” You turn to face him, fighting the urge to let your eyes trail up and down his body. “We can share.” Or at least, you hope you can. 

You can handle this for a weekend. You can force down your feelings—can ignore your massive crush on Logan for seventy-two hours. That’s all this is. A weekend trip. This is doable. You’ve been through so much worse than this. 

“If you change your mind, you can let me know,” Logan says, reaching his arm out towards your shoulder. His knuckles brush against your bare skin, and you let yourself lean into his touch. He’s warm, solid, cozy—

“Let’s go to the beach!” Jubilee interrupts, Logan’s hand falling from your shoulder instantly. “We didn’t come here to sit in a house all weekend, did we?” She jumps away from the door and runs down the stairs. 

 “Kid has a point,” Logan says, shrugging his shoulders and nodding towards the door. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling widely. “Already have my bathing suit on.” Logan smiles back and grabs your wrist, tugging you into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re sitting on the beach, watching as Jubilee and Kurt splash each other recklessly in the water. Jean sits in a chair, reading a book, while Scott lays on a beach towel, eyes likely closed behind his glasses. Rogue and Gambit walk down the shoreline, hand in hand.

Logan stands up from the beach blanket you share, tugging his beater up and over his head. “I’m going in,” he says, just to you. “Wanna come?” He reaches out his hand again, the same hand that tugged you the whole way here. You bite your lip, nerves building in your stomach again. “Come on,” Logan says, smirking. “I don’t bite.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you take his hand, standing up. You let go and tug your shorts down your legs. You look up at Logan as your fingertips find the hem of your tank top, his eyes trained firmly on you. Your stomach somersaults as you pull your shirt up your body, revealing your bikini top, knowing Logan is watching. 

Logan’s throat bobs as he swallows. He nods towards the ocean, wordlessly grabbing your hand again and tugging you along. 

The waves lap at your ankles, and you force yourself into the cold water. Logan seemingly has no problem at all, pulling you along from a few feet ahead. The water is already up to his hips. He looks behind at you, all wide-eyed and happy. 

“You’re not afraid, are you?” He teases, squeezing your hand tighter. Your heart drums against your ribcage at the feeling. He’s never held your hand like this. You try to shove down your feelings, to brush away how having him this close makes you feel, but nothing changes. You want him all the same. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head as the cold water barrels against the middle of your thighs. “No,” you protest. “I’m just freezing.” 

Logan smiles wider. “You gotta get all the way in!” He tugs you further, pulling you closer to him so that you’re shoulder to shoulder. You can’t tell if it’s the icy waves or your proximity to Logan that makes your heart freeze in your chest, that makes you crave the warmth of his body. You want to be close to him. You want him to pull you into his chest and hold you. 

“Do I have to?” You ask playfully, a half-smile turning up at the corner of your mouth. 

He jokingly rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, dropping your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist instead. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. You choke on your own breath as he guides you further into the water. “You okay?” He asks. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble, his fingertips pressing against the bare skin of your stomach. Goosebumps pebble your flesh. Finally, Logan guides you all the way into the water, up to your shoulders. It’s a surprisingly calm day—the waves easy and gentle. 

Logan lets go of your waist and treads water, slipping underneath the dark blue current and coming back up—his hair wet, drops of water dripping down his face and neck. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips at the sight. 

“Your turn,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes half shut as he swims towards you. 

Your smile drops as you swim away. Logan grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him. You yelp as he tugs you closer. You turn around and splash him playfully, freeing yourself from his grasp as he wipes the salt water off his face. 

You laugh, still backing away from Logan. He creeps forward, assessing you like an animal stalks its prey. “You’re not getting away that easy, pretty girl,” he huffs. 

What was that? Your eyes widen as those last two words repeat in your head. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice him closing the gap between the two of you. Suddenly his hands are on your hips, dragging you into his chest. 

His grip is like iron around your waist, keeping you in place, your hips pressed to his, your chests touching lightly. You don’t feel the coldness of the water anymore—you can’t feel anything except Logan. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. The world stopped long ago, his arms wrapping around your back now, pulling you closer. The playfulness of the moment disappears—this is something else, something more serious. Logan brings his face closer to yours, his lips just centimeters away. This is it, you think to yourself. The moment when everything finally changes—

“Hey!” A familiar voice calls from the beach. Logan’s eyes fall closed—an almost defeated look painting across his face. Your head whips to the sand, and the team is standing by the beach chairs. Jubilee waves you and Logan over. “We’re going to the boardwalk! Come on!”

Logan opens his eyes. You think he’s going to push you away, to let you go, but he only holds you tighter. “Give us a second!” He shouts, frustration clear in his voice. 

But Jubilee crosses her arms against her chest. Scott chuckles and walks ahead with Jean. Gambit and Rogue look at each other knowingly, and Kurt teleports to the edge of the water. 

“And just like that…” Logan murmurs, half to himself, half to you. “Moment ruined.” 

You tilt your head, the implication of his words wracking your brain. “What do you mean—” 

But Logan is pulling you along with him to the shore before you can finish asking for clarification. His arms drop from your waist, his hand grabbing yours to guide you onto the sand. He bends down, picking up your shorts and top from the beach blanket the team left out, and passing them to you. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, your hands parting as he shoves his beater up and over his head. Once you’re dressed, flip-flops and all, you join the team and make your way up to the boardwalk. 

Gambit is talking with Logan about something just ahead, trailing on and on, clearly irritating Logan, while Rogue falls back to walk with you. 

“So,” she says softly, her eyes flitting between you and Logan. “What’s going on there, sugar?” She asks, smirking. 

You furrow your brows, trying to hide your smile. “Nothing that I know of,” you say, somewhat honestly. This might be nothing—might just be a friend teasing another friend. A friend whose lips were just inches from yours, so close that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. A friend who dug his fingers into your waist to pull you closer to his—

“Nothing, huh?” She asks, snapping you back to reality. “Because I think he would’ve kissed you if Jubilee didn’t interrupt,” she whispers so only you can hear. 

Heat rises to your chest at her words. “I don’t know. We’re just friends…” You trail off. 

“We’ll see about that, sugar,” Rogue says, walking ahead, tearing Gambit away from Logan. Logan’s shoulders visibly relax once Gambit is gone, and he looks back at you, slowing his steps so that you can meet his side. 

“Hi,” he husks, smiling down at you. 

You smile back, the warmth of his hand suddenly spreading across your lower back. It’s gentle, the ghost of a touch, almost not quite there—more tentative than in the ocean when it felt like no one was watching. But it’s solid and centering all the same. 

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” Jubilee suggests, holding out the ticket booklet that Jean and Scott ran ahead to buy. She tears out tickets—three for each person. Jean and Scott hold hands and walk to the front of the line. Rogue leans over to Jubilee, whispering something into her ear that makes her eyes widen. She nods and pairs off with Kurt. Rogue turns around and winks at you while Logan isn’t looking. 

You look up at him and see that he’s staring off at the sun slowly setting. Pink, orange, and red erupt in the sky, the colors blending, painting across the wispy clouds. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” you say as the others climb into the Ferris wheel gondolas in pairs. 

Logan smirks, his eyes finding yours as you approach the front of the line. “Looks like it, pretty girl,” he husks. There it is again. Pretty girl. The ride attendant slows down the wheel, and you and Logan slip inside the gondola. You think maybe he’ll sit across from you, but he sits next to you instead. 

The attendant closes the door of the gondola, and the ride starts up. Once you’re off the ground, Logan slips his arm around your shoulder, his palm warm against your bare skin. “This okay?” He asks, his lips at the shell of your ear. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as his thumb brushes gentle circles into your arm. You let your head rest in the crook of his neck, and he leans against you, fitting together like puzzle pieces. 

It’s silent communication—knowing, but not saying. You can feel his intention as his arm tugs you closer, his lips at the crown of your head. Your heart beats out of your chest—for the millionth time today—and you know he can hear it. 

You reach the top of the Ferris wheel and look out at the ocean, the sun hitting the water, turning the blue waves to gold. “It’s beautiful,” you mumble, the current rippling against the shore, glistening vibrantly like the ocean figured out alchemy. 

Logan chuckles softly. “I can think of something prettier, you know,” he husks, his lips still pressed into the crown of your head. Your heart thumps in your chest at his words. You lift your head, looking up at him.

His eyes meet yours, a soft smile playing upon his lips. “Logan, I—”

But the gondola comes to a sudden stop, and the door to the car swings open. You’re already back on the ground. The attendant crosses his arms, waiting for you and Logan to get out. Logan rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and helping you back onto the boardwalk. The team is already off the ride, waiting for the two of you at the exit.

“Why don’t we play some games and then head back to the house for the night?” Scott suggests, his arm wrapped around Jean’s waist. 

Jubilee smiles widely. “Yes! I wanna play the game where you throw the lobster into the pot!”

“Gambit’s gonna win chere a prize,” Gambit drawls, tugging Rogue into his chest. “The biggest one Gambit can find.” Rogue giggles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Jubilee and Kurt run off to the other side of the boardwalk, immediately finding the lobster-pot game. Jean and Scott follow behind, making sure they don’t get into trouble. Rogue and Gambit go out on their own, heading toward the ring toss game. 

You and Logan are left alone. Again. Surely everyone is doing this on purpose. “What do you wanna play?” You ask, nodding towards the array of games lined up on the opposite side of the boardwalk. 

His eyes meet yours, flitting down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. “Whatever you want, darlin’.” You smile, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards balloon darts. 

You approach the booth, and Logan pulls out his wallet, handing a five-dollar bill to the woman running the game. She slides a cup of five darts towards you and Logan, and steps off to the side, away from the balloons. Logan watches as you grab a dart and throw, completely missing the balloon you were aiming for. You groan, rolling your eyes, and grab another dart. 

“Here,” Logan rasps, standing behind you. He holds your hand in his, lining the dart up to a balloon. His other arm wraps around your waist, the front of his hips pressing into your back. “Like this,” he murmurs, pulling your hand back. You let go of the dart when he thrusts forward. The dart pierces a balloon, the pop echoing through the booth. 

You look up at him, his face close to yours, and smile. He grabs another dart, his eyes still focused on you, and throws without looking away, popping another balloon. “Now you’re just showing off,” you say teasingly as your smile grows wider. He grabs another dart, aiming at a bigger balloon this time, and pierces it with ease. 

“Gotta win you a prize, pretty girl,” he says, grabbing the last dart from the cup, and tossing it across the booth, directly into the biggest balloon on the board. It pops—of course—and the game attendant’s jaw drops. 

She shakes her head, walking over to the bigger prizes. “Never seen anyone do that before…” she trails off, pointing to the giant plushies. “You can pick any of these.”

Logan’s arm sneakily wraps around your waist as he waits for you to pick between a giant fox, panda, or dolphin. “The fox, definitely the fox,” you decide. 

The attendant grabs the fox and pulls it down, handing it to you. You squeeze it to your chest, Logan’s grip on your waist tightening. “He’s so cute!” You giggle, looking up at Logan, who’s guiding you towards the edge of the boardwalk. “Thank you,” you say softly.

He shakes his head and looks out towards the water. “It was nothing,” he says, his arm still around your waist as you lean against the railing of the boardwalk. The sun is falling behind the horizon, stars rising in the sky. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he turns to face you. “Listen…” He starts, his jaw working as his grip on your waist falls away, his forearms bracing on the railing. Your shoulder presses against his, the tension between you palpable. “I’ve been thinking…” But he pauses again, his eyes searching yours. 

“We ready to head back to the house?” Scott asks, interrupting the conversation. Logan’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he leans forward. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Logan mutters, thinking you can’t hear him, resting his head against the railing. 

Jubilee grabs your arm, holding up her little stuffed teddy bear. “Look what I won!” Her smile drops when she sees your giant fox. “Oh my god, my bear is nothing compared to that! That thing is massive!”

You smirk, glancing over at Logan. “Wouldn’t have gotten it if it wasn’t for him.” Logan lifts his head and smiles sheepishly at you. 

The moon rises high in the quickly darkening sky. You’re not quite sure where the day went. Everything happened so quickly—the hours spent on the sand, Logan tugging you into the water. It was perfect. Beyond perfect. And now it was time to head back. 

The team treks down the boardwalk and onto the street, trailing a few blocks before arriving back at the house. You and Logan walk shoulder to shoulder the whole way there, leading at the front of the group. Logan grabs the key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and you all head inside. 

Jubilee and Kurt run into the kitchen scavenging for snacks. Gambit and Rogue crash onto the living room couch. 

“We’re gonna head to bed,” Scott says, Jean following him up the stairs. “Night, guys.” Everyone mutters soft goodnights in response, and a comfortable silence falls upon the house. 

“Gonna steal the upstairs shower before they get to it,” you whisper to Logan, nodding to Jubilee and Kurt. 

He smirks. “I’ll shower down here,” he says back. “See you upstairs?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer, suddenly remembering that you’re sharing not just a room with Logan, but a bed. You walk away and head upstairs, grabbing your pajamas from your duffle bag and making your way to the bathroom.

You turn on the water and undress. The shower is warm and relaxing, releasing the tension you had spent the entire day holding in. But the peace is temporary—your thoughts drift off to Logan. You imagine him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, waiting for you to join him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you try to ignore the heat growing at the bottom of your belly. Maybe you should’ve taken a cold shower instead. 

You finish up in the shower, turning the water off and grabbing a towel. You reach for your pajamas, only to realize you forgot your bottoms and your bra. You step into your panties and shrug your oversized band t-shirt over your head. You push the bathroom door open just a crack, and seeing no one in the hallway, you make a break for it, tip-toeing to your room. You slip inside and shut the door. 

Logan coughs from behind you, and you whip around. “S-sorry,” he stutters, standing up from the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless, just like you imagined he’d be, wearing only a pair of boxers. His hair is still damp from his shower. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off. “No, no,” you assure. “It’s totally fine.” You’re worried you sound too eager, too focused on making sure he stays. You clear your throat nervously, stepping towards your duffle bag. You lean down, hoping your t-shirt is still covering your ass as you rifle through your belongings. You groan when you finally realize you forgot to pack pajama shorts. You stand up and make your way around to the left side of the bed.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks, following suit and walking to the right side of the bed. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I, um…” You trail off, motioning towards your duffle bag. “I forgot pajama bottoms,” you finally spit out. “If you’re uncomfortable or—”

“No,” Logan cuts you off this time. “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

You smile, climbing into the bed and slipping under the covers, and Logan does the same. He rolls onto his side and turns off the lamp—the only light on in the room. The space is engulfed in darkness save for the pale light of the moon pushing through the curtains. 

You take a deep breath; you’re more nervous than you can comprehend. You could simply turn away from Logan, but you’re too anxious to move. Your stomach somersaults as his knee brushes against your thigh. You force your eyes shut, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Logan mumbles into the dark room, shuffling under the covers. “You okay?”

You swallow harshly, humming a soft mhm, too distracted to form a complete sentence. 

“I know you aren’t telling the truth, pretty girl,” Logan whispers, his hand finding your waist. “I can sleep on the couch, if you—”

“No,” you protest, the words escaping your lips almost uncontrollably. “It’s f-fine,” you stammer. “I’m fine.”

He chuckles darkly. “Then what’s got you so worked up, huh?” Oh. He knows. He has to know. You can hear it in his voice. 

“N-nothing,” you lie, your eyes fluttering open. Logan is closer to you now, his fingertips trailing down to your thighs, to the hem of your shirt. 

“Relax,” Logan husks, his hand slipping back up your body and settling on your waist. He tugs you closer to him. “This okay?” He asks, and you hum a quiet yes. You can feel the tension thickening, feel it readying to snap. He breaks the silence. “Thought about this all day, you know.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “Th-this?” You ask, your legs tangling with his. 

“Being alone with you,” Logan rasps. Your shirt hikes up as he pulls you into his chest. “Wanted to get you alone earlier,” he says, his hand sliding back down your body, playing with the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath. His fingertips drag along your stomach. 

You curse under your breath, Logan’s forehead pressing against yours. “Logan,” you whisper, his name the only thing you can think of. You’re sure he can smell the arousal building between your thighs. 

“There’s no going back from this. You know that, don’t you?” He whispers, his breath hot against your lips. He’s so close, his thigh pushing between your legs, bumping against your core. 

“Yes,” you sigh. “Don’t wanna go back.” 

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by how close Logan is to you. “Good,” he breathes. “Because you have no idea how much I need you.” 

His lips crash against yours, his thigh dragging along your core. You moan into his mouth, his tongue swiping across your lower lip. You part your lips, inviting him inside, his tongue tasting yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, involuntarily bucking your hips, grinding down on his thigh. “N-need you too.”

“I know, beautiful,” he soothes, gripping your waist, rolling you onto your back, pushing you into the mattress. “Fucking thought about you all day, always thinking about you.” He slides your shirt up above your tits, drinking you in with his eyes. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl.” He hovers over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand explores your body.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he palms your left breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then doing the same to the other side. It’s dizzying having him this close. You can smell his body wash—notes of musk and pine and a hint of leather on his skin. 

“Please,” you beg, not quite sure what you’re even begging for. All you know is how badly you want him—need him. 

Logan buries his face into the crook of your neck as his thumb rolls over your nipple, biting down on your pulse point and sucking the sensitive skin between his lips. “Please what, darlin’?” He mumbles, continuing his assault on your neck. 

“F-fuck,” you whimper, your hips rocking against Logan’s. “W-want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? That what you want?” Logan teases, his hand pushing between your legs, his fingertips finding your clit through your panties. “What if I wanted to taste you first?”

“W-whatever you want,” you moan, grinding down onto his hand. “I’m yours.”

He lifts his head from your neck and presses his forehead to yours. “Whatever I want?” His voice is thick, cocky, almost mocking. “You’re mine,” he husks, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, then to your jaw, your neck. “All fucking mine.” He crawls down your body, trailing kisses down the valley of your breasts, your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your panties. 

Your hips lift off the mattress as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. He nestles between your thighs, his breath hot against your cunt. You tremble in anticipation, watching as he breathes you in, his jaw working. You can see in his eyes that he’s holding himself back. 

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice suddenly soft, his cockiness replaced by genuine care. "Not gonna be able to stop once I start.” But you know he doesn’t just mean in the moment, right now—he means forever. 

“I’m sure, Lo,” you whine. It comes out like a prayer, like a desperate cry, a guilty plea. 

And then he buries his face into your heat, his tongue swiping through your folds. He grunts against you, flicking your clit before stroking his tongue through your folds again. “Fuck,” Logan groans, his face pressing harder into you, his tongue exploring your cunt. “Tastes better than I ever imagined,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his voice pulsing against your core. “So fucking sweet.”

Your hips jolt away from him as his tongue laps at your sensitive clit. His palms quickly slide under your legs, wrapping around your thighs, yanking you back to his face, and holding you down onto the mattress. “Don’t move, princess,” he chides, his nails digging into your flesh. “Wanna eat this pretty pussy.” 

“L-Lo,” you stutter as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles around your clit. You’re already close, his teasing words enough to push you over the edge. But you know he’s nowhere near done—he’s only getting started. 

His right hand loosens its grip around your thigh, his nails dragging down the curve of your ass and towards your folds. His fingertips prod your slit, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me, pretty girl,” he praises, his lips wrapping around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud lightly as he sucks. “Want my fingers?” He asks, knowing your answer, but wanting to hear you beg for him. 

“Yes, Logan, please. Need—” 

He’s thrusting two long, thick fingers deep inside you before you can finish your sentence. “Fuck,” he whispers, pulling out and pumping back in—down to his knuckles. He stills inside you, letting you adjust to him. “So goddamn tight.” His tongue laps at your clit. “Gonna have to work you open for me, hm?” He mutters, thrusting in and out now. 

You’re so overwhelmed, your swollen clit already overstimulated. He wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking harder this time, his fingers unrelenting as they plunge deeper with every pump. His tongue draws long, hard strokes around your bud, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

It feels like a wildfire is spreading through your veins, a current dragging you under and holding you down. Warmth blossoms in your belly. “Doing so good for me, beautiful,” Logan praises, his fingers fucking into you. Your walls flutter around him at his words, sucking him in deeper. “Know you’re close, pretty girl.”

“Logan,” you moan, his tongue drawing those tight circles around your clit again. He’s adding more pressure, his fingers dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you, splitting you in two. “Please, need to come…” You trail off, your back arching off the mattress, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

“Come for me,” Logan demands, his voice dark and filled with lust. “Wanna know what it tastes like.” His tongue presses harder into your clit, his fingers rocking in and out of your entrance. “Wanna see that pretty face when you let go.” 

And then the tension breaks, white-hot heat pouring freely from the bottom of your belly. Your vision goes blurry as Logan laps at your clit, his fingers still pumping in and out, working you through your high. You moan his name, pleasure ripping through your body in intense waves. 

His pumps relax, his fingers stilling inside you before he finally pulls out. His face is still buried against your cunt, licking long stripes through your folds. He’s savoring the taste of your release, drinking every last drop you have to give. “Can’t get enough of you,” he husks. “Could do this forever.” 

He licks one last long stripe through your folds before lifting his face from your cunt. He’s a mess—your release glistening on his chin, his hair disheveled, his boxers all wrinkled. Your heart beats in your chest at the sight. All this, just for you. 

Logan crawls up your body, hovering over you again, lowering down onto his forearm. “Wanna fuck you, beautiful,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. “Wanna know what you feel like.” His hand slips between your legs, his fingertips finding your swollen clit and giving it a gentle pinch. Your hips buck against him at the sudden sensation. 

“Wanna feel you too,” you whimper, your arms wrapping around his back. “Want you inside me, please.” 

And then he’s tugging his boxers down his legs, his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh. You can’t see—but you can feel just how massive he is. His tip slides through your folds, spreading your arousal. 

“You know how bad I need you?” Logan whispers, his lips finding yours. He bites your lower lip and kisses away the pain. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” And then he sinks himself inside you, down to the hilt with one smooth, fluid thrust. “Thought about this every day since I met you.” 

Your muscles release and contract at his words. His hips stall, letting you adjust to the size of him. You feel indescribably full. He’s splitting you open, stretching you out, claiming you as his. His hips pull back, his cock sliding out, and he plunges back in, somehow deeper this time. 

“Th-thought about you too,” you stutter, already too fucked out to form a coherent thought. “Always wanted you.” Logan sets a reckless pace as his fingertips find your clit again, working long, languid strokes into the bud, teasing you, leading you on. 

“You feel so perfect,” Logan praises, rocking into you, his cock dragging along your walls. “So fucking warm, so tight. Made for me.” His lips are on yours again, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tasting you, swallowing your moans. “Never gonna want anybody else, pretty girl.”

His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit faster now. “Just want you, Lo,” you choke, the tension building at the bottom of your belly, a fire burning through your bones. “Only want you.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice suddenly soft, contrasting with the way he pounds into you recklessly, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his cock. “It’s you, just you.” You can hear the emotion in his voice, the sincerity, the desperation, the aching longing. 

Your chest heaves against his. He’s fucking you to get closer to you, to be as deep inside you as possible. This isn’t just sex—this isn’t just some tension that needs to be broken. It’s an invisible string keeping the two of you tied closely together. Maybe it was stitched by the Fates centuries ago, laid out carefully, a plan to be executed. Maybe everything that led you to this moment was always meant to be. Because here you are now, his lips soft and hungry against yours, his words tearing through your resolve, his cock buried deep inside you, searching for a way to get deeper. And all you can think is…

This is it. This is what people mean when they talk about love—that word that changes its meaning every time you say it. The word with a definition that always escapes you. You know what it means now. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, that fire in your belly spreading through your body as he rams into you, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing along the walls of the tiny room. His fingers press harder into your clit, pinching softly, and then circling again. 

His cock twitches inside you. “Me too, beautiful,” he hums, his pace growing sloppier, his cock throbbing again. “You’re so perfect,” he praises. “Love you so much, pretty girl.”

And then the tension snaps, electricity buzzing through your nerve endings, fire prickling your skin as you melt into him. “Love you too, Lo.” Your muscles contract and release, squeezing around him, coming undone. 

Your walls clench around him again, and you know it’ll be the thing that pushes him over the edge. “Fuck, wanna come inside you,” he pants.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “Please,” you beg, and with one more thrust he’s painting your walls, filling you up and letting go. 

You share one breath, panting, foreheads pressed together as Logan’s pumps slow, his cock stalling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his arms reaching under your back as he carefully pulls out. You feel empty without him inside you. 

“Y-you can stay inside, if you want,” you offer as Logan rolls you onto your side, pulling you into his chest. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Is that what you want, pretty girl?” He asks, his lips pressing to your nose now. 

“Yes,” you whisper. He swallows harshly as one of his hands slides down your body, hiking your leg up and over his hip. He lines his half-hard cock up with your entrance, his lips finding yours as he slides back in. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of being full of him again. 

He groans as he bottoms out. “So fucking good,” he praises, his arms wrapping around your back again, tugging you into his chest. 

You lay in comfortable silence, listening as Logan’s breathing becomes rhythmic. Your eyes grow heavy, and you bury your face into Logan’s chest. You can hear his heart beating.

“Love you,” he mumbles against the crown of your head. You can hear the sleepiness in his voice, the exhaustion. 

“Love you too,” you whisper, your breathing matching his, like you’re no longer two separate people, but one.

He presses a kiss to your head. “So lucky I met you,” he huffs. You smile against him. “So lucky I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He smiles down at you. “What love is supposed to feel like...” He trails off, and you watch as he chooses his next words. “What living is supposed to feel like.” 

You can feel tears brimming in the corners of your eyes, and you do your best to blink them away. “Me too, Lo,” you whisper, pausing…

“Me too.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @fanfic-writing-barbie @pedrohoe04 @cosmiccandydreamer @movhoney @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @maniuplatour *as always, I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you were accommodated in such a shabby hotel, the last thing you needed was a power outage. and upon learning about one of your colleagues' fear of the dark, you can't bring yourself to not help him

����𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, spencer is afraid of the dark and the reader comforts him, they comfort each other tbh, elle&morgan my fav duo, glasses reid obvi.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.7k

𝐚/𝐧: these are my official apologies for all the recent stories 🫶🏼 i wanted it to be so much shorter but i just love writing conversations between characters so that's how it turned out. @mggslover i'm so sorry for not adding spencer falling off the bed but i didn't want to ruin that subtle ending :(( maybe next time

"Please, I’m begging you, I’m really begging you—begging in the name of a god I don’t even believe in. Tell me we’ve got the wrong address," Morgan said, squeezing his eyes shut the moment you all crossed the threshold of the motel where you'd been assigned to stay while working on the case in another state.

You noticed Elle’s expression falter as well. From the outside, the place hadn’t looked that bad. Well, perhaps it only seemed that way because the street it was on was so dark you couldn’t make out much of anything. Midnight must have been approaching; the first day of the investigation was officially over.

“We didn’t get it wrong,” Reid declared, stepping inside as the last of you, quickly scanning the interior. “I memorized it perfectly. Besides, there aren’t any other accommodations in the area, so this has to be it.”

“Do you remember that one case,” Elle started, “where the unsub killed women in hotel rooms and decorated the interiors with their intestines?”

You glanced at her, curious—or as curious as you could be under the circumstances. You’d only joined the team fairly recently; this was your third or fourth case at most, and none of them had been quite that… gruesome. Of course, you were well aware cases like that happened. It was only a matter of time before one came your way. Unfortunately.

“This motel totally looks like the kind of place where something like that happens on a daily basis,” Elle continued. “My advice? Don’t look under the beds tonight. Or in the closets, if there even are any.”

“I just hope there’s hot water,” Derek sighed, his voice carrying a tone of resignation. “We once ended up in a place that didn’t have any. I almost handed in my resignation.”

“You deal with gruesome murders every day, but no hot water is too much for you, Princess?” you raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as you made your way toward the reception desk to pick up your room keys. The motel’s walls were yellow—not the cheerful sunflower or sunny kind of yellow, but more like dried-up cat pee yellow.

“He’s got a point, though,” Elle chimed in, taking the key from an elderly woman at the reception desk. “Think about it. You come back after a long, grueling day, from dawn to midnight, just like today. You’re exhausted, barely standing, and you can’t even take a hot shower.”

Morgan pointed at her and nodded in agreement. You shrugged.

“Cold isn’t that bad,” you muttered. Honestly, you hadn’t expected anything luxurious from the place you’d been sent to. It was just a few days, after all.

“Oh, are you one of those people practicing that millionaire morning routine?” Derek teased. “You know—waking up at three, cold shower, steak for breakfast, daily planning, self-help book…”

I just grew up poor, you thought to yourself, but aloud you only let out a short laugh.

“I’d kill to have time to read a book before work. Any book. Not to be yanked out of bed by Hotch at five, like today, and scrambling to get out the door.”

Elle and Morgan exchanged a very brief look, almost secretive. You narrowed your eyes, suspicion suddenly welling up inside you. Before you could ask about it, someone else spoke up.

“He called me at half past six,” Reid said, tilting his head in mild confusion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the others silencing him with a look.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you stopped in your tracks, demanding an explanation. “He called me half an hour earlier than the rest of you?”

“You live farther away.”

“We’re practically neighbors, Elle Greenaway.”

“I’m about to drop,” Derek suddenly interjected with theatrical exhaustion. A change of subject. A not-so-subtle change of subject. “If I don’t lie down soon, I’ll fall asleep standing up. See you all tomorrow, folks.”

“You’re absolutely right—sleep well.”

With that, he and Elle headed up the stairs to the third floor, where they’d been assigned rooms. You and, as it turned out, Reid were staying on the second floor.

You turned to him slowly, arms crossed over your chest.

You didn’t even need to say anything—your stern gaze alone made it clear you were waiting for an explanation. Reid looked like he was about to throw his hands up in a defensive gesture, clearly regretting that he’d brought up the topic at all.

“Okay,” he sighed nervously. “What I’m about to say is not meant to offend you in any way, not even the slightest…”

“Offend?” you repeated, furrowing your brow. “Jesus Christ, Reid, don’t look at me like that—I’m not about to punch you in the face…”

“It’s just…” he began, a little calmer now. “All of us, including Hotch, I assume, are aware of the fact that, occasionally—just sometimes—you have a slight tendency to…run a bit late to work.”

He looked at you, and a telling silence fell between you.

"Yesterday, you were fourteen and a half minutes late."

"Fifteen minutes doesn't count as being late. And have you heard of a grace period? It's allowed to arrive within that time frame, without any consequences."

"Fine. What about two days ago, twenty-one minutes and seventeen..."

"Metro malfunction. I had no control over that."

"And six days ago, on Tuesday? Twenty-four minutes and..."

"I don’t remember such a situation, because, Mr. Big Brain, not all of us have such a memory. But I assume there was a reason..."

"Alright, fine," Reid interrupted you calmly. "I’m not saying there wasn’t a reason. But still... it happens quite often, and that's a fact. So it’s no surprise that Hotch, when the situation especially calls for it, prefers to call you a little earlier than the rest. Just out of caution."

You sighed, no longer able to argue about it. Maybe he was right; you did sometimes lose track of time in the mornings or fail to wake up to the sound of your alarm, closing your eyes for an extra five minutes... which resulted in small delays. You had never been directly reprimanded for it, so you were unaware that it had become such a big issue. Slightly embarrassed, you pressed your lips together.

"As usual, I guess you're right. And by the way, I’m heading to my room. I had thirty minutes less sleep than all of you, I’m exhausted," you said in a lighter, joking tone. A brief smile crossed Reid’s face. "Good night, wise guy.”

"Good night. And don’t look under the bed."

"Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it!"

With those words, you both disappeared into rooms directly opposite each other. The sounds of doors closing synchronized. You started your usual evening routine, placing your suitcase in the corner of the room. It was really small, narrow, and rectangular. The walls had that same awful color, the light was too bright, causing a headache. So you decided to just turn on the night lamp on the shabby nightstand next to the single bed.

It turned out that the only bathroom was in the hallway. You almost cried; you didn't want to take all your things with you and then come back with them. You remembered that you'd taken a proper shower that morning, so maybe a repeat wasn’t absolutely necessary. You were too sleepy for it, so you just set the alarm for fifteen minutes earlier to do it in the morning. After changing into comfortable clothes, you immediately lay down on the bed. Following Elle’s advice, and then Reid’s too, you didn’t check what might be hiding under it.

You weren’t hiding it, you were a terrible sleeper. Falling asleep in new places usually wasn’t a problem for you, even if it was a place that looked like a dive where someone could stab you in your sleep. But that night, something was bothering you. After giving it some thought, you realized it was Reid’s words.

Of course, it wasn’t that you held it against him. He was just stating facts; he had no intention of offending you, as he assured. And you didn’t even feel offended. More like unpleasantly confronted with a certain fact. You had only been part of the BAU for a short time. Well, just a week ago Derek stopped calling you the new girl. Although on the outside, you came across as very confident, on the inside, you were preoccupied with the team’s opinion of you and what they might think about you. Mainly because they were all older and more experienced.

You were especially worried about the fact that your tardiness and chaos had drawn the boss’s attention. Being on good terms with your superior was incredibly important, in case something ever happened, in case you made a more serious mistake…those small things could influence how the rest of your career would unfold, and the decisions made about you.

But above all, you wanted everyone to like you. Simply like you. So you wouldn’t walk around every day with your heart in your throat, praying for the day to end, constantly overwhelmed by a sense of misfit and loneliness.

You turned to your side, not sure how long you had been lying there, thinking. Suddenly, you realized you had to pee.

With great reluctance and sleepiness, you reached for the bedside lamp to turn it on and go to the bathroom. However, when you tugged at the cord, it... didn’t turn on. The room remained shrouded in darkness. You tried once more, then blindly made your way to the light switch in the room. You pressed it, and nothing.

What was going on, a power outage?

You shook your head in confusion. Whatever was going on, it didn’t change the fact that you had to go to the bathroom. You remembered the flashlight in your jacket pocket, and in the darkness, it took you a while to find it. When you finally had it in your hand, you felt ready to complete the mission. To pee, that is.

The moment you stepped out into the hallway, a light source flared up right before your eyes. You let out a muffled exclamation, partly from surprise, partly from being almost blinded.

“Damn, sorry…” Reid hissed, equally confused, turning his flashlight downward, away from your face.

You rubbed your eyelids, turning off your flashlight. Two light sources were unnecessary.

“Is there no power for you too?” you asked.

Reid nodded. It was only then that you really looked at him—he was wearing very loose pajama pants and...

“Cute,” you clicked your tongue, pointing at his white sweater with a bear wearing glasses. He had them too, worn very low on his nose. He must have put them on absentmindedly, in the dark, right after getting out of bed.

“I got it from Penelope for my birthday,” he said in a tone as if he were giving a statement. His hand briefly touched the fabric, right at the center of the brown bear’s face. “It’s really comfortable and soft. Perfect for sleeping...Anyway, I was heading to the reception to find out what the issue is and whether anything can be done about it. You too?”

"No, I just really need to pee. Do you really want to go there at this hour?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I mean, outages happen, and they'll have to fix it, but it's the middle of the night. We don't really need the lights right now, and if you want to go to the bathroom, you have a flashlight, as I can see."

You kept your gaze on him, realizing that since he noticed the lack of light, he must have been either heading somewhere himself or keeping the light on. Or maybe he had been sleeping with the light on. He did seem a bit tense. One of his hands was still resting on the half-open door, nervously gripping it. The other was pressed tightly to his body, his chest rising in an odd rhythm. Not a quickened pace, like with a panic attack, but more unnatural, like he was trying to control it.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" the question slipped out of you directly. After a moment, you realized it might have been a little too blunt. You had asked it carelessly, suspecting there might be another reason behind his behavior. For some reason, fear of the dark didn’t seem to fit his rational character.

Reid quickly shook his head, firmly denying it.

"No. No, of course not. I was just... reading when the light went out."

Oh, you didn’t even need to be a profiler to see right away that he was lying. You crossed your arms, a little amused by how stubbornly he was denying it.

"You were reading? At this hour? When we’re back to the investigation first thing tomorrow morning?"

He shrugged, shaking his head again.

"I couldn’t sleep."

You sighed. In the end, neither his fear nor his shame were your concern, so you didn’t see the point in interrogating him any further. You signaled that you were dropping the subject, and some expression passed across his face. Gratitude. Gratitude for not pushing the issue or mocking him. You felt a bit offended that he had even thought you might do that.

“If you still plan on going to the reception, wait for me, I’ll go with you. I just need to quickly stop by the bathroom.”

Reid opened his mouth, clearly surprised by your suggestion.

“Well, what?” you replied with a shrug. “I can’t let something eat you on the way. A demonic hand emerging from the darkness…”

“Very funny,” he commented, rolling his eyes. However, the corner of his mouth twitched, and his breathing seemed calmer.

“…The ghost of Richard Ramirez haunting the walls of this hotel. Or some other bloodthirsty maniac.“

"Didn't you really have to pee badly?"

"The team wouldn’t recover from losing you, Reid!" You threw that line over your shoulder as you walked toward the bathroom.

Of course, there was no light there either, so you had to use your flashlight. He was waiting for you, and together, in silence, you headed down the stairs toward the reception. Given how small the motel was, it wasn’t open 24/7. You had to wait a while before someone came to assist you.

“That happens sometimes,” the employee shrugged. “We’re not sure where the problem is exactly, but someone’s supposed to come check it out tomorrow…”

“Can’t anything be done about it now?” Reid asked, a trace of frustration in his voice that he was trying to mask—especially when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Maybe it’s just a simple overload? Where are the fuse boxes…?”

“Reid,” you said gently, placing a hand on his elbow to draw his full attention. He turned his head toward you, surprised by the tone of your voice. You gave the employee a discreet signal that you didn’t have any further questions and he could leave.

“You’re not fixing the electricity in some rundown motel. That would just be… ridiculous.”

“I’m not talking about fixing it,” he clarified quickly, though it was clear he hadn’t let go of the idea. “But in most cases, it’s just a simple short circuit. I could just take a look—”

“—Or you could just sleep in my room.”

The words left your mouth, surprising not only him but also yourself. Yet, it wasn’t as though you regretted them or wanted to take back the offer. On the contrary, the moment you said it out loud, it felt even more fitting. When you were a little kid—like most children, probably—you’d also been afraid of the dark, and running to someone else’s room always helped. Curling up beside someone, just knowing someone was there, made all the difference.

You watched his reaction, the way he shook his head slightly from side to side, a small frown creasing his forehead.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. Come on.” You grabbed him by the wrist—the hand not holding the flashlight—and pulled him along. He moved hesitantly, but he seemed too caught off guard to plant his feet and stay put.

He stopped only when you reached the door to your room, pulling his hand free from your grasp.

"How do you even imagine this working? There's... there's only one bed in there."

"If that bothers you, grab the mattress and some bedding from your room. You’ll hardly notice the difference—those beds are unbearably uncomfortable anyway."

He lowered the flashlight slightly, letting the surrounding darkness of the hallway creep over his face. It was barely visible now, but the hesitation etched on it was unmistakable. Standing across from him, you held his gaze without saying a word, silently reinforcing the fact that you weren’t joking.

The thought of him struggling to fall asleep for the rest of the night and then suffering through another day made you feel genuinely sorry for him. Besides, even though you hadn’t known each other long, you already considered him a sort of friend. If there was anything you could do to help, you wanted to do it.

"It's no big deal, Spencer," you reassured him one last time, hoping the words would finally sink in. "Really. And if you want... we don't ever have to talk about this again. Tomorrow, or ever."

His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath.

"Th-thank you," he said at last, cautiously, as though he'd packed so many thoughts into the single word that saying it out loud was an effort.

You smiled gently and understandingly. Before stepping into the room, you briefly placed a hand on his arm.

"Oh God, that sweater really is soft..."

He let out a short laugh, perhaps releasing a bit of the embarrassment he’d been holding back. You both disappeared into your respective rooms, and you lay down in bed, waiting for him to show up. Well, the moment dragged on a little too long.

You were almost certain he’d only agreed to your suggestion to get you off his back and had no intention of actually following through. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you debated whether to go to his room and drag him over or just let it go. They say you shouldn’t force help on others. Maybe there was some truth to that.

Shortly after that thought, your door creaked open slowly. You heard it but couldn’t see much—the room was too dark, and he wasn’t using his flashlight. Perhaps he assumed you were already asleep and didn’t want to risk waking you.

Either way, he moved around your bed to lay down a pillow and blanket on the floor, skipping the effort of hauling over an entire mattress. 

"Your back is going to hurt," you remarked softly, your voice adjusting to the rhythm of the night, blending with the surrounding darkness.

You lay on your side, facing the spot where he had set up his makeshift bed. All you could see was the outline of his figure, his hands clasped loosely over his stomach, head resting on the pillow. You even caught the slight shrug of his shoulders in response to your comment.

"Actually, sleeping on the floor can have health benefits. It helps maintain a neutral spine position," he replied.

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “Do you really have to come up with a counterargument for everything I say?”

“Such a curse of mine. If you don’t like it, well, you invited me here.”

“Annoying bastard. I guess it’s too late to kick you out?” you wondered aloud, of course, rhetorically. But you quickly added, worried that he might take it seriously, “Sleep well. You and your spine.”

An amused sigh escaped him.

 “You… and your spine too.”

Well, you guessed that's enough of the chit-chat. You felt a bit disappointed, but you had brought him here for a reason. To let him sleep, not to entertain you with conversation. To your surprise, you didn’t feel sleepy, even though you had struggled with it earlier. You had been thinking about... hard to even pinpoint what, there were a few things. The little worries typical of the night, suddenly growing to some huge proportions.

You were still lying in the same position, some time had passed. Your cheek was almost touching the edge of the bed, on the same side where Reid slept. Well, actually, he wasn’t sleeping. You could see a faint, barely noticeable gleam of his open eyes. They were cast downward, trying not to stare into the empty blackness above his head.

“Have you always been afraid of the dark?” you decided to ask, with no sarcasm.

“I’m not afraid,” he replied, though he could always pretend to be asleep. But the answer came out automatically.

“Alright, brave guy.” You didn’t even scoff, you just said it calmly and accepting. Maybe later he’ll tell you, when he stops being so embarrassed about it. “So, I guess you came here to get to know me better. And you know, I think you’ve got the chance. Could you... could you tell me something? Just honestly?”

"Me?" he asked, surprised, even sitting up slightly. "I mean... sure. But what?"

You suddenly sighed, regretting even bringing up the topic. God, that was so stupid...

"Just remember, honestly. Do you think the rest of the team likes me?"

Reid was silent, a strange feeling gathered in your stomach. Instead of answering negatively, he propped himself up on both elbows, and you saw a slight movement of his head. A nod.

"Are you asking this completely seriously?"

You shrugged, not sure if he noticed, so you confirmed out loud in a slightly hoarse voice. And then, to your absolute surprise, he just laughed.

"I don’t get it," he confessed after a short moment during which you stared in silence at his silhouette. "How... how could you think it could be any different? You’re always joking with Derek and Elle, and... we get along well too, I hope..."

"You’re right. But... but that’s not what I meant, I just... ugh, seriously, I can’t explain it. Fine, you know what, never mind."

You turned onto your back, as if that would completely sever the conversation. The one you’d stupidly started. You hoped he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Another stupid thought, after all, he wasn’t like that.

Silence again, broken only by breaths. A new sound joined them, a slight rustle of the sheets. When Reid spoke again, his voice sounded somehow higher, and you were sure he was sitting on the floor as he said it.

"It might be a little surprising, but when I was a kid, I wasn't afraid of the dark," he began, completely changing the tone of his voice. He wasn't surprised like before; it was lower, gentler, despite the topic he was addressing. "I mean, I wasn't afraid of it more than any other kid my age. That... that serious fear, the real fear, started later. I don't want to say it was when I started working for the BAU because that wouldn't be entirely true. But it was around the time I started taking everything seriously. Seeing it with my own eyes, every day."

You didn't even realize when you had turned back onto your side, just to look at him, listening to his words.

"Do you have nightmares?" you asked.

"Sometimes. Actually..." he sighed, swallowing. "All of it, the fear and the nightmares, it's like they don't exist when I'm in a place I know. A place I trust. I can sleep just fine with the lights off in my apartment, the same in a jet. Everything starts in places like this. “

There was silence from your side, and you felt a bit… touched that he decided to tell you this. No beating around the bush, no lying, and, most importantly, no overwhelming embarrassment. It was a normal topic after all; everyone has their fears.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you have nightmares?"

In the first few days after starting the job, you did. Then they stopped. That’s just how things go, you suppose.

"Not anymore," you admitted, letting out a small laugh. "But that doesn’t mean I sleep well. Now I just worry at night."

"About whether the team likes you?"

"Okay, I know it sounds childish, but it’s really been bothering me lately. They might… they might seem to like me, but deep down, they might not think that highly of me. I… I'm new, not that experienced, I’m always late, and I don’t think I’m bringing anything new to the table..."

"Of course, you’re bringing something," he interrupted you. You hadn’t noticed when, but you were both sitting up now. Your voices weren’t sleepy whispers anymore, you were having a real conversation. "Each of us brings something different, something characteristic of ourselves. That's how it works in a team. That’s why you’re here. Without you… okay, you might not know this, but since you’ve been here, these last four cases have gone much more smoothly."

"Do you really think so?" 

"Well, you asked me to be honest. Completely honest."

You've always had a bit of imposter syndrome, doubting your abilities, and approaching others' positive comments about you or your achievements with skepticism. 

Something in the way he spoke, his quick words, his engagement in them... made you believe him, somehow.

"Reid," you began, surprised to find that there was less weight in your chest, in your body. "I know, I just know, that you'll refuse, but still, I'll ask. Do you want to lie down with me?"

You didn't even know what exactly prompted the question. Caring about your back, you could answer. But was that really all it was?

For a moment, he was silent, thinking you were joking, but when it dawned on him that you weren't, he scoffed.

"Well, you were right, I'll refuse..."

"Sorry, but I doubt you'll fall asleep any other way. I was watching you, as creepy as that sounds. You were lying there with your eyes open, you were scared."

"I'm an adult man who's afraid of the dark. That's pathetic on its own, without being tucked to sleep by a coworker."

"I never mentioned anything about tucking you in."

He hesitated, embarrassed. 

"You took the least important part of my statement..."

"I took what I wanted. The rest is nonsense. Your age doesn't determine what you can or can't be afraid of. I'm a grown woman, and I'm afraid my colleagues don't like me. Which sounds more pathetic, huh? Fear of the dark or that?"

“I think it’s a point we could argue about for hours.”

“Which we don’t have. It’s late, we should go to sleep. Quick question, are you lying down with me, or are you fooling yourself into thinking you’ll fall asleep without it?”

A heavy, resigned sigh escaped him. Without adding anything else to his words, you turned onto your side, your back to him. You heard the rustling of the sheets, and for a moment, you froze, surprised. But no, he hadn’t joined you. 

You weren’t sure how you felt. Disappointed seemed like too strong a word. It wasn’t as though he had refused some incredibly important request of yours. It was just… perhaps the best explanation would be that, once you had convinced him to sleep in the same room for the sake of helping him, you wanted him to take something comforting from that night. You wanted it to be one of those good nights, like the ones he had in his apartment or in the jet, the ones he had mentioned. Not one of the others, filled with fear.

But then, the mattress beside you dipped, as someone else settled onto it.

You turned to the other side, and suddenly your faces were right across from each other. Reid swallowed, almost nervously. He seemed to be adjusting to the situation, to the sudden closeness, the small space you shared. You propped your hand under your head, observing him discreetly. It hit you that he always had a bit of an issue with contact with others. A doubt crossed your mind: had you made him uncomfortable?

Minutes passed, though, and his body seemed to sink more comfortably into the bed. His arms were no longer stiff, his hands resting freely, no longer clasped tightly across his chest. You could also hear his breath, and the more peaceful it became, the calmer you felt too.

And even though no words seemed necessary anymore, he decided to speak once again.

"Thank you."

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella

[pucksandpower]

Prince of Monaco

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco

Summary: what better way for the honorary Prince of Monaco to celebrate finally winning his home race than with the Princess of Monaco?

Warnings: 18+ content

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Charles brings his Ferrari across the finish line, finally winning his home race after years of heartbreak. His mechanics swarm the barriers, nearly delirious with excitement, but Charles just leans back in his seat, letting the accomplishment sink in.

He’s done it. He’s conquered the streets that have taunted him for so long.

As he’s ushered up to the iconic podium, Charles looks out at the sea of fans cheering his name and spots you, radiant in a summery yellow dress, beaming up at him.

For a moment, time seems to stop as your eyes meet. You give him a little wave and he nearly stumbles on his way to the top step, feeling lightheaded.

When you step forward with the winner’s trophy, Charles’ heart starts pounding. Your fingers brush against his ever so slightly as you hand it over and he swears he can feel an electric current pass between you. The sleek lines of the trophy blur before his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Félicitations, Charles,” you say warmly, resting a hand on his arm.

Charles blinks rapidly as his cheeks start to burn. Up close, you look like an honest-to-god angel descended to earth. How does one even speak to heavenly beings?

“Th-thanks,” he stammers out, mentally kicking himself for sounding like such an idiot. He needs to get it together. “I mean, merci, Your Serene Highness.”

You laugh, the warm sound instantly putting him at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats dumbly. It’s easily the most beautiful combination of letters he’s ever heard.

“You should celebrate your big win tonight,” you say, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe don’t get too carried away with the champagne.”

Charles frowns in confusion. Is that a royal decree to take it easy on the partying?

“I was hoping you could pick me up tomorrow evening,” you continue blithely. “For our date.”

Our … date? Charles’ eyes go wide as his jaw drops open. Is the most beautiful woman in the world really asking him out right now? In front of millions of people?

“Uh, I … we … huh?” He sputters inelegantly.

You just smile that radiant smile and lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “We do now,” you murmur against his skin, sending tingles down his spine. “I’ll see you at eight?”

Before Charles can formulate any kind of response, you give him one last brilliant grin and turn to congratulate Oscar Piastri on second place. He blinks down at the trophy in his hands, wondering if he’s dreaming all of this.

The rest of the podium celebration passes by in a blur. He holds up his trophy and waves to the crowd like he’s supposed to, but his mind is elsewhere, utterly consumed by the feeling of your lips on his skin and the knowledge that he has an actual date with the woman of his dreams.

As soon as the ceremonies conclude, his team is all over him, shouting congratulations and patting his back enthusiastically. Normally he’d be caught up in the revelry, basking in his victory, but now all Charles wants is to get out of there. He needs to chug about a gallon of water and take a very cold shower.

“Party tonight, eh mate?” Carlos calls out with a playful elbow to the ribs. “Got any special plans to celebrate?”

Charles feels the blush creeping back up his cheeks as he thinks about you — your warm laughter, your gentle touch, the promises of a date in your sparkling eyes. His lips tug up in a helpless smile.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, already counting down the hours until he gets to see you again.

The post-race celebrations kick into high gear, with champagne flowing freely and music thumping from every corner. Charles goes through the motions, reveling in his hard-won triumph but unable to fully let loose and enjoy himself. Not when a much bigger prize is waiting for him tomorrow night.

The hours drag by interminably as he waits for an acceptable time to make his excuses and leave the party behind. His friends rib him relentlessly for his uncharacteristic restraint.

“What’s got you so distracted, Calamar?” Pierre teases. “This isn’t like you at all!”

“Yeah, our boy’s got his eyes on something else tonight! Or would it be more accurate to say someone else?” Joris chimes in with an exaggerated wink.

Charles flushes but doesn’t deny it, fighting back a smile. If only they knew ...

It’s nearly 2 am by the time he extricates himself from the club, pleading an early morning commitment. No one believes his excuse for a second, but they let him go with plenty of cheers and well-meaning shoves.

As soon as Charles makes it back to his apartment, he starts feverishly getting ready for tomorrow, picking out the perfect outfit and incessantly checking the time. After tossing and turning fruitlessly for a couple of hours, he finally gives up on sleep, instead spending his morning going for a long run to burn off excess energy.

The day drags on at an excruciatingly slow pace. Every minute feels like an hour as he wills the clocks to move faster. He triple checks the address, runs through conversation starters in his head, and showers for the third time. This date has to go perfectly.

At 7:55 pm, Charles pulls up outside the royal palace, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he tries to control his nerves. He takes one last steadying breath before getting out of the car and smoothing down his shirt.

Like an angel from on high, you suddenly appear in the palace doorway, looking impossibly radiant in a gauzy pink sundress that matches your warm smile perfectly.

“Y/N,” Charles breathes out reverently, drinking in your beauty. Up close, his heart is pounding so loudly he’s sure you must be able to hear it. “You look … wow.”

Your smile grows even brighter as you move towards him. “Well, you clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

There’s a brief, charged silence as you stand face to face, just drinking each other in. Then, seeming to make up your mind about something, you grab his hand and tug him close.

“Come on,” you murmur, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ve got the perfect date night planned for us.”

With your hand in his, Charles would follow you straight into the depths of hell itself. He manages an eager nod, unable to tear his eyes away from your face.

Whatever you have planned, he knows it will be perfect. So long as he gets to spend the evening by your side, he couldn’t care less what you do.

You lace your fingers through his, shooting him one last brilliant smile, and lead the way to what is undoubtedly going to be the best night of Charles’s life.

***

Warm rays of morning sunlight filter through the sheer curtains, gently rousing Charles from the most blissful sleep of his life. He blinks slowly, taking in the lavish bedchamber with its soaring ceilings and intricate moldings. Plush rugs cover the marble floors and the bed he’s cocooned in is easily the most luxurious he’s ever experienced, with soft Egyptian cotton sheets caressing his skin.

For a delirious moment, Charles thinks he might still be dreaming. But then his eyes drift to you, sleeping peacefully beside him, and his heart stutters in his chest. It all comes rushing back in a torrent of sense memories — your radiant smile, your tinkling laugh, the feeling of your hand in his as you led him out on the most magical night of his life.

The two of you stroll hand-in-hand through the winding alleyways of Monaco, ducking down tiny side streets to places only locals know. Charles is enchanted as you show him hidden corners of your city that he’s never seen before, sharing fascinating stories and anecdotes all the while.

“This little trattoria has been run by the same family for nearly a century,” you explain as you lead him into a tiny, unassuming restaurant positively dripping with old world charm. The smiling owner greets you like a beloved daughter, embracing you warmly.

Over a seemingly endless parade of rustic Italian delicacies and a hearty red wine, you and Charles talk for hours about everything and nothing - childhoods and ambitions, favorite books and movies, embarrassing stories that have you both crying with laughter.

When the owner sends over a giant slice of homemade tiramisu with a wink, you steal the first bite right off Charles’ fork with a cheeky grin. A bit of mascarpone clings to the corner of your mouth and without thinking, Charles leans in to kiss it away, savoring the sweet taste of you mingled with the rich dessert.

You make a soft noise of surprise against his lips before melting into the kiss, cupping his face tenderly. When you finally part, both a little breathless, there’s a new burning heat in your eyes that makes Charles’ heart skip a beat.

“Shall we go for a walk?” You murmur, already sliding out of the booth. Your hand finds his and you lace your fingers together as you lead him back out into the night ...

Just thinking about last night’s date makes Charles’ heart feel fit to burst. You had taken him on a romantic tour of Monaco unlike anything he’s ever experienced, showing him secret nooks and hidden gems even he didn’t know. He had been so entranced just drinking in the city through your eyes, hanging on your every word.

But those heated looks you started sending his way after that first electrifying kiss had made it clear the real night was only just beginning ...

You stroll along the moon-dappled harbor, pointing out your favorite super-yachts and regaling Charles with scandalous stories of the jetset lives of their owners. He laughs delightedly at your wicked sense of humor, tucking you against his side as you wander the lamp-lit cobblestone streets.

When you lead him up a winding path to an old stone overlook, his breath catches in his throat. Twinkling lights from the city and harbor spread out as far as the eye can see, the tiny pinpricks glittering like a million stars. You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you nuzzle against his back.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You murmur reverently. “This is my favorite view in all of Monaco.”

Charles turns in your embrace until you’re pressed flush together, hardly daring to breathe. “It is,” he rasps out, getting lost in the depths of your eyes. “But not as beautiful as you.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to his lips for a heated moment, before surging up on your tiptoes to capture his mouth in a searing kiss ...

Unbidden, a low groan slips from Charles’ throat as he remembers those heated kisses on the overlook, one thing inexorably leading to another in a heady rush of lust and longing until you were both feverishly tugging at clothes. He swallows hard, feeling himself start to stir beneath the sheets.

That was just the start of the longest, most incredible night of Charles’ life. Your romantic tour had eventually led you both back to the palace, where you scattered a trail of discarded garments across marble floors and lavish furnishings in your wake, completely consumed by your desire for one another.

You press Charles back against the door of your bedroom as soon as you stagger inside, hands roaming hungrily as you devour his mouth in a bruising kiss. Charles groans deeply, fingers tangling in your hair as he spins you both around to walk you back towards the bed ...

A warm weight suddenly drapes itself across Charles’ torso, jolting him from his reverie with a sharp intake of breath. You’re curled against his side, smiling at him with eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. His heart kicks up a furious gallop as you scoot closer, trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his chest and shoulder.

“Good morning,” you murmur, voice still scratchy and deliciously rumpled sounding. Charles nearly swallows his tongue at the sound — not to mention the fact that he can now feel every luscious curve of your body pressed against his beneath the sheets.

“Morning,” he croaks out, throat gone instantly dry. How is it possible that you look even more beautiful than he remembers?

You laugh softly at his dazed expression as you work your way up the column of his neck, seemingly intent on covering every last inch of bare skin with those incredibly soft lips. “Sleep well?”

Charles manages a strangled noise of agreement just before you capture his mouth in a slow, smoldering kiss. He groans against your lips, looping an arm around your waist to pull you more fully on top of him. Every nerve-ending feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

When you finally break apart, you brace yourself up on your elbows, gazing down at him with bright, sparkling eyes. “Last night was incredible,” you say candidly, tracing the line of his cheekbone with a fingertip. “Thank you for such an amazing first date.”

A low rumble of laughter escapes Charles as he grins up at you, dizzy with happiness. “I should be thanking you. Last night was … just, wow.” He reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, marveling at how impossibly soft your skin is. “Have I mentioned yet how breathtakingly gorgeous you are?”

Your cheeks flush prettily even as you let out an adorably bashful little giggle that has Charles bewitched. “Charles Leclerc, you beautiful charmer,” you tease, dropping your head to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Mmm, I have a few ideas ...” Charles murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. He trails his fingertips up the delicate lines of your spine, reveling in the way it makes you shiver against him.

You lift your head again, pinning him with a look of pure want that steals the breath from Charles’ lungs. “Is that so?” You purr, rolling your hips ever so slightly against his in a way that has him biting back a groan.

“Oui,” he husks out, slipping a hand into your tousled hair to draw your mouth back to his. You melt against him instantly, the kiss rapidly becoming heated and desperate as you both come quickly undone.

With you pressed so tantalizingly close, Charles can feel the heat slowly building between you as he maps every inch of your body with eager hands. Your skin is so silky soft, he can scarcely believe you’re real. Last night’s passion comes roaring back in a tidal wave of desire so potent it nearly overwhelms him.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him like a lifeline as you finally join your bodies in a fevered rush. Charles surges up to capture your lips again, unable to get enough of your addictive taste as you move together in perfect synchronicity. Slick skin sliding, breaths mingling, every sensation is heightened and electrified as you make love with an abandon unlike anything Charles has ever experienced ...

A strangled groan tears from Charles’ chest at the memory, his grip reflexively tightening on your hips and pulling you harder against him.

You let out a soft whimper against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you grind deliciously against him in response. Charles feels utterly intoxicated by you — your taste, your scent, the exquisite softness of your skin pressed so enticingly to his.

With one fluid motion, he rolls you both until he’s caging you beneath him on the luxurious sheets. You gaze up at him with eyes gone molten and dark, chests heaving in tandem. The ferocious want simmering between you is nearly tangible.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charles rasps out in reverence, brushing the backs of his fingers along the elegant curve of your jaw. He leans down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, feeling your rapid pulse fluttering beneath his lips. “Perfect ...”

A soft keen escapes you as you tilt your head back to allow him better access. Every nerve in Charles’ body feels electrified, like his skin is humming with unreleased energy. He’s drunk on you, body and soul.

As his lips blaze a path lower, nuzzling between the delicious swell of your breasts, your back arches sharply up off the bed with a gasp of longing. Your fingers clutch almost painfully at his shoulders as you struggle to pull him even closer.

“Charles … please,” you whimper, voice pitched low and heady with naked yearning.

He slides a hand up your silken thigh in answer, molding his palm to the flare of your hip as you shift restlessly beneath him. You’re warm and pliant and bewitching like this, coming slowly undone under his attentions.

With a ragged groan, Charles surrenders to the inescapable gravitational pull between you, fusing your mouths back together in a searing kiss that instantly turns all-consuming ...

Your nails score lines of delicious fire down his back as he drives into you with deep, powerful strokes, hips snapping together in a primal rhythm. It’s all heat and friction and tangled limbs, the world narrowing down to nothing but the places where your bodies join so intimately.

You keen out his name like a prayer, the sound sending hot shockwaves of lust ricocheting through Charles’s core. Every nerve feels simultaneously set alight and yet thrumming with a paradoxical electric chill, sensations somehow magnified tenfold.

He’ll never get enough of this feeling — of being completely consumed by you, your passion, your overwhelming desire for each other burning so bright that everything else fades away into glorious insignificance ...

A guttural groan is torn from deep in Charles’ throat as your hips roll sensuously against his in wanton invitation. His head drops into the tempting curve of your neck, lips tracing maddeningly along your overheated skin as he struggles to maintain the barest thread of control.

“Y/N,” he rumbles out, your name laced with pure, undisguised reverence. “Mon ange ...”

You cup his face in your hands, forcing his heated gaze back to yours. For a crystalline moment, everything hangs in breathless suspension before you surge up to claim his mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Like a switch being flipped, the tenuous grip Charles had on his restraint abruptly snaps. A low groan tears from his very soul as he lets the irresistible tide finally pull him under, lost in the relentless thrall of your passion.

Your urgent cries spike higher as Charles’ hips drive forward in a smooth, powerful glide, joining your bodies with exquisite friction. You clutch at him wildly, nails raking lines of delicious fire across his back as the room narrows to nothing but scorching skin and thunderous heartbeats.

At last, the spiraling tension reaches a blinding crescendo, your release crashing over you in shattering waves of pure ecstasy. Charles’ own climax follows swiftly, torn from his very depths with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses bonelessly on top of you, lungs heaving like he’s just run a marathon as you both simply cling to each other through the sizzling aftershocks. Sparks still seem to crackle across his nerve endings from your earth-shattering joining.

After an endless stretch of languid moments, Charles finally gathers enough strength to ease himself to the side, gathering you in against his chest. You come willingly, draping yourself over him as he nuzzles into the top of your head and just breathes you in.

“Wow ...” you murmur at last when you’ve recovered enough to speak. A breathless giggle escapes as you press a soft kiss to the hollow of his throat. “And I thought last night was incredible.”

Charles rumbles out a deep chuckle, pressing his smile against your hair as his arms tighten reflexively around you. “Last night was just the warm up, mon cœur,” he husks out, voice still gloriously ragged from your shared passion.

You pull back just enough to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes, cheeks delightfully flushed and hair wildly tousled in a way that has Charles’ heart clenching near to bursting. Brushing a knuckle along his jaw, you give him a look rich with teasing promise.

“Well then ... if this is what I give you for winning Monaco,” you trail off meaningfully, letting the words hang suspended as your fingertips trail down the ridges of his abdomen. “I can’t even imagine what you’ll earn when you win the World Championship.”

The low, sultry purr of your tone sends delicious little licks of heat swirling through Charles’ veins despite his delightfully sated state. A wicked grin tugs at his lips as pulls you more fully on top of him again, glorying in your lush curves molded so perfectly against his own.

“Is that a challenge, Princesse?” He rumbles out, dipping his head to nibble along the elegant column of your throat. You let out the most deliciously breathy giggle that has his blood absolutely simmering.

“Mmm, maybe,” you hum out coyly, deft fingers trailing through the short hair at his nape in a way that makes his toes curl. “Although I suppose you’ll just have to win it and find out for yourself ...”

Charles feels a possessive growl rising up from deep within his chest as he abruptly flips you both, pinning your breathless laughter beneath him on the luxurious sheets. Gazing down at you with unbridled adoration blazing in his eyes, he steals another scorching kiss that leaves you both gasping for air.

“Oh, I fully intend to,” he vows fervently, reveling in the way your eyes have gone molten and dark with renewed desire. His hands map every inch of your body with fervent devotion as he leans down to murmur hotly against the shell of your ear.

“And when I do, Princesse … I’m never letting you go.”

[alisonsfics]

you are my sunshine

pairing: bucky barnes x thunderbolt!reader

summary: a team bonding day is just what the thunderbolts need after a string of rough missions. you set aside all your other stress and make one goal for the day: get bucky to finally kiss you.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: extremely soft and fluffy bucky

A soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. You already knew it was him. His metal fist making an echoing sound as it knocked against the wooden door.

You swung the door open.

“Hey, Bucky.” You said. Your smile made him weak in the knees.

Then he saw it.

A yellow sundress with small white accents ending right below your knees. The way it hugged your waist, made him crazy. It perfectly outlined your figure, like it’d been poured on as a liquid.

He just wanted to melt into you.

He sunk his nails into his thighs to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing your waist. “I…uh, hi,” he mumbled incoherently.

You watched his gaze roll down your frame, barely able to look you in the eye. “You’re allowed to compliment me. I won’t be offended.” You tried to encourage him.

He let out a sigh. “I don’t even know where to begin. You look like sunshine in human form.” He was in awe. You were like a magnet drawing him in, and he couldn’t pull himself away. And he didn’t want to.

Your heart swelled. That may have been the nicest thing Bucky, or anyone else, had ever said to you. “Anyway…uhh, the rest of the team wants to leave early. They sent me to check if you were ready yet.” He explained.

You nodded. “I’m ready.” You said, sweetly. “I’ll take this for you.” Bucky said, taking your tote bag out of your hands and leading the way to the car outside.

Bucky carrying your bag full of beach supplies made you feel like there were butterflies bursting out of your chest. You didn’t know why. It was so surprisingly domestic, which wasn’t a look you saw on him very often.

After your last mission, which had been a rough one. The team decided to rent a house close to the beach for the weekend.

It was nice to see Bucky recharge being in an environment that wasn’t life-threatening at every turn. You both had spent all of last night giggling and playing card games til midnight. You could feel his hardened exterior chipping away as he opened up to you more and more.

You walked down the driveway to the car where the rest of the team was hanging around. The girls cheered when they saw you. All of you piled into the car.

Alexei, naturally, was driving. Yelena was in the passenger seat and in charge of the aux cord. You were squished between Bucky and John in the second row, while Ava and Bob were sitting in the third row.

Bucky started telling you some goofy story about growing up in Brooklyn. Seeing him happy made you happy. It was like when you saw a baby or a puppy and it was so cute that you got cuteness aggression.

Watching Bucky gush about his happiest memories was like that.

It was like your skin was electric, and you physically couldn’t sit still. You wanted to hug him, or hold his hand, or pepper kisses all over his face.

You tried to restrain yourself. He’d probably think you were crazy if you did all those things. You tried to tone it down and still get your energy out.

You rested your hand on his thigh. He stuttered for a second, then jumped back into his story. His hand slowly inched over towards yours, letting his pinky brush against your own. It was like being zapped by an electric current.

You both froze for a second, catching each other's eyes. Embarrassed, you both looked away.

The car pulled up to a red light. You refused to look at Bucky, but you knew he was watching you. Your face burned under his gaze.

“Everybody, say cheese.” Yelena said, holding up her phone to talk a selfie of the group.

You smiled quickly sticking bunny ears up behind Bucky’s and John’s heads. Ava tried to stifle a giggle as she noticed your small prank. Alexei stuck out his tongue and held up a rock n roll hand.

“Bucky, scoot in. I can only see like half your face.” Yelena said.

He turned, resting his arm along the seat behind you. “Hey, no bunny ears for me.” He said, finally noticing as he scooted closer to you. He was shoulder-to-shoulder with you. If he’d been any closer, he would’ve been in your lap.

“Is that what you’re doing?” Walker asked, grabbing your hand and pulling it down. He glanced over your head at Bucky, who nodded at him. They both quickly put bunny ears behind your head.

“You’re a bunch of children.” Yelena teased as she snapped a couple photos.

When you got to the beach, Alexei, Bob, and Ava all dropped their bags and quickly ran down to the water. The rest of you starting setting up the beach chairs and towels.

“Hey, Bucky. Can you put some sunscreen on my back?” You asked. It took a lot of effort to hide your smirk as Bucky got flustered.

He finally looked at you, realizing you’d taken off your sundress and were standing before him in a white bikini. His pupils grew. His mouth felt dry as his eyes raked across every inch of your skin.

He tried to memorize every detail. He never wanted to forget the golden glow that the sun gave your skin. Or the way your bikini perfectly fit your body. Angelic— was the only word he could think of to describe it.

He’d gained Yelena’s and John’s attention by now. Watching as he fumbled around his words, not a single coherent sentence leaving his lips.

“I think what Bucky is trying to say is that you look amazing.” John said. The compliment was sincere even though his main goal was embarrassing Bucky.

“Sorry, doll. Yeah, I can help ya.” He said. He spread his legs, patting the place between them on his lounge chair. Realizing where he wanted you to sit, it was your turn to be flustered.

Still, you sat down. His thighs were pressed up against your hips. Your stomach turned in knots. A warmth starting to pool in your belly.

A sudden cold stinging on your back. Except— it wasn’t from the sunscreen. It was his metal hand.

Oh fuck— you hadn’t thought about how soothing his hand would feel on your burning skin. You felt unbelievably hot. Like you expected to see steam evaporating off your skin. But the cold jolt of Bucky’s metal digits provided a relief that made you melt into his touch.

“Sorry, doll. My hands are a little cold.” He had a cocky smile plastered to his face. The smug soldier knew exactly what he was doing. He heard the sigh that left your lips as he massaged your back, rubbing in the sunscreen— the same sigh you’d tried to disguise with a cough.

“It’s alright…feels nice,” you whispered, so only he could hear you.

He rubbed in the last bit of sunscreen, then let his hands sneak around your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder, pressing his chest against your back. “Make yourself at home,” you teased him.

“Maybe I will,” he retorted, nestling his face into your neck.

“Alright, come on lovebirds. Say cheese for the camera.” Yelena said, standing in front of you both.

You squinted at the camera, the bright sun making it impossible to open your eyes. You held your hand above your eyes to block the sun.

Without thinking, Bucky took his sunglasses off his head and slid them on your nose.

Your hands ghosted over his hands resting on your stomach as you both posed for the picture. “Okay, I’m done. Proceed with your canoodling.” She teased.

You turned over your shoulder; your face only millimeters from his. “You want to go swim?” You asked, pretending like you didn’t see his eyes flick down to your lips.

He licked his lips and quickly nodded his head. “Last one there is a rotten egg, super soldier.” You mocked before you took off sprinting towards the ocean. You couldn’t outrun Bucky, you knew that, so you were shocked when he hadn’t passed you yet.

Then, you felt your feet lifted up off the ground. You squealed as Bucky threw you over his shoulder. He ran down to the water, trying not to drop you as you squirmed.

He made it to water and softly placed you down beside him. “That is cheating. You’re disqualified from the race.” You said, poking your finger into his chest.

You waded into the water, and Bucky followed behind.

John and Yelena watched from their beach chairs. They both had books abandoned in their laps because it was just so much more entertaining to watch you and Bucky pretend like you weren’t in love.

“No way they’re leaving this trip without hooking up, right?” John said, looking over at Yelena. “Oh absolutely not. I’d say by the end of the day.” She countered. John raised his eyebrow, “wanna bet?” he asked, reaching his hand out.

“Oh, you’re so on.” She said, quickly shaking his hand.

“It feels so nice to just relax and not have any missions to worry about.” You said, talking to Bucky as you both walked deeper into the ocean. His hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt through your body. “Mhmm,” he responded, softly.

You went to step forward, but it was deeper than you expected it to be. Your foot slipped against the loose sand, but you felt two hands grab your forearms.

Bucky held you up, keeping you from falling under the water.

At the same time, you both realized how close you were standing. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer til there was no room between the two of you.

“Would you be mad if I kissed you?” Bucky asked. His voice came out soft; so soft he wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken the words or thought them.

“Mad? Oh definitely not. I’d encourage it.” You replied.

He chuckled before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Your bodies melded into one. To Bucky, you felt the missing puzzle piece of everything he’d ever wanted in life. His lips curved into a smile as he kissed you.

“I win!” You both heard Yelena scream. You both pulled apart and saw her jumping up and down and sticking her tongue out at John.

“Looks like our friends had bets on us.” You said, giggling.

“I’m really not surprised.” He said, leaning back in to kiss you again.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guiltandguitarstrings @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @iamavailablesstuff @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore  @astheskycries @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @marvelcasey05 @velyssaraptor @amanda08319 @sunwardsss @studentville-struggles @impossibleapricotlampbat @infjwinchester44 @weirdfishy @lickmymelaninn @eternally-timeless @andreasworlsboring101 @glassesandthunderthighs @spiderstyles04 @mostly-marvel-musings @madisondelstan @spookyparadisesheep @beyondthesefourwalls @basicfangirlx @rivirox @i-wish-i-knew-what-i-was @reniescarlett @multiplums @alotofrandomfangirling @bbl32 @bob-fucks @faykyrie @cherryyxbabyy @starsdancegirl @akumune @harrysthiccthighss

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my fics or for a specific character/fandom!!

[moviestarmartini]

yellow flowers. — jude bellingham x gf!reader

él sabía, ella sabía y se olvidaron de sus flores amarillas.

summary: how can your relationship recover from such a serious argument the night before?

wc: 975

warnings: angst, not that much dialogue, like three words in spanish, established long-term relationship.

A/N: WHAAAAT?? GIGI POSTING TWICE IN A DAY??? its more likely than you think! thank las flores amarillas hehe.

now playing... flores amarillas from floricienta

The fight was stupid, really. 

You both had to admit it was. Even then, that doesn’t take away the fact it snowballed into issues each of you held back for what seemed ages, and only ended up with Jude slamming the door on the way out of your apartment. 

After hours of crying, your own exhaustion from the ordeal lulled you to sleep. When you rose up in the morning, neither your mind nor your body prepared for the fact it was a Saturday. 

Nor the fact everyone and their mothers were receiving yellow flowers, something you’d always craved but were always just another bystander. 

If you listened to that song again you might just rip your hair off. 

You had a whole day planned with Jude after the game, he wanted to do something special, but the fact you couldn’t hold back your jealousy the night before was more than enough to dampen the idea, whatever it was. 

For a second, you tried to put things on the positive side. A self-care day. In theory it was wonderful, but the second you sat alone in the bubbly bathtub, you broke down in tears. 

You’d been together for years. You changed your whole life around him, learning German to go to school in the same country and planning your masters in Spanish. Maybe that was part of the reason he called you spineless; you adapted to other’s needs and perspectives easier. His words bounced around your head, each reminder taunting you more. 

To top it all off, Spotify seemed to have a vendetta against you, your daylist was insanely depressing. 

“Is this because he plays for Real Madrid?!” You spoke out into the world, growing frustrated with your situation. 

That did spark an idea in your brain; or more of a reminder. 

Jude had a game today. And you weren’t going to be there to watch him. That just made you jump out of the bath, get changed into decent clothes and leave the house for once to watch him at your best friend’s house upon her request, miserably so even when the team got their footing back up— knowing you should be in the stands cheering him on. But alas, you weren’t.

And you wondered if you would ever be again. 

The moment he fell clutching his shoulder, your heart stopped. Tears welled in your eyes but you avoided letting them escape, remembering the long hours of work and recovery, the utter joy you felt when he informed both you and the team he was comfortable playing without the big chunky brace again. All that, and it crumbled down right before your eyes, like your relationship. 

Still, you didn’t hesitate on reaching for your phone, not finding any elation on the team’s victory. 

[ I know you don’t want to see or hear from me ] 

[ But how’s your shoulder? I’m seriously concerned ] 

You knew he wasn’t going to reply right away, and when your companion found out who you’d texted, she ripped the phone out of your hands and put it away for the reminder of your evening laced with white wine and take out sushi. 

“Thank you for releasing me, master.” You joked by the time she gave you the mobile back, swallowing hard upon seeing Jude hadn’t replied. 

He hadn’t even read it. 

Now you were actually panicking, swallowing down the tears in the Uber and wishing the small elevator could go fast enough that you didn’t break down somewhere that wasn’t in the comfort of your home. 

You were overwhelmed enough that you didn’t even take into account your door was unlocked when you clearly left it locked, nor the warm light coming from the tiny space under the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Were the first words you registered before your eyes caught the indoor prairie your boyfriend had installed in your living room in the shape of yellow daisies. 

Your eyes trailed the hundreds of petals before your eyes finally fell on him, scanning from his toes up to the apologetic expression he was carrying. Now it all made sense; your friend insisted on getting you out of the house for this. He didn’t reply because of this. 

Though your heart was running at a whopping speed of thirty miles per second, your feet took you painfully slow— cautiously— towards him. You were still marveled, carefully watching where your sneakers landed to avoid stepping on the beautiful work he’d planned for you. 

“Perdón,” Jude repeated, as if the words in Spanish meant so much more than the English language. He opened his mouth for what seemed to be a rant, but the way you squeezed the life out of him with a desperate hug left him speechless, followed by your hugs. 

“I thought you— you were going to dump me and I would have to move back home and— and I can’t imagine that because I love you so much and that’s why I was scared!” You babbled between hiccups, trying to calm yourself down before his gentle hands cupping your face did the job spectacularly. 

“I would be such a fuckin’ idiot to do that.” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, not at you nor your claims, but at how ridiculous he had been. 

“Te perdono,” You sniffled, your bottom lip still puckered up ever so slightly. 

“But what’s all this?” You turned to look at the scene, something straight out of a Van Gogh painting. 

“You thought I forgot with the thousand TikToks you sent me on this day?” He leaned in to kiss your forehead before pulling you into another warm hug. 

“I also watch Gilmore Girls whenever you do. Whoops.” 

Your laugh echoed as you snuggled closer to him in your upright position, being extremely thankful the last sentence of the song wasn’t your reality.

A/N: if y'all seriously thought it wasn't going to have a happy ending you clearly don't know me well enough rip

[el4ise]

‘lil rebel ✦ 리키

cast ⤷ brother’s bestfriend!riki x reader

genre ⤷ fluff

warnings ⤷ swearing

soundtrack ♫ I like U by NIKI

✦ oppa always said, “my friends are off-limits”, but how can you listen when someone like riki exists?

the first time you met riki was when your oppa, sunghoon, brought his friends home for a boys gaming night. to your misfortune they were very loud and you could barely catch some peace. unfortunately, one of them somehow stumbled upon your room.

“oh shit- I'm sorry, I thought this was the bathroom.” he was wearing plain sweats and a grey hoodie. “no worries. the bathrooms right beside this one.” you calmly reply. he flashes you a smile before closing the door. he's glad you didn't see the cheeky smile he had. he thought you were pretty.

fortunately for him, you couldn't get his unfamiliar face out of your head.

you were cheering for sunghoon in their basketball game, decelis was behind by two points. and there was only a thirthy seconds left of the game. the enemy team had the ball with them, running quickly to your hoop. just as they were about to shoot, riki jumped— high. he caught the ball in his hands and ran, ran so fast your eyes could barely keep up.

score!

riki scored a three-pointer. winning for decelis. the crowd roars as you step down, running over to sunghoon. he gave you a high-five as he took the water you handed him. you could've sworn you saw riki staring at you in the corner of your eye, huh.

you could never tell sunghoon about your silly ‘little’ crush on riki. he would go insane and ban riki from the hangouts that were held in your house. it's good that you could tolerate the fact that you can only stare at him from afar, of have subtle interactions whenever they're crashing at your place.

you never thought it was reciprocated anyway.

until one day.

you somehow got to talk with riki that didn't involve sunghoon. the rain had a heavy downpour. sunghoon was being a jerk and wasn't replying to you. you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see a familiar dark haired boy; riki.

he handed you a yellow umbrella, a light smirk on his face. “get home safe, yeah?” you mumbled a thank you then asked. “what about you?” he brushed it off, “my noona’s picking me up. I'll be okay.” you nodded and he walked off.

later in the night, you get a text from an unknown number.

09121130: you got home safe?

: is this nishimura riki?

09121130: the one and only.

: yup! got home safe. I'll return the umbrella tmr. thank you riki <3

09121130: don't mention it. :)

[09121130 set your contact to ‘y/n :p’]

[y/n :p set your contact to ‘riki :o’]

after that night, you and riki weren't acquaintances anymore, you were friends.

acknowledgements turned into interactions, nodding at eachother’s presence turned into smiling at one another.

one day, riki stepped up and asked you out to ‘hangout’. and ofcourse, who were you to say no?

you lied and told sunghoon you were gonna meet megan, your bestfriend. good thing sunghoon doesn't question any further.

riki took you to a cat café, especially after he learnt that you loved cats. (after seeing you pet some near the school) when one perches in your lap and smother itself in your lap, he stares at you with hearts in his eyes. it's good you weren't paying attention.

when he heard you giggle, it was as if angels were humming in his ear. yeah, he's fallen inlove with you.

before you left, his hand grips your wrist gently.

“h-hey uhm.” you turn to him, confused. “listen, i.. i like you.” you freeze. are you hearing this right?

“you don't have to like me back.. I just needed to tell you..” his hand falls to his side, his eyes avoiding your gaze. “riki,” your voice is so soft, he could melt right then and there. he finally meets your gaze. before he could say anything, he feels your pillow lips graze his cheek.

he couldn't sleep that night, and neither could you. both of your hearts thumping in your chest, a pink flush on each of your cheeks.

y‘know sunghoon’s friends are off-limits. but it wouldn't hurt if he didn't know.

© work of httpzsho | do not repost or translate.

# taglist ──── @nishikio, @callikari, @amatariki, @stvrriki, @chowonasblog

[nizhspo]

haikyuu characters and their colleges!

genre: haikyuu headcanons

chars: atsumu miya, hajime iwaizumi, kei tsukishima, keiji akaashi, kentaro kyotani, kiyoomi sakusa, koutaro bokuto, osamu miya, rintaro suna, tooru oikawa

notes: in honor of college decision day last week

𖤐 ATSUMU MIYA, louisiana state university

psychology major. says he picked psychology to “study bitches,” but when attachment theory came up in class, he got real quiet. said, “nah, that explains a lot,” and didn’t speak again the whole lecture.

his dorm’s a double, but his roommate’s always at his girlfriend’s place, so atsumu basically lives alone. there’s a yellow LSU flag thumbtacked to the wall, crooked. purple string lights he never turns off. there’s always a protein shaker on his desk and an air fryer on top of his mini fridge that he’s definitely not supposed to have.

only asian in a d9 sorority. line name: “hurricane.” loud, reckless, unforgettable. most likely omega psi phi w/ his unpredictable ass.

he’s got school spirit like it’s his job, bro. tailgates in body paint, posts “GEAUX TIGERS” every saturday, and cries when they lose. he’s a campus menace, but professors like him ’cause he participates with just enough charm to keep his grade alive.

would definitely fuck one of the basketball player's girlfriends on accident. wasn’t even his fault—she came onto him, but word got around fast. now any time someone says “bro don’t let your girl near atsumu,” it’s not even a joke. he laughs it off in public, but he definitely switches routes to avoid the gym hallway.

when he likes you, it shows up in acts of chaos. sneaking into your lecture just to pass you a note that says u miss me? or waiting outside your class with an iced drink, grinning like a golden retriever. he’s loud, but when you talk, he listens for real.

𖤐 HAJIME IWAIZUMI, university of florida

kinesiology major. in class, he’s focused, raises his hand. he’s not loud about being smart, because he isn’t—not really, he’s just a hard worker. makes the deans list once. kinda falters off after that. schools hard man.

he’s got a dorm in athlete housing, but it’s clean. bed made, shoes lined up, weights by the closet. he’s always up early, always in motion. jogs before class, stretches while microwaving rice.

he didn’t pledge a frat. didn’t need to. everyone already knows him. football players dap him up, med students ask for his notes. he’s the guy people trust to hold their drink at parties.

he’s got school spirit, but only for game days. wears his hoodie, shows up to cheer, but doesn’t scream in the stands. he’s not flashy about pride. this is mainly because he got too into betting on the basketball team freshman year during march madness and literally went so broke he couldn’t afford groceries for 2 weeks until his next paycheck (work study).

when he likes you, it’s in how he shows up. carrying your books when you’re tired. fixing the strap on your backpack. standing between you and the guy who got too close at a party.

eater eater eater eaterrrrr!! bro would eat coochie in a public bathroom if you asked. #sorrythatsnotverycollegerelated.

anywaysss iwaizumi’s love isn’t loud. it’s reliable. it’s strong hands (y’all and i’m talking strong) and a softer voice than you expected.

𖤐 KEI TSUKISHIMA, university of chicago

paleobiology major. please don’t ask me what that means guys.

tsukki’s dorm is cold. literally and emotionally. he shares a double with a music major who’s always practicing guitar, and he hates it. his desk is perfectly organized. his bed’s made military-style.

he despises greek life. his social circle is small: one lab partner, one sarcastic roommate, and the girl who sits next to him in ancient ecosystems. if i called him a loser would y’all be mad LMFAOOO? sorry he just gives very didn’t-take-full-advantage-of-the-college-experience-because-he-was-too-busy-trying-to-aura-farm vibes. or maybe he takes more advantage his 2nd or 3rd year. starts to drink. allows himself to loosen up and goes to parties.

his first ever hook-up is his 2nd or 3rd year and she’s an upperclassmen. rides him so well he tries to ask her out like 2 days later. obviously gets shut down and probably becomes a shell for like a month. probably inspired a hoe era from him, too. good job, girl.

he doesn’t do school spirit. doesn’t do pep rallies. doesn’t even wear the merch unless it’s raining even though he was a prick in high school about how he got into uchicago.

in class, he’s absurdly smart. the kind who corrects professors smart. it’s a combination of too much time on his hands to study and genuine passion for that dinosaur shit. people think he’s arrogant. he is. but he’s usually right. doesn’t get all a’s though because he’s such an asshole to profs.

𖤐 KEIJI AKAASHI, columbia university

english & philosophy double major. was definitely an asshole in ap lit during highschool and got a 4 and almost crashed out. also always makes sure to specify he goes to columbia in ny and not chicago because he’s a pretentious bitch.

he’s got a single in a brownstone-style dorm that smells like bergamot and old books. it’s quiet. floor lamp, clean desk, moleskin journals stacked neatly beside a bluetooth speaker always playing something soft.

he didn’t even think about rushing. greek life isn’t his thing. instead, he edits for the campus lit mag and drinks espresso with the creative writing kids in dark cafes.

he never wears school merch on campus but has two columbia hoodies he likes to wear at the airport incase any wealthy alumni decide to bless his pockets. also has a little keychain.

never misses class. started off showing up in fitted sweaters and long coats, always prepared, until the 2nd week hit him like a truck and he realized everyone was just as great as him. it’s been sweats and dark circles ever since.

his essays however are hauntingly good. he quotes philosophers mid-conversation and makes it sound like poetry.

was long-term fucking w/ this aspiring-director-art-hoe from nyu until his grade dropped to a whopping c and he found himself on the subway train visiting her and sending letters more than he found himself in the library. tries shrooms for the first and last time with her.

when he likes you, it’s not a confession. it’s a gradual, undeniable presence. he saves you a seat in lecture. he remembers your coffee order. he leaves a book for you with a note that says, thought of you on page 84.

𖤐 KENTARO KYOTANI, university of oregon

undeclared. he’s got a double dorm but sleeps alone because his roommate transferred out by october. his side’s a mess of black hoodies, tangled chargers, and a punching bag duct-taped to the wall. there’s an air freshener clipped to the vent, but it’s not doing much. his window’s always cracked for his vape smoke.

he doesn’t do frat shit. hates being told what to do. parties off-campus at athlete houses or with randoms he met at the rec center. there’s always a blunt in rotation, a shoe missing, someone jumping off the roof.

doesn’t own a single piece of duck gear, but you’ll catch him in the student section during football games, yelling his throat out.

he’s technically undeclared but hovering around a kinesiology degree because a counselor told him he could work in sports without writing essays. he acts like he doesn’t care, but when his grades dropped too low to play intramural, he got pissed. started showing up to class with a hoodie over his head, earbuds in, hood still up.

he’s got a stupid, stupid crush on one of the girls from the track team (i mean y’all have you SEEN the oregon track team). walks past the field “on accident” every day.

when he likes you, it’s not obvious. not at first. it’s letting you steal his hoodie without a word. it’s sending you a pic of his dinner with the caption “ate today.” it’s leaning back on two legs of his chair and looking at you instead of the professor.

definitely has beef w/ one of the frat brothers or some shit because his mouth is slick as shit!! there’s atleast 1 frat house that has him banned for life!!

𖤐 KIYOOMI SAKUSA, university of michigan

microbiology major. ok no glaze because i was just lowk on akaashi’s dick but this guy is brilliant. high GPA, terrifying in labs. he’s just one of those people that get the whole college thing. professors love him, classmates avoid him. knows when to ask the write questions, when to challenge the professor and when to kiss-up.

he’s got a single in the newest dorm building, top floor, near a fire exit so no one has to pass by his door. everything’s black, white, or navy. there’s sanitizer by the bed and lint rollers in every drawer.

he hates frats. thinks they’re germ farms. instead, he lowk keeps to himself besides maybe like one club or society related to his major. shows up to class early, sits far back, never shares pens. ALSO is at every single internship job-fair and finds it absolutely disgusting how many hands he has to shake and vaguely considers being broke the rest of his life.

he doesn’t care for school spirit but owns one michigan hoodie because his cousin got it for him. he only wears it when it’s clean.

but when he likes you? you know. he wipes your phone screen when you’re not looking. he texts, drink water. he lets you wear his hoodie home and doesn’t ask for it back. when you’re sick, he shows up with meds and soup and mumbles, “you’re annoying when you don’t take care of yourself.”

guys i’m gonna be honest i’m trying to figure out how i wanna characterize him still y’all gotta let me work through it.

𖤐 KOUTARO BOKUTO, university of alabama

communications major. whatever the fuck that means. he takes class seriously when he connects with the professor. when he doesn’t? he’s doodling mascots in the margins or texting in the groupchat about lunch. still pulls a B+ average on sheer charm and effort. fails like two classes though because charm can’t win em all. also takes badminton as an elective.

and LAWDDD them bama girls love him down!! if he was in any type of relationship leaving high school that is done by orientation week! and don’t let him put on a damn cowboy hat and some boots lord they finna fuck him right there in the stands @ the football game.

he’s in a triple dorm, and somehow all three of them actually get along. there’s a group chat called “THE BOYS” in all caps, a giant whiteboard on the wall with their gym schedules, and a disco light they use for impromptu room raves. it prolly smell like a little bit of shit in there though.

definitely one of those dudes walking barefoot in the communal bathrooms with his NASTY ASS. also takes unapologetic shits in there too.

bokuto pledged and thrived though!! he’s the social chair of his frat, known for making the best playlists and leading the most unhinged chants during rush. he’s the heart of game day, standing on coolers, shirt half-off, rallying strangers like it’s a religion.

definitely had some poor girl make him a frat cooler though. he’s so lovable it’s easy to get sucked into his orbit but girl.. he really is just like that w/ everyone.

BUT on a contrary note when he does stop being a campus whore and finally gets a crush.. it’s loud. when he likes you, it’s so loud. he makes you a friendship bracelet in your school colors. he shows up to walk you to class with two iced coffees and a grin so wide it makes you forget what you were mad about (probably him being a friendly ass bitch). you meet his frat brothers, his favorite professor, the gym receptionist, everyone. he introduces you like he’s proud, like he’s won something.

and when he gets drunk at a tailgate, he grabs your face and slurs, “i love you so much, it’s not even funny.” but in that lovebombing way dudes like to do. there’s probably like seven girls on campus by the time he graduates who he’s told he loves. he’s got a big heart, y’all it’s not even his fault he rlly believes it!!!

it’s never quiet with him. but the love’s loud in the best way. also i forgot he does manage to score a good ass internship through a job fair because he’s goated when it comes to talking his way into shit.

𖤐 OSAMU MIYA, university of georgia

culinary science & business major. in class, he’s quiet but respected. professors know his name. he’s never late, never flashy, just consistent. the kind of student who emails thank-you notes after a good semester (what a sweetheart). does has beef w/ one professor who doesn’t believe in a’s and his praying for her to croak.

osamu’s dorm is off-campus housing by junior year. a small one-bedroom with a balcony herb garden, cast iron skillet on the stove, and a shoe rack by the door that he actually uses. smells like garlic, rice, and comfort.

he skipped the frat route. never saw the point. he’s got a tight group of friends who show up to his pop-up food stand every friday without fail.

he doesn’t care about school spirit but owns two UGA hoodies that he wears on rotation. one has a grease stain he swears isn’t permanent.

when he likes you, he feeds you. always. he packs you lunch “just in case” even though you already ate. he asks about your allergies before your first date. he notices when you’re low energy and hands you a snack without saying anything. PREPARE TO END UP A FATASS.

he’s not romantic in the traditional way. he’s practical. steady. but one night, he leaves a note on your container lid that says, you looked pretty today. eat up.

on a hoe-ier note, he probably only gains like 3-4 bodies during college. much better than his brother who most likely ends up burnt by the time he pledges LMFAOOO #iykyk. osamu ends up settling down pretty quickly.

𖤐 RINTARO SUNA, arizona state university

film major. destined to be broke. a24 asshole. his parents probably convince him to add business in there atleast so their son doesn’t end up spending the next 60 years of his life at 7/11.

freshman year, he lives in a shared dorm, second floor, end of the hall. it’s basic as hell. blinds always shut, a fan in the window humming low, vape clouds hanging lazy in the air. one bed’s made perfectly, the other’s always a mess. his desk is cluttered with film cameras, empty yerba mate cans, and one lonely cactus he never waters.

BRO DOESN’T DO LAUNDRY. definitely a sniff test type of guy (yeah we see that shit stain buddy). but no LMFAOO it rlly does take him to like mid-way freshman year when he realizes the onion smell is him to turn it around 180°. gets rlly into cologne after that. yay improvement!!

he didn’t plan on rushing. at all. thought greek life was weird. he liked pulling up to parties where nobody knew his name. liked being the mystery with the good music. he always had the aux. always. people let him cut the line just to take over. does sometimes get too carried away w that slow shit. why are you playing frank ocean dawg you’re abt to make us cry?

but anyways sophomore year, when a couple of his close friends started pledging, they convinced him to come meet their frat. and surprisingly? he vibed with it. no toxic hazing. no fake shit. just a solid group of guys who threw good parties and respected boundaries. by junior year, he was living in the frat house top floor, corner room, two big windows he never opened, a record player spinning slow. he never wore the letters loud, never posted about it. but when people asked, he’d just shrug, “yeah, i’m in.”

he’s got a reputation. the chill guy who controls the aux like a god. discovered baby keem. was gatekeeping lucki until he blew up and now he’s listening to random underground that sounds like a samsung refrigerator. and gaslighting girls to the 1975 and pink pantheress.

don’t let him hit your pen or vape. this man is addicted. “i can quit whenever” ass!! will chief your shit AND chiefs the blunt too!!

anyways i’m hating too much so.. when he likes you, it starts in silence. he hands you the aux for ten minutes just to see what you’ll play. he saves you a seat on the roof during after-parties. he doesn’t kiss you in front of people, but when the night ends, you’re the one in his hoodie, laughing at nothing, walking back with him under campus lights.

also always has money on the game. friends w/ a couple of the basketball team and tell them he has money on that shit so they better not fuck up. you’ll catch him on the couch during march madness, hoodie up, phone in hand, whispering “don’t fuck this up, bro” like he’s coaching from the couch.

𖤐 TOORU OIKAWA, university of miami

sports management major & public relations minor. he’s a demon in class, but also kind irritating sometimes. talks just enough to sound smart, is saying absolutely NOTHING in the most amount of words possible on his discussion boards, and turns in perfect assignments at 11:58PM. also gives presentations that feel like TED talks.

he’s a little too polished first semester. too flirty with his professors. never seen in sweatpants. but all that shit crumbles second semester. he still looks presentable, but he’s in sweats and slides and basketball shorts way more often.

decorated the fuck out of his room. warm lighting, scented candles, beach towels. a mirror by the door for last looks before going out, and he always checks his hair twice. didn’t really like his roommate at first. fucked 2 girls on his bed (not at the same time.. or maybe at the same time shit who knows!) and then started to become cool w/ the guy so he never told him.

he didn’t pledge. says he’s “above that.” instead, he’s built a curated circle of beach volleyball guys, fashion majors, and business girlies who all adore him. a hoe, but not even that bad fr like he has good standards if that makes sense.

but when he likes you? all that polish starts to slip. he texts you good morning before he even opens his laptop. he lets you see him in glasses, hair messy, eyes tired. he brings you back souvenirs from break and writes notes in spanish on post-its (yes he’s a prick taking advanced spanish.)

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° praying ' feet don't fail me now '

( bachira meguru x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood best friends to lovers series!!

♡ word count — 1.2k

♡ content — bachira meguru x fem! reader, childhood best friends to lovers, goes from ages three to the u-20 game,

♡ synopsis — Growing up, Meguru Bachira had two friends—and two friends alone: the monster that no one else saw, and you. And in his mind, that was all he needed.

Growing up, Meguru Bachira had two friends—and two friends alone: the monster that no one else saw, and you.

You met him on a hot summer afternoon when you were three years old. The playground was swarming with noisy children, sticky fingers clinging to juice boxes and crusty sand-covered toys.

You were holding court beneath the big slide, where your popularity bloomed even back then. Kids circled around you like satellites—laughing when you laughed, watching where you pointed.

And then you saw him.

A boy, perched on the edge of the sandbox with wild, shaggy hair and the widest yellow eyes you’d ever seen.

He was talking—to no one, it seemed—and moving his fingers through the air like he was painting something only he could see.

Sitting in the sandbox alone, tracing shapes into the sand with a stick.

He wasn’t crying, but he looked like he had every reason to.

Some kids had called him weird.

Others said he talked to himself.

One even pushed him when no one was looking.

But you saw him.

You left your kingdom beneath the slide without a word.

He blinked when you crouched down in front of him. “Are you playing with someone?”

“My monster,” he said, not looking at you.

Most kids would’ve laughed. Or backed away. But you tilted your head, curious. “Can I play too?”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I want to meet your monster first.”

That was the beginning.

From that day on, Meguru Bachira had two friends: his monster, and you—and that was more than enough.

As the years passed, your worlds stayed tangled.

In elementary school, you were the girl who could talk anyone into anything. Kids followed your lead like it was instinct, and adults praised how well you got along with everyone. But no matter how many people clung to your orbit, you only ever circled one boy: Meguru.

You sat with him at lunch. You picked him first in group games. And when kids whispered things about him—about the way he laughed too loud or talked to things that weren’t there—you told them to shut up.

“You like him?” someone once sneered in third grade.

You blinked, as if the question was ridiculous. “Obviously.”

Middle school was harder. Puberty made people mean, and popularity became currency. You were rich in it—liked by everyone, admired for how honest you were, how you never put on a mask. 

Kids whispered louder. They laughed when he answered questions too fast or smiled too wide. And you? You heard it all. You were too sharp, too outspoken to let it slide. 

But people still talked behind Bachira’s back. Sometimes to his face.

One day, after someone called him a freak in the hallway, you stormed up to him, face red with fury.

“Next time they say something, I’ll say something back. I don’t care, I’m not letting them get away with it.”

But he shook his head, a soft smile on his lips.

“No. Don’t. You don't have to do that. I have you—and my monster. That’s enough.”

That was the same year he discovered soccer. T

he same year he kicked a ball for the first time and heard his monster cheer. 

And the same year you sat in the grass for hours, watching him practice alone with a makeshift goal and an old ball.

You never understood why he loved it so much. 

But when you saw the fire in his eyes, the way he looked alive in a way that only happened when he played, you figured... maybe it didn’t matter.

High school came, and with it, new uniforms, new pressures, and new boys who thought they were better than they really were.

One day you stood near the edge of the soccer field, sipping a red Icee, watching as the team ran drills. You weren’t really paying attention—until you overheard a few boys near the bench whispering:

“Let’s not pass to him in scrims today. Freak always plays like it’s a one-man show anyway.”

“Coach only keeps him because he racks up assists. Still plays like he’s in his own head.”

“Bet he talks to the ball.”

You didn’t even think. You just moved.

Your hand flew out. Red Icee hit cotton. It splattered across their white jerseys like blood. They shouted, stepping back in shock.

“What the hell?!”

You raised an eyebrow, voice sharp. “Let’s look at some stats, shall we? Most goals? Bachira. Most assists? Bachira. Fastest recovery time after injury? Bachira. So tell me, exactly how do you think you’re winning?”

They stammered. One tried to argue, but you weren’t having it. You turned and walked away, your ponytail swaying like a battle flag.

From across the field, Bachira had seen everything.

And it was in that moment—shirt soaked in sweat, breath still heavy from drills, the sun catching in your eyes as you marched away like some kind of storm goddess—that he swore he fell in love with you.

He didn’t tell you right away. But he started finding new reasons to walk you home. 

New excuses to hang around your house. 

New ways to make you laugh. 

And every time your hand brushed his, he swore his heartbeat was doing backflips.

It wasn’t until one late afternoon—walking home in the sunset, sneakers crunching against gravel—that he finally said it.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You stopped. Blinked. Turned to him slowly. “You think?”

He grinned, a little sheepish. “Okay. I am in love with you.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes as you stepped closer, hands reaching for his hoodie. “Took you long enough.”

You kissed him first. He kissed you second. And somewhere in the distance, his monster laughed.

Then the Blue Lock letter came.

You were sitting beside him in his room, feet tucked under a blanket, when he opened it. You gasped before he could.

“Oh my god. Meguru, you—this is—this is huge!”

He stared at the letter. Quiet. Too quiet.

“You’re going, right?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“What if they’re right? What if I am a freak? What if I get there and it’s just more people like them? I can’t do it without—”

You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Meguru. Look at me. You are not a freak. You’re brilliant. You’re a genius on the field. And they’ll see it—you’ll make them see it.”

He blinked, eyes glassy.

“Prove them wrong,” you said. “Prove them all wrong.”

You kissed him like it was a promise. And a week later, you were at the train station, hugging him tight, trying not to cry as he boarded.

“Come back to me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised. “And when I do—I’ll be the best.”

The day of the U-20 game, you were there. Front row, signs painted in yellow and black, wearing his number.

You screamed every time he touched the ball. Cursed when he got knocked down. Jumped up and down like a maniac when he scored.

And when they won—you didn’t wait.

You ran past security. Dodged the guards. Your shoes hit the pitch like thunder.

He turned just in time to catch you, your arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

“See?” you grinned, breathless. “I told you!”

He laughed, holding you up, the stadium a blur around him.

And then, he said it—quietly, just for you.

“She’s gone…”

Your smile faltered. “Huh? Who—?”

“My monster,” he said. “She’s gone.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head.

“I’ve met some amazing people,” he whispered. “But no one like you. Thank you. For everything.”

Then he kissed you. Right there, in front of everyone. With his silly smile and wild eyes and heart full of fire, Meguru Bachira kissed the girl who had been there from the very beginning.

And he knew—

He didn’t need the monster anymore.

He had you.

bachira my love, idk why i don't write for you more

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[luvwestwood]

"Give Me Five" - Choso Kamo

4,591 words.

₊˚༊*·˚ warnings. nsfw (18+), ice-hockey player! choso, bestfriend's brother trope, p in v, resolved sexual tensions, foreplay, fingering, titty sucking, choso fucks you in his jersey, orgasm denial, praising, hair pulling, rough play, nsfw links (underlined), spitting kink, mirror play, feral choso

₊˚༊*·˚ notes. I absolutely enjoyed making this special request for @moonriseoverkyoto! thank you all so much for 700 followers ^^ included a link for you lovelies as a gift, hehe I hope to send more work your way soon :) thank you for the love and support this whole month!

rightful art credits to @/kmskc_f, @/yume041624, @/elcheggen, @/uoru1_juju (all on twt)!

(russian translation) - creds to @juliabelll 🩷

Goosebumps formed all over your skin as you were met with the coldness of the rink. Bits of regret filled you for being stubborn this morning, choosing to not wear extra layers. Squinting, you look around to find a close friend of yours, not too far a figure jumping up and down catches your eye.

"Hey! Over here- I'm here!" Yuji called to you in his typical, chirpy voice. Multiple heads turned to the sudden commotion, followed by another look to your direction. Embarrassed, you facepalm; whispering quiet apologies to others as you squeeze past the row of seats, making your way over.

"Yuji!- I got caught in traffic. Did I miss anything?" You fold down the seat next to him, the excited Yuji passing you another one of those generic team jerseys that he also had on. You take a good look at it before putting the garment over your head, the team colours being black and yellow.

Beside you, the boy rummages through a large plastic bag of popcorn. "Mmph- No- My brother would be happy if he knew- You were here." His eyes were wide open and alert, observing the game like a hawk.

"..Ah, it's nothing. If I didn't go, I would have been rotting at home." You giggled, knowing the real answer. As soon as Yuji sent the text, 'wanna go to my brother's game next weekend?'. You had to go. You've been dying to go. Ever since you met Choso for the first time, you made good use of every opportunity you had to see him.

He had an unforgettable face, and a dreamy body you'd sometimes, and shamelessly catch a glimpse of from time to time. But you were doubting, and unsure if the feeling was mutual. The man was busy, which drove you to think he had no time for a woman in his life.

You fixate your head to the rink in front of you. Of course, you got a hold of the best seats. Yuji being the brother of a world renowned hockey player had it’s benefits.

The same bag of popcorn lands firmly onto your lap, Yuji reaching for the soda cup underneath his foot. "Hmm, he looks pissed though. I think I know why." He leans back, index finger scratching at his head.

You furrow your brows, taking several glances around the ice. A familiar back faced you, 'Kamo' and '12' plastered onto the behind of his jersey. Dark hair effortlessly left down, not too much going on. A couple loose strands falling onto his face, Choso looked like a dream. Yuji beside you shrieks for his name, cheering his brother on.

Choso spins around, glaring at the audience. He was outraged, and you weren't sure why. He didn't dare smile, or wave. Yuji grunts at his brothers reaction, smile fading and slouching back down onto the seat.

"..Oh, I get what you mean now." It was undeniable that Choso was a different person behind his helmet, and that he took the sport seriously. He always wanted to make everyone proud. As one of the best players on his team, everyone counted on him, so there was a generous amount of pressure on his shoulders.

The screeching blow of a whistle shrills throughout the arena for half time, Choso violently shoving his hockey stick onto the ice. Plenty of teammates approach him, others choose to not get involved. Either way, he shoves past them. Everyone around you seemed confused, wondering what made him so agitated. You watched as he cursed to his higher-ups, hands strongly gripping onto the side wall.

"Every day, I fucking hate this sport more and more." Choso speaks through gritted teeth, angrily ripping off his helmet. "Piece of shit."

The staff team stands aside, ushering him out of the rink. His coach guides him over to the side bench, crouching down to give him a typical, motivational chat. Choso only puts his head down and into his gloved hands, becoming more and more annoyed by the second.

"Kamo- you know what? Bring your ass back to the locker room and give yourself five." Not knowing what to do, his coach decides it was best for him to blow off some steam. Not letting out another word, he storms off back into the locker rooms, the crowds groaning as he does so; the privacy invading camera focusing on him.

Chatter filled the air between the crowds around you. “..What happened to him? Your brother just stormed off.” You turn to Yuji, confused and filled with millions of questions.

"No clue, but I'm still a bit hungry." Yuji sighs, looking at the now empty plastic bag of popcorn. He takes a sip of what's left in his soda cup.

"..What? You are?" You look through your purse for some money. More than enough, that's for sure. A wrinkled twenty bill was tucked away inside. "Here- I'll go and get you something. It's on me."

You could've sworn that you had seen happiness twinkle in his eyes. This boy certainly loves to eat. "..Really?" He smiles, in response you nod your head up and down.

"Yeah! Just give me five, I'll be back as soon as possible." You warmly confirm the offer and he nods, shortly before you had to endure the entire process squeezing your way back out of the row.

You walk off into the tunnel leading to the outside of the arena. So many halls, and I’m not even familiar with this place. The two minute stroll led you to nowhere anyways, resulting in you doubting yourself. “…Where’s the food court?” You pout, coming to the conclusion you had probably been walking in circles this whole time.

The next long corridor you were met with was filled with doors everywhere. Loads of them. “..Ah.. have I been here before?”

Walking past each door, you look around for anybody nearby who was able to provide some sort of guidance. Hopeless, there was no one at all. Until one door you had walked past was slightly open, the light on. Maybe someone was in there? You genuinely just wanted to get your hot dogs.

You retrace your steps backwards, the faint sound of two voices coming from the room. Curious, you peeked your head through the slight gap.

"I don't think I did my best out there." It was Choso, elbows on knees on a padded seat. Heaving heavily, pulling the last strings of himself together. His coach with arms crossed in front of him. The conversation was hard to make out, but you were still able to put together some bits of it.

Clutching tightly onto your necklace, you couldn't help but feel concerned. Choso adored this sport with his entire heart, but so much he didn't have time to do anything else. Yuji always talked about how distant he could be when preparing for the new season.

The cursing stops, and before you know it, the door in front of you was wide open; framing you to look like an absolute snoop. You howl, instantly stepping back from the door frame. The same coach stood in front of you, an appalling look on his face. "Who the hell are you?! A money hungry reporter? Guards!-"

You nervously laugh, "Oh- No, no- I'm not a-", endless words were coming out of your mouth in a complete babble.

"..I know her." Choso who was watching everything unfold, tilted his head to the side, looking to see who was at the door.

The coach looks at you with an unamused expression, giving Choso a double look. His voice grows low, speaking in a discreet manner. "How about you talk it out with him. He needs it." He says before walking away from the frame, giving you a stare down as he does so.

Dumbfounded, a string of words only come out in a disoriented patter, "..I was just, looking for the.. concession stand.."

Choso on the other hand, keeps quiet. Blankly staring at the carpeted floor. His gloves and skates were off, but his jersey still on. You gulp, considering if you should speak anymore; scared that you'll only tick him off further.

Your hands rested in each of your palms, unsure whether you should step inside. "..I'm here with your brother, actually- cause he invited me to-"

"I know. I wanted you to come. I invited you, I told him to ask you." Choso speaks lowly, his tone different from when he was talking to the coach. He lets out a labored sigh, mumbling. "..Only for me to play like absolute shit,"

Processing what he had just said, it still changed your entire perspective. You didn't know how to think of it though, so you simply looked over it.

Deciding to approach him rather than standing at the door like some stranger, you close the door behind you. Recalling the coach talking about 'money hungry reporters', you didn't want to take any chances. "..I don't mean to pry, but do you want to talk about.. this?" Sitting down on the free seat beside Choso, you were careful with your choice of words. You didn't want to dig the hole any deeper. Making yourself comfortable, you set your bag away to the side and faced him.

Choso's voice was more soft, and it wasn't as stern to when he was talking to his coach. "..I just don't approve of how I'm performing lately."

Personally, you didn't know much about ice hockey. Nor did you store any valuable advice for it in your brain. It pained you to think that if you were to give him advice, you'd sound like a typical high school guidance counselor.

"Oh, well um.." You purse your lips, trying to come up with something to say. "Is it because you're.. stressed?" Still unsure of what to do, your hand slowly makes its way onto the flat of his back; slowly rubbing shapes all over to comfort him.

"Probably." Although his voice was now mellow, Choso's replies were becoming short and quick. You were afraid that this talking out was of no use to him.

Your hand stops its movements, "..Should you do something about it? Like let it out?", Choso lifts his head up, turning to you. A gulp forces down your throat at how intense he was eyeing you, your own eyes unable to hold contact.

Choso blinks, head turning away once again to rest his chin on his palm. "..I don't know how." That was his problem, Choso wasn't good at letting out his emotions. He usually bottled them up, and solved his personal problems on his own— you could almost refer to him as a stoic being.

Clearing your throat, you bite your lower lip to try and think of something. You gave him the advice, but you didn't know the method yourself. This is why I could never be a therapist.

You mentally curse at yourself, trying to come up with a suggestion that isn't so cheesy like, do what you love to do!

"..I don't know either.. Me- I guess?" A worried expression washes over your face, a mazed Choso turning his head to you for the second time.

A perplexed, questioning noise came stirred up in him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Eyes fluttering, you were unable to provide him with another answer. What did you mean by, 'me'? Was it just another one of those moments where you let your mouth speak before you think? "..You could let it out.. on me?"

Chosos demeanor had altered, his chin peeling away from the warmth of his palm. His body sat upright as he looked at you, his lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if he was mortified or enthralled; and you were almost begging for him to say something.

He closes his mouth and swallows some spit to nourish his dried out throat, before standing up in front of you. You feel as if your beating heart were to take over your entire body and head any second now. A lingering tension in the air so thick— not even a lumberjack could saw through it.

Choso's eyes surveying you from top to bottom, studying the features on your face— his thumb swipes across your cheek in a tender, reassuring matter. He was grateful of your offer, but he just couldn't bring himself to directly accept it.

Choso's hand slowly moves down your face, the tip of his thumb gently pressing down on your lower lip. "..You look good in our jersey," His thumb forces the rest of its way into your mouth, "..but even better if it was my own." Was this a code phrase for, 'I need to fuck you, and I need to fuck you now?' His thoughts drifted off to filthy things—like imagining himself rutting into you in his own, bespoke jersey, 'Kamo' in a dirty gold written on your back as you take him whole like a good girl.

Your breath hitches, his finger gliding over the surface of your tongue before he decides to pull it back out. Choso starts to take off the gear on his upper half, both the body pads and jersey.

It was difficult enough to keep your eyes off the now, half naked Choso in front of you. His body muscular and perfectly carved from all of the work he's been putting in for preparation, Choso was more than pleasing to look at. He tosses his jersey and gear beside you, his hands grabbing onto the flesh of your waist.

Lifting you from the seat, you wrap your legs around his torso, lips desperately locking onto each other as he switched positions. The two of you now sitting back down on the seat.

Short mewls and gasps for air leave your mouth as you started to pull your top over your head; Choso's hands roaming all over the surface of your ass. Your hands travel down his chest, your finger tips tracing over his abs painfully slow. Tongues tangling, Choso swallowing any moan he could get from you, especially after the distressingly slow period of yearning for one another. It felt like a reward.

Being the skilled man he is, his fingertips undo the clasp of your bra effortlessly. Groaning in satisfaction, eyes closed and sucking; a free hand fondling with the other.

You claw your fingers through his hair, quietly moaning as he hungrily latched onto your nipple. Arching against his bare skin, you ached to keep him close, and possibly closer. Amidst the sucking, Choso reaches for his jersey beside him, gesturing you to put it over your head. He fulfilled his wish. You proudly raise your arms up, feeling the fabric graze against your skin. It was quite massive on you, hence himself being twice your size.

Impatient, your curious hands wander off to the waistband of his pants; his safety gear already being off had made it easier. Reaching down and past his skin tight shorts, a thought evoking in you causing your hand to withdraw.

"..W-wait," You pant, "What about everyone out there?" You couldn't help but worry about those outside who would start to get suspicious. You knew how much this mattered to him.

Choso rolls his eyes. "I don't really care, they're assholes anyway. Let them wait." His lips only make its way back onto the skin of your neck, warm breath fanning down your sternum. He didn't care if everyone else were to wait outside. He had been waiting for this moment, dreaming about it - and would do anything to not miss it.

Using two hands, you possessively grab onto his jaw to keep him closer, Choso's hands cheekily moving up inside the jersey and cupping onto both of your tits. He really loves them, doesn't he?

Pulling away for another breath your lips miss his already. You hop off his lap, hastily unbuttoning and kicking off your jeans. They fly away to the other side of the locker room, Choso pulling you back into his embarace. But this time, you were facing the other way.

His fingers tug onto the hem of your panties, pulling them back until they snapped against your skin; the stinging sound echoing throughout the room.

You intently watch yourself in the full length mirror across from you two, Choso using his hands to guide your legs open; his head falling onto the crook of your neck.

Choso's hand slowly made its way down to the your panties, his fingertips moving the fabric to the side. Toying with your folds, taking his sweet time. His delicate, addicting touch giving you shivers all over. You close your eyes to indulge in the ecstasy of this moment; scolding yourself for not doing this with him any sooner.

His same fingertips circle your clit, the speed of his movements fluctuating; which resulted in you grabbing onto his bicep, your body sinking down into his lap. Choso watches you break into pieces under his touch, how you repeatedly tap on his arm- asking for leniency.

Choso leans down to your ear, his throaty voice almost sounding like he's purring. “Just relax for me, I can feel you’re too tensed up.” Wasn’t it supposed to be me who gives him advice? Why is it that the roles have reversed?

The back of your head presses deeply into his chest, Choso bringing retrieving fingers give them a generous suck before pushing them into you. His fingers curl up inside, working them in a motion that emits a squelching noise.

“C-Choso, it’s too much- please,” A whimper crawls out of your throat, the man above you cooing and hushing you.

Your hair raising pleas being the catalyst for him only wanting to do more than he already is. His middle finger taps and teases and your bundle of nerves, his strength making your tug on his wrist pointless. “..Shh, you don’t want them to hear, do you?”

You frantically shake your head from side to side, Choso grinning against the top of your head as he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock straining against his shorts, he would take a photo to make this memory last.

His gestures come to a halt and you whine, Choso had forbidden you from orgasming. "Choso!" You hiss as he glues his hands to your hips, twirling you around against the seat.

Mindfully pressing onto the flat of your lower back, he bends you forward; in need of support, your hands reached for the wooden slabs that divided the seats. His strong hands rip your underwear into fragments off your body, Choso sneering at you nagging him.

His actions in no rush, the same hands that were cupping your pussy now feeling down your back, Choso sheepishly grinning at this fresh new view, a degree of gratification fills him for the hundredth time at the sight of 'Kamo' and '12' plastered on your back.

You reach behind you, barely tapping your fingers on Choso's pelvis to grab his attention. He leans down to hear what you had to say, the imprint of his cock imprisoned by his shorts pressed against your bare pussy.

“..Let it all out, I promise I’ll be okay.” Your hand snaked behind his head, fingers combing through his hair one last time. His body heat glossed over your behind, a position so intimate.“Just tell me if I’m hurting you, alright?”

Nodding in approval, Choso withdraws into his old position. Grabbing for his girthy cock out of his shorts, he groans as he jerks it ever so slightly. Forming an orb of spit on his tongue, letting it fall directly onto his length. He doesn't waste anymore time to slide it in, the objective of not hurting you still at the back of his mind.

You let out a long, awaited whimper that broke out into a pained sniffle, his entire length stretching you out. Your anchoring onto the wooden panels only grew stronger, Choso stilling in you for a few moments. The two of you create a symphony of guilty satisfaction, Choso himself unable to process that you let him inside of you; luckiest man in the world, he thought.

His grip on the plush of your waist transition into a soothing massage, “..Are you okay?” Concerned, he regards your strained noises.

Tears well up in your eyes, Choso rubbing his hands up and down your back. “..I-I’m fine.” You replied, managing to form some words. Even though it hurts, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted this as much as he did. He inhales deeply, grunting as his hips stroked into you slow and deep. He took you in like a work of art, savoring every minute, second with you.

“Fuck, Choso- just go faster will you? I know you want to.” You choke out, words dying in your throat. Choso obeying the green llight, you felt him grab and twist onto the fabric of the jersey behind you, his hips snapping into you at a faster pace.

A cacophony of skin slapping and moaning echoed throughout the room, Choso brings his hand down to toy with your clit; heightening your stimulation. Your entire body jolting with each of his thrusts, his little praises like 'good girl', and 'you're taking me so well' making your sex pool like mad.

Broken and choppy curses slip past your wet llips, Choso letting go of the jersey and fixing his grip on your scalp, pulling your head back towards him.

His hand sneaks underneath your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you furrow your brows up at him. Your mouth stays wide open, moans no longer heard coming out from it. "Look at me baby," lids shut at the colossal pleasure, Choso needs not to repeat himself; but he does. "I said, look at me," Hauling your eyelids up, a vision of Choso glaring down at you from above— he wasn't the same person as the one half an hour ago.

Choso drops yet another ball of spit into your mouth, patting on the bottom of your chin telling you to shut and swallow, letting out a throaty sound in approval.

Clawing his fingers back into your scalp, he pushes your head back down. His leg lands onto the seat beside you, his thrusts brutally drilling into you deeper than before; Choso definitely rearranging your guts. You let him use you, so he did exactly that. Hell- if you two had a bed, just make sure you have enough saved for a new one the next day.

Makeup was unfortunately ruined from tears and spit, your hair no longer in perfect style from all the grabbing. His heavy balls relentlessly slapped against your clit, Choso huffing quietly.

He takes a hold of your two wrists, prying you from the comfort of the seat and commanding you to stand. Hypnotised, you watched everything unfold; Choso still holding onto your arms behind you as he continued to rut into your hole like a mad man.

Your cheeks were stained with tears, all sorts of unimaginable feelings stirring in the pool of your stomach; Choso already grows bored of the position. He swiftly lides you off his cock, turning you around for the fifth time today so he could see your beautiful face one more time.

Unsure of what was to happen next, you tiringly wrap both of your hands around his neck as he cupped onto the surface of your ass, lifting you up and sinking you down onto his cock. Your head rests against his chest in exhaustion, Choso’s anchored grip slowly loosening, choosing to move into the inside of your legs. Short paced breaths and eyes shutting at the new sensation of him fucking up into you. It was light work to him, carrying you was no problem at all.

Pushing both of you against a nearby wall, your back almost slid up and down the cold panels as Choso grew feral, his cock bullying but thoughtfully kissing your cervix at this unforgiving pace.

You fail to keep your eyes open, body taken over by bliss as he bottoms into you, convinced you had lost your voice. Choso could feel your silky juices move down his shaft, walls constantly clenching around around him.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes,” Choso orders, your hands hysterically tapping onto his shoulders to let him know you were going to snap. Your face winced in pain, you knew that you were going to have a hard time walking for the next week or two.

“..C-Choso,” you choke out, a threshold about to be met as the unfamiliar coil in your stomach urges to let loose.

His thrusts deepening to push you over the edge, cock sloppily moving in and out of your hole; his entire length coated with you.

“Just let it out— let it out.” he desperately whimpered, your mouth forming an ‘o’. His words like a spell, something that will haunt you for days coming. Choso’s eyes faux-sympathetically looking into yours that were blinking like mad as he felt your legs shiver in his grasp.

You shatter and cry at the orgasm that washed over you, bringing yourself to look at his cock withdrawing from your puffy, used cunt. Choso's jaw clenched, beads of white endlessly form at his tip, his balls twitching at the same time your gummy walls pulsed and throbbed around him.

He doesn’t let go of you, bodies still overheating and glistening from sweat. Instead he carries you back to the seats, sitting you down like a fragile porcelain doll. “My legs,” your voice raspy from the endless moaning, “..they’re so sore.”

Choso leans in for a meaningful kiss, your cock-dazed smile forming against his lips. His hands kneading your thighs. The locker room smelled of filthy, sinful sex—but that will just air out in no time. “..You need me to walk you out?”

“Choso, you can’t. There are cameras everywhere.” You grab your purse off the ground, in search of your phone. Almost forty five minutes have passed, your eyes widening. “Huh?! How long have I been gone for?"

He attempts to wipe the stained carpets, a faint white still engraved. Atleast he tried. “Pussy too good I forgot where I was, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Not funny, Choso. I need to get back to your brother!” Scurrying around the room, you pick your jeans off the ground, Choso whistling behind you causing you to turn your head,

“..Guess these aren’t of use to you anymore?” He holds the fragments of your panties up, torn to pieces, the dismaying mempry angering you as you were reminded of it for the second time.

You snap at him, Choso not taking any inch of you seriously. I mean, he literally had you whimpering, fucked you in his jersey and melting under his touch less than five minutes ago. “You fucking owe me a new pair.”

“I’ll buy you a hundred.”

You hurry out into the lobby, looking around for Yuji. Not having time to fix your hair, you almost scream as you walked past a reflection of yourself, mortified at how you looked. It’s okay… he wouldn’t suspect anything, right?

A familiar coral haired person was lounging at the sofas down the end, of course that had to be him. “Y-Yuji? is that you?” The head turning to your direction, it definitely was him; his eyes were shocked to still see you alive and standing before him.

You sit on the free armchair beside him, “..I’m so sorry, something just.. happened.” Nervously smiling, you wipe the residues of dried spit off your chin, your head stuck in one direction to avoid looking at Yuji in the face. Airing yourself with an invisible fan, you look away in all sorts of directions.

“It’s cool, the game got cancelled anyways- and I got my hotdogs.” He points to the four empty wrappers on the table in front of him. Yuji leans back against the sofa.

“..Uh— ..Is that, Choso's jersey?"

Fuck.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24 all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me, ily guys sm!!🎀🩷

[luvwestwood masterlist]

[fayelero]

— HOW THEY WOULD BE AT YOUR FIRST MATCH AS HIS GIRLFRIEND ! nekoma

pairings (separate) : kenma x fem!reader; kuroo x fem!reader; yamamoto x fem!reader

warnings : none, pure fluff

synopsis : with their team they assist to one of your match for the first time as your boyfriend and how they act.

word count : 1.4k

As……sat with the rest of the Nekoma volleyball team, observing your match together for the first time as a couple, the gymnasium was alive with the energy of competition. The squeaking of shoes on the polished floor, the sharp smacks of palm against volleyball, and the thunderous cheers from the crowd created an electric atmosphere. Each member of the team had their own distinct reactions and interactions, adding depth and commentary to the scene unfolding on the court.

KOZUME KENMA

Kenma, with his usual composed demeanor and sharp focus, was sitting attentively, his cat-like yellow eyes fixed on you as you moved across the court with agility and skill. His fingers twitched slightly, as if itching to set a ball himself. Beside him, Kuroo Tetsurou, Nekoma's charismatic captain and Kenma's closest friend, couldn't resist teasing him.

"Hey, Kenma," Kuroo whispered teasingly, nudging him lightly with an elbow. "Looks like you've got yourself quite the talented girlfriend there. Bet she could kick your ass on the court, huh?"

Kenma glanced at Kuroo, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, though his expression remained calm. "Shut up, asshole," he replied softly, a hint of pride in his voice as he watched you execute a perfect receive.

On Kenma's other side, Yamamoto Taro, the enthusiastic and lively wing spiker, leaned forward eagerly, nearly falling off his seat in excitement. His mohawk seemed to quiver with each point you scored.

"Holy shit, did you see that spike?" Yamamoto exclaimed, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and excitement. "Your girl's a fucking beast out there, Kenma!"

Lev Haiba, the towering middle blocker known for his straightforward nature, nodded enthusiastically, his long legs bouncing with pent-up energy. "Damn straight! I wish I could spike like her," he remarked, his admiration evident as he watched your every move with awe. "Maybe she could teach me a thing or two, eh Kenma?"

Yaku Morisuke, the meticulous libero with a keen eye for detail, observed with a nod of approval. His sharp eyes followed your movements, analyzing your technique with professional interest.

"Her defensive plays are solid as fuck," Yaku noted, his voice quiet yet filled with appreciation for your technique and strategy. "She's got some serious skills, no wonder Kenma's into her."

Inuoka Sou, the energetic and enthusiastic wing spiker who often wore his heart on his sleeve, leaned towards Lev with a mischievous grin. His spiky hair seemed to bristle with excitement as he watched the match.

"Hey Lev, think she'd mind dating a guy who's always this hyper?" he joked, earning a playful shove from Lev in response. "Or is she more into the quiet, brooding type like our Kenma here?"

Kenma, who was usually more focused on strategy and analysis, found himself enjoying the banter and camaraderie of his teammates. Despite his reserved nature, he appreciated the playful teasing and supportive atmosphere they created around him. However, as the match progressed and the comments became more frequent, he started to feel a bit overwhelmed.

Kuroo, noticing Kenma's growing discomfort, couldn't help but push a little further. "Come on, Kenma, spill the beans. How'd a gaming nerd like you land such a hottie?"

That struck a nerve with Kenma, who was feeling a bit more sensitive than usual. His fingers clenched tightly around the edge of his seat, knuckles turning white.

"For fuck's sake, Kuroo, can you lay off?" he muttered, his tone sharper than intended. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes briefly narrowing as he refocused on the match, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks.

Yamamoto, sensing Kenma's discomfort, quickly changed the subject, trying to lighten the mood. His voice boomed across their section of the bleachers, drawing curious glances from nearby spectators.

"Holy crap, look at that save!" he exclaimed, clapping enthusiastically. "[Name] really knows how to keep us on our toes. She's got reflexes like a damn cat!"

Lev, noticing Kenma's reaction, exchanged a concerned glance with Inuoka. His usual carefree expression sobered as he realized they might have taken the teasing too far.

"Hey, Kenma, sorry if we're being assholes," Lev said sincerely, his usual straightforward demeanor softened. "We're just stoked for you, you know?"

Kenma glanced at Lev, his expression softening slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased a bit as he realized his teammates' intentions were good, even if their execution was lacking.

"It's fine," he replied quietly, his tone more resigned now. "Just… dial it back a notch, okay?"

Yaku, ever perceptive, decided to steer the conversation back to the game. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving the court as he spoke.

"Alright, you bunch of idiots, let's focus on supporting [Name]," he suggested calmly, his voice a reassuring presence amidst the playful banter. "Save the relationship gossip for later, yeah?"

As the match continued, Kenma gradually eased back into his usual focused state, his mind analyzing the game and your strategic plays. He appreciated his teammates' support and their willingness to lift his spirits, even when their teasing occasionally rubbed him the wrong way.

Throughout the rest of the match, the gymnasium echoed with cheers and encouragement from the Nekoma team. Kuroo's strategic insights, Yamamoto's enthusiastic shouts, Lev's amazed gasps, Yaku's approving nods, and Inuoka's excited commentary all blended together, creating a symphony of support for you on the court.

Kenma found himself swept up in the excitement, his usual reserved demeanor giving way to small smiles and quiet words of encouragement. He realized that despite their occasional teasing and crude language, he was lucky to have teammates who cared about him and respected his feelings, making the experience of being your boyfriend and a member of the Nekoma team all the more meaningful.

As the final whistle blew and you emerged victorious, Kenma felt a surge of pride. He stood up with the rest of his team, ready to congratulate you on your win, grateful for the unique and boisterous family he had found in Nekoma.

TESTURO KUROO

Amidst this chaos, Kuroo Tetsurou sat with his team, his sharp hazel eyes fixed on the court where you were playing. It was the first time he was watching you compete since you'd started dating, and the usually composed captain found himself on the edge of his seat.

Kuroo's wild black hair seemed even more disheveled than usual, a testament to the number of times he'd run his hands through it in excitement. His trademark smirk played on his lips, widening every time you made a particularly impressive play. The red jersey of Nekoma stretched across his broad shoulders as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

Beside him, Kenma Kozume sat hunched over his handheld game, the blue light illuminating his face. Despite his apparent disinterest, Kenma's cat-like eyes flicked up to the court periodically. During a lull in the game, he nudged Kuroo with his elbow.

"Your girlfriend's not half bad," Kenma muttered, thumbs still working the controls of his game. "Maybe she could teach you a thing or two about receiving."

Kuroo's grin widened, revealing teeth that glinted in the gymnasium's harsh lighting. "Oya? Sounds like someone's jealous. Don't worry, Kenma, you're still my favorite setter. No one sets a ball quite like you do."

Yamamoto Taketora, sitting on Kuroo's other side, was a stark contrast to Kenma's calm. The wing spiker was practically vibrating with excitement, his mohawk quivering with each enthusiastic movement. He leaned forward so far he was almost falling off his seat, eyes wide as saucers.

"Holy shit, Kuroo!" Yamamoto bellowed, his voice carrying over the crowd noise. "Did you see that spike? Your girl's a fucking monster! She just blew past their blockers like they were standing still!"

Kuroo chuckled, a deep, rich sound that rumbled in his chest. "Language, Yamamoto," he admonished without any real heat. "But yeah, she's pretty incredible, isn't she?" Pride colored his voice, his eyes softening as they followed your movements on the court.

Lev Haiba, all 194 centimeters of him folded awkwardly into the spectator seats, craned his neck to see over the heads in front of him. His green eyes were wide with wonder, a childlike enthusiasm painted across his features.

"Kuroo-san," Lev called out, voice filled with awe, "do you think she'd teach me how to spike like that? It was so cool! The ball just went 'whoosh' and then 'bam'!"

"In your dreams, string bean," Kuroo laughed, reaching over to ruffle Lev's silver hair. "You've got a long way to go before you're on her level. Maybe focus on receiving first, eh?"

Yaku Morisuke, the team's libero, sat with his arms crossed, a look of professional appreciation on his face. His sharp eyes hadn't left the court once, analyzing every move and play.

"Her receives are solid as fuck," Yaku commented, nodding approvingly. "She's got quick reflexes and good form. No wonder she caught your eye, Kuroo. You always did have a thing for skilled players."

"What can I say?" Kuroo shrugged, his casual tone belying the warmth in his eyes as he watched you seamlessly transition from defense to offense. "I've got excellent taste. In volleyball and in partners."

Inuoka Sou, unable to contain his excitement, was practically bouncing in his seat. His spiky hair seemed to stand even more on end as he turned to Kuroo, eyes shining with curiosity.

"Man, Kuroo-san, how'd you score such a badass girlfriend?" Inuoka asked, voice filled with a mixture of awe and mischief. "Did you use some of that sneaky captain charm? Or was it the hair?"

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning decidedly mischievous. The gymnasium lights caught the angles of his face, accentuating his sharp features. "Now, now, Inuoka. A gentleman never kisses and tells. But let's just say my killer looks and sparkling personality didn't hurt. Plus, I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be."

The team erupted in a mixture of groans and laughter. Even Kenma looked up from his game, rolling his eyes but unable to completely hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

"Your head's getting too big, Kuro," Kenma muttered, using the childhood nickname that only he was allowed to use. "It'll affect your jump serves. You won't be able to get off the ground."

"Aw, don't be like that, Kenma," Kuroo grinned, draping a long arm around his friend's shoulders and pulling him close despite Kenma's half-hearted protests. "You know you love me. Who else would set for you during our late-night practices?"

As the match progressed, the team's commentary became more animated. Kuroo found himself caught between watching you play and managing his rambunctious teammates, his captain instincts kicking in even off the court.

"Oi, Lev!" Kuroo barked, noticing the first-year's wandering attention. "Stop drooling and pay attention to her footwork. You might actually learn something useful for once."

Lev straightened up so quickly he almost toppled backwards, eyes wide. "Yes, Kuroo-san! I'll watch carefully!"

Yamamoto, never one to miss an opportunity for mischief, leaned in with a sly grin on his face. "So, captain," he drawled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "when are you gonna show us some of those moves off the court? You must have some pretty smooth lines to land a girl like that."

Kuroo's eyes narrowed playfully, a dangerous glint in them that made Yamamoto gulp. "Careful, Yamamoto. Don't make me assign you extra diving drills at practice. I'm sure Yaku would be more than happy to spike for you."

"Shit, sorry!" Yamamoto backpedaled quickly, hands up in surrender. "Just curious, you know? No harm meant!"

Yaku snorted from his seat, a smirk playing on his lips. "As if Kuroo needs any encouragement to show off. He's got an ego the size of Tokyo Tower."

"You wound me, Yaku," Kuroo placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt, his expression one of exaggerated pain. "I'm the very picture of modesty. A paragon of humility. A beacon of-"

"Bullshit," Kenma interrupted, not looking up from his game.

This elicited a chorus of disbelieving snorts and chuckles from the team. Even Kuroo couldn't keep a straight face, his laugh joining the others.

As the match neared its end, the energy in the gymnasium reached a fever pitch. The score was close, and every point was crucial. Kuroo found himself on his feet, previous cool demeanor forgotten as he shouted encouragement.

"Come on, babe! Show 'em what you've got!" he yelled, voice hoarse from cheering. His fists were clenched at his sides, body tense as if he could will you to victory through sheer force of will. "You've got this! One more point!"

When the final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory, Kuroo let out a whoop of joy that was nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. He turned to his team, grinning from ear to ear, pride and excitement radiating from every pore.

"That's my girl," he said, voice filled with a intoxicating mixture of pride, admiration, and a hint of playful challenge. "Think any of you can top that performance? Because that, gentlemen, is what we're aiming for."

Lev, ever eager to prove himself, jumped up so quickly he knocked Inuoka's drink over. "I'll train hard, Kuroo-san! I'll be just as amazing someday! Maybe even better!"

"That's the spirit, rookie," Kuroo laughed, slinging an arm around Lev's shoulders. Despite the height difference, Kuroo managed to make the gesture look effortlessly cool. "But for now, let's go congratulate the real star of the show. And remember, best behavior, cats. We're representing Nekoma."

As they made their way down to the court, pushing through the crowds of spectators, Kuroo felt a surge of affection - for you, for his sometimes annoying but always entertaining team, for this crazy, volleyball-filled life he led. He might give them hell during practice, but moments like these reminded him why he loved being Nekoma's captain.

"Alright, you bunch of alley cats," he called out to his team, voice carrying over the post-game chaos. "Let's show [Name] how Nekoma celebrates a victory! And if any of you embarrass me, I'll make sure you regret it at our next practice."

With a chorus of cheers, catcalls, and a few nervous gulps, the Nekoma team descended upon the court. They were ready to celebrate your win and, despite Kuroo's warning, no doubt find new and creative ways to tease their captain. But as Kuroo's eyes found you amidst the crowd, your face flushed with victory and eyes shining, he knew he wouldn't have it any other way. This was his team, this was his life, and he was loving every minute of it.

YAMAMOTO TAKETORA

But no one in the building was more fired up than Yamamoto Taketora. The wing spiker with the signature mohawk was practically vibrating in his seat, his eyes wild with enthusiasm as he watched you dominate the court.

"HELL YEAH!" Yamamoto roared, pumping his fist in the air as you scored another point. His voice, always loud, seemed to shake the very foundations of the gym. "That's my girlfriend out there! Did you see that spike? Holy shit!"

Kuroo, sitting next to him, winced and rubbed his ear. "Yamamoto, we're right here. No need to burst our eardrums."

But Yamamoto was too hyped to care. He leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over Kenma's handheld game in the process. "Sorry, cap! I can't help it! She's just so… so… AWESOME!"

Kenma sighed, rescuing his game console from Yamamoto's flailing arms. "We know, Tora. You've only said it about a hundred times in the last ten minutes."

"But Kenma!" Yamamoto whirled around, eyes blazing with passion. "Did you see how she received that serve? It was like… like… GWAH! And then BOOM!" His arms windmilled wildly, nearly taking out Lev in the process.

Lev ducked just in time, his long limbs tangling as he tried to avoid Yamamoto's enthusiastic gestures. "Yamamoto-senpai, please be careful! But you're right, [Name]-san is amazing! How did you get such a cool girlfriend?"

Yamamoto's chest puffed out with pride, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. "Well, you see, Lev, it's all about confidence! You gotta be bold, you gotta be brave! You gotta-"

"You gotta stop scaring every girl in school with your loud voice and intense staring," Yaku interrupted dryly, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Yaku-san!" Yamamoto wailed, clutching his heart as if mortally wounded. "How could you say that? I'll have you know, [Name] loves my passion!"

Inuoka leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "But seriously, Yamamoto-senpai, how did you and [Name]-san start dating? You used to get so nervous around girls!"

Yamamoto's face softened, a rare moment of calm settling over his usually energetic features. "Well, you see…" he began, but was cut off by a collective gasp from the crowd.

You had just pulled off an incredible save, diving to keep a seemingly impossible ball in play. Without missing a beat, Yamamoto was on his feet again, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"THAT'S MY GIRL! DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU FREAKING SEE THAT?" He turned to his teammates, eyes wild with excitement. "Tell me you saw that! It was like… like… she flew! Like a tiger! A flying tiger!"

Kuroo chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "We saw it, Yamamoto. The whole gym saw it. And heard you."

But Yamamoto was beyond caring about volume control or public decorum. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "[NAME]! YOU'RE AMAZING! YOU'RE THE BEST! I LOVE YOU!"

His face immediately turned beet red as he realized what he'd just yelled in front of the entire gymnasium. The Nekoma team stared at him in shock for a moment before bursting into laughter and cheers.

"Wow, Yamamoto," Lev grinned, clapping him on the back. "That was so cool! So brave!"

Kenma, despite himself, cracked a small smile. "Well, that's one way to confess."

Yamamoto sank back into his seat, face burning but eyes still fixed on you. "I… I didn't mean to say that out loud," he mumbled, but there was no real regret in his voice.

Kuroo draped an arm around Yamamoto's shoulders, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Well, well, well. Our little Tora is all grown up. Confessing his love in front of the whole school. I'm so proud."

"Shut up," Yamamoto grumbled, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "It just… came out."

As the match neared its end, Yamamoto's energy seemed to only increase. He was on his feet for every point, cheering so loudly that people in the next prefecture could probably hear him. When the final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory, Yamamoto let out a roar that put his previous shouts to shame.

"WE WON! [NAME] WON! DID YOU SEE THAT? MY GIRLFRIEND IS THE BEST VOLLEYBALL PLAYER IN THE WORLD!"

Before anyone could stop him, Yamamoto was vaulting over the seats, pushing through the crowd to get to the court. The rest of the Nekoma team scrambled to follow, equal parts amused and mortified by their teammate's antics.

As they reached the edge of the court, Yamamoto skidded to a halt, suddenly nervous. You were there, flushed with victory, surrounded by your celebrating teammates. Yamamoto's usual bravado faltered for a moment as the reality of his public confession sank in.

Kuroo gave him a gentle push forward. "Go on, tiger. Your flying tiger is waiting."

Taking a deep breath, Yamamoto stepped onto the court. His face was a mixture of nervousness and unbridled joy as he approached you. The rest of the Nekoma team watched, grinning, as their boisterous wing spiker prepared to face his greatest challenge yet: talking to his girlfriend after accidentally confessing his love in front of the entire school.

As embarrassing as it was, Yamamoto wouldn't have had it any other way. This was who he was - loud, passionate, and utterly devoted. And as he saw the smile bloom on your face when you spotted him, he knew that's exactly why you loved him too.

@kiesbrainjuice do not copy or translate !

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[americaine-noces]

under the bleachers ⋆˚࿔

what starts with one stolen glance across the soccer field turns into a secret-laced spiral of late-night drives, under-the-bleachers kisses, and the kind of love that makes you reckless. in a town that doesn’t understand girls like them, they find freedom in each other—and maybe something like forever. ⟢ a/n : last part’s here and yeah lowk sad tbh.... pls if you’re filo,, listen to multo while reading!!! eueu

you can still hear the whistle blowing.

the scoreboard blinking bright. the crowd on their feet. your lungs burning from how hard you screamed. confetti fell like a late snowstorm and for once, you didn’t care about your makeup or your matching socks—you were running, full speed, past the sidelines and into the chaos of victory.

the yellowjackets had won.

natalie had won.

nationals. the big one. the title everyone said was a long shot. and now you were there, in the middle of it, being lifted by your girls, streamers clinging to your sneakers, and natalie—god, natalie was laughing so hard her head almost fell off.

she ran straight for you.

and you didn’t hesitate. you leapt into her arms like she’d just returned from war. her arms wrapped around your waist and spun you, both of you breathless, wild, alive. her cheeks were flushed. her knuckles scraped. her jersey soaked in sweat and victory.

“we did it,” she whispered against your mouth before she kissed you. the whole team saw. nobody cared. you kissed her back.

the whole night felt like gold.

you took photos you’d later rip in half. you chanted on the bus ride home with half your team asleep on each other’s shoulders. you collapsed on the locker room floor, sweaty and sore and laughing until your ribs ached. laura lee was crying. lottie had stolen someone’s gatorade. tai and van had made out in the corner and no one even blinked. it was that kind of night.

you sat beside her. she handed you a drink someone snuck in. “you’re not allowed to leave me,” you told her, half-kidding.

she tapped her can against yours. “not even if i tried.”

you should’ve known then.

the therapist’s office was too quiet.

everything was beige. too soft. too polite. her voice was slow and kind, like she didn’t want to startle you. like grief made you an injured animal.

“have you had any… episodes?” she asked gently.

you stared at the floor. the floor stared back.

“episodes like what?”

she checked her clipboard. “dissociation. hallucinations. vivid dreams of the deceased.”

you shrugged. “no dreams.”

a lie. natalie came every night. sometimes with blood under her fingernails. sometimes just smiling.

“are you still wearing the hoodie?” the therapist asked.

you looked down. black. fraying at the cuffs. her scent long gone.

“yeah.”

she nodded like she expected it. “grief can linger in the body. you might feel her as a presence.”

you swallowed. “she is a presence.”

she said nothing. just wrote something down.

you wished she’d write help me. or bring her back.

you wanted to scream. instead, you folded your hands like a good little ghost.

the crash didn’t make sense.

you watched the news like it was a horror movie where the ending never came.

no distress call. no storm warning. just silence. they were there. then they weren’t.

twenty minutes into the flight, the plane went off radar somewhere over the northern wilderness. no bodies. no wreckage. just lost. like a story someone stopped telling.

you remember reading the headline over and over:

“private plane carrying yellowjackets team presumed crashed.”

you read it until it stopped meaning anything. you read it until your eyes went numb.

no one tells you that the worst part isn’t the crying. it’s the waiting.

you waited for days. waited for news. waited for the door to open and natalie to walk in, bruised and bitchy and fine.

but all you got were memorial flyers. yellow ribbons. candles at school. a counselor who said “they’re in a better place.” you wanted to set something on fire.

the rest of the cheer squad tried to move on. tried to plan a tribute routine. you didn’t go.

you just sat in your room with the light off, hoodie wrapped around your knees, playing that voice memo she sent you after the game.

“did you see me tackle that girl? god, you better write a poem about it. or a cheer. or—i dunno—tattoo my name on your face. you’re my good luck charm, y’know that?”

you listened to it until her voice didn’t sound real anymore.

it was lottie’s dad.

that’s how they got the plane.

you overheard it in the hallway outside the counselor’s office. one of the teachers was whispering about it. “her father’s loaded—old money, i think. chartered that jet like it was nothing.”

only the team. no room for extras. no cheerleaders. no girlfriends.

no you.

natalie had offered to sneak you in. joked about stuffing you in the luggage bay.

“i’ll see you in a week,” she said instead. “i’ll bring you back a trophy.”

you would’ve preferred her bones. at least then, you’d know where she ended.

but the thing is—she hasn’t ended.

she’s still here. in the cold breeze that rattles your window. in the whisper behind your ear when you close your eyes. in the heaviness on your chest at night.

she’s here when you reach for your phone. here when you wake up sobbing with her name on your lips. here in the mirror, where you think you see her smile—only to blink and find nothing.

you want to let her go. but she won’t leave.

maybe she can’t. maybe you don’t want her to.

either way, she’s become your shadow.

and shadows don’t fade. not when they’re born from love.

“dinadalaw mo ’ko bawat gabi.” “haplos mo’y ramdam pa rin sa dilim.” “minumulto na ’ko ng damdamin ko.”

⟢ a/n : sige bye po mga burikat

part five ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[lnfours]

bucket hat protector ™️ | l.n

summary: a blurb about how you’re the only one lando trusts with his bucket hat

warnings: fluff, language, currently signing my soul over to this boy.

masterlist | ask box

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the garage was busy, buzzing with excitement as the start of the qualifying race neared closer and closer. you had seemed to somehow lost your boyfriend in the sea of orange, but the quick glimpse you got of the highlighter yellow bucket hat caught your attention. you made your way through, smiling as his eyes met yours and he reached out to pull you closer to him.

“there you are,” you smiled, “lost you for a second, but thankfully you’re very hard to miss.”

you tapped the brim of the bucket hat that sat on top of his curls. he smiled back down at you, taking off his hat before plopping it down onto your head.

“and now it’s your job to protect it with your life.”

you put a hand over your heart playfully, the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet snaking around your wrist, “lando norris is trusting someone with his hats? oh, it’s such an honor.”

he smirked down at you, “only you, baby. no one else.”

you smiled, reaching up and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. the smiles got too wide, your lips breaking the kiss as you brushed back a loose hair from his forehead, “i love you.”

“i love you,” he said, tugging the mask over his head before slipping the helmet on, “i’m serious about my hat though.”

you giggled, helping him do the straps under his chin, “i know, trust me, it’s in good hands.”

his eyes were squinted, a sign that he was smiling in the helmet.

“2 minutes!”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, “good luck, i’ll be here cheering you on.”

he nodded, “i love you.”

“i love you.”

you let him slip out of your grasp as he made his way over to the car. as he walked by, you gave oscar a high five, a new pre-race ritual for the two of you, but this time he called back over his shoulder.

“he put you in charge of the hat? you’re a lucky girl!”

you laughed, backing up toward the back of the garage as they rolled the cars out to get started on the race. it was a rainy morning, which meant that this race was bound to get interesting.

once it had started, you kept your eyes glued to the screen in front of you. it had felt like it had been ages by the time Q2 came along, taking a deep breath as lando and oscar kept fighting their way through. you held your breath towards the end of Q2, only letting it go when both mclarens were now safely making their way through to Q3.

and it wasn’t long until you were cheering with the rest of the garage as lando finished Q3 in P2. you clapped, the biggest smile on your face as he made his way back into the garage, the team celebrating upon his arrival.

he thanked his team, eyes looking for you behind the familiar faces. but just like you had seen earlier, the highlighter yellow stuck out in the crowd of papaya. now he understood what you meant when you said he was the most identifiable out of everyone.

he made his way to you as you congratulated oscar, taking off his helmet and tugging the mask from his head. almost instantly, he was wrapping his arms around your waist, yours wrapping around his neck as he squeezed you against him tight.

“i’m so proud of you, you did great.”

sure, he he’d heard it before, but it always felt different coming from you. you could tell it felt different for him coming from you when you met his eyes and they were full of adoration.

“thanks to you,” he said, “not only are you my good luck charm, but now you’re my certified bucket hat protector.”

you laughed, reaching up and taking it off before plopping it onto his fluffy, messy curls, “it’s been an honor, my love.”

he leaned down and kissed you sweetly, “i love you.”

“more than the bucket hat?”

he scrunched his nose and twisted his lips in fake, deep thought. you laughed and hit his chest playfully, letting him take your hand as you made your way to the drivers room.

“i guess i can squeeze you at the top of the podium, right above the bucket hat and those little sausages.”

“so what, stroopwafels are P4?”

his eyes widened, “shit, we might have to do some rearranging.”

you rolled your eyes, laugh echoing through the hallway as he smiled down at you, “never change, lando norris. never change.”

[zegrasdrysdale]

Could you write some thigh riding smut with Ethan Edwards? Reader and Ethan are just friends when it happens so maybe they’re hanging out and it somehow leads to sex. Bonus points if there’s jealousy and dirty talk lol

[ that way ] e. edwards

paring : Ethan Edwards x fem!reader

summary : jealousy gets the best of Ethan's best friend when she comes into town to watch him play some hockey

warning(s) : smut ! spoilers for "my best friend's wedding" (1997 movie), jealousy, dirty talk, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, p in v penetrative sex, protected sex

author’s note : you asked, i rewrote multiple times bc i wasn't happy w it, it deleted itself once, then i delivered (i hope). enjoy &lt;3

༺═──────────────═༻

The puck finds the back of the net. The lamp lights up and the horn goes off. Everyone that’s wearing a yellow and blue jersey in Yost Arena is on their feet immediately. (Y/N) celebrates with the crowd in her borrowed jersey. She smiles and cheers while all the Michigan boys come out onto the ice to celebrate their overtime win right in front of her.

Ethan looks up into the stands right at his best friend. He points at her with a smile on his face even though she’s about six rows off the glass. She waves at him before he goes back to celebrating with his team. He gives helmet taps and he gets helmet taps.

He looks good in full gear on the ice. She may have to come to Michigan more often to come watch him play. It's very rare that she gets to come out to watch Ethan play for Michigan. It's not like she hasn’t been watching him play their entire lives. Even when she wasn’t allowed to go out and watch him play.

One time when she was grounded at 13, she snuck out of the house to go watch him play despite knowing both of Ethan’s parents were at the game. They didn’t snitch on her though. She was thankful because she got to watch him score two goals and get an assist on the game winner. She's been like a daughter to them since she and Ethan met in preschool.

Slowly, the players make their way off the ice and she finds her way to the hallway with the door that leads to the locker rooms. She leans against the wall outside the door because she doesn’t want to see something that would scar her for life.

She shoots Ethan a text so he knows she’s waiting for him. He doesn’t respond so she assumes he’s either talking to his coach or taking his postgame shower.

To keep busy, she scrolls through her social media and likes a few posts. She tweets pictures of Ethan on the ice when he was warming up and when he scored a goal in the second period. They quickly begin to circulate on Twitter and Instagram.

The door opens and some of Ethan’s teammates begin to start walking out with their wet hair and casual clothes on. Some of them say hi and that it's nice to see her as they walk past. Rutger tells her that Ethan is coming out “soon”. Soon for Ethan Edwards is either five minutes or a half an hour.

“Soon” this time means ten minutes. Ethan comes out in a button up, his letter jacket, nice dress pants, and a Michigan beanie. “Hey,” he says. “Glad you could make it. Sorry I didn’t get to see you before the game started.”

She smiles and gives him a side hug. One of his arms drapes over her shoulders and her arm wraps around his waist. “I’m here for a few days so you can make it up to me,” she tells him. “What do you think of the jersey? Stole it from your closet after Seamus let me into the house.”

Ethan backs away and looks at (Y/N) in his jersey. She turns in a slow circle so he can get a good look at her in the jersey. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he admits. “Good to know that you still rock my name and number on your back.”

(Y/N) laughs but she wishes she could rock his name in another way. “So what’s the plan for tonight?” she asks. “Just hang out? Watch a movie? Show me around Ann Arbor?”

Before he can respond, a girl comes running up from behind Ethan and jumps on his back. She wraps herself around him. “That was a sexy goal you scored tonight, Eddy,” she says into his ear. “Looked good doing it too.”

Ethan smiles and turns his head to look at the girl in the Michigan hockey hoodie. “You think so?”

“Know so,” she giggles. “You’re so hot when you put the puck in the back of the net.” The girl begins pressing kisses against his jaw. He laughs and (Y/N) bites her bottom lip so she doesn’t say anything. It takes everything not to say some snarky comment.

She knows girls constantly throw themselves at him. Ethan isn't afraid to call her after one of his one night stands. He is one of the most attractive guys she knows, he’s super smart, and one of the most talented hockey players that she's ever seen play. He knows it too and doesn't shy away from the attention.

It isn’t a secret that girls on this campus want to hook up with him or be with him.

What is a secret is her feelings for her best friend. She is no better than the girls that throw themselves at Ethan. If she could then she would, but they’re friends and that would be crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed. There's no going back if that line gets crossed.

And she's terrified of crossing that line. It doesn't mean she doesn't get jealous of other girls that tell Ethan how sexy he is and how good he looks when he scores goals without crossing that line. She wishes she could be one of those girls that gets to throw herself at him.

"You and your teammates should come to the party that happening at the house tonight," she suggests. "I think it would be super fun to hang out with the hockey team. To hang out with you. You can even bring your little friend here. She looks like she could use a good party." The girl looks her up and down in Ethan's jersey.

That last comment really pisses her off though. She completely loses her filter, and she's not even sorry.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" she asks, eyes boring into the girl on Ethan's back. "You can hop right off my boy's back now and find someone else to fuck tonight because I promise you that he isn't interested in fucking you. Bye bye." She waves goodbye to put some emphasis on her words.

The girl lowers herself back to the ground with a roll of her eyes. Ethan looks between the nameless girl and (Y/N) as the nameless girl shoulder tackles her. She resists every urge to punch this girl in the face despite the pain in her shoulder as she walks away.

She looks back at Ethan when the nameless girl leaves the arena. She follows her outside so they can go home after a minute. He blinks at her when they get in his car before he says, "I don't think I have ever seen you get like that."

"Like what?"

"So possessive," Ethan tells her as he starts his car. He pulls out of the parking spot and heads toward the house he lives in with Dylan, Tyler, and Luca. "Almost like you were jealous of her."

Her head snaps in his direction to look at him. "I wasn't jealous of her," she lies. "I was protecting you. The amount of calls I've gotten at two in the morning because you're upset that another girl left you in your bed is a little ridiculous."

"You're not wrong about that," he comments. "I guess it is ridiculous."

Every time Ethan's girl of the night leaves him after a party or bringing a girl back after a game, he calls his best friend and she gets to hear all about the sex or how he thought she was the one that wasn't going to leave him.

She's gotten very tired of it so she's taking a stand for him.

"So, you never told me what the plan was for the night since it's my first night in Ann Arbor," she says as Ethan turns out of the parking lot. "We could go to that party she was talking about if you want, or I'm perfectly okay with staying in tonight since you have another game tomorrow."

Ethan glances at her as she drives. "Is there something you'd like to do?" he asks. "You're here for a week so I'm also okay if you don't want to go out tonight. There will be parties during the week we can go to if you're okay with snacks and a movie or two. I'm pretty sure my roommates are going out tonight anyway so we'll have the house to ourselves to catch up."

Ideas flow through her head. She wants to do a lot in the next seven days that she's in Michigan before she heads back to Alberta.

Tonight though, she just wants to spend time with Ethan without worrying about which girl is going to throw herself at him next.

"Movie night with snacks sounds really nice," she eventually tells him.

He smiles and makes a turn. "You can look through my Netflix when we get back to the house," he tell her. "I need to take a longer shower when we get back so while I'm in the bathroom, you can find a movie that we can watch."

She nods and scrolls through her phone while Ethan drives. It's not a long drive from Yost to the house he shares with three of his closest friends and teammates. It's maybe ten minutes before Ethan pulls into the driveway. There are no other cars in the driveway so he was right about them having the house to themselves tonight.

A very excited (Y/N) gets out of the car and Ethan is quick to follow her. She has an idea of what movie she wants to watch but she has to check to make sure it's on Netflix before she gets too excited about it.

Ethan disappears into the bathroom that's attached to his bedroom. She disappears into the kitchen to gather some snacks for them to eat while they have their movie night.

She makes some popcorn but also puts together a candy bowl filled with M&Ms, Reese's Cups, mini Twix, and Hershey Kisses. Sweet and savory choices for them. She even grabs two cans of soda that are in the fridge so they have something to drink.

When she walks into Ethan's room with the bowls of snacks and cans of soda, he is walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. She has to look away before she stares at the water droplets rolling down his chest.

"Jesus, E," she gasps. She almost drops the snacks and drinks so she can cover her eyes. Ethan uses his hands to cover his crotch like she can see through the towel around his waist. "You couldn't have brought clothes into the bathroom with you?"

"I did," Ethan replies. "I forgot underwear. I opened the door so see if you were in here and you weren't so I wrapped a towel around myself. You were in here when I came out to put on underwear."

She glances at Ethan as he pulls up the pair of boxers over his waist. His back is to her so she admires him from behind for a second. His thighs are insane and every single back muscle works as he dresses himself. He turns his head to look at her as soon as he's wearing a shirt again. She quickly looks at the snacks in her hands to act like she wasn't watching him get dressed.

"Warn a girl before you walk into a room with nothing but a towel on, Ethan," she tells him as she sets the bowls and cans down on the table next to his bed. She crawls onto the mattress and grabs the TV remote.

"It's not like you haven't seen me naked before," he says.

"It has been literally like fifteen years since I saw you naked," she retorts. "It's your fault we were even in that situation because you decided to cover both of us in mud. Your mother decided that it would be funny to bathe us together."

Ethan laughs and crawls onto his bed next to her. "My bad," he says. "Anyway. Did you find a movie to watch or are we winging it?"

She loads his Netflix account and replies, "I think I know what I want to watch but I have to make sure it's still on here. If it's not then we'll wing it."

"Okay," he slowly says. "What movie?"

As soon as he asks, My Best Friend's Wedding pops up when she goes into the romance movies section. Ethan raises his eyebrows and looks over at her when she clicks it. "Seriously?"

"What?" she asks. "It's a romcom. I know you don't watch many of those so I thought we could watch one of my favorite ones." Ethan frowns. "Come on, E. You'll love it. I promise."

He sighs as the movie begins to play. “If I hate it then we are going to watch Miracle or Mighty Ducks,” he tells her. Sounds like a plan to her so she nods in agreement.

She hands Ethan his soda and he cracks it open.

Picking My Best Friend's Wedding was kind of a hint in a way since Julia Roberts' character is in love with her best friend, who is marrying someone else. She didn't lie when she said it's one of her favorite romcoms though. She adores this movie and loves Julia Roberts.

He seems very into the movie though. Not once does he complain about how stupid it is. It's throwing her off a little bit.

Ethan reaches over her to grab one of the snack bowls around what she thinks is the halfway point of the movie. "I could've given it to you, asshole," she tells him. "You didn't have to reach over me when I'm trying to watch the movie."

"I just wanted some candy," he replies with a mouthful of chocolate. "I need to munch while watching the movie, (Y/N)."

She laughs and looks over at him as he stuffs a Reese's Cup in his mouth. She steals one of the Hershey Kisses out of the bowl and tosses it into her mouth. Ethan smiles and does the same. She shakes her head and goes back to watching the movie.

As she watches one of her favorite scenes toward the end of the movie, she's slightly on edge. She's very still the entire time. It's the scene where Julia Roberts' character Jules tells her best friend Michael, played by Dermot Mulroney, that she is in love with him and they share a kiss.

When she quickly glances beside her at Ethan, she finds him already looking at her. She quickly turns her head and looks away from him. Her cheeks begin to heat up like she’s embarrassed that he caught her looking at him.

He catches her chin and turns her head back so she’s looking at him again before she’s fulling facing the movie.

“Eth-”

“Please don’t say anything or else I won’t be able to do this,” he says to interrupt her.

She raises her eyebrows in confusion as Ethan’s thumb brushes over her bottom lip. His eyes flicker down to her lips before moving back up to her eyes. The eye contact they’re holding makes her entire body shake with excitement and anticipation.

Ethan doesn’t make any moves. His eyes float and study every part of her face, taking in every detail that he can see in the mostly dark room.

Very hesitantly, she throws a leg over one of his thighs and she straddles his leg. Ethan pushes her hair behind her ear and cups her jaw.

The entire time, they hold each other’s eyes. The tips of their noses touch every time Ethan moves in then backs away like he’s unsure.

“Do something,” she whispers, desperate. Her hands rest on his chest. “Ethan. Kiss me.”

He wastes no time.

Ethan sits up and wraps his arms around her waist to pull her closer to him. He crashes his lips to hers like he’s done holding back. She leans into him and deepens the kiss, pushing him back until he’s sitting up against the headboard.

The movie is soon forgotten about behind her. All she can hear is her own heart pounding in her ears. She no longer had any idea of what is going on behind her because she’s so focused on what’s in front of her.

She feels Ethan’s hands slither up the back of the jersey she’s still wearing. She never took it off and switched to a pair of black Lululemon shorts after she took off her leggings. A smile forms on Ethan’s lips when he realizes that she still has on his jersey.

Ethan’s fingers run up and down her back at the same time hers find their way under Ethan’s Michigan hockey t-shirt. She presses her fingers into his abs and sighs. All she has wanted to do since Ethan built up the muscles he has now is touch them.

Now she can.

“Take it off,” Ethan mumbles into a kiss as he pulls at the jersey. “I love seeing you in it but it needs to come off right now."

She reaches down between them and pulls the jersey over her head, breaking the kiss in the process. When she gets the jersey off, she sees Ethan’s eyes are on her body. She bites her bottom lip and grabs the bottom of Ethan’s shirt.

Might as well get it off now before they get distracted again.

Ethan gets the cue and sits up. She pulls the thin fabric off of him and tosses it to the floor with the jersey. Her eyes meet his and she finds a hunger in them that she's never seen before.

Friends definitely don't look at friends that way so something is changing between them. Goosebumps form on her exposed skin as she realizes that this could be the beginning of something new. Their whole relationship is changing with every second and every touch.

He cups her jaw with both his hands and runs his thumbs over her cheekbones.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted you like this," Ethan softly confesses, looking between her eyes.

"I think I have an idea," she whispers as she leans in to connect their lips again.

Their lips make contact with each other and she presses her chest flush against his. In the process, she rolls her hips and grinds her clothed core on his thigh. She gasps at the pressure and Ethan's hands fly to her waist.

She tries it again and lets out a soft whine. She's surprised at how good it feels. Ethan smiles into the kiss as she begins to use his thigh to get off.

It makes sense to her that she would like this. She was just thinking about his thighs earlier when he was getting dressed.

The kiss breaks and she rests her forehead against Ethan's. Soft pants pass her swollen lips and Ethan smiles. "Gonna use my thigh to come?" he asks. "You gonna get off using my thigh, baby?"

"Mhm," she hums. "Feels good. Kind of in love with your thighs, E."

He laughs and helps her move her hips.

She can feel how muscular his thighs are through her shorts and his sweatpants. Just like she thought earlier - his thighs are insane.

A knot already forms in the pit of her belly. Her breathing has gotten very labored and she claws at Ethan's chest, definitely leaving behind some scratch marks he'll get teased for later by his teammates.

"Ethan," she breathes out. "Fuck."

He presses kisses to her jaw. "I got you," he tells her. "Go ahead. Come."

Almost like she was waiting for his permission, she comes with a cry. She ruins her panties and probably her shorts at the same time. Her fingers find Ethan's hair and she lightly grips his locks because she needs something to hold onto.

Ethan peppers her jaw and cheek with light kisses as she lays her head on his shoulder while she comes down from her high. He lightly brushes her hair out of her face and she hums a little "thank you".

"Feel better?" he asks. "Got it out of your system?"

She rolls her eyes and lifts her head as soon as she has enough strength to. "For now," she retorts. "Right now though, I need you to get inside of me because it's all I've been thinking about for years."

He smiles and quickly rolls them over so she's on her back. "Your wish is my command," he says as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her ruined shorts and panties. "Hope you don't need to walk in the morning."

Her eyes widen as he pulls off the shorts and panties in one go. She lifts her hips off the bed to help him out. She's completely exposed to him now since she went without a bra under the jersey. She crosses her arms over her chest.

Ethan is quick to grab her hands and uncover her body. "Don't hide from me, baby," he tells her. "You're beautiful. I've always thought you were beautiful. You never have to hide from me."

She nods and Ethan gets on his knees between her legs. She watches as he pushes off his boxers and sweats. His dick pops out of his boxers and she bites her bottom lip.

Yeah, she’s not going to be able to walk in the morning. It really is a good thing she doesn’t have to go anywhere.

He leans over and reaches into his bedside table. He had a tiny silver package between his fingers when he comes back to hover over her.

“I need to make sure you are absolutely okay with this,” he says. “You aren’t going to regret this or anything like that. I don’t want you to think that I’m pressuring you-”

“Ethan, if you don’t fuck me in the next two seconds, I am going to get up and go find someone who will,” she interrupts.

His eyes darken when he makes the comment about going to find someone that will fuck her. “Oh hell no,” he mumbles before he tears the condom package open with his teeth. She smiles as he slides the condom onto himself.

Her fingers find a home in Ethan’s hair when he leans over her. She holds his locks from falling into his face since he does have longer hair. He lines himself up with her and meets her eyes. “I trust you, E,” she tells him. “I have always trusted you.” I love you.

With her reassurance, Ethan slowly pushes into her. She gasps and bites her lip. “Fuck, (Y/N),” he breathes out. “So tight. God.”

Being tired of hearing him talk, she leans up and presses her lips to his. She wraps her arms around his neck as he bottoms out in her. Ethan presses his hands into the pillows on either side of her head so he doesn’t crush her.

She rolls her hips so she feels Ethan move inside of her. A soft sigh passes her lips into the kiss. Ethan leans into her and deepens the kiss. Her fingers drag down his back as he finally begins to roll his hips so he moves in and out of her.

The sound of soft whines and moans fill the room until the sound of the bed creaking follows when Ethan speeds up his movements. She breaks the kiss and arches her back off the bed and Ethan kisses her chest.

“Such a good girl for me,” Ethan pants. “Making these pretty noises. Does my cock feel good inside you, baby?”

“S’ good,” she breathes out. “Feels so good, E. You make me feel so good. Fuck.”

He smiles against her skin. He pushes one of her legs up and lets it hook around his arm, and he’s able to move even deeper inside of her. She cries out in pleasure and her head begins to spin.

It’s been years since she realized that she was in love with her best friend. He is all she has wanted since they went to prom together in their senior year of high school.

Even if he doesn’t love her, the fact that he is on top of her means that he has to feel something for her.

Right?

This is a welcomed change in their relationship. Going from friends to this is welcomed.

Her legs begin to shake as her second orgasm of the night starts to build in her belly. Ethan changes his pace every so often but continuously moves deep into her so he’s completely inside of her.

She’s pretty sure her breasts are marked up because of the way Ethan keeps nipping and sucking at the skin. It doesn’t bother her.

Getting marked by Ethan is never going to bother her.

Ethan pulls out then slams into her. “Holy fuck,” she cries out. “Shit, E.”

“Just wanna make my girl feel good,” Ethan pants.

He does it again and she clenches around him. She comes without warning and with Ethan’s name on her lips. Her entire body shakes and her vision goes white.

It’s probably the hardest she has ever come in her life. No one has made her feel as good as Ethan has.

It must be a minute before she comes to because he has a cloth in his hand and is cleaning her up. Her breathing is extremely labored and her entire body feels heavy. He tosses the cloth to the floor with their clothes and she looks at the TV.

‘Are you still watching’ lights up the screen and she can’t help but smile at the realization of what just happened.

Ethan pulls the blankets over their naked bodies and asks, “What’s with the smile?”

She looks up at him and says, “I really liked it. I liked being able to touch and kiss you.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you wouldn’t mind doing it again?” he questions.

“Absolutely not.”

A loud knock rings out throughout the room and Luca is on the other side as he says, “Walls are thin! I don’t feel like buying ear plugs so please keep it down! Also, it’s about damn time.”

She covers her mouth and laughs. Ethan rolls his eyes and gets comfortable. “I need to move out and get my own place.”

“I second that.”

༺═──────────────═༻

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[desperate-gay]

Pent Up Energy

Alex Morgan x fem!reader

SMUT 18+

summary: alex is upset and you don’t know why

a/n: 100% based off the game last night

Beads of sweat roll down the side of your head from the exhaustion. Colombia has decided not to play cleanly, instead wanting to be as physical as possible and you were bearing the brunt of it. Only 20 minutes into the game you have gotten tackled at least 3 times, each moment being more brutal than the last.

Luckily, there hasn’t been too much conflict between anybody, but that’s until your thoughts are interrupted by a bunch of shouting. Looking over to the left, you see your girlfriend stepping in the face of a Colombian player as the rest of the visiting team tries to meddle in. You quickly rush over to stop Alex, noticing she’s getting more heated every moment.

Slipping your way through the multiple bodies, you place your hand on the forward’s chest, gently pushing her back. You try your best to defuse the situation, but she just ignores you and continues to yell at the player, earning her a yellow card from the ref.

When she notices your hand on her chest, she wipes it off while scoffing before walking away. Trinity notices and quirks an eyebrow towards you, but in response, all you do is take a deep breath and shrug.

After the halftime whistle blew, Alex stayed clear of you. Usually, you both pep each other up for the next half but instead, she stayed quiet and to herself until everyone was sent back onto the pitch. Horan pats you on the back, giving you a sympathetic smile before running over to her position.

The game never dims down with players all showing their fiery side, specifically Alex and Trinity. That ends up playing a part when they both end up getting subbed out at the seventy-second minute.

“You played well.” You whisper, brushing your hand against Alex’s passing body. She spares you a quick look before walking off and onto the bench. Sighing, you lean down to fix your socks and peek your head over to your girlfriend only to see her staring into space with a stoic look.

The rest of the game is grueling but rewarding as you have beaten Colombia and are advancing to the semifinals. After an hour or so you’re boarding onto the bus, taking an open seat and hoping for your girlfriend to join you. Sadly, when she gets on, she doesn’t even glance toward you and decides to sit several seats behind you.

Slightly frustrated with the brunette, you huff and drop your head back against the cushion of the headrest before being interrupted by a giddy smile. You can’t help but smile back at the sweet girl.

“Hi, Naomi.”

“Hey, what are you doing once we get back to the hotel?” She asks while readjusting herself and setting her bag down by her feet.

“Well, I was planning to see if I could room with Alex, but it doesn’t seem like she wants anything to do with me at the moment.” You send Naomi a weak smile which she returns with a sympathetic one.

“Nonsense, we all know Alex gets moody at times but never directly at you. I’m assigned to be her roommate so why don’t we switch? I heard you got Soph anyway.” The defender digs in her bag, pulling out a keycard and holding it out to you.

You wearily accept the card with a small thank you and give her yours in exchange. For the remainder of the ride, Naomi helps you cheer up with a few stories and jokes about her little hangouts with some of the team.

“Time to cheer up the monster.” You groan in which Naomi just laughs and offers you a hand to stand up.

“I believe in you. Go save your knight in shining armor.”

“More like my beast.” You grumble, receiving chuckles from some of the girls who have overheard, none of them being Alex, thankfully, as she is still getting off the bus.

Walking into the hotel, you make your way to your room and are met with your girlfriend soon after. You shyly glance at her and see her confused gaze.

“I thought I was roomed with Girma?” Alex frowns while you give her a look of slight discomfort.

“Umm, Naomi wanted to trade so she could room with Soph and I thought rooming with you would be nice. I could go switch it back if you want.” You whisper, slightly scared she doesn’t want you near her and your voice might betray you.

“No, just stay with me.” The girl mumbles, opening the door with her key and rushing in with her baggage.

Your eyes follow her movements like a lost puppy while you stand by the door. Alex takes in the silence and looks up at you, stopping her scavenging in her back.

“What?” She asks, looking at you with an annoyed expression. You swallow back your nerves before making your way over to the bed and getting everything that you need out of your bag and ready for the night.

The thick silence lasts for around twenty minutes before you begin to feel irritated. Alex is in the little kitchen, leaning against the counter and looking at her phone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You finally ask gently, trying your best to keep your growing frustration with the striker at bay.

“Nothing.” Her tone remains empty, clearly not wanting to open up.

“It has to be something. You’ve been avoiding me all day, along with being quiet.” You explain, walking over to her but still keeping a little bit of space between the two of you.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Alex, you did amazing out there today, we won 3-0 and we’re advancing. If it’s about the card-“

“It’s not about the fucking card!” Alex finally snaps, dropping her phone on the counter and looking at you with a fiery gaze, but it doesn’t tear you down.

“Then tell me what it’s about, please. I can’t have you concealing all this anger. It’s not fair to you or me.” You try, voice becoming more and more desperate.

“Just shut up,” Alex warns, clenching her jaw as her hands tighten on the counter while shifting her eyes away from you.

“I’m just trying to help-”

Your sentence is cut off when your girlfriend storms over to you and she reaches out, gripping your jaw while pinning you against the wall. You look up at her with wide eyes, taking in her appearance. Wet hair, red cheeks, a zip-up training kit covering her body, and blown pupils.

“I said to shut up.” She grits, her hand never leaving your face. Her eyes look down at your lips for a split second and you luckily notice.

Without warning, she smashes her lips onto yours in a harsh kiss. Nothing about it is sweet or romantic. Both your tongues and teeth clash together like you’re trying to see who can last longer to this roughness. The hand on your jaw leaves and finds a new place around your neck, controlling every movement of your head.

“God you’re so hot. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to have you all to myself again.” The taller girl rasps against your lips before moving down to nip at your neck.

While she attacks your neck, you finally put two and two together. You realize Alex may have been aggravated by this game but all of her pent-up anger mainly resulted from a little sexual frustration. With the NWSL preseason starting and the Gold Cup, you both have been busy at training camp and too exhausted to even think about starting anything.

But with Alex, she needs an outlet after she’s played, which is mainly sex. She can finally have total control of something and that something being you. You’re at her total submission, allowing her to do whatever she wants to you and making you do whatever she wants to her.

Her lips disconnecting from your neck pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at her with your doe eyes and watch as her tongue licks her lips while she eyes you up and down.

Soon her hands grip your waist and tug you over to the bed. She sits at the end of the mattress and leans back with her hands holding her up while you remain standing in front of her.

“Strip,” Alex demands, watching as you slowly grip the bottom of your shirt and cautiously pull it over your head. When she takes sight of what seems to be a new bra, she sits back up and grips your naked hips.

“If you need to use me, use me, Alex.” You say boldly, returning her lustful gaze. Her jaw almost drops before she quickly starts unbuttoning your jeans and yanking them down so you’re only in your bra and panties.

“Get on the bed.” When you don’t immediately do as she says, she pulls you down herself making you squeal in the process. “When I say to do something, you listen, got it?” You nod your head, earning you a satisfied grin.

Alex’s body hovers over you with her wet hair curtaining any view other than her face. You blindly reach down and tug on the zipper of her hoodie, asking if you can take it off. She swiftly sits up and removes all of her clothes, leaving her bare.

“I guess I should take these off you now, shouldn’t I?” She taunts, hooking her finger on the waistband of your panties and letting go of them with a sharp snap against your skin.

“Please, Alex. I need you.” You whine, bucking your hips closer to her hand. She chuckles before leaning down and kissing on your chest. Her hand reaches around your back and unclips your bra, letting it slide down a little before taking it off altogether.

Instead of moving down, her lips move up your neck and to your ear. “So beautiful, I can’t wait to have you trembling underneath my touch and screaming for me to let you cum.” Her breath fans against your ear while her breasts are smushed against yours. She tugs on your earlobe with her teeth before sitting back up, admiring your body.

“I bet you’re already wet for me even though I have barely touched you. You probably like me roughhousing you around to my pleasure. So obedient for me.” You moan as she carelessly speaks of you while trailing her finger down the center of your stomach.

“Alex, baby, I need you. I need you to touch me, please.” Your body squirms while she continues to trace her finger down to your core.

She finally dips her hand in and spreads your arousal around, completely lost in her head on how wet you are. Her finger teasingly dips into you but only for a split second, causing you to whine out.

“God, I’ve missed this pretty pussy so much.” Your girlfriend groans before angling her arm in an awkward manner and plunging two fingers into you.

Her body leans down so her lips can latch onto your breasts, leaving hickeys anywhere she pleases. Moans spew their way out of your mouth at the long-needed pleasure, but her thrusts are nowhere near fast enough to get you off, mainly because of the way her arm is angled, so you reach down with a huff and kick off your panties, leaving no restraint for Alex.

“Faster.” You pant, rolling your hips with each thrust of the forward’s hand. She chuckles and moves her arm lower so she can pump in and out of you at an ungodly pace.

“Is this what you want? Want to get fucked so hard you won’t be able to think properly, huh?” She questions without her fingers even stuttering. The loud wet noises of her thrusts echo throughout the hotel room along with your whimpers and moans.

Her finger reaches a point inside of you that has your head spinning. The build-up in your lower stomach becomes more apparent as your core tightens around your girlfriend’s digits.

“I’m gonna cum, baby.” You moan, digging your nails into her bicep, leaving dark crescent indents in her skin which she loves.

Suddenly, the pressure in your stomach subsides due to Alex pulling her fingers out, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“You’re not gonna cum that easily, sweets. I still have so much I want to do to you.” She says in an uncharacteristically sweet tone while placing a kiss on your cheek.

Both of her hands rub up and down your sides as she kisses from your sternum down to your thigh. She bites at the inside of your skin before soothing the sting with her tongue. Alex looks over and sees your hands clenching and unclenching the sheets below you while your breathing picks up in impatience.

“So beautiful.” She whispers against your thigh before pushing it open with her large hand and latching her mouth onto your core. She lets out a low groan at the taste of you while dipping her tongue into you.

Your hips twitch into her as her tongue laps around your clit, sucking and licking the swollen surface. Your girlfriend’s hands lay flat on your stomach as she pushes her head further into your wet heat. Subconsciously, your legs begin to close in on Alex’s head as the familiar knot in your stomach returns.

Just as your hips begin to rise to your release, the brunette once again detaches herself from you, making your orgasm fade away. Tears start to build up in your eyes in frustration from the denial, but Alex wipes them away with her thumb.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so good for me.” She coos, placing a few pecks on your lips in reassurance. “Do you think you’ve been a good girl?” She asks, pulling you to sit up so you’re both facing each other.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been a good girl.” You nod, nuzzling your face into her neck for some sort of comfort.

“I think so too.” Alex brushes your hair behind your ear once you pull back to look at her. She grabs the back of your neck and brings you into an intoxicating kiss, roaming her tongue inside the roof of your mouth

Alex pulls you onto her lap without breaking the kiss, placing you onto her slanted thighs due to her sitting on her legs. You grind slowly against her, attempting to get some kind of friction as your chest presses up against hers. Your girlfriend smirks into the kiss, feeling your arousal smear across her skin.

She slips two digits back inside of you, curling them into your g-spot. A loud moan escapes your lips as your legs tighten around her waist, causing the heels of your feet to push into her back. Your hands also find their way to her shoulder blades, leaving dark red scratches as she pumps her fingers into you.

“Right there.” You gasp as Alex thrusts her fingers into the perfect spot. The bed frame pounds against the wall from your girlfriend’s digits bouncing in and out of you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” She whispers into your ear, pressing a sweet kiss under it to your jaw. You quickly nod your head as your eyes squeeze shut with a loud moan, enticing the girl below you to thrust faster.

“I’m gonna, oh god, ‘m gonna cum, baby.”

“Cum for me.”

Your walls clamp around Alex’s fingers as a flow of juices runs down her hand while you moan in ecstasy, grinding down to push you through your orgasm.

Once your hips stop, she pulls her fingers out of you and places them in front of your mouth. You obediently open and suck, licking off all your arousal while swirling your tongue around them. She watches you with blown-out pupils and a slacked jaw.

“If you think we’re done after you just did that, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her arms wrap around her waist and slam you back onto the bed, making you giggle at her riled-up nature.

The next morning you make your way into the breakfast lobby with Alex’s arm around your waist. Right as everyone catches eye on the both of you, a bunch of whistling and whooping sounds through the room.

“Get it, Morgan. Didn’t know you could do all that.” Trinity cheers while smacking on her gum with a smirk.

Everyone gets their little comments in while your girlfriend just smiles smugly and continues to kiss your temple with her arm remaining on your shoulders. In your flustered state, all you do is hide your face into her neck and try to avoid all of the attention.