#adjustable resistance bands

[road-tosuccess]

Best Fitness Gear for Your Home Gym: Amazon Recommendations

TOP 10 HOME GYM ESSENTIALS Building a home gym is a smart move for staying fit and healthy. Whether you’re just starting or looking to upgrade your current setup, having the right equipment is crucial. In this blog post, we recommend the best fitness gear for your home workouts.

[playingwithapparel]

Guide to At-Home Fitness

Regular exercise is one of the most important things you can do for your mental and physical health. According to the Mayo Clinic, exercise can combat multiple health conditions, improve mood, promote better sleep, and helps you be more social. However, with two little kids, getting to a gym every day is basically an impossible goal for me. I love exercising at home because I can fit it in during…

[itneverendshere]

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud. 

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you. 

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those. 

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.” 

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical. 

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you. 

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 “Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found yourself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart. 

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

 “I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. 

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate. 

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. 

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

 But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more. 

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch. 

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back. 

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.” 

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair. 

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

 "Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge. 

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

 "God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

 "Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out. 

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it. 

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of." 

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

 The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

 "Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan. 

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high. 

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

 "You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you, drowning in affection. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

[kryptonitejelly]

Can you do a newly wed Art x Y/N smut where they can’t seem to keep their hands off of each other. Like every day they just can’t resist ripping each others clothes off. They know they’re in the honeymoon faze, but they are so sure it will continue throughout their marriage

art donaldson x reader // challengers. nsfw - minors DNI

-

“Art,” you caution with no real bite as you feel his fingers slipping under the hem of your dress.

He hums back at you, in acknowledgment rather than in question as you feel his fingers move up higher, pushing the hem of your dress a few more inches up.

“Art,” you say again as he leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss which you meet willingly. You feel his fingers now brushing the lace of your underwear, and you can feel him groan in appreciation as his fingertips skim across barely there lace which he easily pushes aside. Your legs part involuntarily, as Art finds you already slick.

“You’re wet,” he says as he breaks the kiss to bring his lips up to your ears. He shouldn’t have been surprised, because your body’s reaction to him has always been the same, and always quick, but Art always is.

“Mhm,” it’s now your turn to hum in response as he drops his lips to your neck, sucking lightly on the spot of flesh that he knows will get you even wetter while his fingers begin massaging your clit in gentle, barely there circles which leave you wanting more. You can feel your eye lids fluttering close and you’ve never been more thankful for the secluded, private booth in the otherwise packed restaurant.

“I want to fuck you,” you hear Art say against your skin, as he withdraws his fingers, causing you to whimper at the lost of contact. His voice is soft, almost gentle, a stark contrast to his words. He brings his fingers up, which are shiny with your slick, only to pop his index finger into his mouth.

“Then fuck me,” you breathe out, watching as he tastes you, catching sight of his wedding band, a relatively new addition to his hand and yours, glinting.

-

You both barely make it past the threshold of your apartment before your hands are undoing his jeans, his hands pulling down your top of your dress. Art bends his head, tongue swirling around one of your nipples, an act which causes you to arch into his mouth, a loud moan falling from your lips as the electronic lock on your apartment door whirls shut.

“I need you,” you say, a desperate quality to your voice as you make quick work of unzipping his jeans, pushing them down with his underwear.

“Jump,” Art says against your lips, both your mouths moving against each other, and you do. He catches you easily, his years of tennis working to both your advantage. You hands work their way around his neck, legs winding around his body as your back presses into the wall behind, the door which you had both come in from still just mere steps away. Art can feel the stem of your right heel pressing into his butt cheek as he lines himself up against your entrance with his right hand, his left supporting you. He had gotten rid of your underwear before you had even left the restaurant, making you tug it off before he paid the bill, and slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Always,” you manage to pant out, your hips bucking forward as you feel the tip of him nudge you. Art pushes his hips forward, bottoming out in one fluid motion. You’re practically dripping but the stretch still makes you gasp, half in pleasure and half in pain as you adjust to him. You throw your head back against the wall, and Art takes the opportunity to bring his lips to your neck as he gives you a few seconds to adjust to him.

“Move,” you implore him, as you attempt to press your hips into his, “please.”

Art begins to move, his hips snapping into yours at an unmatched pace. You throw one of your hands back, palm flat against the wall your other hand finding its way to the back of his neck, nails sinking into his skin. Art can feel the cool metal of your ring stack, wedding and engagement, against his skin. He turns to kiss the inside of your forearm.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters against your skin, the words falling from his mouth like a litany as he continues to thrust into you, “my wife is so fucking beautiful.”

“I want to cum,” the words escape you like a whine, but also a command as your hands inch up the back of Art’s neck to grasp the hair on the back of his head. It earns you a growl from him, not dissimilar to the sounds which he makes on the tennis court, as his strokes become more intention filled, his hips pressing further into you with each movement; Art aims to please. You feel Art’s teeth sink down onto your shoulder as the familiar pressure begins to coil in your middle.

You come with a cry, your orgasm washing over you, and you lose control of your body in the moment, your hips jerking uncontrollably between Art and the wall. Your pleasure drives him over the edge, and he cums with a groan, his hips on auto pilot as they continue to push into yours, but now at a languid pace as he fucks himself through his own high.

“You okay to stand?” He asks, forehead against yours, your back still pressed against the wall, legs still wrapped around him, but more loosely.

“No,” you respond, your eyes fluttering open, looking into Art’s blue-brown eyes. You can feel him softening inside you, but Art doesn’t pull himself out. He manages to shuffle deeper into your apartment, into the guest toilet nearest to the entrance with you still wrapped around him, his jeans and underwear still hooked around knee height.

Art sets you down on the bathroom counter, your skin meeting cool marble before he pulls out of you.

“We’re no better than a couple of horny teenagers,” you muse as you move to tug your dress over your head before letting it drop on the counter beside you, “how long do you think it’ll last.���

You feel Art run a finger up your slit as his cum starts to drip out of you, your still sensitive body shuddering slightly at the contact. You both had always had trouble keeping your hands off each other but since the wedding, something about knowing that you were husband and wife had made it so much worse.

“Do you want it not to last?” He asks, his tone light, but with a flash of insecurity that you know its there.

“I want it to last,” you say firmly as you reach for his hand, your lips going over his finger, tongue swirling around the digit as you taste both yourself and his cum on him, before releasing his finger with a pop. You see Art’s eyes darken with lust, his hand coming to grasp your jaw lightly tilting your head up so his lips can meet yours.

[ynscrazylife]

I think reader with Aaron Hotchner (criminal minds) and

"Let's get you home." "Oh, mine or yours?" "Ours." "Oh, wow!"

would be adorable 🤭

all ours (fiancé!aaron hotchner x reader)

Aaron doesn’t usually join the team for nights out at the bar but damn, you’re quite convincing, tugging on his arm with a sweet, adorable look. He can’t resist you. It’s simply not in his nature.

He has to admit, he’s glad he’s come tonight. It’s nice to see you all having fun for once, letting the tension and stress of the job go. Spencer’s beat everyone at trivia night, JJ is trying to set Emily up with someone, Derek, you, and Penelope are alternating between playing darts or pool, and Rossi is trying to flirt with anyone who’ll listen.

“Oh my god, you’re not supposed to throw the dart at me, dummy!”

Aaron takes your exclamation as his cue. He puts down a drink he’s barely had half of and walks over to where you’re glaring at Derek, a dart sticking to your forehead.

“Stay still,” Derek says, laughing as he points his phone at you to take a picture.

“Are we having fun?” Aaron asks, gently plucking the dart off your forehead and looking at Penelope. The two of them are the only sober ones left of the group.

“Yep,” Penelope says with a smile as you and Derek start bickering.

She and Aaron let you go at it, chatting for a little while, until you suddenly stumble. Aaron catches you before you fall, tucking you into his side. “I think we should get you home,” he says.

You hum. “Mine or yours?” You ask, leaning your head against his chest and smiling dreamily, your frustration with Derek completely forgotten.

Aaron blinks, unsure whether to be amused or worried. “Ours, sweetheart,” he corrrcts.

“Oh, wow!” You chirp excitedly.

Penelope can’t help but laugh, which eases Aaron and makes him smile. “Mhm. We bought a house when we got engaged, remember?” He reminds you, grabbing your hand and holding it up so that you can spot your engagement ring.

You gasp. “So shiny,” you remark, letting your body sag against Aaron. He quickly adjusts his arm to wrap around your waist, holding you up.

“Just wait until you see the wedding bands,” Aaron says, kissing your forehead. He turns to Penelope. “We’ll see you all on Monday. You got the rest of the team?”

“Yes, sir. I think you’re taking the trouble with you,” Penelope affirms, before they’re interrupted by Spencer’s yelp after Derek nails him with a dart. “Okay, half the trouble.”

“Heyyyy,” you whine, pouting (which Aaron thinks is adorable).

Penelope mouths an apology, which you can barely comprehend with your drunkenness. “Good luck, Garcia,” Aaron says, steering the two of you towards the exit.

Getting you to the car is certainly . . . An experience. You can’t seem to stop giggling at who knows what, stopping your fiancé every few feet to point at something (twice he swears you point to the same star in the sky).

“Alright, there you go,” he says as he sits you down in the passenger’s seat. When he leans over to buckle you in, you pull at his arms and grab his face, kissing him. Aaron entertains you for a second, then pulls back. “You little sneak.”

You giggle some more, finding the image of your lipstick smeared on Aaron’s lips hilarious. “Aaron, will you let me do your makeup sometime?” You ask.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he says, confidant that you won’t remember this. He finishes buckling you in and closes the door, quickly running around to hop into the driver’s seat.

Once he starts driving, Aaron puts on the radio to hopefully keep you occupied. When the two of you arrive back home, Aaron helps you out of the car, only for you to marvel at the house.

“Wow — that house is sooo pretty,” you say, pointing at it.

“We bought that house, honey, remember?” Aaron says. He can’t wait to tease you about this when you’re sober.

“We did? Really? It’s all ours?” You ask him as he escorts you onto the porch, where he reaches into his pocket for his keys.

“All ours,” Aaron affirms, slipping the key into the lock.

“Even the lamp?” You say, squirming out of his grip to wrap your arms around the lamp pole.

“Yes,” Aaron says, laughing. He gently tugs you away and gets you inside the house. You compliment your fiancé’s taste about everything in the house, even when he tells you that you picked out your fair share of the design and furniture.

He gets you upstairs by telling you that the master bedroom is, by far, the best room in the house.

“It’s beautiful!” You cry before Aaron even turns the light switch on.

He sits you down on the bed and helps you change into a shirt and sweatpants that both belong to him (he knows that you love wearing his clothes). Once you flop down on the bed, Aaron changes into his pajamas. He grabs some make-up wipes from the bathroom and dabs carefully at your face, smiling as you giggle.

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” he says, only for you to hum in response.

Once he finishes, he tosses the wipes in the garbage can. When he gets back to bed, you’ve almost dozed off completely, slowly blinking.

“Tuckered out, honey?” He coos, taking a mental photo of the absolute adorable sight in front of him. Your hair is all messy, you’re pouting, but he just thinks it makes you cuter.

“No,” you mumble.

Aaron grins and turns off the light, lying down in bed next to you. He pulls you into his side, cuddling you, until you fall asleep, where he kissed your forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he says.

In the morning, he teases you about your drunk attics. You remind him of his promise to let you do his make-up.

[tomscumdump]

NEEDY

-18+

“STAR OVER here baby!!” I heard the loud cheers and applause, for me. my eyes fluttered open to the big crowd and money scattered along the stage floor, in my skimpy slutty lingerie outfit and stilettos. but, I felt a familiar pair of eyes on me tonight.

I did my bows and blew kisses to the sweaty middle aged men.. I walked off stage and to the bar my other co-workers and friends were serving at. I greeted them and saw him.

my favorite boy.

he had been staring, for quite a while. I noticed him looking me up and down and smirking. I grinned his way and walked over, I noticed he was alone this time.. no bill, georg, or gustav. I had a feeling I already knew what he wanted tonight.

“hey baby.” he said in a low voice, standing up and adjusting those baggy pants. he walked up to me and looked down, snaking his hands around my waist. I swatted them away and pushed him off. “nuh uh, you know the drill tom. no money no touching..” I said teasing, I knew how much he hated not being able to touch me.

It was a bit more than usual today. he groaned and rolled his eyes. “y/n please, please baby..” I sighed, I couldn’t resist him. besides, there’s nothing more I love then a submissive little boy toy.

I looked around for my manager anywhere. I looked back at him and smirked, I grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd and to a room. I heard his sweet little giggles as we entered, his arms flung to my waist, but I stopped him.

I nodded my head no and walked over to the bed. “c’mere.” I patted on the bed for him to get on, he walked over and sat down next to me. “y/n I just r—“ I quickly cut him off by smashing my lips onto his, his sweet soft lips. I could kiss them for hours and hours on end. he spent no time getting into the rhythm of the kiss, he cupped my cheeks with his hands and brought me closer, I moved over and onto his lap straddling him. he whined at the sudden movement, I grinding my hips digging into him. the sweet noises he made only aroused me more.

“f-fuck please..” he moaned softly, wrapping his arms around my waist as he dug his head into my neck attempting to hide his whimpers and whines. but if anything, I liked them. “your cute. you know that right?” i say in a seductive tone, i grab his face and caress his cheeks softly. he gives a soft smile and I give one back, I wanted to make him feel loved before I fuck him so hard he cry’s.

I sit up slightly, I glance at him as he just stares at me like I’m an angel. I slide the skimpy ripped top I was wearing, just leaving me in a hot pink laced bra. I slid my tiny skirt off as well, my panties matching my bra. he reached to squeeze my ass. but my hand slapped his face hard, grasping his jaw bringing it close to my face.

“didn’t you hear me the first time, slut? no fuckin touching.” he whimpered quietly and nodded his head with a weak smirk on his face. “m-mama please—“ he said in a desperate tone. I giggled at his need for me. “you’re needy today..”

I said licking my lips slightly, he stared into my intoxicating eyes. I could tell he wanted this, the bulge begging to be freed from his pants and the way he looked all over my body. I tugged at his shirt and made a little whiny face. “so am I the only one getting undressed or what.” he didn’t even say anything, he slid his shirt off and I worked at his belt, throwing it across the room and moving his pants down low enough just for that bulge to peek out.

I saw the little damp spot from the pre-cum. “all worked up just for me..” I said running my hand down his abs and down to his boxes, tugging at the waist band. “mama, touch me please…” he screwed his eyes shut biting his lip. I placed the palm of my hand, rubbing his erection. his mouth was hung open and small moans and squeaks of excitement and pleasure escaped his mouth.

I tugged down his boxers all the way, his dick springing out hitting his lower abdomen. he whined begging for some kind of touch from me. I grazed my hand gently up his dick staring in awe. “y/n please ~mhh~ I need you..” I grabbed the base of his cock, stroking up and down at an aching slow pace. he threw his head back, grunting and whining.

I slapped his face again, tugging at his hair. “if you make a fucking sound, I’m leaving whore.” he knawed at his bottom lip, smirking slightly obviously getting aroused. “wipe that stupid smirk off your face.” I said sternly with my jaw clenched. I remove my hand from his cock and he shuts his eyes in dissatisfaction. he looks back at me with pleading eyes.

“tell me what you want, use your fucking words.” I say with arms crossed, he leans back a little trying to find the words to say. “j-just touch me please.. I want to feel your hands all over me, mama..” I grin at his sweet little words, I tilt my head teasing. “mhm, where baby.. where do you want me?” I say in a sweet tone, caressing his arm slowly.

“.. m-my dick…”

I lean forward to kiss his cheek where I head previously slapped him, working my way down to his neck I whispered. “you sure?” I said smirking licking and sucking his neck, leaving my marks all over. “y-yes mama, pleasee..” I grinned and kissed down to his collarbone, chest, stomach, then his v line. he whined and moaned with every little kiss I gave. I grabbed the base of his cock and kitty licked the tip, pre-cum oozing out as his dick twitched. he grasped the sheets and bit his lip.

I licked up and down his dick repeatedly, causing him to mumble curse words under his breath. I spat on the tip of his cock, slowly moving my mouth lower and lower until I reached the base of his cock. i gagged here and there, but I managed.

“o-oh my ~ngh~ y/n..” he laughed breathlessly, he knew no other little slut he fucked would ever fuck him as good as I did. I picked up my pace a little, feeling his dick twitch in my mouth as I moaned and grunted against his cock sending little vibrations which he loved.

I was beginning to not be able to take it either, I was getting horny and feeling myself get wetter and wetter. “f-fuck I’m gonna—“ I grunted and pulled my mouth off his dick, pushing him down onto the bed and climbing on top of him. I was begining to slide my panties off, but he whined and made a comment. “shit I was gonna cum!!—“ I scoff and pull up my panties again, he made a shocked face and began to protest. “w-wait!” I grunted and sat my body down on his lap and he laid under me. “your not getting shit after talking to me like that.” I stated blunty, he begged and begged for me to fuck him. it was flattering to know how badly he wanted my pussy. “please y/n! j-just fuck me!!” I sighed and rolled my eyes, thinking of ways to make this interesting and more enjoyable for me.

“fine. but, I have rules.” I said placing one hand on his chest for support, and using my free hand to slide of my panties slowly. he nodded obediently and grinned. “no touching, not a single peep from you, and you cum when I say so. you understand slut?” he replies almost immediately, desperate for me. “y-yes!! I’ll listen- please just fuck me already!!” he grunts, trying to thrust his hips up to feel me. I push his hips down and groan. “already broke one of the rules..” I look around the room and reach for his shirt, throwing his hands above his head and tying the shirt like a rope around his wrist. “no touching.” I say sternly with my jaw clenched.

I slide my panties off completely, throwing them across the room. aligning my entrance with his tip, slowly shoving the tip in. his chest rises up and down rapidly trying to avoid making noise. I stay there for a bit, then crash my hips down our skin slapping as his dick rams right into me. he throws his head back and uses his arms to hide his face with his eyes screwed shut. I moan out as I smile looking down, not an inch of space between my pussy and his cock. “fuckkkkk…” I drag out laughing slightly. I grasp his shoulders for support as I bounce up and down on his dick. his mouth was hung open, but not a sound was coming out as small tears fell down his cheeks. “s-so good.. doing s’good just for me…” I smirk, throwing my head back due to the feeling of ecstasy.

I feel his tip hit that sweet spot in my perfectly, I moan out loudly aching for more, small beads of sweat forming on both of our faces, strands of my hair getting stuck to my face. my movements get sloppy as I feel that knot in my stomach forming. I grunt and ram his dick into me a few more times, tom lets out a few whines. I look at his lewd face, he opens his mouth to mumble a quiet sentence I knew he would say. “I-im gonna ~gahh~ cum!!” he says out of breath, his eyes hitting the back of his head. I clench my jaw and throw my head back, I was close. but not close enough, I grunt through my bounces. “fucking h-hold it whore..!” I screw my eyes shut picking up my pace, chasing my climax. he whines and shakes his head rapidly, pursing his lips. “m-mama I can’t pleasee!!” he squirmed and tugged under me, begging to cum. I let out a breathy laugh as our skin slapped, sounds of moans and lewd noises filling the room. his eyes fluttered open as he stared at me.

“fuckk!! cum baby, cum!!!” I moan out loudly, throwing myself down onto his body as we kissed roughly, our lips interlocking and our tounges clashing together. “shitshitshit oh my fucking god!!!” he whimpers as he thrust up into me once more lazily.

I felt my walls clench around toms dick as I came all over his hard veiny cock. his cum spurted into me, filling me up perfectly making my eyes roll back and my stomach twitch. he moaned out my name repeatedly, sounding like it was the only thing he could utter. “look baby, look.” I whine, slowly sliding his dick out of me. watching our mixed substances ooze out of me. he lets out a breathy laugh. I untie his arms and he immediately flings his arms around me to hug him. he kisses my cheek and brushes the hair out of my face and whispers in my ear

“can we have a round two..?”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✮ 

omg this was a longgggg one lmaaooo!!! also I got this idea in the car randomly and I thought it was amazing. also I fucking loveeee sub tom ngh!! also thx for the love on the last little fic i did yesterday eekkk!!! :3333

[kiwisluv]

curls - jude bellingham blurb

warnings: insinuation of smut

you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror while jude showers, doing your morning facial routine to start getting ready for the day. you smile fondly as jude gets out of the shower, still visibly tired. he's still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, holding back a yawn. as he wraps the towel around his waist, he takes a few steps over to you and places a kiss on your cheek from behind, then walks into your shared bedroom to dry off and pull on a pair of boxers before coming back into the bathroom. he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your torso, letting his head rest on your shoulder as his eyes flutter shut. you smile at your reflection in the mirror, feeling warm inside at the complete domesticity the two of you fell into together. you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple and gently ask, "what's got you so sleepy this morning?" instead of answering, he just presses his face further into your neck, leaving a kiss on your skin. "oh come here, you big baby," you say with an amused smile as you turn around to wrap your arms around his neck, placing a few soft kisses on his lips. with your back to the counter, you hoist yourself up to sit on the surface and open your legs so the man can stand between them. he goes to kiss you again, and afterwards you pull back to reach for the moisturizer you had just used. "come 'ere," you say softly as you dip your hand into the tub, rubbing the cream between your hands before gently placing it on jude's face, rubbing it in all over. he allows his eyelashes to flutter shut, a faint content smile appearing on his face at the soothing feeling. after the moisturizer, you follow up with an eye cream before placing a kiss on both of his cheeks. "that feel good?" you ask, to which jude responds with an "mhm." you laugh lightly at the boy's exhaustion, reminding him that the two of you do need to get ready for the day. after a little bit of convincing, jude retreats to the bedroom to put on a shirt and some shorts. it doesn't take long for him to return to the bathroom, wanting to spend as much time as possible with you before you had to part to go about your day. "wanna do my hair?" he asked, holding up his sponge. you look at him for a minute, considering turning him down since you were in the middle of doing your makeup. however, you could never resist that tired but loving look in his eyes, so you agreed. he sat down on the closed toilet, allowing you to come up next to him and start swirling the sponge in circles to form his curls. as you do so, he leans into you once again, wrapping one arm lazily around your waist as you continue to work on his hair. it doesn't take long with the sponge, so you have him stand up and look at you so you can make the last few adjustments with your fingers, picking at certain curls and making sure nothing was sticking out in a funny manner. once you were done, jude looked in the mirror to check for himself. he smiled as he turned to you, swiftly grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you back up onto the counter. "looks perfect," he mumbled, inches away from your mouth. he didn't waste time in connecting your lips, lazily making out as you lightly scratched the back of his neck and his hands rested on your hips. after a bit, you pulled away for a breather, brushing your fingers over his eyebrows to smooth them down. you couldn't deny, you still felt intoxicated at his every touch, and the feeling of his large hands on your hips made you dizzy. "keep acting like this and i might mess up your hair," you quipped at him, messing with a curl towards the back of his head. "i'll fix it," he smirked, before kissing down your neck and placing his hands underneath the waist band of your shorts, pulling them down cheekily. your fingers found a home between the curls you had just perfected as he kneeled to the ground, not caring how messed up they got as he placed his head between your legs.

[fafnir19]

To: @alldaystress

The dull buzz of the alarm clock jars you awake, its persistent ringing a stark contrast to the dreary morning. You groan, rolling over in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs. It's another day at the new job, a position you reluctantly accepted after months of unemployment. As you stretch, your fingers graze the worn fabric of the old band t-shirt you've slept in, a remnant of your college days when you cared more about music and rebellion than grades. It’s your first job after college, but it's not the career launch you'd hoped for. Your grades, never stellar, landed you in this entry-level position with no real prospects for advancement. You had always struggled with commitment, both in your studies and personal life, and your grades reflected that. College was a blur of late nights, parties, and a general lack of direction. Now, at 24, you find yourself starting at the bottom of the corporate ladder, feeling like you've wasted precious years. As you get ready for the day, pulling on a pair of faded jeans and a wrinkled button-down shirt, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your dark brown hair, slightly unkempt, frames your average face, its roundness accentuated by the soft jawline. Brown eyes stare back at you, lacking the spark of confidence and determination that many of your peers seem to possess.

This week you had a boring week-long business convention planned in another city and your taxi to the airport was already waiting for you. You sigh, knowing that today is another step towards a future you're not entirely sure you want.

The hotel lobby is bustling with activity as you step inside, your eyes adjusting to the elegant chandelier's glow. It's a far cry from your usual haunts, a world of luxury you've only ever glimpsed from the outside. You had always felt like an outsider, your rebellious nature a barrier to fitting in. But today, you're here for a convention, a rare opportunity to network and perhaps, just perhaps, find a way out of your dead-end job.

"Welcome to the Grand Summit Hotel," a familiar voice called out. You freeze, recognizing the voice immediately. Jennifer, a former classmate from high school, stands behind the counter, her expression a mix of amusement and mockery.

She was always a bit of an oddball, claiming to be a witch and nerved anyone who crossed her. You had mocked her relentlessly back then, earning the nickname 'Golden Boy' as a sarcastic reference to your lack of ambition and low physical prowess and mediocre grades.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our Golden Boy!" Jennifer leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You remember her all too well—the self-proclaimed witch who always had a sarcastic remark ready, especially for you.

*So much for witchcraft,* you thought. *She’s stuck here, while I’m—well, still in a dead-end job too.*

“Nice to see you too, Witchie,” you shot back, unable to resist. Her nickname always had a way of irking you, but today, it felt more playful than biting. She chuckled, a sound that surprisingly warmed the space between you. “We’re fully booked, but I had the choice to give you a room by the trash bins. Lucky for you, I decided you deserve an upgrade!” She flashed a smirk, her expression a mix of mischief and genuine friendliness. Puzzled, you raised an eyebrow. “An upgrade? From you? What’s the catch?” She laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the spacious lobby. “No catch. Just consider it a friendly gesture. Besides, I’m a little tired of being known as the girl who lost to the ‘Golden Boy.’” You followed her to the top floor, the elevator climbing steadily. As the doors opened, you stepped into the suite, your breath hitching. The sleek black and silver design was modern and striking, like something straight out of a high-end ad. Your heart raced with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “Wow,” you breathed, glancing around. “This is... impressive.”

You tossed yourself onto the oversized bed, the silk sheets feeling like a decadent cloud. “I could get used to this,” you said, a cocky grin spreading across your face. In a playful move, Jennifer tossed the silk bed cover over you, covering you completely. “Now you’re just a golden burrito!” You laughed, your voice muffled beneath the fabric. “At least I’m a cozy one!” The game was on, and you attempted to wriggle free, planning to retaliate with a pillow. Yet, the cover was more confining than expected, and your struggles only entangled you further. "Hey, let me out!" you shouted, your voice muffled by the silk. But your struggles only resulted in Jennifer's laughter. "Jennifer, this isn't funny!" you called out, a hint of panic creeping in. "Relax, Golden Boy," her melodic voice replied, followed by a soft laugh. "Relax and lay down, Golden Boy," Jennifer's voice, now serious, instructed. "You're making this harder than it needs to be." You froze, realizing she wasn't playing anymore.

Her hands found your shoulders, gently but firmly pushing you down. "No need to fight it. Surrender to the silk." The sensation of her touch through the silk was peculiar. It was as if the fabric had become an extension of her, caressing your skin, making you hyperaware of every nerve ending. "What... what are you doing?" you managed to utter, your voice weak against the tide of pleasure and surprise. "Shh," she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. "No more resistance. You've always been a fighter, but here, now, it's time to let go." Her fingers traced patterns on your chest, sending shivers down your spine. "Listen to my voice, Golden Boy. Let it guide you." Your body felt leaden, as if a weight was pulling you deeper into the bed. "I... I can't move," you stammered, the realization hitting you. "That's right," she cooed, her finger now resting gently on your lips. "You don't need to. It's liberating, isn't it? No more expectations, no more pretending." Her words were like a spell, each one binding you further. "You've never truly been in control, have you? Not in school, not in life. It's exhausting, fighting it all the time."

You tried to argue, but the words caught in your throat as her hands glided lower. "W-wait," you stammer, your voice weak and you realize with a start that she's touching you intimately, despite your protests. "Oh, look at that," she purred with satisfaction, her fingers caressing the growing bulge that was appearing in the sheets. . "You're responding beautifully. Let the horniness flow through you. Don't fight it, not even for a second." Her hand stroking over your silk-covered erection, and you gasp as pleasure surges through you. "Oh... but I..." Your words trail off as her touch ignites a fire within you. You're hardening under her touch, the throbbing between your legs contradicting your sexual orientation. "Oh, Golden Boy, don't fight it. I know you're gay, but your body knows what it wants. It's natural, just let it happen." Her voice is almost hypnotic, and you find yourself agreeing, your body craving more. "Y-yes..." You moan softly as her strokes become more insistent, your cock straining against the silk. "Shh... It's okay to want this," she whispers, her fingers continuing their sensual dance. "Let go of your inhibitions. You're so eager, so responsive. It's perfect." Your mind is spinning, the sensation of her touch overwhelming. You feel yourself sinking further into the bed, the silk sheets caressing your skin.

"That's it," Jennifer cooed, her fingers now stroking the length of your hardened cock. "You have no choice but to feel. No choice but to be exactly what you are in this moment. Nothing else matters." Your mind was blank, filled only with the need to surrender, to let go of everything but the pleasure. The world around you fades, and all that's left is the silk, her touch, and the pleasure coursing through your veins. You are sinking, surrendering to the sensation, to her. "You're doing exactly what you should, Golden Boy. So eager to please, so ready to obey." Her voice is a distant hum as you descend deeper into the bed, the darkness enveloping you.

"You're doing perfectly. No more thinking, just feeling. You're so horny, so ready to please." The silk caressed every inch of your skin, and you sank deeper, the mattress molding around you. "Yes, surrender to it," Jennifer whispered, her voice distant yet commanding. "Forget who you were. You're Golden Boy now, eager, obedient. No more doubts, no more resistance." The room spun as you sunk further, the silk a dark, sensuous cocoon. "Yes, let it consume you," she whispers, and then, darkness. The last thing you felt was the silk against your skin, and then nothing. The suite fell silent, and Jennifer, with a satisfied smile, smoothed the covers, erasing all traces of your existence.

The darkness enveloped you, and time became an abstract concept as you lay there, unconscious.  But soon, a sensation stirred you from your slumber, a feeling of being stretched and pulled, awakening your senses. It was then that you realized, with a jolt of horror, you weren't just lying on a bed anymore. "Oh, fuck," a deep, masculine voice groaned above you. You were being pulled taut, and the realization hit you— you were a silk sheet, and beneath you was a man's throbbing erection and he was jerking off.

Marcus, the handsome executive, lay there, his eyes closed in pleasure, completely oblivious to your presence. His hands gripped the silk—you—and began to stroke himself, the friction of his movements sending shivers through your transformed body. "Oh, yes," he moaned, his voice deep and husky. "This silk feels incredible."

The tip of his cock, hard and pulsating, pressed against you, and a drop of pre-cum oozed from the slit, seeping into your silky fabric. The intimate contact sparked a surprising reaction within you. The horror you initially felt began to melt away, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar joy.

The pleasure he derived from your silkiness was intoxicating. You wanted to please him, to be used for his pleasure, to be the best silk sheet he had ever experienced. The thought of being a mere object of desire filled you with a sense of purpose. You were grateful to be the vessel of his satisfaction, a tool for his release.

As he continued to stroke, your transformation began to reverse, the silk giving way to flesh, muscle, and bone. As his strokes grew faster, so did your transformation. You could feel your body changing, the silk fabric becoming skin once more. The process was slow, but with each stroke of his cock, you were coming back to life, back to being human. You emerged from the silk, your body now straddling Marcus, your legs on either side of his waist. With that, you began instinctively to move, rising and falling on his shaft, your body now fully restored to its human form. The pleasure was unlike anything you'd experienced before. You rode him with a newfound confidence, your movements fluid and graceful. "Yes, that's it," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your motions. His intense gaze locked onto you, a mixture of satisfaction and predatory hunger flashing across his face. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and commanding. You paused, searching your mind.

The name on the tip of your tongue feels foreign. "Golden Boy," you blurted out, unsure why those words came to mind. It felt right, yet wrong at the same time. A sense of unease washes over you as you realize you can't remember anything else. "Perfect," Marcus purrs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Let's see if Jennifer delivered on her promise." As if on cue, you glanced at the mirror, barely recognizing the reflection staring back at you. The person in the mirror was younger, their face sculpted with sharp, defined features. Lean muscles rippled beneath smooth, hairless skin, and your eyes widened at the sight of your own chiseled physique. But it was your hair that drew your attention—short golden locks with shaved sides, a stark contrast to your previous unkempt style. Before you could fully process your transformation, Marcus flipped you onto your back with a swift, dominant move.

You gasped as his hard length pushed into you, and you instinctively tried to resist, declaring, "I'm a top!" "You're a top, huh?" he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Well, I'm your mentor now, and I'll teach you a thing or two about success." You struggle against his hold, a surge of defiance rising within you. But his words ignite a spark of curiosity, and you find yourself intrigued by the idea of learning from this powerful man.

He whispered, "I'll teach you the path to success." His words ignited a fire within you, a desire to embrace this new version of yourself. You struggled against his hold, not out of resistance, but from the sheer thrill of it. As he overpowered you, his weight pressing down, you realized this was how he asserted his dominance. You spread your legs, surrendering to the moment, your body arching to meet his thrusts. "You like not being in control, don't you, Golden Boy?" he purred, his voice a seductive caress. "Especially when I'm the one in charge." The truth of his words hit you hard. You craved his control, the power he exuded, and the promise of success he offered. "Yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Yes, I do." Marcus's thrusts became more urgent, his body a blur of motion above you. "You will be successful, determined, and superior," he growled. "But with me, you are obedient, my loyal subject." His words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you cried out, "Yes, Sir! Make me yours!" As if your surrender was the final piece he needed, Marcus's body tensed, and he spilled his release inside you. Your own cock, throbbing with need, refused to find release. Marcus noticed your torment, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Cum, Golden Boy," he commanded, his voice laced with power. At his words, your orgasm exploded, and you came with a force that left you breathless.

With your climax, the rebellious spirit is gone, replaced by a burning desire to fit in and succeed, no matter the cost. You smiled, a new determination burning in your transformed eyes. You knew, without a doubt, that Marcus was the mentor you needed, and you would do whatever it took to climb the ladder of success by his side.

The transformation had left you with a new sense of purpose, and as you stepped out of the shower, feeling the warm water wash away the remnants of your old self, you couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Marcus' words. "Now you are mine, I own you," he had said, and you were ready to embrace this new path.

Marcus appeared in the bathroom, his tall, commanding figure filling the doorway. He holds a sleek dress shirt, the kind you've always associated with the old-money elite, and drapes it over your shoulders. You grimace; this is not your style, not who you used to be. "Thanks, but this isn't really my thing," you say, attempting to assert a fragment of your old self. "Oh, but it is, Golden Boy," Marcus purred, his breath warm on your ear. "It's exactly what you've always wanted. You want to be my right hand, don't you?" His words held a hypnotic quality, and you felt your resistance fading. The idea of being his trusted confidant, his right-hand man, began to take root in your mind, pushing aside your old identity. "Tell me, who are you?" Marcus's voice was soft, almost tender. "Golden Boy," you heard yourself say, the words flowing effortlessly. "Your right hand. The epitome of future success." As Marcus buttons up the shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin, you feel a surge of loyalty and desire to please him. The thought of being his right hand, of being an integral part of his empire, is exhilarating. The last remnants of your past life seemed to drift away, like a fading dream and a new identity is being forged, one that is charismatic, confident, and utterly devoted to Marcus. You were no longer the rebellious outsider; you were Golden Boy, a name that now felt like a perfect fit.

The door clicks open, and Jennifer enters, her eyes flickering between you and Marcus. "Do you want to pay cash or by card for my witchcraft?" she asks, her voice laced with satisfaction. Marcus reaches into his pocket and produces a thick wad of bills, handing them to Jennifer with a satisfied grin. "You've exceeded my expectations. I'm impressed, Jennifer." You watch as Jennifer takes the money, her eyes sparkling with triumph. As she turns to leave, you point at her, confusion clouding your mind. "Do I know her?" Marcus's laughter fills the room, warm and rich. "No, Golden Boy. She is a part of your past, and your past no longer holds any significance. Focus on your future, on our future." And in that moment, you knew he was right. Your past life, your struggles, and even your memories were fading into the void. All that mattered was your new identity, your role as Golden Boy, and your mentor, Marcus. As you walked past the reception, Jennifer's eyes followed you. She couldn't help but notice the change. Your stride was confident, your posture proud, and your attire exuded the old-money style.

A vain smirk played on your lips, and Marcus' possessive hand rested on your shoulder. *How sweet you look now, Golden Boy,* Jennifer thought, a hint of satisfaction in her smile. *Nomen est Omen. You should have known better than to cross a witch, back in high school.* But you didn't hear her. Your mind was already focused on the future, on the success that awaited you, and on the powerful man by your side. The old you is gone, and in his place stands a man with a purpose, a man ready to conquer the world at Marcus's side. You were Golden Boy, and nothing else mattered.

[doumadono]

Hii for sinful sunday, can u make a drabble on shoto's behavior if he sees his s/o with a lingerie!

Warnings: aged-up Shoto

SINFUL SUNDAY

Shoto Todoroki had just returned home after a long day of hero work. He was exhausted, his body aching from the battles he had fought. As he walked into his apartment, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. This was his safe haven, a place where he could let his guard down.

He had been in a relationship with his girlfriend for some time now, and they had grown closer with each passing day. Shoto cherished the moments they spent together, the quiet dinners, the laughter, and the unwavering support she gave him.

On this particular evening, however, he was in for a surprise. As he entered the bedroom, he found his girlfriend standing there, wearing nothing but a delicate set of lingerie that left very little to the imagination. Shoto's eyes widened, his usually composed demeanor faltering for a moment. "Y/N," he stammered, "you… you look incredible."

The lingerie that Shoto's girl wore was a breathtaking ensemble that seemed to have been chosen with great care to captivate his attention. It consisted of a delicate, barely-there bra and matching panties in a soft, blush-pink color. The fabric was satin, smooth to the touch and with a subtle sheen that caught the light in the most enticing way.

The bra featured intricate lace detailing along the cups, adding a touch of elegance to the sensuality of the ensemble. The lace extended from the underwire to the straps, which were adjustable and designed for a perfect fit. The cups, though sheer, offered just enough coverage to leave something to the imagination while revealing the graceful curves of the girl.

The panties were equally alluring. They had a low-rise cut, accentuating the natural lines of the hips and lower abdomen. Like the bra, they featured delicate lace that adorned the front panel, adding a touch of sophistication to the barely-there design. The back of the panties left Shoto's imagination to run wild, with a teasing thong style that showcased her assets in an irresistibly tempting manner.

The lingerie was completed with a garter belt and thigh-high stockings, both crafted from the same blush-pink satin and lace combination. The garter belt added a hint of vintage allure, hugging the hips and keeping the stockings in place. The stockings themselves were sheer and adorned with a delicate lace band at the top, framing her legs in a way that was nothing short of seductive.

Altogether, the lingerie was a tantalizing masterpiece, carefully selected to leave Shoto in awe and ignite a passion that he couldn't resist. It was the embodiment of elegance and sensuality, designed to make him forget the world and focus solely on the captivating figure before him.

A soft, sultry smile played on her lips as she approached him, her movements graceful and enticing. "I thought you might need a little something to help you relax after today," she purred.

Shoto's heart raced as he watched her, the sight of his girl in such intimate attire making his cheeks flush with desire. He had always been reserved, but in this moment, he couldn't help but be captivated by the person he loved. "You certainly know how to make me forget all my troubles," Shoto admitted, his voice low and husky.

His girlfriend stepped even closer, her fingers tracing a path up his chest. "That's the idea," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.

As their lips met, Shoto felt the tension of the day melt away. In the arms of the woman he loved, wearing lingerie that left him utterly entranced, he knew that this was where he truly belonged.

[rhaenzokla]

Looking Glass

Choso Kamo x GN!Reader

Summary: you get changed in your bathroom with the door cracked, only to realise your boyfriend can see you in the mirror.

CW: thigh touching at the end.

“I’m gunna go change for bed.” You told your boyfriend as you stood up from where you two were cuddling.

He hummed in agreement as he watched you grab your change of clothes and head to the bathroom.

Leaving the door slightly ajar as it didn’t really matter with him. You were comfortable with him like no one else you’ve met before.

Choso lightly hummed to himself as he took the bands out of his hair to let it fall loose on his shoulders. In the process, he turned his head towards the bathroom door and caught a glimpse of skin.

He blushed for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to see which part of you he could see.

He realised it was your stomach when you were lowering your tank top on. He blushed even harder in embarrassment because he blushed at the sight of your stomach. Idiocy, really. He thought to himself.

He couldn’t help but to keep looking into the mirror beyond the sliver of the door that was open. He couldn’t resist looking at you.

He knew you were beautiful, you made his heart race when you gave him one of your big smiles. Or when you’re sleeping so calmly in his arms.

But he didn’t know just seeing your stomach and your thighs, as you changed into more comfy pants, that he’d blush like this.

He cleared his throat and started trying to find something, anything else to look at so he wouldn’t get caught.

You exited the bathroom, back into your shared bedroom and curled up to his chest. He rested his hand on your shoulder and tried hiding his face in your hair.

You could feel the heat radiating off of his face and looked up questioningly. He sputtered for a moment “I- I-“ he knew he couldn’t lie to you. You always knew. “I could kinda see you in the mirror when you were changing.” You chuckled.

“That’s all? That’s got you blushing so hot you could heat a kettle with your face?” You tease as you kiss his cheek. “I’m assuming you liked what you saw, then?” You ask. He nods.

“I really only saw your stomach and your thighs, but it made me blush. And blushing at just that was a bit embarrassing so it was just a cycle of blushing” he chuckles nervously and you smile at his confession. You take your hand and cover his own that in your shoulder and rest it innocently on your thigh, letting him feel the flesh that had made him blush so.

“We can cuddle all night with you touching my thighs and stomach so you don’t have to be trapped in a blush cycle.” You lift your hand now and reach to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. “I love you, Cho.”

“I love you more, my love.” He responds as he pulls you closer to him and cuddles further into the covers.

©️RhaenZokla

Hope you enjoyed!

Thank you for reading!

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

June part ii

Maybe Finn couldn’t play, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t gift himself fifteen minutes of watching Leo lay out on the mat and use a foam roller to stretch out his back.

“What you think you’re staring at?” Leo had his eyes closed, back arched over the roller, hands above his head. He’d turned the lights off for Finn’s sake.

“I don’t know, I think I might have a crush on you,” Finn said.

Leo laughed, a little out of breath as he bent his knees to moved the roller up near his shoulders. “Oh really?”

“Yep.” Finn adjusted his sling against his neck. “Pretty sure.”

“I thought you liked that Tremblay guy.”

“Who?”

Leo smiled and reached blinding for a resistance band to throw at him. “Stop your flirting. I’m trying to focus.”

Finn just rested his head back against the wall and grinned.

He should be more nervous. Game seven, enemy crowd, their entire season on the line. But it was different, being hurt and watching everyone else out on the ice. Something had gotten tangled, some tethers had twisted wrong, and suddenly there was a pane of glass between him and the game.

“Sorry,” Finn said. “Let me just reel in my adoration.”

Leo hummed and kept his eyes closed. He let out a breath when the roller hit a knot near his shoulder and kept it there, pressing down.

Finn let himself close his eyes for a few moments, too. He wasn’t sure when he would get the chance again without it looking, to any camera, like he’d fallen asleep watching the game. He could see the Instagram posts now, the tweets.

“Fish.”

“Yeah?”

He opened his eyes when Leo didn’t reply. Leo was staring up at the ceiling. The foam roller had become more of a neck pillow now and his hands were folded across the Lions logo on his sweatshirt.

“I’m scared,” Leo said softly.

Finn sat up. He looked hard in the dim room at Leo’s expression, but it wasn’t changing. He appeared calm. As calm as his voice sounded. These words—I’m scared—didn’t even sound small in his mouth. Finn would never have admitted to fear so easily, so cleanly. He—and Logan, he suspected—would have never let those words free on a day like today.

Finn pushed himself up from the wall and knelt across the mat until they were laying side by side on their backs. Leo ditched the roller and pushed their shoulders together.

“I don’t want it to be Logan,” Leo whispered. “I don’t want it to be Logan who gets through.”

Believe me, Finn thought to himself. I know.

“Who says anyone will?” he said aloud.

“Finn…”

“You’re so, so good, Le.”

“I—yes. I’m good but…”

“I know that doesn’t make Logan easier.”

Leo hesitated for a moment. “I almost thought it would be easier if we weren’t…if we weren’t on the best terms when this game happened. After the stuff about you and everything. I thought—I think maybe that’s why I was okay leaving without saying goodbye to him. Maybe part of me thought it would make this not so awful.”

And it was awful. They’d been trying not to call it that—who wanted to call reality awful?—but they missed Logan like air. And Finn, despite the concussion being minor, had been as terrified as everyone around him. And Jack had put pressure on them like an ocean current.

Finn watched the way one of the ceiling lights flickered. “Only Lo is one of the sweetest creatures.”

“Exactly.”

“God, he’s so nice to you, what a dick.”

Leo laughed and slapped him in the chest, avoiding his sling. Finn turned his head and found them nose to nose. He smiled at Leo’s smile and brushed the tips of their noses together.

“For the record, I think you’d be a truly insane person, not just a crazy goalie, if you weren’t nervous for a game seven.” He reached out his good hand and Leo put his own into it. “But you’ve done it before, baby. You’ve won it before.”

Leo nodded. His eyes darted around Finn’s face, as they sometimes did.

“Yes, I do have freckles, thanks for noticing.”

Leo laughed again and, with a groan, rolled into Finn’s side.

“Floor snuggles in the gym.”

Leo nodded closing his eyes. “Just for a second.”

Finn placed a kiss in Leo’s hair. “Wish I could have your back tonight. I really do.”

Leo picked his head up, hand on the lapel of Finn’s game-day suit. “You do. You always do. And you’re wearing the tie I bought you.”

“I am.”

“And you do look very nice in your suit.”

“Thanks, Butter.”

Leo groaned as he pushed himself to his knees, like he didn’t want to get up. “C’mere. Let me kiss your head Finn O’Hara.”

Finn laughed as Leo put his palms on each of Finn’s temples and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Why did you say my name like that?”

Leo bent farther and kissed Finn’s mouth quick. “Cause I got a wicked crush on you.”

The soft sound that came out of Finn’s mouth was was not one he recognized, somewhere between a laugh and a hum. 

“Text me when you find Logan,” Leo said as he rose, then ducked out of the room to jog a few laps around the arena. Finn let himself lay on the floor for a moment, smiling, before getting up, too.

So, it wasn’t all bad, being with the team but not having to get ready for the game. He and Kasey sat in their stalls anyway, suits and all, and watched the locker room chaos. Sirius barely said a word to anyone besides Remus whenever he passed him by. He was locked in, and that sight was almost comforting. Finn could tell that it made the rest of the room feel more ready, too.

They had called up a kid named Hugo Holm as Leo’s back-up, and he looked like he was thinking about making a run for it. Leo didn’t seem to mind. He was being his usual, friendly self, but Finn could tell he was proud that he was the one keeping his cool.

Finn wandered around, too—he never could be still for long. MSG had interesting plaques on the walls. Famous concerts, famous athletes, and other celebrities who had made history there. He was stopped a few times by press, and once by Marlene who gave him his pass up to the players and families box to watch the game, but other than that, he kept his mind clear.

And looked for Logan.

He found Luke first. He was coming in from sitting out on the bench in his sweatpants and sweatshirt, blue-on-blue, and looked surprised to see Finn walking towards him.

Finn put his hands up. “I know, I know. Enemy territory. Just boyfriend-seeking.”

“It’s all good.” Luke took both of his AirPods out. “He’s probably—”

“About to sharpen his skates,” Finn said. Maybe he felt a little flare of competition. Luke was a good line-mate for Logan. He was. But he wasn’t Finn. “It’s that time of the evening.”

“Right.” Luke nodded. “You’d know.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, how’s the head?”

“Fine, thanks,” Finn said. “Third time’s a charm, right?”

Luke winced.

“Sorry.” Finn laughed. “That was supposed to be a joke.” He flexed his fingers on his sling side. “It’s really just this that needs to heal up, so. But at least I can take the sling off more now. Itches.”

“Right.”

This was awkward. This shouldn’t be so awkward. Finn wasn’t awkward, and yet here he and Luke Deveaux were, sizing each other up like they were on the ice.

“Well, glad about the head,” Luke said. He had ducked his chin a little and was fiddling with his phone in a way that, Finn realized, reminded him of Logan. “Um—”

“Thanks,” Finn heard himself blurt out.

Luke’s eyes darted back to his. “What? Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Finn shouldn’t feel competitive. He’d never thought of himself as jealous, but maybe that only applied to Leo.

“No, I mean…Thanks for Logan.”

Luke tilted his head. “What do you…”

“I mean, look, the trade was really…” Finn didn’t stumble over his words. Usually. Something about Luke’s intense steady gaze made him do that now, though. It was like trying to gauge Logan, in the early days at school. Trying to read what he was thinking. Finn took another breath. “It was hard. I’m just trying to say you sound really great. And he talks about you a lot. And I’m glad he has you. You know. Over on the dark side that is not Gryffindor.”

Luke had looked vaguely uncomfortable under the praise, but he cracked a smile. “The dark side, huh?”

“I said what I said.”

Luke smiled more fully and ducked his head again. “Well, that dark side’s gonna beat you thanks to your boyfriend—among other things.”

“We’ll see.”

Just then, Logan appeared from the Rangers locker room, on his way to the equipment room with his skates. He was wearing a backwards blue hat and a tight, gray undershirt that outlined every single muscle in his chest and stomach. He had a piece of rainbow sour strip candy dangling half out of his mouth.

Finn rubbed a hand against his jaw, trying to hide at least some of the shameless expression Luke must’ve seen on his face because he turned to look.

Logan did a double take, then broke into a grin.

“Un intrus,” Logan called around the candy.

“Whatever you say, 71,” Finn replied.

“Sirius, send happy emoji!” Logan shouted back, and Finn extended his slinged hand’s middle finger as he walked towards him.

He turned back to look at Luke. “Good game.”

Luke had a funny expression on his face, but he covered it with a brief smile. “He called you an intruder, by the way.”

“Oh, I bet he calls me all sorts of things.”

Luke just scoffed and put his headphones back in.

Finn didn’t see Logan as he entered the equipment room—he was typing out a quick text to Leo—until two hands grabbed his suit jacket and pushed him—gently, mindfully—up against the wall by the door.

“Wow,” Finn said, looking down into Logan’s green eyes. The candy was gone. “Hello there.”

“Stupid sling,” Logan said.

“I agree.”

Logan had deposited his skates near the sharpener and had his fingers in Finn’s hair, combing it back at the sides. “You come looking for me?”

“No, I wanted to get Luke to sign my chest.”

Logan made a face. “Shut up.” Then he kissed him. Sour-sweet. Finn let Logan take away the tension in his neck and jaw.

His green eyes were happy when he pulled back, if not a little tense. He was thinking about the game. He was still stroking Finn’s hair like he was trying to distract himself.

“You okay?” Finn asked softly, rubbing a hand down his side. Logan’s finger caught a slight knot and when Finn winced Logan switched to petting his good shoulder.

Logan pressed his lips together in a gesture that reminded Finn of Noelle. “Did you already text Leo?”

“You’re petting me like a dog.”

“You like it.”

“Well, damn, truce.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry,” Finn said. “I can’t hear anything over your abs.”

Logan pinched his side. “Shh.”

“Of course I texted Leo. Did you hear what I said?”

Logan was frowning like he was working up the courage to answer Finn’s question, when his eyes caught on something in the hallway.

“Le,” he called. “In here.”

Leo poked his head in. “Oh. Fuck, I almost just walked into your locker room. That would have been terrible.”

“Luke said he’d sign my chest,” Finn said. “Bet he’d do yours, too.”

Leo’s eyes turned bewildered. “Excuse me?”

Logan slapped a hand over Finn’s mouth. “He’s stupid.”

The hand went back to combing through Finn’s hair seemingly against Logan’s will.

Leo just shook his head, smiling, and leaned against the wall beside Finn. “You know, Lo, we technically outnumber you. You should be the one in enemy territory.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Knut speaks the truth. The Knuth.” Leo’s eyes turned imploring. “Sorry, this is my first time outside in a while.”

Logan spread his hands. “You could have texted me! I was just here and—Finn appeared!”

Finn clicked his tongue. “You know, I felt a little more welcomed when I was being pushed up against the wall.”

Leo laughed. He reached out a hand and pulled Logan to him in one smooth motion. Finn liked watching them always, but especially lately. They had to be so careful with him just now and he liked seeing the easier, more reckless touches.

I’m scared, Leo had said. Finn saw it still in the way he arched his neck down to press his forehead against Logan’s. Logan must have felt it, because his green eyes looked at Leo’s shut ones for a long moment, before closing, too.

“I hate this,” Leo whispered. Finn put a hand low on his back.

“Je sais,” Logan replied, so softly that Finn’s chest hurt. “Me too.”

Finn held himself back. He knew this was between the two of them.

“One of us keeps going, or not.” Logan’s voice was low and sweet. “Still get to come home to you.” Then he said, even more quietly, what Finn had been someone shamefully feeling. “I almost don’t care about anything else but another summer with you two.”

It made Leo let out a surprised laugh, and Logan smiled, pleased with himself.

“Almost, I said.”

Finn had to leave them to it eventually. He made his way up to the box and narrowed in on Natalie and Noelle with their elbows on the railing. They each wore their half Gryffindor, half New York jerseys and had cold plastic cups of beer in their hands. Finn wrapped his good arm around Noelle’s shoulders in lieu of announcing himself.

“Hey Harz,” Noelle smiled.

Finn had always liked the way she looked at him—well, not always. There were those few summers, and that awful period of being a Lion with Logan but not being Logan’s. Noelle hadn’t glared at him, exactly, but she hadn’t not glared at him, either. It had been a soft, pitying sort of glare. A get your shit together sort of glare.

Now, she wrapped a hand around his waist. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “I mean, my boyfriends are about to go head-to-head in the most important game of the season, but I’m super.”

“Don’t use the phrase head-to-head,” Natalie said with a wave of her manicured hand—red and blue. “It’s too on the nose for you.”

Finn snorted. “Very funny.”

In truth, he’d probably have to take a little break from the lights at some point. At least, those were some of his instructions. At least his shoulder didn’t hurt. He sighed and went to the bar to get a water, giving Julian Lupin’s hair a tussle along the way. Was this really how he thought of his life now? In terms of it could be worse?

He hoped not.

New York’s lights went down with a down-spiral, bass-filled sound. The players below became silhouettes. Blue or red—they looked surprisingly similar in the semi-darkness. Both faded into something like purple. Finn leaned his good forearm on the railing beside the girls and resigned himself to being able to do nothing but watch.

~

Sirius did everything he usually did. The pull, the need to not mess up made everything feel like a mess up in itself. He didn’t like the hum of the New York crowd. They shouldn’t have sounded so sure of themselves, not in the murmur of so many voices, not in the twang of their feet against the stadium stairs.

When the lights went down and some opera singer was announced to sing the anthem, they shouted out for their team over the lyrics like the fate of this game was unavoidable. Unstoppable. He could see many red jerseys that had made the trip to New York, but not enough to compete against the let’s go Rangers chants.

He would win the first face-off. He would set them up right. He wouldn’t think about the fact that they didn’t have Kasey or Finn. He caught a flash of sandy hair before being shaken out before it was covered by a number six helmet.

He had Remus.

A number seven jersey was talking a mile a minute at Alex O’Hara from one still dark bench to the other.

He had James.

If MSG did one thing right, it was the a pump-up. Lasers, blue and red, danced over the ice. It flashed against his gloves, momentarily making the black take on a blue-ish tinge that felt like a stain. He tucked his gloves closer to the red of his jersey, as if he could fight off the blue, and looked up towards the Lions’ box. He couldn’t see much, but he knew Regulus was up there. Remus’ family, too. Julian.

He knew it was just a cup made of silver. It didn’t do anyone much good. It was heavy and bulky and merely a representation of something, not a real…thing. It wasn’t victory, he just thought of winning when he thought of the cup. But he still wanted to win it for them. Regulus, Hope, Lyall, Julian. Remus. James. Leo. Finn and Kasey. Logan.

Himself. Even himself. That was new. Remus caught his eye and gave a firm nod. He wanted a lot of things for himself it turned out. That had taken the place of the nervous, horrifying need to win it for his parents.

Alex got kicked out of the opening face-off, much to the crowd’s outrage, and suddenly Sirius was face-to-face with Logan.

Sirius sighed. “It’s you. Hi.”

Logan smiled. “Are we really speaking English right now?”

Sirius just smiled.

“Well,” the referee said. “I guess I don’t have to tell you two to keep it clean.”

He dropped the puck.

Sirius knew James and Remus would fan out behind him if he won it—and win it he did. He could imagine them back there, the beautiful curves of their skates as they pushed backwards. He sent it right onto Remus’ blade, felt it snap there like magnetism. There was no time to look and watch, only to get into position—or, well, this was Remus he was talking about. There was no time to look and watch, only to try and keep up with him. He pushed forward hard as Remus evaded Logan. Sirius hit his stick on the ice and Remus snapped it back to him. Sirius tried not to take a breath as he brought his stick back—

The puck went right past Saint’s shoulder.

Sirius tipped his head back and closed his eyes briefly at the muted roar that followed. Thank you, he thought. Thank you.

He swooped his skates to the side, his feet knowing where the boards curved all on their own, and opened his arms for Remus. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe he was just in love, but he ducked down, visors clashing, and kissed Remus’ grin.

He wanted that photograph on the front page of every newspaper in the entire world, and he wanted a copy of each one.

~

Finn got a little choked up, watching that replay. The goal was in the first minute. The goal was just one goal. The kiss was everything.

Noelle rested her head on his shoulder briefly, and then put a hand on one of his cheeks and kissed the other.

~

Remus looked so surprised, and not so surprised. Sirius just let Thomas and James crash into the embrace and listened to his heart in his ears.

“All I gotta know,” James shouted right in his ear. “Is if that’s a new team superstition!”

Sirius just laughed, and James knocked their helmets together. He didn’t take his eyes off of Remus, who was still smiling, delighted. Remus brought his glove up and gave Sirius’ helmet a little shake. I love you, it said.

The first period stayed like that. Miraculously. Strangely. So unusual for the play-offs. Sirius didn’t feel any momentum shifts. The goal, gorgeous and quick as it had been, felt almost non-existent. It could hardly be called a lead and they were all playing like they had everything to lose—which they did.

The hits got worse, too. Kota had taken Logan out against the boards twice. Sirius wasn’t upset at Kota…both times had led to amazing chances on goal. Neither James or Thomas had been able to finish the job. But Sirius was worried. He knew Logan. He could tell Logan was doing his best not to respond in the way he usually would. All bite.

The whistle went for off-sides and Sirius saw Saint pull Logan into the blue paint by his jersey.

~

“Take the fucking mittens off, Tremblay,” Saint snapped at him. His blocker dug uncomfortably into Logan’s shoulder from Saint’s hold on him. Saint’s eyes were wild behind his mask. “I swear to fucking God. Forget them. You have to forget them right fucking now.”

Logan felt sweat dripping into his mouth. Leo. LeoLeo. “I’m trying to keep it a clean game.”

Saint made a disgusted sound and let go.

“Seb.” Luke skated up beside Logan. He had a slight cut on his upper cheek from a high stick. “We got you. It’s all right.”

“I don’t feel got.” Saint pushed his mask up for water as the referee called them to the circle.

Logan clenched his jaw and turned away.

“He just wants this,” Luke said, staying close to his shoulder.

“We all want this.”

“Saint wants it more.” When Logan looked at him, ready to brush that off as bullshit, Luke’s face, the green fleck bright in his brown eyes, was serious. “Saint wants everything more.”

“More than you?”

It occurred to Logan that there were different ways Luke could take that question. Luke didn’t answer any of them.

“Remember,” Luke said softly to him. “If I can, I’ll take the shot.”

The rest of the sentence was left unsaid. Luke turned away and put his mouth guard back in. He tapped Alex’s calf encouragingly as he got ready to face-off.

If I can’t, you have to. You have to.

~

Leo took some water, then squirted some down the back of his neck. He looked up at the clock. He looked up at the crowd and wished he could find Finn. Logan hadn’t looked at him yet while on the ice, which was probably a good thing. Leo couldn’t handle that green right now. It still took him a moment to recognize the 71 on his jersey.

No breakaways yet, which was something at least. He liked their defense. He didn’t feel that jump in his muscles whenever the puck crossed the blue line like he sometimes did. There was trust in this game, and Leo needed to lean on that now more than ever.

Alex raced towards him after puck drop, the rubber disk on his stick.

Leo watched. That was so much of what he did. Watch. That little black dot. He curled his fingers tight inside his glove and blocker and stayed low, following Alex’s feet, then Logan’s, then Luke’s. Where their feet pointed, they would shoot. It was like the tell that magazines wrote about attraction. The feet went where the person wanted to go.

Logan’s feet were pointed right at him, the hard toes of his skates pushing hard and outpacing Kota—but only just. Leo could have predicted that Kota would steal that puck from Logan, poking it out of his control with his longer reach.

Leo saw Logan’s face tense as he easily swung himself back around, his and Kota’s sticks clashing. Kota had been going hard on Logan tonight, but cleanly, and Leo knew Logan was used to it. He liked it, putting pressure on his opponents and receiving pressure in return. That didn’t mean Leo liked standing there with nothing to do but watch as Logan took a hit from some one who, in Leo’s mind, still looked like Logan’s own teammate. Red. Logan should’ve been in red right now.

The puck went back to Alex around the center line, and Leo watched for off sides, ready to raise his glove in protest, but Alex pulled it off clean. The ref spread his arms to signal it to the rest of the ice. Luke was waiting for Alex, holding his own against Thomas. He acted quickly. No sooner had he caught Alex’s pass as he raced up the ice than did he send it cross-ice to Logan—probably meant to make Leo have to stay up on his feet. Leo knew Logan. If Logan kept it—and he might—he’d stay back. He’d shoot from farther away. Leo edged a little farther out of the blue paint in front of the goal. When Logan passed it back to Luke, he sank back in, the posts coming into the edges of his vision. Luke was about to pass it back, Leo watched his feet, but no sooner had the puck begun its track across the ice than did Kota slam into Logan in a mid-ice hit. Clean. Clean, Leo reminded himself as his heart jolted with fear. No contact above Logan’s shoulders. That didn’t mean it didn’t make him hiss in a breath through his teeth.

The crowd roared again, and then louder when Logan pushed back up to his feet. He looked at Kota and Kota looked at him. Logan said something that had a snarl to it and Leo thought, this is the person who took your place.

They dropped their gloves at the same time.

“Lord,” Leo breathed to himself.

He pushed up and out of position, but kept his mask on. When Logan was fighting, the mask let him watch in private. Kota knocked off Logan’s helmet almost as soon as Logan knocked off his. His dark hair was sweaty and curling, and his fists looked strong as he made a grab for Kota’s jersey and latched on.

“Lo…” Leo whispered to himself. Kota had a good head over Logan, but Logan had him on his back in a headlock in five seconds. Easy. He snarled something else and then got up and skated to the box without any prompting from the timid looking referee. Madison Square Garden was on its feet, and they were about to play their first four on four of the night.

~

They were still 1-0 Lions as Sirius waited by the door for everyone to file off the ice at the first intermission. Remus came to him last, and Sirius was sure there were about four TV cameras on them, but Remus didn’t even try to hide his smile, or his laugh, happy and tumbling.

“Quoi?” Sirius asked, grinning back.

“Oh. I just wish we had been in a home crowd for that.”

“Don’t worry,” he said as he followed Remus off the ice. He reached up to brush his glove against the hands of a few screaming Lions fans. “We will be.”

Leo was pulled out of the line for the first intermission interview, and Sirius, upon seeing Kasey leaning against the side of the doorway to watch, decided to stop, too.

“How’s the kid?” Sirius asked, even though Leo hardly felt like the kid of the team anymore. He hadn’t ever, really.

Kasey had his hair pulled back into a bun, scruff on his cheeks. He thought for a moment, rubbing at his jaw, then said, “Powerful.”

Sirius nodded. “Looks good out there.”

“Yeah,” Kasey said, then sighed, watching Leo wipe his face with a towel as he listened to the question. “Looks tired up close.”

Sirius wouldn’t have said it. At least not out loud. And Leo was good at hiding it either way. He made Marlene laugh. He smiled and let his blue eyes flash up towards the bright light of the camera in his face. He thanked her graciously and stayed a moment to talk even when the camera had lowered, the feed having cut away.

“But powerful,” Kasey repeated. “Like I said.” He looked over at Sirius. “Nice celly out there.”

“Well deserved,” Sirius said.

Kasey laughed. “Sure thing, Cap.”

Kasey followed him into the locker room and Sirius stripped off his jersey, handing it off to be replaced with a fresh one. He wished it was their home locker room. He wished he knew its every corner. The back and forth to New York lately didn’t even come close to the familiarity he had with Gryffindor.

But Remus. Remus knew his every line and shape. He was standing with Layla near the water bottles. Something about his posture, the way he had his arms crossed, made Sirius feel like he was still wearing his PT uniform, the Lions logo small and over his heart rather than taking up his entire chest on a jersey. Sirius sat down in his own stall slowly. He unstrapped his elbow guards without looking away. He couldn’t entirely believe he had spent so long thinking that this, glimpses of Remus all the way across a room, was as close as he was ever going to get.

Remus felt his gaze. Caught him at it. Smiled.

Sirius had to shake himself. 1-0 was nothing in the first period. He should be thinking about their defense right now. And stupid penalties. Definitely not about that ring tattoo he had promised himself. Definitely not about summer.

He sighed, briefly wondering why everyone thought being the captain was so great, and pushed himself back up. He pulled his shoulder and chest pads over his head and dumped them in his stall before striding towards Kota.

Kota had the decency looked a little worried. He knew that he’d pulled them down a man twice, nearly back to back. He knew they were starting the second period four on four because of him, plus an extra two for roughing. The Rangers would have the advantage for two whole minutes after resting for a whole fifteen. Logan would be pissed. Alex would be pissed. Montague would be really pissed.

Kota pulled his headphones out of his ears. “I know, Cap. I know.”

Sirius nodded slowly. They didn’t know each other that well—not compared to the other guys—but Sirius appreciated a player taking responsibility when he saw it. He didn’t appreciate the way Kota looked like he was going to spend the fifteen minutes until they were back in the tunnel kicking himself.

“I know you know,” Sirius said. “And those were clean. I’m just saying…unless you think a hit will draw something, let’s keep it even strength.”

Yeah,” Kota said. “I know…You’re right.”

“Look. I’m not—I didn’t come over here to tell you that you messed up.”

Kota sighed. “Well. Thanks, I guess.”

“Just…try to reset.” The words felt ridiculous, coming from him, and Sirius swore he felt Remus look at his back, overhearing. “It’s a new game next period.”

Hypocrite, he could hear Regulus say. Like you’ve ever reset after a period in your life.

What did he do then? Saying being up one in a knock-out game was nothing was anything but a reset. God, he just kicked himself and kicked himself until he forced the good in him out. Until he played well.

“It’s not, though,” Kota said softly.

Sirius huffed out a laugh, tasting the bitter sound. At least he wasn’t the only one.

“Non,” he conceded, and set a hand on Kota’s shoulder. “Stay out of the fucking box.”

Kota smiled a little. “Yeah. That’s more what I thought you were gonna say.”

“I was trying to be nice.”

“I wish Tremblay would try to be nice.”

Leo, sitting beside him, laughed out loud. “Good luck with that, K.”

~

Finn had tried his best to not miss any of the action, but he needed a break when he needed a break. He never wanted to be back in a place where the lights took on a glare at the edges, colorful and impossible to look at. He had memories of Logan from Harvard haloed in strange glows. Kissing his cheeks and neck in that dim fuzzy light. He wasn’t sure which ones were dreams.

He waited, at least, for a TV time out, and watched Leo and Logan skate to opposite benches for water before pushing out of his seat. He found a section of the inner hallways that was dim and quiet and tilted his head back against the wall. His sling was digging into the collar of his shirt and he sighed. He wished for sweatpants and a bed, or a jersey and the ice.

Finn didn’t realize Natalie had followed him into the dim hallway until she cleared her throat. He opened his eyes just as she leaned on the wall across from him, crossing her thick-soled, dark red combat boots.

“Just a little light sensitivity,” Finn said. “Supposed to take breaks. Maybe I could wear tinted glasses inside? Don’t know how I feel about looking like a shitty rock star.”

Natalie smiled. “I think you could pull it off.”

“No, you could pull it off.”

“Well, I won’t argue with that.”

Finn smiled. His eyes had dropped to the ring on her finger, holding a glare of its own, and she must have caught him at it because she began twisting it. Almost nervously. And Natalie didn’t get nervous.

“Very shiny,” Finn said. “I mean, I think that’s probably, like, a requirement with rings, but damn. That thing got a light bulb in it or something?”

Natalie raised unimpressed eyebrows at him. “Just say it, Finn.”

“Say what?”

“I’m very versed in O’Hara maneuvers. Just. Say it.”

Finn’s mind began trying to jump ahead. Trying to figure out, as it always seem to, what she wanted him to say. The best way to say it.

He ended up with the truth, blurted out and soft. “You’re not going to marry Kasey and then suddenly decide…” He thought of Alex’s small figure, down below on the ice.

He didn’t know why he was choosing now to be worried about this. Why she was choosing now to talk it over. Period two was going on and—

The stadium erupted. They both listened until the goal song played—The Rangers had scored, then. Leo, was his first thought, and then Logan?

“1-1,” he said, he pushed up from the wall. His head still hurt but he wasn’t sure how to talk about this. Yes, maybe he was worried about Alex. But that wasn’t because of Kasey and Natalie. It was because Alex would do anything for anyone.

“Are you going to suddenly ditch Leo?” Natalie asked.

Finn shot her a disgusted look. The announcer, echoing over the ice said, Rangers goal by number 10—Finn’s heart stopped before he remembered that wasn’t Logan’s number anymore—Artemi Panarin! He let out a relieved breath.

“Well then don’t ask me that question if it’s so fucking absurd.” Natalie pushed up from the wall, too. “What the hell, Freckle?”

“Okay,” Finn said. “All right. I get it. I’m sorry, I just…”

“You just. I’ll tell you what you just. You O’Haras just sure like the feeling of the entire world on your shoulders.”

“Not really.”

Natalie looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “Yeah.”

Finn watched her as her gaze dropped to her shoes. He’d seen Natalie at parties, whirling on the dance floor. He’d seen her on stage, performing small venues packed to the brim with people that adored her—one time waltzing around stage in nothing but a Winter jersey and tiny, tiny shorts, and knee high boots. He’d never seen her looking down like that before. It made her hair fall in her face, sort of the way Leo’s did when he was down. And he’d been down so much lately.

Another goal horn. Another goal song. It was the Rangers again. 2-1. Finn closed his eyes. The Lions were behind, scored on nearly back to back, within minutes of each other.

“It was Kasey and I for a long time,” Natalie said. “You know?”

“I do and I don’t.” Finn put his hand into his pocket. “It was Logan and I for a long time…but it also wasn’t. You know?”

Natalie nodded. “I know. I know what you must be thinking but—God, Finn. I do love your brother.”

“I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t know that.”

  “I know.” She held out a hand, lips pressed into a melancholy smile. She shook her blond hair out of her face and tilted her chin up. The way Leo did when he was proud, or winning. God, please let him win. Logan, I love you, but please.

The announcer, deep and booming, said goal by number 71, Logan Tremblay!

“Fuck,” Natalie said softly, looking towards the sound of the crowd. “Logan. Leo…”

Finn couldn’t say anything. This was awful.

“Come on,” Natalie said. “We’re missing all the action. Just a little longer and one of us will have one boyfriend each back around the house again.”

Finn sighed. “That’s good for no one but us.”

“Then we’ll keep our glee to ourselves and kiss them until it feels better.”

~

Leo threw off his top pads and jersey and went to the restroom mostly to have a moment by himself. The cool air in the hallway made goosebumps raise over his bare, sweat-slick shoulders and chest, and he pushed into the bathroom to run warm water over his hands, then ice cold water on his face. It was an old trick of Kasey’s. He’d told Leo about it just a few days into his first season. Leo wasn’t even sure what the trick was, but it helped. Maybe it was just because Kasey Winter had told him he did it.

Sirius had called for players only in the locker room, but he needed a minute. Just one minute. He tried looking at himself, but that felt like too much and so he closed his eyes, hands braced on either side of the sink. 2-1. He’d let in back-to-backs and one of them had been from—

Two arms suddenly went around his bare waist and his eyes opened, looking forward into the mirror.

Logan’s green eyes looked back at him from around his shoulder. He dropped his gaze for a moment, nervous, then looked back at Leo and turned his face against his bicep, lips brushing the skin. He was still wearing his undershirt and shoulder pads. They scratched against Leo’s back. Logan’s body felt hot from skating, but his hands were freezing against Leo’s stomach. His dark hair was a dripping sweaty mess all over Leo’s shoulder, his knuckles were busted and had dried blood on them…Leo couldn’t have loved him more.

Leo turned in Logan’s arms and leaned down until he could bury his face against his neck. Logan said something soft, maybe more of a sound than a word, and held him tighter. They were quiet. Leo wasn’t sure what there was to say. An apology felt wrong. It was all just part of the game. They also didn’t have the time. He had to go back in. Listen to Sirius. He had to get dressed, the buckles and the straps and the tightening. Logan had to get back to his locker room.

It was all the game—all of it except this. Logan letting Leo pull back. Logan’s eyes falling closed as Leo pressed a kiss to his forehead. Logan pressing a kiss right over his heart. Logan letting Leo leave the bathroom first before following. Logan looking back at him as he walked away and catching Leo doing the very same thing. That moment hadn’t been the game. That had been just for them.

~

Coach hadn’t resisted when Sirius called for players only during the second intermission. He’d simply taken his clipboard and his staff and left the visitor’s locker room to Sirius and his boys.

It wasn’t quiet, exactly. No one was speaking, but it wasn’t quiet. There was a thrum, energy mostly. Dissipating, then building and dissipating again as if with each player’s breathing.  Sirius could feel every single one of them around him from his place in the center of the room. Like rays of heat, coming towards him. Leo had his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling without an expression on his face. Thomas had one earbud in. Pascal had ice on his thigh. James had ice on his shoulder. They were beat up. It had already been a long season and they weren’t finished yet. Each and every one of them was feeling that. Sirius knew. Remus had his eyes closed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers locked. He looked like he was praying, but Sirius knew better. By the slight flick of his eyelids moving, Sirius knew he was rehearsing.

It was a show as much as it was a game. It was a plot, and everything was twisting, changing, always.

Two horrible goals let in by sloppy playing. Sirius wanted to grab that moment by its very fabric and rip it away, bundle it back in to where no one could see it. It had happened so fast. He saw, in Remus’ face, when he reached that point in his mental image of the game. His mouth pulled tight and he winced, sitting up and opening his eyes with a harsh exhale.

“I used to wish I could rehearse it,” Sirius said, keeping his eyes on Remus. Remus’ eyes softened. They said, of course you knew.

“Alors,” Sirius sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked behind him and found a stool. It had wads of used tape on it, misses from one of the garbage cans, and he brushed it off and sat, right there in the center of all of them. “Just—rehearse it and then do it. Playing well. Playing right.”

He looked up again and realized it was quiet now. Silent. Quieter than he’d ever heard their locker room. He looked down against a burst of hesitation. One of the stick tape balls had latched onto the bulk of his padded pants and he picked it up, mostly just for something to do with his hands. He knew he should be looking at them. Looking around the room.

Look up when you are speaking, Sirius. His mother’s voice came to him suddenly and his flinch was as exposed as Remus’ had been about the game. His eyes, involuntarily, darted to Pascal. Yes. He had noticed. Sirius looked back down. He didn’t have to look to see if Remus and James’ had.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” James’ voice came and Sirius nearly closed his eyes he was so grateful. He had always been grateful for James.

James smiled at him from across the locker room, elbows on his padded knees. Sweat kept his hair out of his face and he had his contacts in. It made him look entirely different, Sirius had always thought. But not when he smiled. Then he became himself again.

“Ouais,” Sirius said with a slight smile in return. He looked down at the tape sticking and unravelling then reforming into a ball between his restless hands. “Yeah.” He took a breath. “Listen, part of me still feels weird, doing things like this. I didn’t say more than three words to half of you when I first came and I was a dick to the other half.” That got him a few laughs. He risked a glance up at Remus, who was suppressing a smile. “And it’s not like this is some speech and then we go out there and get the Cup. Non, we go out there and get to the next round which gets us to the next round….And it feels long this year.”

Some murmurs of agreement. Pascal shifted his ice to his other thigh—no, his hip. Sirius wanted to take all the pain from them and press it into himself.

Again. His father’s voice. Again, again.

“We’re one behind,” Sirius said. “It’s not much. The Rags are down the hall right now thinking about how dangerous a lead that is.”

“So, let’s be dangerous.” Thomas smiled wide.

“We are dangerous, T,” James said.

“If we are, we’re not playing like it,” Sirius said. “And none of us are okay with that, right? We have to fight harder.”

“Montague has an emotional game,” Leo said suddenly. “If you keep crashing the net, something’s going to piss him off and he’ll miss something.”

Sirius’ eyes went to Kasey, who looked back for a moment before returning his gaze to Leo. Tired. Powerful. He thought of Logan’s tipped-in goal, and how he’d stared after the puck for a moment as if he hadn’t meant for it to go in at all.

“I want to win back to back,” Sirius said. “Who else?”

Thomas, predictably, was the first to shout. He rose and pounded three times on the side of his stall. James laughed, Evgeni let out a loud shout—maybe something in Russian—and then they were chaos. All that quiet energy being let out as they made their way back towards the ice tunnel. Coach didn’t say a word to him, but when they had skated a few laps to the riotous sound of Madison Square Garden, Coach didn’t even look down at his line-up card before putting Sirius, James, and Remus out there first.

~

Logan’s wrist tweaked every time he turned it just so. Luke had gotten his cheek stitched up before the start of the third. Will had iced his shoulder until the very last minute after a solid hit by Evgeni, and Saint had kept his eyes closed nearly the entire intermission, zoned out to anything but the game. Crazy goalie, Percy had said as he passed him, but the words carried no real heat. They were banged up and tired, but the adrenaline filled the ice like water. Logan didn’t even try to keep his head above it. He breathed it in so that he didn’t think too hard, and so his body didn’t dissolve into any post-game pain.

He’d held Leo for a moment. That was what mattered as they stepped back out onto the ice for the third period. He’d scored on Leo, and Leo had still let him take him into his arms.

Alex skated up beside him and Logan knew he had something to say by the set of his mouth alone. It was very Finn.

“I know, O’Hara,” Logan said, but he sort of thought he needed to hear this anyway.

“If—let’s just say, if the opportunity presents itself…” Alex winced but continued. “You should probably try to make it seem like you meant to score this time around.”

Logan had heard it on the Rangers intermission report on TV, the commentators having a bit of a laugh at his expense. Sure enough, the game video showed him—and they had put it in slow motion, thanks a lot—blinking down at the lit up goal as his teammates put their hands up in celebration, as if he hadn’t remembered it was there.

“Shut up,” Logan said, but he really meant I’m trying.

~

Remus was aware of the ache in his muscles, but only barely. He was aware of the crowd, but only in the same way he became aware of their air conditioner in the first moments of waking up. A sound that meant nothing. It was just noise.

The force of his own body colliding against the shuddering glass thanks to Percy Marshall brought it all back into focus. The crowd roared with the hit, and Remus forced the breath out of his lungs. He ignored the fear—the phantom twinge in his shoulder and neck. He dove back for the puck.

He couldn’t watch himself lose this game. He couldn’t allow it. And yet, he had a sliver of control over it. He could pick the puck right off of Percy’s stick, but whatever greater force there was didn’t stop Luke Deveaux from being right there to block the lane he had thought was clear. He was pushed back behind the net, behind Leo, who turned towards him without taking his eyes off of Luke.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, then did his best to push into a burst of speed.

It worked for a second. He blew past Luke, who he heard curse as he skated hard backwards before turning to race after him.

“Re!” He heard Sirius’ stick tap twice on the ice and Remus passed. Sirius caught the puck in the cradle of his blade and then Remus was swinging his skates around with a sharp sound. His back was to the net, waiting for a pass back while also wanting to keep Luke in his sight. They crossed center ice cleanly, but Remus could almost feel the moment Logan got on the ice. The crowd changed, hoping—or maybe even expecting another goal from their newest member. Remus wondered if Leo’s posture had changed in the net.

He watched the way Sirius fought through it, the energy shift. His grey eyes were clouds and steel as he pulled his stick back. It should have sent Luke lunging forward into his path. Instead, when Sirius faked and passed to Remus, and when Remus got down on one knee to slap it hard towards the goal, Luke jolted the correct way. Even as Saint’s glove raised too slow, Remus’ shot hit Luke squarely in the shin and then rolled harmlessly until Saint covered the puck with his glove.

The whistle went and Luke stayed on his hands and knees, grimacing. Remus stopped hard inches from him.

“You okay?”

“Fuck, Lupin,” Luke groaned.

Saint was in his face in a moment, shoving him back, eyes hard behind his mask. “Can I fucking help you?”

“Whoa,” Remus put a hand up. “I—”

“He’s checking on me,” Luke said, pushing to his feet. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Are you?” Saint turned to look at him. His eyes raked up and down, checking.

“Yes,” Luke said, and it was much more gentle.

Remus tried to catch his breath as he turned. He caught Logan’s eye for a moment, but they both looked away.

He looked up at the big screen to see the reply—to see what had given him and Sirius away. He only caught enough in time to watch Sirius’ face fall, in slow motion. Eyes closing, mouth forming a thin line of disappointment.

They weren’t getting through. They just weren’t.

Sirius skated beside him, taking his mouthguard out. “It was my fault.”

They skated to the bench together and Remus reached for the iPad once they were in their seats. “I missed the replay, so we’ll see about that.”

But he didn’t have time to look. Thomas slugged him hard in the arm and, when he looked up, it was to find Pascal alone in front of a gassed Fox and Lindgren. He’d broken away. He was headed right towards Saint.

“Merde,” Sirius breathed from beside him. “Please…”

Pascal faked one way, then the other, beautiful, smooth skill that Remus had admired for years.

Then Pascal took the puck, as if it were part of his own body, and put it right under Saint’s left pad.

Remus heard Sirius and his own shouts mingle as they rose to their feet, sticks raised.

Pascal was grinning by the time he made it back to the bench, glove held up to be bumped down the line.

“I think I still got it, boys!” he called.

~

2-2. Something had to change.

Logan was becoming increasingly wary of a frustrated Sirius Black. He knew better than anyone what that meant, and it didn’t matter that there was six minutes left on the clock.

He caught a shot of Leo with his mask up on the big screen. He looked good. Anxious, but solid.

“So,” Alex asked as they sat down on the bench, breathing hard. “How was he?”

“Quoi?” Logan tried to catch his breath between drinks of water.

“Secret lover rendezvous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alex just shook his head and smiled.

The clock was at five minutes and thirty seconds by the time Logan got back on the ice, and then four minutes and twenty seconds, and then three minutes and fifteen seconds. Still, nothing. Neither team was budging.

One minute seven seconds now. Coach was double shifting him and Luke. There was no time to think. Logan jumped the boards and skated hard to catch up with the action. Will had forced a turn-over and was now trapped between Olli and Pascal. It was a good coaching call. Arthur had obviously thought Logan’s line would rest another shift, but the Rangers hadn’t given him the time to put Sirius and Remus out against them once again. Logan knew they were the better line and that this was their chance to even the score.

The whistle went at forty-five seconds remaining for over the glass deflection right near Saint’s goal. When he looked towards the Rangers’ bench, Coach shook his head. Stay on.

That should have felt better than it did. It should have felt like trust and confidence. Instead, Logan filled with dread.

“Hey.” Luke bumped their shoulders, holding a glove him to his mouth so no camera could read his lips. “Remember what I said. If I can, I’ll do it.”

It was kind, but it was a fantasy. There was no guarantee, and they would both be killed by the coaching staff, not to mention the media, if they over-passed at such a high stakes moment.

“Thanks,” Logan said, because they both knew the truth. Luke’s smile was tight. Logan wondered if some part of him actually did wonder if Logan could follow through.

The thought struck a competitive chord within Logan that he wanted nothing to do with.

Alex got kicked from the face-off yet again—along with a sharp stop mouthing off, O’Hara! from the ref. It left Logan face-to-face with Sirius again, just as he’d been at the very beginning of this game.

They looked at each other. Sirius, who had seen him at his worst and at his best. Sirius, who he’d gone from looking up to, to calling one of his closest friends.

Sirius offered a small smile. “Friends either way?” he asked in French.

Logan nodded. “Toujours.” Always.

Sirius won the puck, but he didn’t hold onto it. It was a strange scrabble. Logan found himself playing from his knees at one point, fighting against Sirius and James’ shoulders and sticks.

“Tremz!” Luke shouted.

Logan shoved the puck towards him in a motion that carried enough momentum to land him sprawled on his belly.

“Merde,” Sirius cursed, and they both scrambled up.

Part of his mind was only on the fact that Luke had the puck and that he hoped the others could keep it if they were going to score. That didn’t mean he stayed out of position, but every part of him fought and wavered. Take the shot. Pass. Take the shot. Luke, obviously, was trying to keep the puck away from Logan, too.

But Percy didn’t know about their pact. When he was cornered by Remus, he sent a clean pass straight towards Logan.

The puck hit his stick blade right in front of Leo—and there was no time. There was no time to look for Luke. There was no space. A pass would send him, and maybe Luke, too, spilling right into Leo’s blue paint and goal. Logan realized he was holding his breath because it felt like the ice was closing in on him, so cold that it burned.

He looked right at Leo. He could hardly see his blue eyes through the mask’s shadow, only the red and gold gleaming paint and the lions teeth drawn around the cage. He could see Leo recognize his movements though. He knew Leo would recognize his movements. He knew Leo’s play just as well as Leo knew his.

Don’t. Every muscle in his body screamed the word. Not him. Don’t do this to him.

But Leo would hate him if he knew he was holding back, wouldn’t he?

Logan would hate himself either way.

There was no time.

~

Remus could only watch as Logan pulled his stick back. If this went in, it was over. If this went in, the Lions were finished.

“Read him,” he heard Sirius say in a fast rush of French. “Read him, Leo, read him—”

Please, Remus thought. Please.

~

Please, Logan thought, wind on his face.

Please. It filled his whole being.

Please, he begged, someone, anyone. He didn’t even know what he was begging for.

He whipped the puck forward, right at Leo, and watched it leave the ice, flat disk wavering against the air.

[aoioozora]

Mending Promises

Content: Keegan x F! Reader, Band AU, Civilian AU, second chances, exes to lovers, angst and fluff, happy ending Note: This idea has been marinating in my head for months now. I've never written an exes to lovers story before and I think I did quite well for my first attempt. Put my heart and soul into writing it. Enjoy :) [also why does K look so "🥺" in the gif]

The little puddles of rainwater on the cobbled streets squelched and splashed as you stepped over them. The dark night was clear and damp, filling the air with the light scent of petrichor, sizzling meats, and smoke which rose over the buildings and traffic into an incoherent yet delightful mixture. Flickering lamps passed by you as you walked, the puddles reflecting them.

Genevieve's. That was the place you stopped in front of. The red neon sign flickered and buzzed faintly as you pushed the worn bronze metal handle on the equally worn wooden door and stepped inside the establishment.

You were greeted by faint chatter of the dingy restaurant's patrons, all shrouded in dim darkness in contrast to the band up on the podium bathed in the yellow spotlight as they set up their mics on the stands and adjusted the drums. The lead singer stood out with the bright red Fender electric guitar hanging in front of him by the strap as he plugged the wire in. He raised his head for a moment, sweeping away his sweat-glistening black locks out of his eyes to scour through the dimly lit room as if in search of someone.

You felt an annoying tingle in your stomach as his eyes swept past you, unsure whether or not you were spotted by him. You sat at a table nearest to the door, just in case you wanted to run away from the performance midway. You took out your phone and opened a chat screen.

Keegan: I hope it isn't too much to ask you to see our performance. We may have fallen out, but your support is important to me.

And attached below was a digital flyer of the said performance that you were currently attending. It was sent a week ago, and you left him on read, one of the many messages and concert invitations you didn't want to reply to and didn't attend. Your eyes lingered on the second line of the message, and every single time you read it, it wrenched your heart and made your eyes burn with tears. And it did again as you raised your head to look at him, blinking your eyes rapidly.

Keegan's eyes softened with disappointment. There was nobody in this world he would play for if not you, and not seeing you there didn't make him standing in front of this small, faceless crowd worth it. Regardless, the little concert began.

He tapped the mic twice. "Testing, one, two, three," he spoke softly, and then began, "Good evening everyone, we're The Ghosts. We'll be singing our original songs and a few covers tonight. Enjoy."

The patrons in the restaurant gave the band their attention as he and his fellow bandmate, the lead guitarist, Logan, began to sing their indie rock song Claustrophobic together. Keegan's low, gruff, rumbling voice was singled out by you, and it was all you could hear.

The world's caving in without you, I can't breathe, I can't breathe.

You realised that this was one of their newest singles, as you hadn't heard it before. Resting your elbow on the table in front of you, your eye could see nobody but Keegan. You hated it, but you couldn't resist. Him standing in front of a small audience, head bent slightly over his red Fender, his black clothes, the lights shining over his glossy black hair, his foot tapping to keep time, it was all a familiar sight, but a distant one that you could only look at with sorrow.

Your reverie was interrupted by soft clapping from the audience as they ended their song. You felt a small hint of happiness that they were getting good reception. Even if you associated bad memories with their music, it was still good music. They began their next song, Penguins.

My love, you're all I see; I'll give you a rock When I get down on one knee, And forever in wedlock We will be.

A tight lump rose in your throat as you heard him sing those words from your favourite song. He'd croon the words in your ears at night to lull you to sleep in his arms, promising a future of togetherness, mates for life, just like penguins.

Only for it to all come crashing down.

A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched him sing the upbeat yet poignant song; his voice was full of emotion. He sang like he meant it, just like back then. The suppressed memories came flooding back to you as you stared at the floor with a distant gaze, of dancing with him in the living room, hearing his various renditions of the same song, even pretending to get down on one knee to make you giggle incessantly. But most of all, it was the look of utter adoration and awe in his normally dull steel blue eyes that sparkled like stars when he looked at you, like you were a goddess to him.

Why did it have to go all wrong?

You wiped away the stream of tears from your eyes and your cheeks, dabbing them with a handkerchief as you vainly sighed to get rid of the tightness in your chest.

And why, despite the months, did you feel like your love for him never diminished?

You listened to the next few songs distractedly. You couldn't help but wonder about the songs he chose; out of all the ones in their entire discography, he specifically chose the ones you loved, the songs that were most cherished, and held the most memories.

Your eyes fell upon the vacant ring finger of your right hand. There was a subtle indentation around the base of it, where a ring used to sit day in and day out. When you broke up with him, you took off that promise ring and threw it to the ground in front of him, and now your ring finger was forlorn, throbbing with a dull ache at the unpleasant memory you wished to banish from your thoughts.

"The last song for tonight is not our song, but our cover of Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys, which is our personal favourite. Enjoy."

His gruff voice pierced through the noisy recesses of your mind, bringing you back to the present. Was it the last song already? Time sure did fly when one was deep in thought.

And it was no unfamiliar song either. It was one you loved dearly.

The drums beat in time with your heart, and the famous riff of the guitar stunned the air into silence, leaving you to hear your pulsating heartbeat in your ears, reminding you why you loved this song so much. You heard him inhale, you saw him raise his eyes to scan the faceless crowd, and in his characteristic deep gruffness, he exhaled out his song,

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

You did now.

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type That sticks around like summat in your teeth? Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? His eyes looked searchingly, almost desperately around the room of the restaurant as he sang, I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

Almost as if he wanted you to know what he felt.

His fellow bandmate and guitarist, Logan, provided the backing vocals,

Do I wanna know?

And Keegan followed, still looking around,

If this feelin' flows both ways? Sad to see you go Was sorta hoping that you'd stay Baby, we both know That the nights were mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

He took another deep breath, his fingers switching chords as quickly as his voice switched from sadness to desperation.

Crawling back to you

The guitar groaned over the amplifiers, filling you with a sense of anguish, like a rag being twisted. The rhythmic drumbeats forced the vision of Keegan approaching you in a slow, steady march, wanting, begging, groweling at your feet to play about in your mind's eye.

Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now I've thought it through Crawling back to you.

Those words hit you like a sack of bricks; they, along with the previous songs, only reinforced the fact that he still wanted you despite the falling away. A lump rose in your throat again.

He wanted you back, and so did you.

So have you got the guts?

He paused, allowing the drums to dictate the length of the silence for the space of four beats. He looked about searchingly again, trying to find you in the faceless crowd. In the dim, flickering light of an old jukebox next to your table, he spotted you. You raised your eyes and met his. A volcano of butterflies erupted in your stomach.

His eyes held yours fast as he sang,

Been wonderin' if your heart's still open And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts

He paused again for a quarter of a beat to let that sink in.

Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt

Those same pair of eyes narrowed slightly, momentarily averting his gaze towards his guitar, as if guiltily admitting, It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you But I don't know if you feel the same as I do

He raised his head to meet your eyes again, a glint of hope evident in them despite the distance, But we could be together if you wanted to.

And there was the invitation.

You couldn't bear to stay there any longer. As he sang the bridge and the chorus, you stood up and hastily stepped out of the establishment, rubbing a stray tear off your cheek. Keegan saw it all. His chest seized. He nearly rose to his heels in readiness to run after you midway but he stopped himself, interpreting your departure as the rejection. But the tear he saw you wipe away; did he manage to get through your heart?

As soon as you were out of doors, you were hit by the rain. A fervent wind blew, splattering the heavy drops against you and the shade above your head that you took shelter under. No umbrella; the rain dead-ended you from leaving, and so you waited, holding yourself in your arms to keep warm, refusing to go back inside as his singing permeated the walls, tormenting you even over the noisy rain and howling wind.

The performance ended and the diners went back to chattering away while The Ghosts began to dismantle their equipment. While Keegan solemnly pulled off the strap of his guitar, his drummer, Hesh walked over to him.

"Did she come?" he asked in a whisper as he held Keegan by the shoulder.

"Saw her leave just now,"

Logan also joined in on the conversation as he unplugged the wire from his guitar. "And?" he asked, very obviously expecting something more.

"And what?"

"And are you just going to let her leave after this whole concert we planned just for her?" Logan rolled his eyes exasperatedly as he lectured Keegan, "Go and talk to her!"

Hesh turned to the windows of the establishment and saw the rain beating against the panes. He nudged Keegan. "It's raining pretty hard out there. She must not have left yet. Run!"

Keegan wasted no time in hurrying down the little podium, his heavy steps thudding against the hollow wood. He snatched his jacket and with quick, hasty steps and a rising hope in his chest, he opened the door, stepped out, and looked beside the door.

But you weren't there.

His shoulders sagged, his hand slipped from the worn door handle and fell to his side with disappointment. He was about to turn back inside when the sound of a quiet crunch of gravel under a boot on the asphalt not too far from him stopped him in his tracks. In the dim red light of the neon sign, he had to squint to see the shivering elbow sticking out from behind the wall. He inched closer and peeked into the narrow, dark alley, only to find what- or rather- who he was looking for.

You looked up when he poked his head in and felt your heart stop when you recognized who you were looking at. Both of your eyes widened.

"Wha- What are you doing here?" Keegan blurted, surprised but pleased to see you still around.

"You wanted me to come to your concert?" you said, raising a brow at him as you continued to shiver from the wind and rain.

"I mean, yeah, but..." he paused to take off his thickly lined leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders, "you're out here... in the cold. You could've just stayed inside."

You didn't object to his assistance and he had to hide the surprise from displaying on his face. While you thought of what to say, he nudged you aside with his shoulder, away from the elements and stood next to you by the wall to shield you. He waited in silence for an answer, but to no avail.

"I didn't think you'd come... especially after you left me on read," he began quietly, in a tone that carried no resentment, but sadness. He leaned against the wall and propping his foot up behind him as he crossed his arms.

You let out a sigh as you sunk your face into the fleece-lined collar of the jacket, taking in the familiar scent and feeling the familiar texture of leather and fleece against your arms and your cheeks. He'd always lend you his favourite jacket.

"I didn't want to come here, but I did anyway," you replied.

"You didn't have to force yourself." He shrugged and turned his head away from you to watch the rain pattering noisily on the sidewalk.

"I didn't. I was... kinda drawn here."

Drawn here, he thought, feeling a flutter. "What drew you here?"

A pause. "You."

His jaw laxed and his fingers twitched. His crossed arms loosened and his arm fell to his side, letting his knuckles lightly brush against yours. The brief contact sent a shock blitzing through your fingers, stiffening your hand for a moment. You inhaled sharply, feeling a vortex churning in your stomach; you didn't know you missed and craved his touch so much.

"It means a lot to me that you came," he whispered, letting his hand linger next to yours.

"Why?" A tremor shook your voice. He grimaced.

"I..." he exhaled, "I know I was an asshole to you. I put my band before you and neglected you. I made you sad..." he sighed, his features wincing, "to the point that you left. And I don't blame you for it."

Your throat tightened and burned like a fiery noose had been tied around it. Your thoughts took you back to the past months, remembering how the two of you argued over his preference to spend time making music with Hesh and Logan. Every day was an uphill battle, fighting a tight competition with his band, until you were spread way too thin that you snapped. He was furious when you left, but didn't stop you, calling it a "good riddance", words which left a deep scar that refused to heal.

He continued, "When I told Hesh and Logan you left and explained to them why, they were pissed. Logan was ready to throw hands at me. I was confused until Logan sat me down and told me that nobody and nothing comes before your partner." He shook his head, sighing again. "It was so obvious, but I missed it. I was so stupid!"

He paused his speech for a brief moment to let you have a say. Knowing that you needed time to let his words settle in, he pushed back against his impatience and stayed silent.

You knew Hesh and Logan only a little, but you didn't expect them to stick up for you and scold Keegan about his behaviour. And you had harboured such a boiling resentment for them too. That feeling now started to simmer down into shame and regret.

When he saw that you weren't saying anything, he decided to continue.

"I missed you," he confessed, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. "I hoped and prayed you'd come today and you came. You've never come to any of our little concerts after our breakup except for this one. Can I take this as a sign that…" he drew in a shaky breath, "can I be bold and assume that you miss me too?"

The metaphorical noose tightened around your neck, forcing tears to brim over your waterline. You choked out the words, "You have the audacity to miss me especially after saying "good riddance" when I broke up with you."

Keegan drew in a sharp breath as his brows furrowed. "I was stupid to say those words to you, stupid and blind. I didn't value you enough. I can't believe it had to take me Logan and Hesh to drill into my head the weight of what I had thrown away."

You heard the regret in his voice, but it didn't yet move you. A sob choked your throat. "I loved your music, Keegan, but when you started to love your band more, I hated it. I hated your band, you, your guitar, Hesh, Logan, and your songs… I hated it all."

Keegan felt his heart squeeze painfully at your sobs and complaints. He had no right to blame you for it. "I understand…" he spoke, letting out a slow exhale over the howling wind, "I know that me giving more attention to my band has given you a sour taste in your mouth for my music," his fingers brushed against yours and wrapped around your hand gently, "but this concert was just for you. I sang all your favourite songs tonight…" he gave your hand a squeeze, "because I love you."

You felt your heart skip a beat.

"I wrote those songs for you, I sing them for you…" his thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand, "Even after you left, I couldn't stop thinking of you. I couldn't stop loving you."

He paused, giving you a chance to speak. In the brief silence, he noticed how you haven't pulled your hand out of his very gentle grasp when you easily could. He held on to this ray of hope that you were receptive to his words, though understandably hesitant.

"I know a lot of guys go back to their exes and beg them for another chance, but you know me, I've never done that to my exes. You're the only one I've come back to, and that's only because I genuinely feel like we're connected somehow… I can't explain it."

You understood what he meant. You felt the same way too. You weren't the type to look back once you ended a relationship, but when it came to Keegan, he never left your thoughts, which was why you remained rooted in place, letting him hold your hand.

"I want you back, ____," he finally said, "I'm sorry for not valuing you like I should have. This entire concert was my apology for you. I know this is too much to ask for. I know I've broken your trust and hurt you, but I want to correct that mistake and make amends." He paused, "Once chance is all I need. I'll do whatever it takes."

You sniffled, feeling the first tear roll down your cheek, your body trembling as you frantically tried to wipe the stream away. Keegan's heart wrenched at the sight; he took a bold step in wrapping you in his arms and bringing you against his chest. He breathed heavily, wondering if you would push him away, but to his surprise, you leaned into his embrace.

"Why was it a good riddance when I left?" you squeaked out against his chest.

His chest twinged painfully when you brought it up again, now understanding how deeply those words had hurt you. "I was crazy," he said, chastising himself, "I was stupid and blinded by my anger. I thought you didn't understand my love for music and my band, but I was the one who didn't understand what you needed. It never was a good riddance, darling. I missed you every second you were not in my life." He squeezed you gently, both to comfort you, and for him to cling to you.

Your sobs grew louder; you were both pained and relieved at the same time.

"You're an angel… and I don't deserve you," he murmured, feeling a sob choke his own throat, "I know I'm being selfish but I love you… I want you back."

You let out a weary groan as you leaned further against him. His arms instinctively tightened around you.

"I'm sorry…" you said, raising your hands a little to clutch his t-shirt, "For throwing the ring at you that day."

He hugged you tighter. "I forgive you," he whispered immediately, feeling lighter and relieved that you apologised for your own crime, one that had hurt him.

You squeezed him, and he soothingly rubbed his hand against your back, enjoying the warmth that he missed dearly. But he pulled away slightly and shoved his hand in his pocket, bringing out a small, silver ring.

Your eyes widened slightly. It was the promise ring he had given you. You looked at him, eyes welling with tears again. "You still have it," you murmured shakily.

He looked at the dainty piece of jewelry and sighed, smiling a hint. "I was so mad at you that day that I threw it in the trash, but when I calmed down, I dug it back out and cleaned it up. I kept it because it reminded me of you…" his voice trailed off and then gingerly extended his hand out to you.

You placed your hand in his gently. At the contact, his body flushed with warmth.

With a shaky breath and voice, he said, looping the ring through your ring finger, as tears slipped down his cheeks, "I promise I'll love you more than anything in this world, even myself."

You sniffled and sobbed as you saw the ring fit right in the indentation on your finger like two jigsaw puzzle pieces fit together, the familiar sight of it sending waves of warmth in your heart. Keegan watched your emotional reaction, and he pulled you in his arms again to comfort you.

"I love you, ____. I'll make it up to you a hundred times over..." he stroked your hair softly, voice brimming over with determination and affection.

You buried your face in his chest, his words wrenching more tears out of your eyes. "Do you promise?"

"Wholeheartedly, I promise."

---

More Keegan:

Attracted

Cat Got Your Tongue

---

Masterlist

[james-is-here]

My first two thoughts when I saw these photos were "Cute slut" and "Pretty Boy" so I did something with it. Also, I wrote this for @succubus-hansol 😁

It's been a while since I remembered to add tags. Sorry about that. 😔

Tags: @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @leezanetheofficial @yongbokkk @michelle4eve @dontwannaexsist

Contains: BJ (both receiving), Y.J being called baby & slut, one use of whore, messy, lots of spit, fingering (Y.J), throat fuck, super subby Innie?, he's just needy for Mn, semi-public (Bathroom), used a lot of cussing in this one.

[LMK if I forgot anything or if you want to be added to the taglist. It's 4am and I'm tired]

When you were fixing your shirt and pulling up your pants, he didn't fail to miss the band of your boxers and when you look up from your adjustment and caught his eye, you smirk at him and walk away.

It didn't help that you were wearing white ripped jeans, a white button up with the sleeves rolled up, untucked, and unbuttoned by three buttons with a loosened black tie. Your hair also looked messy like you rolled out of bed and you wore fake black brow-line glasses and a watch with a couple bracelets on your left wrist and your hands are decorated with a couple rings.

Were you trying to kill him???

He's instantly out of his seat and hurrying after you, grabbing your hand and pulling you the opposite direction and over to the bathrooms.

It was a single stall bathroom, Jeongin looks around before shoving you in and you laugh but it's cut short when he follows you, pushing you back as he shuts the door and you collide with the door as he locks it at the same time his hand reaches up, grabs your tie and pulls you down to press his lips to yours.

His free hand moved to your waist, fisting your shirt and trying to pull you closer as your hands fall to his hips. His hand on your tie slides up over your pec, your collar, and to the back of your neck. The other moves under your shirt, dragging his nails over your skin and attempting to pull you impossibly closer as you lick his bottom lip and he lets you slip your tongue past his lips to tangle it with his.

You push him back slightly and turn around to push him against the door this time. Bending your knees, you move your hands to his thighs and lift him up, tilting your head and stepping forward into him to hold him against the door as his legs wrap around your waist and his arms around your neck.

You pull back, moving to his neck. He lets out little gasps and sighs, your kisses wet as you resist marking him as you move past his necklace and move his shirt collar with your chin to kiss his collar bone and shoulder.

"M-Mn~" He finally spoke since dragging you to the bathroom and you hum against his neck under his chin as you move to the other side under his neck. "P-Please~ H-Hyung, I n-need you, please, ah~!" You push your hips further into his and bite his ear lobe. "Baby, I don't think we have time." Your hands push his shorts further up and squeeze his thighs as one of his hands moves to tangle in your hair. "Please, Hyung? Just let me suck you off, please? That's all I'm asking for right now, please. Please Hyung." He begs and you pull back, looking at his blown pupils and slightly flushed face.

"That's all? Then you'll be a good boy and wait until we go home?" "Yes! Yes, I'll be good and wait till later, please." "Okay, baby."

You set him down and he immediately switches spots again and pushes you against the door before dropping to his knees, you unbutton the rest of your shirt just to get it out of his way and his eyes scan over your torso before he goes back to removing your belt, unbuttoning your jeans then palms you over your boxers that started this whole thing.

"It's these boxers fault we're here." "You gonna do as they say?" "Yes." "Then get to it, baby. We do have a time limit." He moves one hand to the waistband and pulls it down as his other hand wraps around you, a small whine coming from the back of his throat as he waits no more and surges forward, his heavy amount of saliva pooling on his tongue as he drags it from your base to your tip before taking you past his lips and immediately sinking down to your base.

You exhale softly and place a hand on his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looks up at you over the rim of his own glasses. "Fuck, you look so fucking slutty like this, baby. So fucking cute." He hums around you, his tongue sliding on the underside of your dick, tracing along a vein before he pulls back, parting his lips as he strokes you at a gentle pace, your tip resting heavily on his tongue before he sinks back down and starts bobbing his head.

When he pulls off you again with a pop, he gasps, catching his breath as he strokes you not too slow but not too fast. "Shit, feels so good, baby." Your chest moves rapidly as you withhold your noises, simply gasping and sighing with a few groans. "Take out your cock, baby, get yourself off." "R-Really?" "Go ahead."

He takes you back into his mouth, all the way to the base as your tip reaches the back of his throat and you reaches down to unzip his shorts and pull down his waist band while spreading his knees further apart. His left hand slowly jerks himself off as his right moves back up to your thigh before he moves up and down your length.

You raise your hand to glance at your watch and your right tightens in his hair. "Can I fuck your mouth, baby? We need to hurry." He nods gently and switches hands as he sits up on his knees from his kneeling position, his left hand instinctively moving behind his back as you push on the back of his head.

You immediately fuck into his mouth at a fast pace, his hand stroking himself at the same pace as he moans, the vibration bringing you closer to the edge, his tongue attempting to swipe the underside of your cock but he eventually just relaxes his jaw and lets you fuck down his throat, eyes shining up at you with unshed tears and a choked whimper.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby, shit~" A couple more thrusts and bringing him down to your base you cum down his throat before pulling back halfway and cumming on his tongue. "Ah~ So good, baby. So good for me."

You pull out, his tongue following your tip as you stroke yourself until your body jolts from sensitivity. "You look so dirty, Innie baby." His tongue moves back into his mouth and he swallows the rest of your load before opening his mouth again and licks your tip before kissing it and smiling up at you with a cock-drunk smile. He moves to the side of your cock, pressing his plush, pouty lips and leaving behind soft kisses before kissing you hip and pulling back completely.

"I'm gonna call you cock whore at this rate." He giggles softly and you realize he's let himself go and his hand is resting on his thigh, kneeling back on his heels. "Do you still need to cum baby?" He nods and you put yourself away before you pull him to stand up.

Kissing him, you take him into your hand. He gasps against your lips, hand grasping at your arms as he thrusts into your fist and moans into your mouth.

You pull back, slipping two fingers into his mouth as you turn to your left and pushing him into the wall. His tongue wets your fingers before you pull them out, reconnecting your lips to his in a sloppy kiss as you slip your hand into the back of his boxers.

You let him go for a moment to pull his leg up to your hip then holding him again as your other hand circles his rim before pushing in, your rings are still cold against his cock and your fingers are long enough that your able to thrust your fingers into his prostate. "Fuck! Fuck, Hyung, g-gonna...S-So close, Hyung."

He whines when you pull away but moans softly when you're getting on your knees, pulling his shorts and boxers down enough so you reach under him to reinsert your fingers and take his tip into your mouth.

His hands grasp your hair, whines and soft, choked moans leave him as you finger fuck his prostate and suck on his tip. "Shit, shit, shit- Hyung! HAh~!" His grip tightens as he pulls you closer and you sink to his base and he cums down your throat with a whine.

Your fingers and tongue slowly help him ride his high before he taps your head and you pull away, gently removing your fingers as well before standing up, bringing his bottoms up with you before you catch him as his legs buckle out from under him.

"Woah, you okay, Innie?" He lets out a weak sound of confirmation as he leans further into you. Smiling softly you move to sit on the toilet and turn him around so he leans back against you as you fix his boxers and shorts and button them back up.

"Innie? You with me?" "Yeah. Thank you, Hyung." "Of course, Innie baby." "Can you promise me something?" "Anything, baby." "You fuck me real hard later because I really want your dick in me." You laugh, thrown off by his bluntness but also amused cause his voice gave away the fact that he's still horny and needy. "Okay, baby, I'll fuck you into the sheets, yeah?" "Please. Now stop talking, we'll both end up hard again."

He stands up as you laugh before you catch him and stand up. "You go out first, I have to fix my shirt." "Okay." He leans up, hands on your chest as he puckers his lips for one last kiss but you roll your eyes, knowing he wants more then a quick peck as one hand pulls him closer by his hip and the other moves to his jaw, pressing your fingers into his cheeks so his mouth falls open and you swipe your tongue along his, licking his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Claiming him with your tongue before you pull back and he smiles breathlessly.

"That's not what I wanted but I'm not complaining." "Yeah, right, I know you better than you realize, baby, you didn't want some silly peck." "...Okay, you caught me." "uh huh, yeah. Now go." "I love you, Hyung." "I love you too, Innie."

You push him to the door and he giggles, stumbling out of the bathroom and you smile at him with a shake of your head as you move to button your shirt back up.

You're definitely gonna get another set of these boxers.

[xythlia]

↳ THE FEVER

› HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR SICKO HUSBAND ALSO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER <3

› satoru x stepdaughter!reader [reader is like early twenties bc it was easier to write with my own age in mind idk]

› word count : 2k+

warnings : dark content stepcest, voyeurism, male masturbation, possessiveness, inherent power imbalance, peeping, showerhead masturbation, yandere ish, he's just a mega perv if I missed anything lmk!

Truth be told Satoru never thought he'd be the marrying type, if it were solely his decision he probably wouldn't have but with the external pressure to marry and produce a child he ultimately chose the path of least resistance.

A readymade family so to speak, a cheeky loophole to those unrelenting demands he'd heard since he was in his late teens. Not that he didn't care for his newfound family, he did of course. The solid golden band around his ring finger, tangible proof of his commitment. A smart, lovely, accomplished spouse with a daughter already on her way to becoming equally accomplished, if not more so.

He'd only been introduced to you a few months before the wedding date, he didn't push you for any earlier interaction because your mother had already warned him you were surly about the whole thing, distrustful of him as a would be father figure. And yes, it was a slow road to minimal acceptance but you'd made progress in the time after the wedding. For instance you no longer glare and pointedly ignore his presence in the house.

A win is a win, after all.

But as time has gone by Satoru found himself plagued by thoughts, not of his wife, but of his adorably aloof step daughter. He couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful you were, strikingly similar to your mother but with the dewiness of youth making you all the more enticing.

Maybe getting married wasn't such a bad thing.

At the same time it's become tortuous living in the same home together. Its a test of resolve, the way he can't help but stare at the way your sleep shorts have ridden up your ass when you blearily pad around the kitchen in the morning, grumbling about coffee. The way you routinely wear no bra in the comfort of the home without a second thought, although his every thought focuses around how it would feel to palm at your breasts, squeeze them and hear you whine in his hold.

All this early morning rumination comes to halt when he hears the gentle splashing sound of the shower from across the hall, pausing his endless train of thought as his cock throbs.

You're in the shower.

He can picture it: the way the water beads on your skin like rhinestones, the smell of shampoo and conditioner filling the room with the distinct scent of you, and the way soap would foam almost obscenely against the planes of your body.

If someone had the ability to print perfect snapshots of his thoughts they'd rival even the raunchiest porn publications in existence and his hand flexes against the satin sheets, fisting them in an iron grip as his cock throbs. His imagination isn't enough, the train of thought is veering into insatiable territory but it makes his pulse pound through his entire body. Lust and adrenaline mingling into a dangerous shot that he's already swallowed whole.

He has to see you for himself.

As he flings back the sheets and pads towards the bedroom door the tiniest sliver of guilt pierces the haze of desire wrapped around his brain like saran wrap. Of course he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't even be considering it. He's your stepfather and you're his stepdaughter, struggling to adjust to the upheaval of your life and finding your place in the brutal world you inhabit parallel to the normal one. Fuck, h should be helping, not daydreaming about-

His eyes catch you in the mirror first, back turned to him as you fiddle with a bottle of body wash. Satoru has to stop himself from gasping not just at the sight of you but at the flood of rapid fire thoughts that speed through his head.

Do you touch yourself? Surely you must, a woman in her early twenties is hardly unaware of self pleasure but do you finger yourself or are you partial to toys? Have you fucked someone? It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility, and he's seen you get dressed up for dates here and there before but it makes his blood rush thinking about some faceless nameless man getting to look at you naked, kiss that pretty pussy he's dreamt of, or god forbid be inside you.

The perfumed steam wafting from the cracked bathroom door makes his eyes flutter shut, hands flipping the waistband of his boxers down just enough to slip his aching cock out. He hisses as it springs free, lightly smacking against his abdomen. The pressure of his hand is only a bare, fleeting sense of relief considering he'd much rather see you soaking wet and on your knees in front of him, have your hands wrapped around him.

Spitting into the palm of his hand he wishes it was your mouth mapping the veins of his cock instead as he strokes himself, spreading saliva along the thick length of his shaft and his thumb swipes against his overly sensitive head feeling the warm precum leaking from his slit and it feels like he's made of hardened sugar that's now dissolving in the warm steam of the shower.

The pleasure is heightened both by the fact that this is beyond perverse and by the sick way his eyes can't move away from your reflection. The water rinsing down your body should be his fingers trailing burning paths over you, teasing adorable little noises from your lips and making you beg for him. The way your breasts look soaking wet is enough to make him nearly forget himself as his strokes become more frantic, panting in harsh, heaving breaths as his muscles scream to shove open the door and push you against the slick tile wall.

He can practically hear it, the yelp of surprise that he'd shush from you and the way you'd moan helplessly as his fingers swiped through your folds, tactile admiration of your pussy before stuffing you full of himself. It wouldn't be kind or romantic, not with the way you make him feel like a rotten dog, all starving neediness and if he sunk his teeth into you it's doubtful he'd ever be able to let go.

His breathing becomes so labored it's like a stone is pressing against his chest as he lets himself run wild, cerulean eyes blown wide but unseeing as the mental images over take him like a small vessel helpless against raging waves.

How would your hand look wrapped around his throbbing cock? Would you struggle at all, would it be new for you? Those impossibly wide, ravenous eyes are all devouring as he watches you run hands down your body. It's the sheer thrill of this entirely forbidden sight that has him nearly doubled over now, jaw clenched so hard surely his teeth would shatter if he were an ordinary man. His hand pumps his cock faster now, grip tightening as he swipes over his sensitive, weeping head and god would heaven be more than just a word if he could feel you around him. Would your eyes get that glassy, cockdrunk look and would drool slip shamelessly from the corners of your mouth as he fucks you senseless? What he wouldn't give to slap your cheek with his flushed cock, turn you into nothing but a taboo slut.

As you grab for the showerhead it nearly stops him dead.

As if you knew what kind of questions your unwelcome observer was asking.

So you do enjoy self pleasure. Seeing you adjust the jet of water and angle it just right makes his nerves feel like someone spiked fishhooks through them and yanked them impossibly taut. If only that jet of water was his tongue, lapping at your wetness and nudging your clit with his nose while your fingers tug on his alabaster hair. He'd have you on your back before you could blink, thighs squeezing his head and toes curling mid air from how thoroughly he'd work your pussy over. Fuck if only he could taste you-

The coil in his stomach snaps and he can't help the bone deep moans that escape his lips, thigh muscles trembling from the effort of keeping him upright as his balls throb and thick cum spurts in his hand. As he pants his ears ring, every sound as if it's coming through a cardboard tube pressed to his ears.

You'd look so beautiful with his cum splashed across your chest, your face.

Its not until Satoru feels goosebumps rise across the back of his neck that he remembers himself, remembers exactly what he's doing. Glancing up his eyes catch yours in the reflection.

Its damning, but he can't help being defiant against it. Grinning back at you, seeing your eyes wide with shock and your hand frozen poised above you as you were slotting the showerhead back in its holder. His heart hammers so hard against his ribcage it feels like surely it would break loose, splatter across the floor. Its a defining moment, will you scream threats at him or will you cower away?

You say nothing, do nothing but simply turn back around. Your slightly hunched shoulders glistening with moisture tell him enough, you feel exposed and vulnerable but lack the conviction to stand against the feeling. It shouldn't make him feel so elated but now he's got confirmation: you're weak in positions like this.

Would you be just as weak flat on your back?

[mercurygray]

So I Hear You Liked...World War Two Dramas

What's that? You said you wanted a World War Two series where women actually speak to each other? Have I got a deal for you!

When Band of Brothers first came out, I did not have cable, but what I did have was a card at a library that owned seemingly every PBS drama ever broadcast. I know and love a lot of these shows, and I hope you do, too.

As we wait for Masters of the Air to join us, maybe you can fill some time with one of these!

Classic: These shows were made in the 70s and 80s and while the production values are not the same as something made more recently, they're all fun to watch.

Danger UXB - daily life in a bomb disposal unit.

Dad's Army - comedy show about the Home Guard.

Hogan's Heroes - situational comedy about life in a POW camp.

Piece of Cake - follows British pilots stationed in France as the Phony War begins.

Homefront Perspectives:

✨Housewife, 49 - Based on the wartime diary of Nella Last, who participated in the Mass Observation project. One of my favorites.

✨Foyle’s War - procedural crime drama following DCS Foyle and hsi team as he solves murders in wartime Britain. Another favorite.

Island at War - Wartime life on the Channel Islands during the German occupation

Land Girls - Follows the lives of a group of Land Girls working on an estate farm.

Bomb Girls - Follows the lives of a group of workers in a Toronto munitions factory.

Home Fires - Life in a small British town near an air base. Based on a book.

World On Fire - Follows the disparate lives of several people in several countries as the war begins.

✨All Creatures Great and Small - The life of Yorkshire Vet James Herriot, based on the book series of the same title. A favorite, both the 1970s original and the 2020 version.

A French Village - Daily life in a French village is upended as the Germans invade. Follows the same village through the entire war.

My Mother and Other Strangers - An Irish village deals with the introduction of an American Air Force base.

Colditz - life in one of the war's most infamous POW camps. Features Damian Lewis!!

Atlantic Crossing - the life of Crown Princess Marta of Norway as she tries to advocate for her country while living in the United States.

The Halycon - Life in a posh London hotel during the 1940s

Spies and Science:

X Company - Canadian drama about life overseas for spies

Resistance - French wartime drama about a woman in the French underground movement

Restless - Postwar drama about a woman who spied for the Russians in England during the war.

✨Manhattan - If you liked Oppenheimer, have I got a show for you!! Follows the lives of several scientists and their families as they move to Los Alamos. A favorite.

✨The Heavy Water War - Norwegian/British operations Grouse and Gunnerside to destroy German heavy water plant. A favorite.

The Twelfth Man - Norwegian sabotage operation gets shot down in occupied Norway.

✨Generation War - German experience of war from variety of perspectives. This show is excellent. Everyone should watch this.

✨SAS: Rogue Heroes - Follows the foundation of a parachute regiment in North Africa that would eventually become the basis for Britain's commando units. A favorite.

Postwar:

A Place to Call Home - very soapy Australian post-war drama about an upperclass family.

Our Wonder Years - Follows three sisters in post-war Germany as they attempt to confront the past.

Tannbach - Follows a family whose German town is split in two along the new East-West border.

The Defeated - Crime drama following a policeman trying to find his brother in post-war Berlin

Small Island- a Jamaican woman moves to London after the war and tries to adjust to a country that doesn't want her there

Call the Midwife - Social drama in the 1960s addressing the health and lives of the post-war poor of London.

[peachsayshi]

minors & ageless blogs dni 

aki hayakawa x female reader

tw: somno (consensual); smut 

a/n: don’t mind me, just dipping my toes outside of my usual content. 

thinking about sleepy aki...with a towel wrapped around his waist because he’s fresh out the shower. he finds you snuggled up in his bed, and let’s the towel drop. he looks at you with nothing but warmth in his eyes, as his hand mindlessly reaches to stroke his cock. he just loves you so fucking much - you’re his home, his salvation - that it actually hurts because he can’t imagine a world without you anymore.

he positions himself by your side, scooping one arm underneath you to pull you closer to his frame. he kisses your cheek as he sighs with content, then pulls up his oversized shirt that you’re wearing to take in the sight of your semi-naked body. 

two knuckles glide up the outline of your thigh, and he spreads it with his hand to get a better view of your lacy underwear. he lightly squeezes your waist before moving to cup your breast that’s been blemished with his love bites. he traces over the marks tenderly to capture the memories, proud of the imprints that he’s left on your skin. your taut nipples poke against the air, but you’re still lost to your dreams that you don’t notice when he flicks his tongue over one nipple before gently taking it between his teeth while he rubs the other bud between his thumb and index finger. 

he’s so grateful that you let him do this, that you’ve given him the permission to have your body as he freely desires. that’s why you sleep naked so often, and it’s purely to satisfy his insatiable lust towards you. 

he guards your vulnerability, your trust, more than anything else in this world. 

he hears you mumble his name, your voice so fucking pretty that he wants to taste it off your tongue. his free hand slips under the band of your underwear, and he groans out a “fuck” against your chest when his touch meets the arousal pooling against the fabric. he slides two fingers in with ease and softly pumps them back and forth. 

your body stretches out as your lashes flutter open, he can feel your hand thread through the back of his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp before you curl your digits around the dark strands. 

“hi, baby” he whispers calmly, as he smoothly shifts his arm away from underneath you to adjust his position. 

you dreamily moan back, “hello...” 

he finds himself crawling on top of you, his gaze focusing on your underwear as he hooks his middle and index finger underneath the delicate material to tug it aside. 

he presses the tip of his cock against your slit, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth before sliding in. his brows furrow, and he tenses his jaw while your toes curl from the sensation of him stretching you out. he makes sure you take in every inch before groaning with approval feeling you pulse around him. 

your arms reach out for him and he falls into your embrace, keeping your chest to his own.  

“you smell good,” you murmur with a kiss to his shoulder as your heavy eyes fall close. 

“you feel good,” he whispers, and the weight of his day lifts off him when he grinds deep into your cunt. 

“I-ah...missed you...” you pant from the soft rut of his hips, and he’s kissing you along your collarbone and up your neck until his lips finally meet yours. 

he’s keeping your body grounded for him, his dick sinking in and out of your sopping cut until he finally responds with a broken whimper. 

“m-missed you too,” he replies with a strained voice, “couldn’t resist my pretty girl. so, so...pretty...”

“nh..ah...m’tired...but...don’t feel like sleeping anymore...” 

he kisses your forehead, “that so? I’ll make you feel really good then, m’kay?” 

“uh-huh,” you nod, before slowly drifting into an inebriated state from his sensual love making.