#WHAT'S THE POINT OF THIS STUPID ASS LOOP???! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scorpioriesling · 1 month

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Guilty as Sin?

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Pairing(s): Azriel x reader

Warnings: angsty asf

Summary: It wasn't hard to love your best friend; after all, you'd been through everything together. He'd seen every in-depth part of you, but now you were forced to give all of that up. All because of the stupid cauldron, and stupid fate.

SR’s Note: Brb going to get "mine" tatted on my upper thigh... this is so UGH anyways. I had to; I apologize in advance. This is one of my favorite new songs.

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The cauldron could boil itself at this point.

You weren't sure how to make the best of this situation; something you could normally do without fail. A talent everyone loved about you. However, that talent was failing you now.

Now that the bond had snapped, and there was no way out. No way of avoiding what you so desparetely wanted for years, and somehow it all ended up messed up in the end.

Lucien was a good male, you would give him that much; but that wasn't enough. Your life felt near over when your best friend revealed his hidden bond with the Archeron girl -- but now, you were in the same position. Somehow, you were cursed in more ways than one. Not only was your best friend mated to someone else -- but now so were you.

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"You're right, we should definitely get matching tattoos!" You laughed, bumping into Azriel's arm as you both stumbled down the Velaris streets. It was past midnight, and you were both buzzed from your night out at Rita's -- something you did at least once a week -- and the walk home turned into more of a walk through town.

He chuckled beside you, fingers curling around your elbow to help steady you. His wide smile was a sight you'd never tire of; he rarely let it show, but when he did, you made sure to illustrate it in your mind, holding onto the masterpiece forever.

"It isn't our worst idea..." he admitted, taking another swig from the bottle he held. You watched as his throat bobbed, swallowing the liquid and turning his attention back to you. You look toward the sky, trying and failing to pretend you weren't staring.

"What should we get?" You ask with a grin. He ponders for a moment, brow lifted in mockery. "Hmm.." he says. "What if we got eachother's handwriting?" You giggled, and he laughed with you.

"I'm serious!" He exclaimed. The tattoo parlor was coming into view, and you rolled your eyes. "I don't know if I trust you to literally write on me," you say. "We've been friends for far too long for me to put it past you to write something like "Azriel is so hot" or "Kiss my ass" on me-" You barely get it all out before laughing again, his gaze on you softening as he loops an arm around your shoulders.

"I promise I won't do something so vulgar," he says. You're now in front of the tattoo shop, the neon lights illuminating his face in a deep blue glow. He grabs the door handle and opens it, gesturing you to go inside.

"Ladies first." He smirks. You lightly smack his shoulder, and saunter your way inside.

"Fine -- but you have to go first." You throw over your shoulder. He enters behind you, and within minutes he's put in a chair and the tattoo artist is holding the needle gun over his forearm.

"Okkayyy, 'lil lady," he says, pulling up a stool to allow you to sit beside him. He hands you the gun, and places his hand over yours to help you with the process. "You ready?" he asks. You glance at Azriel, who now has his eyes lightly closed as he lays down on the bed in front of you.

"Are you ready, Azzie?" You say. He nods silently, a small smile playing on his lips. You release a breath as the gun whirrs to life, and the artist guides you to begin pressing into your best friend's skin. Stealing a glance at his face, you find him peacefully laying there, almost sleepy. That would make sense, seeing as you both drank a lot tonight.

After a few minutes of darkening the lines and wiping away the excess liquid, the artist powers down the needle and scoots back on his rolling chair. Your fingers lightly dance over the puffy black lines on his otherwise bare forearm, and he stirs at the sensation.

"Have a look," you say. He opens his eyes and sits up, delight overtaking his features as he sees your work.

"I choose you and me," he says aloud, reading over the ink now drying in his skin. He almost blushes, gazing at the ink and touching it lightly. His eyes meet yours, and in seconds he is hopping up and offerring you the bed. You sit on it, pulling the hem of your shorts up so it's easier to access.

"Heyy..." he starts. "You picked the spot for mine-" You huff.

"I want mine up here," you point to the upper part of your thigh, and he rolls his eyes. He shoots a look to the artist, and shakes his head.

"I've learned to just not argue with this one," he says, and you gasp at him. He laughs, his white teeth shining like stars inside the dim shop. The tattoo artist sighs, powering on the newly replaced tatto gun and handing it to Azriel. You place a hand on your leg, eyes wide.

"You're not gonna help him?" You ask the artist. He only shrugs at you.

"I've seen his work before -- he knows how to do a pretty damn good tattoo." Your eyes narrow toward your best friend, and he only grins down at you.

Sighing, you rest your head back against the cushion of the tattoo bed. "Az, you better not fuck this up-"

You're cut off by his fingers brushing against the skin of your leg, pulling on your shorts to move them slightly. Your breath catches in your throat, now staring wide-eyed down at the man you'd secretly fallen so madly in love with. His messy curls tickled the strips of skin between the hem of your baby tee and the top of your shorts as he stared intently at his work, needle lightly pressing into your skin. His other hand laid flat on your stomach, holding you gently in place.

You couldn't ever get rid of this sight unless someone quite literally ripped it from the archives of your mind.

He glanced up at you, noticing your labored breathing. His soft expression was one he only ever used with you; a stark contrast to the strong, unfazed front he presented to everyone else. You figured he was going to tell you to chill out -- little did he know you weren't focusing on the pain, but rather the striking male on top of you.

"Lay down -- you can't peek 'till I'm done."

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The air was warm as it rolled off the sidra, the salt air so familiar. You'd come down here for some peace; some time away. Since learning of the bond with Lucien, it was like you couldn't escape. You couldn't get away from the constant "Are you okay?"s and "Have you told Azriel?"s and "Do you think you'll accept the bond?"s. It was getting to be too much. No, you weren't okay. No, you did not want to accept the bond.

And fuck no, you did not tell Azriel. You remembered what happened last time when you found out his bond snapped, and you hadn't even seen him in months. There was no point -- it wouldn't change your situation.

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"I made you that strawberry cream cake, you know, your favorite?" Feyre's kind words filled the kitchen as you continued to pour glasses of lemonade, setting down the pitcher to meet her watercolor eyes. You gave her a soft smile.

"Thank you... but whatever for?" Her gaze dropped, fingers fiddling with one another as she looked around nervously. You arched a brow at her.

"Nothing, I just -- I thought you might like it. To celebrate the first day of Summer," she stuttered. You'd never seen her at a loss for words, but before you could think too long about it, Cassian barged into the room, eyes full of delight when he spotted the filled lemonade glasses.

"Ahh," he grabbed one and chugged it, putting it back on the counter after a few gulps as though it was a shot. You giggled, Feyre finding his interruption rather funny as well. He peered at you, sliding the glass over on the counter top.

"Fill 'er up -- Gods, it is so hot outside." He says, fingers fiddling with a small band tying his hair back. You top off his glass, and he takes it again, only sipping this time.

"Are you ladies joining us outside? Or what?" He asks giddily. You swear, if he wasn't a fae bat he would be a golden retriever.

"Absolutely," Feyre nods. He saunters out of the room, and within seconds you spy him by the edge of the Sidra tackling Rhysand into the river with him. They both come up within seconds, laughing and shaking their wet hair. Feyre peers out with you, and your heart catches when you see Azriel not joining in. He is sitting on one of the picnic blankets the group laid out, Elain's head in his lap as he leans back on his hands. She tenses, laughing at something he said. He gives her a smile; one you'd thought only he shared around you.

"I'll meet you outside in just a moment?" Feyre offers. She knew; she knew exactly how you'd felt for Azriel. But, she also knew that he was in some newfound, weird relationship since her sister arrived.

You tried to brush it off. Your best friend had lovers before; most of them only lasted a few weeks anyway, then they were gone. This one would be no different.

Finally making your way down to the river, tray of drinks in your hands, you were greeted by Mor as she helped pass out the drinks. She walked over to Feyre and Cassian; of course, leaving you to head over to Azriel.

You sighed, and walked over to the blanket where he sat. Her annoying laugh rang out again, and you winced. Azriel looked up, finally noting your presence and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. The unmistakable black writing on his forearm still reading "I choose you and me". Your heart swells just a bit.

"Y/N! Did you bring us drinks?" He asks nicely. You smile back, appreciating this side of him never failing to come out around his best friend.

"I just might have..." You say. Elain sits up upon hearing your voice, offerring a kind smile. You pass one glass to Azriel, and hold out another for her.

"Thank you Y/N! You must have known lemonade is my favorite," She takes it from you, beaming and turning to Azriel. He nods in agreement, sipping from his drink.

"Lucky guess." You say, grinding your teeth in a tight smile as you set down the empty tray on the grass. She giggles and continues conversing with Azriel, and you decide to not even try to engage this time.

You stalk over to the towel Mor is currently lounging on, her sunglasses set high on her nose. Your body creates a shadow, and she sits up grumbling.

"Ugh, Y/N, I'm trying to get a tan!" Her eyes finally adjust, seeing that you're stripping off your clothes, only a small emerald green bikini underneath. Her mouth pops open and she gasps, loud enough for everyone to hear. You're kicking off your shoes when she takes her glasses off and gapes at you.

"Girl, I'd let you stand over me any day -- you look good as fuck!" She squeals. You roll your eyes, her loud appraisal catching attention as she continues to compliment you.

"Seriously! Feyre, have you seen Y/N's suit? She is looking like fine wine-" She looks you up and down, and you notice behind her, Feyre has jogged over to where her friend Lucien has just arrived. Feyre turns her attention to you over Morrigan's whooping and hollering, giving you a thumbs up

"Looks good! I told you it would!" She shouts. She turns back to her Autumn court friend, but his eyes are drinking you in as though you are the wine itself. You steal a glance at Azriel, and boy are you glad you did -- he is pissed. He is glaring at Lucien as Elain babbles on, absentmindedly. She doesn't even realize he isn't listening to her anymore. You bend down, coming face to face with your bubbly blonde friend.

"Swim with me?" You say. She scoffs, tossing her sunglasses down and rising. You both walk to the bank of the Sidra, its gleaming water only inviting you in further.

"You know I'd never deny you, but I did want to lay out-" She is cut off by a strangled scream as Cassian yanks her in by the waist, her head reappearing moments later. Breathless, she pants.

"Cassian! Are you kidding?" Him and Rhysand only laugh, you shaking your head and chuckling along with them. You slowly enter the warm water, basking in the last few warm days the year has to offer. Mor wades past you, and makes to get out of the stream.

"Aww what! Where you goin'?" You whine pathetically. She runs her fingers through her soaked locks, huffing.

"I. Am not. Swimming. With those knuckleheads. Any longer." She stomps back over to her towel, and you stick your bottom lip out in feigned sadness.

"Aww, come on, Mor! You're already wet, just get back in and swim for a while!" You say. It isn't long before a splash to your left flings water near you, and you look around for a few moments before something grabs your ankles and drags you under. You come up a few moments later, Azriel resurfacing in front of you and laughing at your drenched complexion.

"I'll play." He says lowly. You shove his shoulder, and Mor waves a hand from her blanket, sunglasses already back on her face.

"Yes, yeah. Let Az play with you."

It isn't long before you're splashing around with your friends, everyone swimming besides Morrigan and Elain. Even Lucien has joined in, the water twirling his fiery locks over his shoulders. Maybe in another life, you'd fall in love with him.

But you're living this one, and you're still in love with your best friend.

"Hey, uhh," Azriel swims close to you, the sunset on the horizon illuminating his tanned skin. You can feel his hands creating water riplets around you to stay afloat, and you gaze at him. "Can we, like, swim over there? Maybe?" He asks, jerking his head toward the rocky alcove a few hundred feet away. Your eyes widen as you try not to think too hard about why he'd want you in there with him instead of his girlfriend; so you glance over to where everyone else is drying off and gathering their items. Elain is staring a hole into the side of your head.

"Sure," you say, timidly. Azriel grabs your hand under the water, his scarred fingers threading through yours with ease. You suck in a breath, and Azriel throws a smile towards Elain.

"We'll be in soon!" He shouts, and she returns the smile, almost a little smugly. She helps her sister collect the items from the grass, and Azriel stars swimming away, pulling you with him.

"Why did we need to come over here?" You ask, out of breath when he finally stops swimming behind a large rock. You can't see your friends anymore. You glance around nervously.

"Well, I had something I needed to talk to you about." He says. "Privately," he adds. Your cheeks heat. Its finally here, the moment has finally come.

"Oh, um. Okay. I think I have something I talk to you about too." You say. His eyebrows raise, and he smiles kindly at you.

"Oh! Alright. Well, why don't you go first then." He offers.

"I don't really... know... how to explain it." You fumble. The breeze blows over the water, pulling you away a bit. Azriel reaches for you, probably to hold you close but his hand grips onto your waist. He pulls a little too hard, and you're flush against his chest. His intense hazel eyes bore into yours, tiny water droplets dripping from the end of his onyx curls. Its silent for a moment, the mixed heavy breathing the only sound other than the nature around you. You gaze up at him, his eyes trailing down from your eyes... to your lips... then down to where your heaving chest rises and falls beneath the water's surface. Your eyes can't escape his full lips, and you snake your hands around his neck, pulling him in so impossibly close and close the gap.

Finally, after all these years, you get to taste those delicious lips on yours. You kiss him, softly, and when he pulls back, he looks at you with sorrow.

"Y/N... I..."

"I don't mind, Azriel. You know I love you; I want this. I would choose this. I choose you and me." Silver lines his eyes and you don't think you've ever seen him get so emotional. You pull him to you once more, kissing with more hunger this time, and he doesn't stop you. His hand scoops under your ass, squeezing and holding you tight, the other one flat against the side of your neck. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone as your fingers curl into his wet locks, when suddenly he rips away from you. He lets go as if he was a bug caught in a zapper, flinging himself away from you like you had electrocuted him. You instantly feel colder without his touch.

"W-what's wrong?" You ask, timidly. He runs a hand through his hair, and rubs his eyes with his palms, sighing.

"What is it, Azriel?" You ask, moving closer. He puts a hand out to stop you, and you begin to feel regret. No, not regret. Fear.

"Don't, Y/N." He says. You eyes close, near slits as you try and keep the sob rising in your throat at bay. He's never taken that tone with you before.

"Don't what? Be honest with you? Azriel, I love you, and-"

"I have a mate, Y/N." He cuts you off. You feel like you've been stabbed in the gut, thrown off a cliff; what was he talking about?

"W-what?" You ask. That sob is barely at bay, tears stinging your eyes as you try to keep from crying. He moves his hands to look at you, and immediately sighs and looks down at the water, hating to do this.

"Yeah... uh, Elain and I-"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." You huff a humorless laugh and a single tear slips free. You don't bother brushing it away; you just cross your arms instead. He narrows his eyes at you.

"What is your problem with her?" He asks. The sinking feeling in your chest only intensifies as he defends her. You begin to feel angry, angry your best friend, who you'd die for, would defend another dumb girl who didn't know him like you did. Not even in the slightest.

"What is the problem with me?" You ask. He shoots you a confused look, and you continue. "Am I not quite good enough for you? Is that it? I'm not an Archeron, I'm not High Fae; I'm not officially in the Inner Circle? I don't-" You breathe, gasping for air as tears run down your cheeks now. "I don't look like her? I get it Azriel. I fucking got it. Loud and clear-"

"Shhh, shh shh. Heyy," he swims close, offerring you his hand. You want more than anything to fall into his chest and cry, just cry it all out; but you don't. You won't. He doesn't want you. He never did.

"You know none of that is true-"

"Don't bother." You say sharply. He sighs, dropping his hands in the water.

"Y/N, look I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, okay? You know how important mating bonds are; I just wanted to make sure it was real, and it would work and Feyre would be okay with it-"

"You... you already told. Feyre?" You seethe. His eyes widen, realizing maybe he shouldn't have revealed that information.

"I, uh... yeah. I did. And once she knew, it kind of got out and everyone knew," he mumbles. You clench your hands into fists.

Your favorite cake.

Elain's smug smile.

"Let Az play with you," Mor had said.

They all knew. No one told you. Not even your best friend. They knew you'd be hurt and not a single one of them told you. A small cry reverberates in your chest and you turn away from Azriel.

"Please don't be mad at me, Y/N. You know you're my best friend, you know I'd do anyth-"

"Save it." You say, wading toward the water's edge. "We're done here."

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You hadn't seen him since he accepted his bond with Elain six months ago; you couldn't even bring yourself to sit through the entire ceremony they hosted. It was all too much.

That was the first crushing blow. But then, to find out that not only had he accepted the bond and been happy about it, but now you were bonded to someone you didn't want either?

What a joke. The mating bond was a joke -- it had to be. All these years of believing that bonds were so special... it was all bullshit.

As you sit near the bank, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. You didn't quite care who it was; after all, you were so deep in loathing that you had grown distant from all of your friends over the past few months. It didn't help that the last words you'd hurled at them were unkind, but... maybe it's what they needed to hear. They did keep a huge thing from you, and you haven't even begun to figure out how to move on yet.

Moving on from Azriel sounded like it would be the end for you. You didn't know how you'd ever do it -- it was always him. There never was anyone else for you. You only wanted him.

And now he was honeymooning with his mate. Fucking her. Loving her. Allowing her to know him on a level only you'd ever been on.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks when a whisper pulls you from your thoughts.

"Y/N?"

You turn slowly, the last person you'd expected to see standing behind you. His hair was windblown, his skin tan from the Summer court sun. He had a few light freckles dusting his nose.

Upon seeing your upset state, he slowly approached you, and sat down beside you. Staring out at the water, you continued to let the tears fall, chin resting on your bent knees. His gaze was hot as he stared at you, taking you in fully.

"Y/N... this isn't okay... you're-" his voice cracks. "You're not okay." He whispers the last part, and your eyes meet his. Tears stream down his cheeks, dripping onto the cream colored button-down he's sporting. Typical Summer court fashion, but you should expect that as he did just spend time there.

He grabs onto your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. You have no choice but to sink in, open sobs emitting from your broken hearted chest. He breaths deeply, resting his chin atop your head. A drop of water lands on your shoulder, a tear. It's from him.

He holds you for a few minutes, allowing you to release all your emotions. He sighs, the sun dipping low alolng the horizon. You finally pull back and look at him. Nothing was going to change about your situation.

Your eyes caught on the black letters still imprinting his arm, fresh tears brimming your eyes.

"I hate seeing you like this," he says, sniffing. "You're my best friend Y/N. You always find the good in every situation, in everyone... that's why everyone loves you so much. You saw the good in me when no one else did." He says, rubbing your shoulder. You train your eyes on the grass below.

"I hate this too. But I love you," you say, not looking to meet his eyes. "If this is what is making you happy, I love that for you." He takes one of your hands in his.

"Y/N, it's just... Gods, this is a mess." He says. You let out a humorless laugh.

"Yeah. Even more of a mess now that I have a mate too." His eyes widen, and you look up just in time to see something swimming in those hazel orbs.

"Oh." He says. He drops your hand, but you reach over and place yours on top of where his now rests in his lap.

"The difference is, I would still choose you and me." You say, and he wipes a tear from your cheek. "I would always choose you and me. Because you're my best friend Azriel; and I love you. I don't know how to stop." You say. You lean back, resting your head in the grass as he gets comfortable laying beside you. His fingertips graze over the spot where he'd written on you -- marked you -- years back, reiterating the sentiment he'd etched there.

"And you're mine, too."

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Part 2

#acotar smut #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #lucien acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel smut

170 notes · View notes

beowlet · 8 months

Note

Hello I SAW THE OPEN REQUESTS AND I SCROLLED UP SO FAST!! I love your work sm, you really captured the essence of the characters + talking abt the love languages was a fun bonus too. Is it fine if I request the Housewardens (or some of them) with a reader who loves to send them letters?💌 But their handwriting is very unintelligible due to it being a chicken scratch/the most extra cursive you could ever see. Either way works, thank you!! ❤️

[Omg i love this]

HOUSEWARDENS WITH A S/O WHO LOVES TO SEND THEM LETTERS, BUT THEIR HANDWRITING IS HARD TO READ.

Headcanons

Cw: Uses of you instead of pronouns, fluff, GN!Reader, NOT proofread. Again.

R. Rosehearts

I feel like Riddle's hand writing is cursive too and wouldn't have too much trouble reading it even if it was a little extra so we'll go with chicken scratch handwriting for him.

He loves that you write letters for him, he really does. He always tries to send one of his own too! But he would love it more if he could actually understand what you were saying.

He can only make out two words, his name and "love". He always writes back in hopes of having understood the letter correctly. Because if he read something wrong and you pointed it out he will die of embarrassment.

HES TRYING

LEAVE HIM ALONE OKAY

He will slowly get used to it and become a [name] translator. He would be so proud too, he finally understands your handwriting and can ACTUALLY read your heartfelt letters.

He blushes and giggles like a highschool girl all the time.

Anytime anyone has trouble reading your hand writing they will go to him. Mostly Ace and Deuce after they ask for your notes.

Wishes your handwriting was a little bit more readable, but he's happy he got the hand of it now.

L. Kingscholar

Definetly knows how to read cursive but will pull a "wtf" face at all the extra shit you put because what is this. Is this even english anymore?? He can't tell if thats an "R" "M" or "N"?? What the fuck did you write?-

Look, he appericiates the letters. But try not to make him think hes having a stroke while reading it. Please. What is this? Why? Is there anyone in the world that can read curaive like this???

Will out right just text you.

Will feel bad after he finds out it was just a letter where you were talking about how much you loved him, expect him to buy you a buqoet of your favorite flowers soon.

He feels bad.

Will soon probably understand some of your letters and thank you in text form.

You thought he would write back? Oh honey no. This man is too lazy to get up on his ass and sit down on his desk to write. He might make Ruggie do it for him tho.

However if you were mad at him thats a different story. He might write a letter... along with a few more gifts... maybe...

Anything for you to forgive him.

A. Ashengrotto

Ik this man has so fucking extra cursive writing like how and why. Why do you need that many loops for one letter IT DOESNT LOOK PRETTY IT LOOKS CURSED AZUL.

I'm kidding it def looks pretty... so for Azul we're going with chicken scratch!

He would be so confused if he saw a letter just hanging around in his office, and it's a letter that he cant even read. He'll just be confused standing in his office trying to read it. Not even realising that you signed it, he was still trying to read the first word.

After a while he just gave up and called for Floyd, knowing his handwriting wasn't any better and assumed he could read it.

"Dear, Azul. I know I don't have to write a letter because I can literally just text you but I thought it would be fun to write a letter where I explained how much I lo-" "NO OKAY GIVE ME THAT BACK-"

Floyd is telling Jade so they can both bully Azul for being so stupid and not being able to read his own lover's hand writing.

He wants to know what it says so he can write back a letter... but he doesn't know anyone that would be able to read it without teasing him.

Spends a night trying to read it and writes back a letter.

Is about to sob when you send him another one, HE LOVES YOU BUT HE CAN'T READ YOUR LETTERS SPARE HIM PLEASE.

K. Al-asim

He would love the idea of sending eachother letters! He thinks its romantic and even if it's a little silly you write to eachother even though you could visit eachother any time of the day he doesn't care. It's cute. Very.

I don't think he can read cursive... he knows he has to learn but he's struggling. A lot.

I also don't think Kalim has very neat or very chaotic handwriting that nobody can read it but I think it can definetly get a little messy in his notebooks sometimes. So, cursive with extra stuff for Kalim!

He would explode with happines when he finds a love letter sitting on his desk with your name on it. He's over the moon.

As soon as he sees it he runs over, picks it up and opens it to read it. Only to be met with a page full of loops. A lot of them... an awful lot that Kalim thought you just scribbled the page for a momment.

First he's determined to read what you've wrote without asking for any help from Jamil!

Yeah that lasts like 15 minutes he goes to Jamil a little quicker than he would like to.

He tried! That's what matters... right?

Jamil spends about 15 minutes trying to read the first few sentences before FINALLY understanding the letters and reading it to Kalim. Kalim just sits there with a love-struck stupidly cute smile as he listens to Jamil readint the letter.

Is definetly writing back a reponse and making this a thing between you two.

Jamil has to suffer through your sappy letters as Kalim makes him read all of them.

Help my boy he isn't exactly happy.

V. Schoenheit

He can read really any handwriting perfectly no matter how extra or "awful" it is. But if it's just a page filled with random lines and so called letters mixed together I'm very sure he'll pull a "wtf" face :D Chicken scratch for Vil!!

He appericiates the thought! He really does! He's increidbly happy to recieve a letter from you! But why. Why does your handwriting have to be this way? Why like just why?

Do you need help? He can definetly give you writing lessons on how to improve your handwriting. He can pay for it if you think it would be embarrassing to do it with him, he can find online course-

He would think all of this but never mention any of it. He doesn't wanna break your heart.

But I think he'd def have a lot of fun trying to read your handwriting when he's bored. He would sit down and try to figure out what was written like it was some sort of puzzle and would just smile happily everytime he got a full sentence.

He would give you a kiss for every love letter he recieves <33

Would he write back? Not all the time but would write once in a while about how deep his feelings are for you.

M. Draconia

Homeboy here has been alive for a bit over a hundred years I think he's capable of reading many different types of handwriting. But imagine his shock when he finds a one he actually can't read.

Malleus is a little old compared to humans we all know that, this man has seen lots of different types of handwriting but he's definetly used to different types of and extra cursive handwritings. So we'll go for chicken scratch for him!

I feel like he'd be the first one to ever send a letter in your relationship honestly! When he recieves back a letter our fae boy is smiling happily as he excitedly opens the letter only to pause and... try to read whatever language that is.

Will go to Lilia. Like, immediately. He is definetly going to make fun of you after that. No way Lilia is letting something like that slide especially when Malleus came to him all confused.

Nobody can tell me Lilia isn't used to terrible handwritings and can just zoom through what seems like gibberish.

Malleus will listen as Lilia reads the letter for him and he can just feel himself falling deeper and deeper for you.

He wants to see you afterwards immediatelly. He is now clingy, wants hugs, kisses and every kind of physical affection you can give him.

So what if he teleported to your dorm and is currently towering over your bed? Give him the love he deserves!

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ohcaptains · 1 year

Text

abby love theme

pairing. abby anderson x f!reader

synopsis. abby begs for forgiveness. then tries to make it up to you.

an. :) hey. do people read this bit? lemme know if you read this bit. also, did you know i’m a gamer girl now? -- looks like i’ve made writing for a dead fandom a thing so, might as well carry on. apologies if this isn’t your thing, but abby got me out of a month long writing slump so !

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving oral, female receiving penetration (fingers), spit play, slightly mean! abby, hair pulling, and angst but mostly just graphic smut lol.

When Abby comes back, she’s apologetic.

She unlocks the door – as quietly as humanly possible – and gently pushes it back into the latch. Then, as always, bolts the top and bottom, an instinct, from doing it every night.

She’s always the first person up, and the last person in. Always the last one to get into bed – on your side, because you’re always asleep on her side – and the last one to say goodnight.

Now, though, she’s saying, “I’m sorry.” Standing at the edge, and whispering it at the back of your head, the soft verbiage a thunderclap in the soundless cocoon of your room. If you heard her, you give her no inclination.

It looks as if you’re sound asleep, and usually, Abby would do her best not to disturb your peace, but right now, she’s seconds away from begging.

So, she does something similar.

Clambers onto your shared bed, knees digging into the springs, and shuffles up close. Plunges her hands under and around you, and pulls you against her, speaking before you can. Just, speaking into the back of your neck – lips wet and swollen from her nervous chewing.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she starts, which, in her mind, is the crux of the whole ordeal. Shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and yelled and that’s exactly what she’s saying, saying, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions and got distant and annoying. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.

Hands tighten around your middle, and at some point, you grab onto them. “I thought – “she’s going again. “I thought you were pulling away, so I did the same. It was stupid and childish and I’m sorry, I won’t – “

She repeats it like she’s stuck in a loop.

“– I won’t do it again I promise.”

She kisses the back of your neck and nuzzles deeper like she’s trying to imprint it onto your spinal cord – forcing it to travel up into your brain. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I’ll stay, hear you out – won’t yell, I’m sorry.”

Her kisses travel across your jaw, all punctuated with the same apologetic phrase. You’re awake now – awake as soon as she clambered onto the bed, as graceful as a truck – and you twist to greet her mouth.

Kiss her, and shut her up, yet still – she manages to say it again.

“’ m’ sorry,” she mumbles into your mouth. You can taste how sorry she is. Feel it, the desperation, in her wandering hands – pulling you into her, palming your lower back and twisting your shirt into her fist.

She says it as she rolls on top of you. Her knees push against your hips, ass against your crotch, and she’s still got your top stretched between her fingers.

Abby tongues her way into your mouth and you gasp, lifting your head off of the pillows to follow her mouth. “’ m’ sorry,” she goes again, making out with you. Wet and wanting, the kind of kiss that could only happen at two in the morning.

The gasp you sounded before turns into a whimper. Her kiss is intoxicating and knocks you for six – makes you loose and easy to manoeuvre. Abby drags kisses over your cheek, scattering them under your jaw as she repeats her apology again and again.

The heat of her, the weight of her – consumes you. You’d forgiven her hours ago. Feels like you’d always forgive Abby, no matter what she did. Even if she was quick to anger. Read things wrong. She always came home with her tail between her legs.

“Don’t yell at me like that again, Abby.”

“I won’t — “she immediately goes, her voice strained. She lifts her head and watches you, inches away, her face clouded in darkness. “I promise. I promise, um’sorry.”

Abby is gorgeous. Always has been. But she’s never more gorgeous than when she’s inches away, mouth against yours, with her blue eyes big and wanting. When she dips to kiss your neck again, you sigh out into your shared bedroom.

“’s’ okay, baby,” you breathe – finally – eyes fluttering closed and fingers reaching to slide into her hair. You hum, the swell of her mouth and wet of her tongue opening you up. It forces your legs to hang open around her hips.

Makes you loose and liquid, but she switches, sucks at the hollow of your throat, and you tighten up, fingers, legs, and hips -- pushing up into hers.

“Fuck—” you moan, back arching, “’s’ okay, Abby.”

It’s like she can’t hear you.

Spurred on by an obscene need, she’s sucking bruises into your skin. Gripping at your clothing and pulling it into her fist – tight -- not daring to let go.

“Abby,” you whisper, trying to turn to her, but she refuses to budge. Just. Sits on your lap and marks you with her mouth. She’s still cladded in her pants, the ones with the pockets and buckles. Wearing her shirt with the cut-off sleeves, smelling faintly of the gym.

Had gone to work her frustration out, then came home to apologise. Again, and again and again and she says it, again. Grounds her hips into yours, and you don’t think she even knows she’s doing it. Don’t think she knows she’s pushing the buckle of her belt against your crotch, the bite of it grinding through your sleep shorts.

“Mm, Abby,” you sigh again, twisting – again. Still, she doesn’t move. You grip the back of her head and pull her hair, catching her lips in yours before she can complain. You kiss her as she kissed you before. Tongue in her mouth, desperation in your fingertips – Abby mumbles, sorry, between the spit and teeth.

“I know,” you whisper, jutting your hips against hers.

“I know, baby,” you repeat, dragging the words under her chin, followed by the mesh of your mouth, teeth scraping against her jaw. You kiss away the red, say, I know, and taste her again. Repeat the motion, and Abby loves it. Has always loved when you got a little rough with her.

Takes a lot for Abby Anderson to break. She hums your name, and whispers, “Fuck,” when you suck a mark under her jaw, then, suddenly, she’s pulling away.

Leans back on your lap, tall and overwhelming, and reaches down, dragging the hem of her shirt up and over her head. You gaze at her as she throws it behind her, followed by the tug of her bra, and before you get the chance to gaze at her chest, she’s back and kissing you.

“Lemme make it up to you,” she breathes into your mouth. She pushes her chest into yours, and you feel her – the lines of her muscles, the softness of her tits, and Abby clutches your vest again, so tight that you’re basically not wearing it – the fabric bunched up in the middle.

You whisper, “take my shirt off then,” and she takes your shorts off, too.

Strips you bare, and kisses where your clothes once touched. Tongue curling around a nipple, fingers tugging at the other – trailing spit down your belly, palm flat on your heart, hips stretching lower and lower, until you watch her drag her teeth under your belly button.

You choke a gasp, and Abby smiles. A small one, but it’s there, and it twists mischievously as she lowers her tongue and swirls it above your crotch. “Shit – Abs,” you whisper, pulling your knuckles into your mouth.

You’re so sensitive there, and Abby knows. Knows that the feeling always shoots down lower and pushes against your clit. Abby’s chest is barely brushing against it.

She swirls her tongue again, sucking a mark as her wide, strong palms pull your thighs up. She gets comfortable laying between your legs.

“Did I mention that I was sorry?” Abby asks, mouth exploring. Her teasing forces something warm and buttery to bloom in your chest. The feeling triples as her mouth dips, scattering wet, intricate kisses over your inner thighs. Her thick fingers jut into your skin, rubbing circles into your thighs, and pushing at your lower stomach. Your hips buck into her face. “Mm, yeah – think so,” you quickly rush, words high pitch and desperate. Abby glances up at you, her blue eyes are bright and brilliant. You have to reach down between your thighs and cup her cheek.

Have to swipe your thumb at the spit she’s got smeared over her lips, and Abby’s tongue comes out, running over your skin before she sucks your finger into her mouth. Your face twists, lips parting.

Whispering, “might have to show me how sorry you are, though.” “Yeah?” Abby immediately breathes, barely looking at you. Too busy swirling her tongue around your thumb. Your heart thumps a beating drum, clit throbs, and you clench, humming her name.

Say, “Abs,” and her eyes open -- pupils are blown wide. A conniving smirk on her pretty face, and she growls and bites – pretending to chomp on your finger. You pull your hand away, giggling, saying, “what the hell, Abby!” but she’s not listening. Too busy hitching your hips up.

Too busy dribbling spit onto your pussy, and your giggle twists to a loud gasp as she drags the flat of her tongue from your hole to your clit. Your body shatters. Her name is a strangled sob, and you have to muffle it with the back of your palm.

“Fuck,” you whimper, not having enough energy to cuss her out. Not that you want to, anyway. Even if she deserves it. Even if you still want to be angry at her, but what good would that do?

She’d literally crawled into bed with her metaphorical tail between her legs. The hot-headed Abby Anderson, who only ever wanted to be good. That is who you fell in love with.

She drags her tongue through your folds again. Relaxed, slow, and sensual. Again, and again Taking her time with you because she could. Because you’d let her – let her do anything, really.

Let her swirl her tongue around your clit, saliva drooling over your heat, and dripping between your legs.

A warm, welcome heat spreads across your thighs, pushing at your belly and spine, forcing you to squirm – or at least try and squirm away from it, but Abby keeps you locked where she wants you.

Sucks your clit into her mouth, and you moan, back trying to arch, but shit, she won’t let you.

“A-Abby,” you hiccup, arching as far as she’ll let. Your fingers search for something to grab onto — one finds the sheets, and the other finds her hair, where it pushes into her messy braid and tugs, both frustrated and turned on beyond relief.

You say her name again, a plead to stop, a plead to carry on, forever.

Abby chooses the latter, and it does feel like forever. Feels like a lifetime of her dragging her tongue through your folds. Her nose pushes into your heat, and the wet of you soaks her chin.

She sinks a finger inside, and you moan her God damn name.

She doesn’t slow down — why would she? but most of all, how could she? When you’re stretched out on the bed she shares with you, naked, and whispering her name.

Again and again, Abby, Abby, Abby.

The beating of a drum — one that matches the buzzing, fluttering, and flapping of her heart. How can she stop, when you’re clenching around her middle finger, moaning deep and long — a drawn-out sound that echoes around the room. You soak her finger, too. Soak both when she adds another. Abby curses.

“Maybe I should piss you off more often if this is my penance.”

It’s hard to speak, but still, you manage.

“Fuck—d-don’t get it twisted— “you tighten your grip on her hair, “--you’re still—still in the doghouse.”

Abby pouts, eyeing you, “but I’m being such a good boy.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You have to let go of the sheet to cover your face. Then, moan into your knuckle as you clench, her fingers stretching you out.

Abby hums a laugh, “you like that, huh?”

Your rebuttal is quiet, a whisper of a sound as you utter —

“No one likes a show-off.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah— “you sigh, clenching again, the feeling building behind your clit. “I do.”

Too much, sometimes. Feels like you’re so full of love for Abby Anderson that you’re fit to burst.

Her fingers speed up. Deep and long, but at the perfect tempo to have your legs shaking. Have you biting at the back of your hand, too, to stop you from screaming and waking up the entire floor.

She has her calloused hands holding your legs against the bed, and it’s all take and take and take. The obscene pressure makes you drift off, and you’re lightheaded and docile when she asks,

“I make you feel safe, right?”

“W-what?”

The question knocks you for a loop. You look down at her, eyes blown, forehead furrowed, and a smile drags onto her stubborn face. She rests her forehead on your lower stomach and speaks into your skin as she stretches you open with her fingers. You gasp, eyes rolling back.

“S’ what you said, earlier — that I make you feel safe.”

You don’t remember saying that. Did you say that? You must have. You try and think back to the argument. Think back to her getting insecure and angry about Mel saying that Abby hovers around you all the time.

I like having you around Abby, you make me feel safe.

When you don’t respond, she picks up the speed. Drags her fingers through your cunt -- makes you squirm and drench her fingers, a shocked gasp choking at your throat. The sound grabs her attention, and she snaps up, the heat of her stare a living, breathing thing.

“Right?” she repeats.

“Yes,” you gasp, hot all over, then, “Fuck — yes.”

“You like having me around, yes?”

“Yes Abby, yes yesyes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah — fuck, even if you, drive me fucking crazy— “

She sucks your clit into her mouth again, and you break.

“—oh holy shit, yes, please, Abby please keep doing that please keep doing that, please, please, please, please, please.”

You’re wired. The drag of her fingers. The warm, tight, suck of her mouth. Delirious. You moan her name as if it’s the only word you know. Right now, it is. The brain fog is seeping in, and you can’t remember why you were mad. What did she do again? You clench down on her fingers, so tight that it hurts.

“Abs — um’gonna come. Fuck, please, please let me come I want it want it so bad.”

Abby doesn’t speak, just grunts, and nods her head against your cunt. Nods, and nods, and loosens her grip on your legs, letting you – finally – rest your thighs against her shoulders as the harsh, hot feeling spills over you. Your eyes roll back, fingers coil in her hair, and everything is clenched and tense and tight, until you release, wet and hot and intense.

“Oh my fucking God—Abby, Abby, Ohm’god, so fuck—” the words dribble out of your mouth like spit. Mindless, dredged up from somewhere dark and damp, saved for this moment only. Abby bathes in them, never stopping her fingers, never stopping her tongue as she soaks you up, your body shaking from under her grip.

At some point, she watches, and God – it’s a sight to behold. When the feeling fizzles out, and you’re gasping in air, your flustered face staring down at her, she stretches up. Kisses you and spreads your musk over your lips as she tongues her way into your mouth, her wet fingers grabbing a hold of your cheek to keep you steady. She says some words of her own, but you barely hear them, still drunk and dizzy from how far she took you.

With shaky, weak hands, you reach down for the buckle of her jeans. “’ S’my turn,” you mumble against her mouth, and she laughs quietly. “My turn, you mean.” “Mm,” you hum, kissing the taste of you off of her lips. Still fuzzy, you go dizzy when you shake your head at her. “You okay sweetheart?” she laughs, and you roll your eyes. “’ jus’ gimmie a minute, then it’ll be my turn.”

Abby always tries to keep quiet at first. You thought it was a pride thing, then briefly, a shame thing, but then you realised, it was just an Abby Thing. Another Abby Thing -- is that she likes to watch.

Props herself onto her elbows – with one hand in your hair – and gazes down at you between her thighs. It’s what she’s doing now. Her fingers are lax in your strands, and eyes are lazy as she regards you with curiosity.

Tongue in the corner of her mouth, a furrow in her brows, as you kiss at the inside of her muscular thighs. You move with no real direction, and Abby gets lost in the bobbing of your head, the slow build before you’re dragging your tongue over the thin skin between her thigh and pussy, and she opens her mouth to make a sound. Still. She’s silent.

Achingly so.

You brush your mouth against her. Just an inch. Just a touch, and look up, catching her blue gaze. A small, teasing smile quirks at her lips, and she raises a brow, silently saying, well, go on then.

One thing that surprised you about Abby, was how nice she was.

Reserved, yes – but nice. Nice, until she got mean. Despicable. You love all sides of her, but it’s moments like this, where you particularly love the mean part of her.

The part that tightens her grip on your hair – tight and unforgiving – as you drool so much spit onto her pussy that it drips over your chin and soaks the mattress. The part that tuts when you start too fast, causing her to say, slow – slow down pretty, go slow for me. The part that lifts your head when you don’t slow down, spitting, what the fuck did I just say?

But this moment? this moment isn’t like that at all. There’s no mean Abby. There’s only the thankful Abby. The one who whispers praises at you, eyes locked on the way you swipe your spit over her cunt, pushing it into her, and tasting how wet she got from making you come.

She says that’s it, so faintly, that you barely hear her. But no matter, she’s saying it again. Saying, that’s it, baby, as you build up the momentum, just barely touching her clit – like she taught you. You always were a good listener. It’s how you hear the hushed sound she sighs. How you hear her low grunt, followed by her high-pitched intake of breath as you nudge your nose against the swollen bundle of nerves.

She’s soaking.

Completely drenched and knowing that she got like this from eating you out fuels your desire. Forces you to abandon your slow movements, and instead, begin to consume her. Tongue flat, fingers tight on her hips, you work her over, drooling and moaning, and swirling your tongue over her clit until she has to make a sound.

“Shit,” she grunts, and you glance up at her. She’s chewing on her bottom lip. Jaw clenched, eyes blown and cheeks red – trying to keep herself contained. You have to smile. Have to grin at her as you roll your tongue over her clit, watching her desperately try and cling to any sense of sanity. It’s no use though, because when you suck her clit into your mouth – sloppy with spit -- she has to look away.

She can’t hold herself up anymore, either, and she falls back to the pillows, back immediately arching, and she has to drag her bicep over her face, hiding her face from view as she moans a deep and guttural, “Fucccckkkkk,” into the bedroom.

Her fingers clutch your hair, and she uses her grip as leverage and grinds her cunt against your mouth and chin. You let go of her clit and flatten your tongue, letting her use you.

“Yes—” she gasps, mouth opening, and you would be seeing her face twist, if not for her thick bicep covering her face. The veins in her arm are ticking, and you notice that her ab muscles are clenching, too, so you reach up slowly, sliding your palm over her sweaty chest, and running your thumb over her tense skin, hoping to soothe the tension.

“Abs,” you whisper, slowing your pace. “Mmh?” she hums, and you slide your fingers further, dragging them over her tits. “Relax,” you hush, and she laughs, the sound bursting from her throat before it breaks into a breathy moan as you switch up -- twist your tongue around her clit, rotating between swirling and sucking, swirling, and sucking until she lets go of your hair completely.

Has to fidget -- can’t lay still. She’s arching her back, clutching the duvet, then grabbing your hair again, sobbing your name, over and over, as you suck and swirl at her swollen clit. Watching her lose control is intoxicating. It’s forcing an ache to build between your thighs, but not as strong as Abby’s, who’s moaning and cursing.

“Keep doing that – keep doing that baby, ‘s’ fucking good. Please, please don’t fucking stop, shit.”

God, it’s so hot – stopping has never crossed your mind.

“’um ‘gonna come,” she whispers, so quiet that you have to strain to hear it. But then, she’s shaking her head, changing her mind. “Don’t wanna – don’t wanna come, 'cause I don’t want it to stop.” “You can come—” you grant, sucking her wetness into your mouth and spitting it back into her cunt. Abby whimpers, not daring to look. Though, she does when you declare, “—um’ not gonna stop.”

Cranes her neck up, then immediately regrets it. You’ve got one hand on her hip, and the other is between your thighs, where you’re steadily grinding against it. She’s speechless for a second, just, watching you grind your cunt into your knuckles, and then she’s asking, “Are you touching yourself?”

Heat floods your body for a fleeting beat, but then you’re moaning into her pussy, nodding, saying, “you’re so fucking hot, Abs. Mm’ sorry.”

Mean Abby would have chastised you, but this is the thankful Abby, this is the Abby who shakes her head, laughs, and says, “Shit, and you wonder why I don’t leave you alone.” “Don’t,” you immediately respond. You can sense her confusion, so you decide to be honest. “Don’t leave me alone. I like – like having you around, like people seeing us together,” you admit. Like it when she’s in earshot. When she buys you drinks and helps you out. When she refuses to let you go on runs without her, not because you can’t do it, but because why should you? When she can do it with you.

Like it when she hands you the big gun, kisses your forehead and says, be safe. When she picks you over all the grown, muscular men in the team, not out of loyalty, but because she trusts you, more than anyone she’s ever met before.

You’re fueled with passion – a desire for her, and it forces you to drag your fingers from her hip and under your chin, palm up, before pushing your middle finger into her cunt.

Abby groans, loud — the bellow of it echoing against the walls, and she moans as she gushes over your lips. You taste her; suck her into your mouth before you say, I like belonging to you, Abby, and Abby fucking sobs.

Whimpers like a wounded animal, whimpers like it hurts, says, say that again, please say that again. And so, you do. Moan it into the wet heat of her, your lips swollen, and your chin soaked. Try to imprint the words onto her skin, so she’ll never doubt herself again.

“It’s gonna be big –” she sobs, hiccuping the words, “--can feel it in my fucking chest.”

She drags her arms up, hands clutched together above her head so her elbows rest on her forehead, and you watch her mouth twist, jaw clench, then she’s cursing, gasping, saying, “shit – um’ gonna--” and she does.

Comes all over your mouth and chin, wet and hot, and loud. You lap her up, tasting the salt and spit and hearing her sob your name with a complete lack of self-awareness. It rings in your ears, makes you laugh – prideful – and Abby gasps one, too, but the sound morphs into a whine as you drag out the sensitivity, overstimulating her with your mouth and fingers.

When it gets too much for her, she grunts a curse, her hand coming down to grab your head and she uses a fist full of your hair to pull you away. You look up at her, cheeks glistening, and grin.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderon smut #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us part 2 #the last of us #tlou2 #tlou #the last of us 2 #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson fan fic #tlou2 fanfic #tlou2 abby anderson #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou

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passivenovember · 2 months

Text

(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)

When Billy Falls in Love

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red.

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here--

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag.

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows.

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close.

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar.

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him?

About his bones and blood.

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--”

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull.

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue.

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking.

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black.

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back.

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness.

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him,

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock.

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong.

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies.

If it kills him.

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers.

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington? What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away.

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky.

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks.

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks.

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this.

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt.

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard.

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door.

Eddie doesn’t move.

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up.

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him.

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy.

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?”

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him.

He smells like peaches.

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch.

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare.

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image.

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him.

Billy stops. Waits.

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning.

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And.

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does.

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now.

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then.

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy.

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him.

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

#harringrove #clothes sharing #fluff #love confessions

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void-bitten-ghost · 5 months

Text

Modern Mizu hears you like a bit of 'danger and excitement' from one of your friends, so she takes you to an underground fighting ring for like, your fifth date. This is after the gun range fiasco, so you've already seen a side of Mizu that not many have been allowed to see.

When she mentions this idea you're like, so fucking excited but still kinda like??? There's one of these here????? Nearby????? Holy shit yes???? Please?????? That's so cool?????

She specifically avoids answering how she knows it exists. This isn't about her. This is about sharing an experience she loves and you've shown interest in.

She picks you up on her bike (because Of Course she would have a motorbike that's like either this hand-me-down or a fixer-upper she restored) and you go. It's exactly what you thought it would be, off vibes and dodgy people, but being with Mizu somehow makes you feel safe because she's confident. But it's not an arrogant kind of confidence, it's a steady, assured sort of confidence that puts you right at ease as she takes your hand and leads you through the crowd.

Now, something you don't know is this is not Mizu's stomping grounds. Not even close. But she knew it by name and reputation and it was close enough you could both make a night out of it rather than three. Although... she wouldn't mind if that were to happen--

She snaps back to reality when you step forward and holler out encouragement to the scrawnier one of the two currently in the ring. The corner of her mouth quirks at your enthusiasm, a brow lifting and a hip popping as she crosses her arms to just. Watch you. As you lose yourself to the energy of the room.

The match ends with the scrawny one getting his ass handed to him by the dude built like a brick shit-house. She expected as much. It takes a certain amount of skill to be able to take a mountain of a man like that down while having such a slight build. She'd know, after all.

Anyway. Everything is going swimmingly until some prick pushes his luck trying to get your attention. You very bluntly tell him he's barking up the wrong tree and he does not take the rejection well. Mizu tries to not intervene directly with your battles too often. You're a capable person, it's one of the things she lov- likes. Likes about you.

But then the burly fuck reaches for you. You smack his hand away and go to headbutt him. She grabs you by the waist before you could start the climb to reach and if you weren't so riled up you might have short circuited at the feel of her calloused hand on your skin.

"This bitch yours, mutt?" He grunts to Mizu, and you see fucking red.

"You fucking dare call her a mutt you jumped up little cun--"

"Yes," she says over you, calm as a still lake, and you do actually short circuit at Mizu calling you 'hers'. The heat of anger in you switches gears to something far sweeter, but no less scalding.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't upset her," Mizu says, her fingers trailing to your hip and gripping a belt loop possessively. You can suddenly feel every point of contact. Hip, arm, chest...

That's when the man looks at Mizu. Really looks at her with a lean forward and squinted eyes, looking over her tinted shades.

"Onryo," he breathes, and you feel Mizu tense behind you. She hadn't heard that name for a good long while. It was a name from her troubled youth. One she thought was long behind her since going legit.

"You're a long way from home, demon."

"What of it?"

You could sense something was happening as the two spoke in what you thought was an amicable tone, but then Mizu is pulling you behind her and shedding her jacket. You take hold of it instinctively as she went to drop it on the ground and she finally turns your way.

"Everything is fine," she tells you in that same confident tone, but she must see your confusion and anxiety written on your face because she takes your chin in her hand and gives you a quick peck on the lips. You stand there with a stupid, dumbstruck look she grins at as she--

She's heading to the ring. She's heading to the middle of the ring and she's shedding another layer as she climbs over the freshold oh dear gods you don't know what to do. What to think. Holy fucking shit she's right there in a sports bra and baggy pants while wrapping her knuckles-- where did she get wrappings from?????

You're more than short circuiting at this point. You need a soft reboot. Maybe a full reboot at this rate since she's sliding off those tinted glasses and-- oh.

You see her eyes.

You've seen them before, of course. But not like this. Not with this intensity behind them. Like she's looking right through her opponent to predict every single movement his future self might consider making. That indomitable focus had you flushing with heat from head to toe as you watched, mouth parted, breaths quickening.

She floors a man twice her size and three times the bredth and your knees might give out. Are you swooning? You might just be fucking swooning holy fuck--

But then she gets gut punched and then tackled by a secret second opponent and you snap back into the whole situation.

You scream out encouragement to Mizu until your lungs feel dry, and then you scream some more. You want to be the loudest. You want Mizu to hear you and know you're rooting for her while she wipes the floor with these cheating bastards.

There's four of the fuckers now. Four all dressed in similar... you hesitate to call them uniforms. More like they all shopped at the same tec-wear store at the same time. But shit are they fast. You have the slightest moment of worry when you see the glint of metal fly past in one of their fists--

Mizu breaks thier arm with a sickening twist and a wet 'crack', and you think you might never have been so turned on in your entire fucking life.

(And also you might need to address and analyse some things about yourself later...)

The metal drops to the floor with an audible clang and a loud noise goes off somewhere. You're going to be honest, you're not really paying attention to anything else other than how Mizu moves around her opponents. Even outnumbered she holds her own, muscles coiled and yet her movements are smooth like flowing water. You can't help but think of the type that wears away cliffsides and cracks apart mountains, because that's what she's doing. She's fighting smart where they're fighting with force, and she is kicking their fucking asses--

Others converge on the ring, the crowd flooding in to hold them all down and you can't help but notice it takes five fully stacked men to hold Mizu down. And even then that only lasts about seven seconds before she breaks free, methodically picking them all off one by one before she launches herself into the now turbulent crowd.

That's when you panic, shouting for her while elbows and shoulders send you this way and that. You narrowly dodge a fist to the face before a hand grabs yours. You're ready to swing right back when you lock eyes with those sharp blues you so adore.

You both book it out, avoiding flailing limbs and thrown table legs. You've somehow still got Mizu's jacket in the crook of your arm when you both make it outside and keep running, only stopping when the sound of sirens was long, long off in the distance.

You're both curled over in a dark, dank alleyway, breaths haggard and coming out as clouds in the crisp night air.

You look up from your knees, ass pressed against the brick wall to support your wobbly legs, and you can't help but crack a grin when you see Mizu in a similar state, only just realising what the fuck just happened.

The grin breaks into a laugh when Mizu looks to you with a bright smile of her own, it's a wheezing thing at first, but then it becomes a full belly laugh when she joins you. And oh, is that such a rare sight. Mizu losing herself in a laugh and then looking at you with the most beautiful full face smile you've ever seen in your life.

Your giggles die in the face of that smile, replaced with a quiet awe and probably the dumbest looking lovesick stare--

Steps. Multiple steps approach the alley and Mizu's first and only instinct is to hide and protect you, pressing you back against the wall and covering your mouth with her hand, catching your yelp of surprise before it could really become an external sound.

And ohhhhh, what a predicament you find yourself in. Pinned to a wall by this very strong and capable and, evidentally, dangerous woman who took you out tonight to a place you would only dream of going to and protected you the entire time and then caused a room wide fight to break out that she was, up until that point, winning--

Ohhhh my phone is currently dying a death imma have to post and carry on later because my brain is a bastard that way 🙃

#modern mizu #bes mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu x y/n #underground fighter mizu #I WROTE SOMETHING #HAHA! TAKE THAT BRAIN BLOCK!#HOPE YOU ENJOY #tw fighting #tw violence #but i mean #its bes #eitger way better safe than sorry #fem reader #ish

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grimesgirll · 2 months

Text

alexandria is the break you've been yearning for since shit hit the fan.

an independent walled and gated community is exactly the place to catch your breath. the past eighteen months had been a blur of grit and gore; you deserve to decompress in a pretty house, not that you spent all of your time in your new settlement inside. you made a point to take judith on daily walks.

you're returning from one of your new routine walks to get judith down for her afternoon nap when you find olivia - the neighbor lady who ran the armory and the pantry - on the porch, greeting your name.

“hi,” you reply with a smile, bolstering the cooing baby on your hip. “what do i owe you the pleasure, olivia?”

“i’ve been meaning to get over here ever since shane brought it up to me-,” you pause. “-i wouldn’t mind having another set of hands around the armory at all, especially with the background shane mentioned you had.”

you purse your lips. “thanks. could we talk about this another time? maybe after the weekend? i’ll stop by.” you gesture to the little girl on your hip. “it’s just that i want to get her down now so her routine isn’t all out of whack later tonight.”

olivia nods, glasses bouncing a bit. “of course. come see me whenever you’re ready.”

you’re smiling and thanking her again before crossing the threshold with a huffy chest. it takes patience on your part not to slam the door but with judith in your arms, you slowly close it.

why would shane sign you up to work in the armory? is he stupid? you ponder. he didn’t even ask if you wanted to do something like that. you dismiss the thought the best you can and just focus on getting judith to sleep.

thank god for the blackout curtains jessie had sent over. judith sleeps like the dead with those things drawn.

a little rocking and the dark room do well to help the infant fall asleep in no time. that allows you to meander down the living room and hear the door swinging open.

"babe, we're back.”

you perk your head up when you see shane and rick come through the door. “hey, guys,” you forget to ask them how their day’s been when you see their new uniforms.

you have to pick up your jaw when you see the two men dressed in matching constable’s uniforms. you and shane hadn’t been dating for long when the world went to shit. he’d met you right after work before, even picked you up in the cruiser before but you forgot how strapping he looked in a uniform. brown and form fitting, you’re thanking the constable’s office inventory for stocking such flattering apparel.

you almost forget the frustration you’re harboring - the anger that had boiled, all because of how his ass looked in those brown fucking slacks.

“good to see you,” rick says with the same tone he had back on the side of the road when he helped you step back into your underwear.

“good to see you too,” you repeat, biting your lip.

a smirk appears on shane’s lips once he realizes you’re checking out their asses as you take their coats.

"why don't you head upstairs? we'll be up in a few minutes."

you nearly drop the jackets from your arms. “for what?” you ask, playing dumb.

rick is wordless and shane just smiles at you, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “you’ll see. we’ll see you soon enough.”

the bedroom is your next destination.

you’re tiptoeing up the stairs as not to disrupt nap time. those light treading feet are carrying you straight to the bed where you crumple into the comforter.

long was your day, longer would be your night. this is by virtue of the fact that you’ll have to ask shane about why olivia was about to onboard you to work in alexandria’s armory. and you’ll probably get split in half by an eight inch cock by the end of the night. you decide to put off your conversation with shane when your mind wanders to the newly clean shaven constable downstairs.

god, did he fit those pants wonderfully.

the man had been on your mind ever since this situationship of sorts emerged between the three of you - sans labels. awkward as it seemed, given all of your histories.

and then there’s shane.

don’t get you wrong, shane would give you the world if he could. whatever it would take to keep you nice and happy and purring “yes, shane” at his every word. he goes to greater lengths not just for your safety but for your convenience.

the man who’d circled back on a run after realizing he didn’t bring back your favorite brand of tampons. then again when the tampons be found had cardboard applicators. the one who held you at night in your shared cell back at the prison, kissed you and petted your hair, nuzzling as close as possible and telling you it would be alright. the man who trusted you to take care of his baby girl.

the one who had taken the time to give you not one but multiple masterclasses on firearms, shooting, and gun maintenance. he insisted that you know how to take care of yourself if it ever came down to and it boy, had it come down to it. more than once, you’d found yourself aiming your pistol and being forced to make a split second decision. the same man embraced you and reassured you in the aftermath of your beretta’s rounds claiming your first non-walker kill.

the man who’s about to fuck you into the mattress with his best friend.

you try to hold onto that thought as you shimmy out of the blue levi’s, deserting them on the floor thoughtlessly in search something cozier. digging through shane’s newly filled dresser drawers seems like an easy enough solution.

speak of the devil, he walks in with rick while you’re appraising a pair of gray sweatpants with a georgetown insignia on them.

“thought you had your own sweats.” shane’s behind you in an instant. just like rick, he’d noticed the way your sweatshirt falls to your thighs. “why don’t you just save those for later and let me help you take the rest off, huh?”

a telltale smirk takes over your face. a slant back into shane tells him all he needs to know.

he waits to toss you over his shoulder and situate you on the bed before he's yanking your boy briefs down your legs and brushing your clit with his fat finger. it's only natural that he's chuckling into your skin when you tense beneath him. prodding and playing with your newly awakened nerves, shane still managed to signal rick over to begin a maddening campaign, attacking your flush skin with their lips.

the lips on your that skin feel so deliciously inviting that you disregard how tender they turn you.

of course, shane is the one that can’t stand to wait.

“down you go, pretty girl.”

in an instant, he’s behind you with a finger in your pussy. you want to be upset that he's not still paying attention to the blushed out surface of your body but you’re too preoccupied with the hand in between your shoulder blades, encouraging your forearms down to the mattress. shane’s maintaining his grip on your hips and propping them up to send your ass straight towards the ceiling.

the moment that you feel a warm tongue, licking painfully slowly, and thoroughly towards your center, your hips jerk. shane is already bracing them, cooing, “easy, girl,” into your thigh before continuing the languid assault on your lips.

the lips on your face are pecked, if only briefly, by your boyfriend’s former crimefighting partner. licking your lips, you’re wishing he would circle back to connect your mouths again when a sharp sting interrupts your thoughts.

“fuck!” you cry into the comforter.

the obvious culprit is already testing the skin of your ass with his palm again. another yelp has blue eyes boring down, as if trying to memorize each moment you react - so expressively - to shane’s ministrations.

“what was that for?” you question, rotating your head to stealth a glance at him.

“fun.”

you’re about to tell shane about his idea of fun before a final slap and a sudden return to teasing your core spurs you away from the thought. pressure and heat course through you; shane just raises your internal temperature with a purposeful finger. you're whimpering at just the first stretch. past your throbbing rings of muscle, shane weaves a path with a single finger.

a heaved out moan has shane licking his lips. “gettin’ worked up off my fingers, baby?”

you nod. without a doubt.

another finger continues the mission of prying your tight cunt open for the men that would be taking turns with you until you’d come all over both their cocks. knuckle deep inside of you, the pressure is going to kill you before that third finger does.

“shane,” you’re hissing when he adopts a pace that has you clawing at his two fingers. “why are you being so aggressive with your fingers?”

“weren’t you complainin’ that it was ‘too much,’” he denotes with air quotes, “last time?”

rick seems to give you some breathing room at his friend’s taunt. he slinks back like his massive cock wasn’t the reason you’d been a sobbing mess in cowgirl on top of him the night before your group had reached noah’s old community in richmond.

you’d come so pornographically hard around him that you swear it’d been in your top five orgasms. but your cervix was still shot.

rick felt guilty. so guilty that he hasn’t fucked you since. only your mouth. of course he treated you to his mouth, his perfect tongue and his hands but you crave him inside of you. the thought of it with shane’s two pronged touch has you nearly grinding up the bed.

“fuck, shane,” you’re mumbling into the comforter, fists clenching when another finger worms into you.

“you ‘bout ready, baby?” shane asks, placing a strategic stripe down your clit as he fully buries his middle three fingers in you.

“mhmm.”

“wanna ask?”

a steady sentence isn’t going to come out of your mouth with how shane’s thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “please,” you sputter when he entrenches his fingers deeper inside of you.

“what was that?” the condescension in his voice has you squelching around his fast moving fingers.

you’re blushing at rick who has a hand on his cock and is staring straight into your teary eyes. “i want you to fuck me now, shane.” you don’t break eye contact with rick. “please.”

another smack lands on your reddening backside and suddenly those pleasure granting fingers are digging into your hip and you feel shane’s girth at your entrance.

“what do you want, baby?” shane asks. “you want me to fill you up?”

“yes, i want it so bad,” you’re begging through pouted lips.

rick doesn’t miss your doe eyes or how you moan shane’s name as he fulfills your fucked out request and fills you. even someone in the hallway can hear the wet sound from shane teasing your leaking cunt.

a few experimental strokes and shane is already balls deep. he didn’t heed the same new code of chivalry rick had adopted upon finding a hint of blood on the tip of his dick. that experience made you want to pull your hair out. stupid fucking cervix, you’d thought, ruining me getting fucked. rick didn’t usually treat you to such a pounding but the road did that to one. besides, he was freshly addicted to your cunt.

the electric feeling from how he’d taken you with shane that first time reignite as your boyfriend adjusts himself to brush against your g-spot. the fucked out look on your face can’t be missed as you let shane shovel his hips into you and closer to the only finish line you’d ever had no problem crossing. just like rick had plowed you into the mattress of the barracks you’d all stayed at in norfolk.

these thoughts of rick can’t escape you - even with shane groaning your name. the swats to your ass just go straight to your cunt and do little to rouse you from your daydreaming about the man lining himself up with your mouth.

yeah, you’re out of your mind already and he doesn’t even have his dick inside of you again.

“so good for me, baby,” shane’s gasping, his hand sliding down your ass to brace your thigh and fuck you deeper. “so good for us.”

rick nods, fingers pushing your hair out of your face and letting you take your time with him in your mouth. you hollow your cheeks and rock forward with shane when he cants into you. he’s gazing down at you as if this is the prettiest he’s ever seen you.

you could keep your eyes on him forever if it weren’t for the orgasm searing through you. it’d built up as you backed into shane and imagined how full rick would have you feeling - how connected, how close you’d feel with him inside of you.

“should’ve knocked you up back at the farm.”

god, that would’ve been inconvenient. you just focus on the pleasure you’re receiving and how you’re in alexandria with two men amazingly attractive men. it’s not the time but then again, shane doesn’t give you much of a choice with how revved up this whole coming in you business seems to be getting him. you can’t lie; it’s affecting you too.

so much that you’re nearly protesting when rick withdraws his twitching cock from between your lush lips, less than when shane pulls out of you. you won’t be protesting about what comes next though.

the first time rick had fucked your pussy you’d been whining, and you’re doing the same thing now.

“you wanna get on top?” shane questions, requiring you to repeat yourself before rick leans against the headboard.

still snickering at the whine that came out of you, your boyfriend helps to lift you and lower your hips onto rick who’s sprawled on his back, bronzed curls against the propped up pillow. rick hisses when his tip makes contact with your drowning heat again.

shane doesn’t waste any time. his hands are off you so he can situate himself on the bed to accommodate the best view of you two.

unfortunately, you’re not in shane’s lap so rick has him beat for the best seat in the house. or do you hold that seat?

your boyfriend hadn’t seemed too worried about you sliding too far down onto rick but rick was. his hands are firm on your hips - holding them in a semi-permanent place, only maneuvering for you as you rotate your hips down onto him.

“rick,” you rasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. you want to hear more from him so badly - to hear him panting your name. that’s your goal when you hurry your hips against him. you can tell that he’s hesitating, holding you back at first until you wiggle enough for him to allow you to break free.

grinding onto him, you watch a puffed out series of breaths escape his mouth. not missing a beat, you reposition your hips to sink deeper, hissing with rick and leaning into him. that’s when your clit begins to explode with pleasure from the friction.

“fuck,” you’re chanting. “fuck, that’s good. feels so good. fuck. fuck, that’s perfect.”

“dirty girl.” shane is teasing.

“just feels so fuckin’ good,” you’re twisting on top of rick, angling yourself against his pulsing member to stimulate all the perfect parts of your pelvis.

“is rick fucking you good, honey?”

you nod, having been given full license to be honest about how rick is making you gush.

“how good?” shane asks, hazel eyes on you while you ride rick.

your lip quivers. you feel rick thrum inside of you. “soooo good.” you’re saying in the lust addled way only you would. “you both make me feel so on.”

shane’s cock jumps and rick is picking up the pace. whatever motion your clit’s endured against rick is nothing once he crescents his fingertips into your sides. nice and deep, rick is threatening your cervix again but you don’t need to worry because he’s just taking the scenic route to your g-spot.

the same spot that’s making your toes curl and you chant for rick. “i’m close again,” you warn him. your head is falling onto his shoulder, blocking shane from view.

“you’ve got it, almost there, sweetheart,” rick rumbles into your ear.

his now gravelly voice against your ear has your cunt tightening. teeth pressed into your shoulder, you yelp and moan when rick brushes the flesh of your skin with his teeth. the purple marks being sown onto you will bloom later on but you don’t mind. not when your legs are shaking and you’re whimpering, “god, rick, you make me feel so fucking good.”

and suddenly you’re being fucked through your orgasm face down.

“so jessie cut your hair?”

rick nods and you’re hyper aware of how short his hair is. he’s so polished too. not that it’s terribly difficult to be after traveling on the road for so long.

“i liked your long hair. you should grow it out again.”

the new constable raises an eyebrow, leaning up on his forearms to sit up. “gotta’ shape up at some point.”

you would argue but shane’s distracting you with kisses to your shoulders and promises of morning sex already. you’re not distracted enough to miss rick’s weight absent from the pliable surface.

rick rises from the bed and you whine.

“i want rick to stay.”

shane scoffs. he extends his brawny arms across the bed. “baby, there’s barely enough room in the bed for the two of us.”

you shake your head, sitting up on your knees. “i think we can make it work. please,” you take a breath. “i just feel safer with you two in bed.”

“honey, there’s no room.”

“okay, i’ll just sleep on top of him then.”

you end up basically on top of rick - not that he minds. the night is spent with cuddled up into his chest; shane cupping the occasional hand around the curve of your ass.

weirdly, you’re falling asleep in no time. the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you. sleeping on top of rick might have to become a part of your bedtime routine.

shane wants you to pull a hostile takeover of the armory.

you stand with your arms crossed, giving the man one of your signature frowns. "why would i want to keep an eye on olivia in the armory?"

shane looks at you as if it's obvious. "it's good to have a hand on things," he explains, sighing your name. "it's good to have someone on the inside, in case..."

"-in case what?" you question.

shane stares at his feet.

you smolder. "you seriously can't be expecting to have to seize their guns, shane. we just got here for christ's sake."

"it's not even like that, baby," shane says, trying to walk back his conspiracy plots from you. “i just would feel better having you there. besides, it’s not like it’d be all the time and you could learn more about gun storage, whatever you want now

“that doesn’t sound like whatever i want, it sounds like you’re shoving me in the armory.”

“baby, you don’t have to do anything, i’m just sayin’-,”

“i’ll work in the armory if you stop giving me shit about going hunting.”

shane frowns af you. “now, you know that’s different.”

you cross your arms. “it’s not. i need a change of scenery, maybe some greenery to be specific.”

shane presses a flexed hand against the wainscoting he’s leaned up against. he shakes his head. “maybe once we know things are stable here, but for right now these people are far less capable than we are. i’d feel better with you in the armory.”

you want to ask him to consider what you want for a change. you honestly want to tell him to go fuck himself but then you remember.

ah, the thing that you want. the man that you want. the man you can only have with shane’s smirking approval.

so you just smile, walk over and take him by surprise, planting a kiss on cheek and telling him you’ll start tomorrow. it’ll all pay off in the long run.

the welcome party is a success.

if not for the fact that shane didn’t kill spencer just for saying hello to you, then for the fact that you got trashed.

so trashed that rick had ended up hauling your ass home when you hurled in one of deanna’s planters and shane was too embroiled in a push-up contest with abraham to even think about heading home. not that shane had ended up any better. the man drank so much johnny walker that even he came home and passed out face first in the bed bedside you.

you’re hungover the next morning, so hungover that rick moved you out of shane’s bed and into his to hang off the edge and puke your guts up.

rick even roped carol into coming over to cook and watch judith while you and shane recovered.

he even brings you soup.

“damn, look who’s still out of it.”

seems shane had recovered.

“she drinks like she’s still in kappa delta.”

rick rubs a circle or two into your back. “what’d you say? you won’t puke all over your bed, will ya’?”

when you’re well enough, you patter downstairs

“you’re looking better.”

“thanks, carol,” you return her jab with a wry smile.

“so,” the gray haired woman braces her hands on the picnic table at the base of the orchard. “are you going to help me with these apricots are what?” your gaze falls from the woman to her basket and circles back to the trees overhead. “the apricots came in early here. what do you think of apricots in march?”

you shrug. “i really don’t know much about fruits,” you admit as you take the chestnut colored basket into your hand.

it’s so odd seeing carol in her little pseudo-mr. rogers act, costume and all. the cardigan and capris paint a picture of the picture homemaker - a real martha stewart type.

and one of the most tactful, five steps ahead of you types that you’d ever met.

you wonder if this carol had laid dormant for some years.

the two of you work through the trees, plucking the precious fruit that was ready for harvest and leaving the rest.

“so, you having fun playing house?”

your mouth gapes open. you nearly drop your basket and waste quite a lot of apricots.

carol snorts at you. “i’m just kidding.” she sends you a look like you’re incredulous or something. “do what you want.” you pluck an apricot from the tree before you. gossamer head tilting when your apricot picking partner speaks again. “but just keep your priorities straight.”

you stiffen. that’s not what you were expecting. maybe some more sage or cunning advice is what you thought would be coming out of her mouth. priorities? you don’t wanna think about them. the priorities that you’ve been saddled with.

you moan someone about your hangover and muddle through the rest of your apricot picking, trying to keep your mind from defining your priorities.

the two of you part when at the sidewalk in front of your porch, with her last words to you being:

“you be careful.”

“gonna have to go out and find a king sized bed if rick’s gonna be stayin’ over this often.” shane comments and rolls onto his side to face you.

you shrug. “i’m fine with the arrangement the way it is.”

“yeah? sleeping on top of rick?”

you continue brushing your hair. “beds are hard to come by, especially great gigantic sized beds.”

“i’m sure there’s a king somewhere.”

“yeah.”

shane’s eyes don’t leave you as you set your hairbrush down on the vanity and tie it back. he’s even closer once you settle into your spot on the mattress. arms clutch you into him and lazy patterns begin to materialize on your skin, from massages into the nap of your neck to a dull squeeze of your ass. it makes you feel easy - subdued almost by shane’s unhurried touch. but you’re still wound up. you don’t know how you can be anything else nowadays.

"night, baby," shane mumbles into your ear.

"night." you reply, eyes focused on the single beam of moonlight tumbling through the window.

with rick down the hall, you won’t be sleeping tonight.

131 notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 1 year

Note

aali………please please tell us exactly what Rin said about Isagi not being able to fuck that had Egoist Yoichi baby boy fuck reader right in front of Rin 😭 i KNEED to know I must know babes or I’ll go insane

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— lost in the lights, out of my mind + yoichi isagi, rin itoshi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — rin itoshi has a bad habit of dishing out what he can't take and a locker room fight with his rival, yoichi isagi, leaves him in the most vulnerable place he'll ever be in. all because of his little unrequited crush on you.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! heavy!smut, porn with some kind of plot, characters aged up to 20s, established relationships (with isagi), unrequited love (rin lmao), some crushing, manipulaton, reverse cuckholding (?), voyuerism, unprotected s!ex, clothed s!ex, fingering (f!receiving), finger sucking, nipple play, body worship, dry humping, multiple orgasms, male masturbation, overstimulation, edging, orgasm control, aftercare, light!degradation, light!dacryphilia, light!sub/dom dynamics, sort of a threesome, creampies, psychologically tormenting rin lmao!!! pro player!yoichi isagi, pro player!rin itoshi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 8.5K.

⭑ notes — happy birthday tew me!! this is my gift to you all, i feel like its such a tradition for me to post something on my bday like i have for the last three years so here you are!! anon, i am so sorry this took so long, i hope you like this... i lost my mind writing it but it was sososo much fun!! enjoy my loves <3 m.list / fic that this refers to (you dont need to read it to understand!) ✩

if there’s one thing rin hates more than anything, it’s losing. after a sour defeat, three goals to a frustrating two, emotions are running high and the locker room fills with an atmosphere so tense even a butcher's knife couldn’t cut through it. it suffocates the boys as they flood into the room, defeatedtly shoving their cleats and water bottles into their cubbyholes — their breathing ragged and muscles aching.

the silence is shattered by a vicious snarl from blue lock’s main star, yoichi isagi, as he walks in last and heads straight for his rival. “way to fucking go, rin! your stupid little act just cost us the entire game.” the striker bares his fangs, frothing like a rabid dog. “you happy now?”

“oh fuck you, isagi. were all your shots supposed to be that half-assed? or was that just a weak attempt to impress your little girlfriend up in the stands.” rin fires back, equally as riled up, throwing his sweat soaked shirt into his designated cubby for this game.

the rest of the team knows not to intervene when two of their best players go head to head, slowly retreating to the showers and changing out of their kit. rin is too highly strung, everything is his way or the highway and everyone is beneath him. isagi is hot headed, switches up on you faster than you can say your own name — and only gets worse if you mention his girlfriend during a fight.

for a moment, the dark haired striker’s face falls and his deep blue eyes cloud with something rin itoshi only ever sees on the pitch. but isagi quickly recovers, offering the other player a tight lipped smile.

“let’s keep her out of this, yeah?”

that only makes rin want to double down.

his relationship with isagi is complex — he’s better than the guy in every way he knows is possible, and yet he envies him. no matter what rin does, his fellow player will always have some kind of leverage over him. whether it be sae’s approval, ego’s favouritism, you. the history between the three of you is even more confusing and flustering, and to this day, rin still doesn’t know who he wants or hates more. jealousy reaches its boiling point at the forefront of his mind, it’s perplexing and he hates the way it makes him feel — like he’s out of the loop, out of control and it only makes rin want to lash out at isagi more.

so he does.

he pokes and prods at isagi, twists at the parts of him that really set him off because he has no other way to cope and no other outlet for his build up of emotions.

“she must be embarrassed,” rin drawls as if he’s enjoying taunting his teammate, though his face shows no signs of it. “to have a boyfriend who can’t even play soccer without looking luke-warm or mediocre. this is your job. your life. and yet, you’re still not getting it. you’re nowhere near being on the same level as me.”

isagi grits his teeth. “i’m warning you, rin. quit while you’re ahead.”

but he can’t, he won’t. not until he makes isagi hurt the same way he does. for losing this match, for losing control.

“if soccer is your life and you’re this bad at it, then i wonder what else you suck at,” the younger itoshi brother adds coldly with the petulance of a child still learning how to navigate how he feels. standing up to his full height, rin smirks as if he’s finally put his enemy into place. he lets his emotions spill into every word he says until they weigh down his tongue and all he can spit out are phrases of malice. “being a good boyfriend? fucking her right?”

satisfaction curls around rin’s beating heart as isagi looks to him; wide eyed and bewildered. there’s nothing like reminding someone where they belong in the food chain. beneath rin itoshi and never above. isagi flounders like a fish before him, searching for words of defence that never come and when rin thinks that the shorter of the two might finally say something — the door to the locker room creaks open and in comes…

you.

if there’s another thing that rin hates, it’s how weak you make him feel — especially when he knows that you’re out of reach. not his to touch. to hold. to keep. you can’t be the reason he feels so open an exposed, like a patient on an examiners table, because he can’t have feelings for you anymore, because you belong to isagi. your heart beats for him and that makes rin sick.

he wants to hate you, even though you’re sweet and kind and understanding. even though you step into the room wearing isagi’s number with doe eyes that glisten underneath the white artificial light. even though your voice fills him with warmth when you call out for your boyfriend (not him) and say. “yoichi, is everything okay?” in that mawkish tone that sends shivers down the length of rin’s spine.

and like he’s been snapped out of a trance, isagi looks away from rin’s face and searches for comfort in your own — his body instinctively gravitating towards you for affection. “yeah precious, what are you doing here?” he grins at you like he wasn’t just about to rip rin’s throat out with his teeth. “thought i was meeting you outside.”

“yeah but…some of the other boys and your manager got worried that something was happening between you and rin, so i came to check on you…i hope that’s okay?” you’re so good, well behaved and it’s all for isagi. it makes rin want to scream, rip his hair out, hurt something but he can’t. he won’t because he’s never been good at feelings. he has his older brother to thank for that.

rin watches the interaction between you both like he’s on the outside looking in. isagi treats you like you’re the world encompassed into one being. yet, there’s a glint swirling in those ocean eyes rin despises so much. “more than okay, baby…actually, i think you might be able to help us make up.” isagi hums, twirling you in his arms until your back is to his chest and you’re facing rin now too.

“…i can?” regrettably, your interest is piqued. isagi has that look in his eye, the one that he gets when he’s scheming and he has all the cards in his hands. except this time, he’s not looking at you.

rin itoshi seems to be the target of your boyfriend’s games tonight — and you, a mere chess piece on the board.

“mhm…” yoichi’s voice drops, brushing over the patch in your brain that controls your pleasure. you know that voice, you’ve heard it a million times before…during showers, early in the morning, right after games. the way he speaks switches up whenever isagi wants you. “you see, pretty girl, rinnie over here—“ the striker juts his chin out in the direction of his rival, using the sweet little nickname he knows you have for him. “doesn’t think i can be a good boyfriend, thinks i’m embarrassing, thinks i can’t fuck. would you say any of those statements are true?”

you frown, lips drawn into pout and brows creased where they meet in the centre. “n-no! of course not.”

and rin thinks he might die there and then, with you looking at him like you’re disappointed in his opinion.

for as long as he’s known you, you’ve never cared about the feud between himself and your partner but this particular comment seems to bother you. upset you. and as much as he pretends to be indifferent towards you, the last thing rin itoshi wants to do is hurt your feelings. he’s never quite known what it’s like to care for someone — aside from sae, pre-spain. so for him to consider your feelings with every interaction you have is weird, at least for him. you’re a baffling enigma to rin, he finds himself drawn to you like a moth to a candle flame and finds comfort in your sugary conversation and polite laughter.

you seemed to like rin, for all his awkwardness and lack of charm. you had once called him cute despite his rough exterior and cold nature — leading him to believe that he could maybe try a little harder for you, be with you. that was, at least, until isagi came along and swept you off your feet with boyish smiles and rose tinted cheeks.

isagi could do with you what rin couldn’t do for himself.

be open with his admiration for you.

for a second, you cut the connection between rin’s aquamarine eyes and your own to glance back up at your boyfriend.

“we should prove him wrong, then.”

“but rinnie— i mean, rin,” you correct yourself when isagi tightens his grip on you as you try to diffuse the situation as best you can. “he wouldn’t… he doesn’t care about stuff like that. i know you’re a good boyfriend. isn’t that all that matters?” but in a twisted sort of way, you like that he’s a little pissed off, that rin is there watching you all loved up on each other too.

you feel his excitement press into your behind, arm wrapping around your tummy this time. “you’re all that matters to me,” isagi affirms because it’s true. he shouldn’t really care what rin thinks, but he left his rationality on the pitch. he’s pissed off and he lost and all he can think about is fucking you up and proving his point. soothing his ego. his flirtatious voice tickles the shell of your ear and sends a strong current of electricity straight down to your centre. “but baby, i wanna fuck you. don’t you want him to watch? help me prove that i’m so fucking good to you?”

he just can’t let it go, not this time.

is it because he thinks rin’s words are true? that he’s not good enough for you? that you might even deserve better than a man that puts his heart and trust into soccer?

yoichi loves you so much he think he might rip stars from the sky, and maybe the the sun if you’d asked him to. he’s so good to you, he knows that. you know it too, but he wants to prove it.

have the one up on rin just this once.

you give a slight nod of your head because maybe you’re just as much of an egoist as isagi. you don’t want him to doubt himself, he’s the best in japan. in the world. at soccer, at loving you too. he deserves to show off that much. so you agree, hesitantly, “but, yoichi… rin is still…” you say. not that you care, you’ve partially forgotten that itoshi still exists — isagi’s loving touch as he feels you up from over your jersey provides a perfect distraction.

he’s always like this with you, makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the room.

“don’t worry precious. he’ll look but he won’t touch, unless he asks and you say yes. right, rinnie?”

it’s the first time in minutes that either of you finally acknowledge rin. the stretching silence filled with ragged breathing and the rustling of clothing as rin watches you lose yourself to lust. to isagi.

“right.” he scoffs like he doesn’t care, barely able to tear his eyes away from your slither of skin revealed as you pull up your jersey to give isagi better access.

“spread your legs baby, lemme see that pretty pussy. wanna show her off.” isagi hums in satisfaction but he doesn’t push, letting you lead. “you want it any way, precious? tell me what you need, i’ll give it to you.” his hands run down to your soft tummy, resting just above the hem of your boy shorts while he grinds into you from behind. “just wanna make you feel good.”

choices, choices.

the ghost of yoichi’s touch along your skin, a thumb on your faint adam’s apple, then over your nipple — it makes saliva pool heavily on your tongue and your eyelashes flutter. “w-what do you think, rinnie?” you gasp, lifting your head to face him.

the younger itoshi swallows thickly. “fingers.” he says without hesitation. “you gotta prep her first, idiot.”

“still so rude, rin,” your boyfriend tuts mockingly. “c’mere. get ‘em nice and wet for her.” isagi points to his mouth — gesturing for his rival to open up for his fingers.

“fuck off, isagi. i-i’m not— you’re not going anywhere near me.”

“oh come on, you’re the one that wanted to prep her. my girl can take it with or without.” isagi presses, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a cocky smirk. “this was your decision, remember?”

the mere thought of doing anything remotely sexual with yoichi has the fortress of rin itoshi’s mind crumbling, starting with it’s foundation. he’s not disgusted by the idea, no, but he fears letting his mask slip. “if you’re not willing to take care of her properly, then you’re just proving my point. you’re half-hearted. lukewarm. you don’t care to fuck her proper.” rin scoffs, ignoring the shake in his voice.

“please, rinnie,” you hiccup. “he won’t touch me if you don’t…p-play along.”

but when it’s you, rin can’t ever seem to say no to you.

you’re like a siren calling out to him to drown himself in all that he desires — your saccharine and salacious strings of words setting his insides alight with wanton. begrudgingly, rin strides towards you both and grabs your boyfriend’s wrist with flaming cheeks, heart hammering in his chest so hard he’s afraid you might hear it and think him weak.

the gentle part of his lips encircle two of isagi’s fingers and is tongue, once tucked away behind rows of brilliant white teeth, breaks free from its barrier to roll over the slender digits — glazing them in a of spit. rin feels degraded, it pours through him in the same thickness as his blood and replaces all the oxygen in his lungs. but then you look at rin like you want him, dainty gaze honed in on the way his tongue weaves between your boyfriend’s fingers and soaks them in his claim. he can’t help but grow more confident in the action.

but then yoichi reminds you both of his presence, thrusting into rin’s obedient mouth until his gags and his tropical ocean eyes blow wide in shock at the sound. isagi’s own blue pair drown in mirth.

“satisfied?” rin let’s your boyfriend go with a wet smack of his lips, rasping his words out as he regains his breath.

“not really, but she can help with that.” isagi sounds like he adores you, plunging his spit slicked fingers past your swell of your plump lips so you can get them even wetter for him. you seem eager, sucking on them as if you’re chasing the younger itoshi sibling’s flavour and the visuals make his cock twitch behind his elasticated shorts as he pictures you mouthing at the ache between his legs.

once isagi is truly satisfied, he pulls out of your mouth and pats your cheek lovingly. “did such a good job, precious. i’m gonna touch you now, okay?” he doesn’t wait for you to respond since you’re too delirious, giggling on trickles of ecstasy from being pampered in your lover’s hold. his hand slips in between your plush thighs and underneath your clothes easily, yoichi dragging a single digit along the length of your puffy folds to get a feel for just how messy you are. you’re dripping with sweet juices, the scent of you intoxicating and potent to both boys as isagi eases the finger past your clenching hole experimentally.

you hiccup and tremble, your head rolling back against his shoulder the more his thickness presses into you and stretches you out for later. rin can see just how much you make isagi’s skin shine with your wetness, clear strings of it oozing down your thighs and into the seat of his rival’s palm — all this from being barely touched? from watching rin suck on your boyfriend’s fingers so pathetically? you’ve barely been touched as it is.

it only makes the throb at rin’s core that much more painful.

“don’t you even think about touching yourself to this. you’re lucky enough to even be watching her,” blue lock’s shining star grunts out to rin possessively, his voice laden with a lust that scratches at his throat. you whine out for more, hips jutting downwards to chase more of isagi and his attention switches back to you. “sorry for the wait, precious. there we go, is this alright? is this how you want it?” his softness has you melting like butter in a pan, isagi easing a second finger alongside the first before he curls them to bare down harshly on your g-spot.

the moan that escapes you is a far cry from your angelic nature in rin’s eyes, reminding him that isagi’s the one who cast you out of heaven. “m-more yoichi,” you squirm impatiently, back arching away from the striker’s chest as he used his free hand to toy with yours. “faster, c’mon—!”

“alright baby, relax. we’ll do whatever you want.” isagi moans back desperately, as if your pleasure is his pleasure. he changes the angle of his hand so that the back of it is facing rin, creating the visual of him cupping your sweltering, glistening pussy. you drool into the seat of his palm while he works you open, stroking your velvet and sopping insides like the tide lapping at the shoreline to indulge you and build the pressure that bubbles just under your naval. “oh, you like that? want me to rub your clit too? just like that precious,”

the rough pad of his thumb draws signatures of love against your budding clit as your arousal pearls on it it. every push and pull of isagi’s fingers have you a syrupy mess, glinting under the artificial lights and only drawing rin’s eager gaze to the treasure between your thighs. when he looks to your face all he sees is your insatiable appetite and dire need to run after the high your boyfriend plans to give you.

rin’s tongue darts out to wet the crack on his lips and he attempts to swallow the saliva that coats his tongue and floods his mouth — making it difficult for him to breathe. and if he does, manage to breathe in, the scent of you is intoxicating and fills rin with a level of desire his body can’t even handle. shame brews below the surface level of his skin, intertwined with the blood cells that surge through his veins and right to the tip of his shaft.

he flinches as it pulses to life inside his briefs, pathetically wet from how wet you sound.

“listen to that, fuck,” isagi groans, his lashes fluttering against the side of your face the deeper he plunges two fingers into you. “cunt sounds so pretty baby. sucking me in like that, s’like you never wanna let me go.”

the way isagi touches you is intoxicating — casting a dark veil over every thought that dares to cross your mind and clouding your better judgement. with him it’s easy to be this vulnerable and allow yourself to crumble to pieces in front of the hawk-like gaze of someone you know all too well. you find yourself not caring about the way rin watches you, pools of tropical ocean eyes dropping from your eyes to your pulsing sex where your boyfriend pinches and toys with your folds to get you wetter and wetter.

you’re fucking enjoying this. isagi knows it. rin knows it — the three of you trapped under the spell and vulgar scent of sex that mingles with the air you breathe in. you hardly feel bad for teasing the poor itoshi baby like this, finding the shaky mewls and squeals that you usually save for your boyfriend are a little louder than usual — spiking even higher when blue lock’s star egoist pulls back the hood of your clit to maximise your sensitivity and receptiveness to his touch, rubbing your juices into the little nub.

“tell him how good it feels.” yoichi is so loving but oh so condescending, commanding the will of your body as he curls his fingers just right to brush over the spongy spot inside of you to make you see the gates of heaven.

your pretty pussy gushes in response before you can, milky white running down isagi’s forearm as it gathers in the seat of his palm. you’re desperate to speak, but your mouth feels as if it’s been stuffed with cotton and your words are replaced by shaky and choked moans. between being finger fucked to the brink verge of collapse and watching rin try to grind against his boxers for friction — you don’t know how your boyfriend expects you to form a cohesive thought, let alone speak.

still, you manage to stutter out some kind of praise to him. “oh god, f-fuck, yoichi!”

when isagi hits your g-spot, you spasm so hard you think you might die and at the same time, rin’s needy whimper echoes around the locker room as if to taunt him. “she’s close,” rin bleats, the pain in his cock becoming too much to bare as he fumbles over the front of his shorts to reprehensibly relieve himself. “aren’t you gonna make her cum?”

the question is meant with no malice or harm — more innocent than rin allows himself to appear and isagi quickly picks up on it, licking a hot stripe up from the base of your neck to just behind your ear. “you can always tell when my precious girl is close,” he scissors his fingers along your insides, clear strings of your arousal keeping him tied to you. “she clenches so fucking tight around me, like she wants to make me a mess and claim me. keep me all to yourself, right precious?” he coos to you slyly, stroking you into the shape of him and flicking at your clit — arousal gathering copiously between your pussy lips. “you wanna cum so bad, don’t you.”

“y-yes!” you nearly scream, legs buckling beneath isagi’s ministrations, pumping in and out of your velvet walls with newfound motivation.

pleasure grows inside of you bit by bit, as if isagi has laid the foundation for bricks of pleasure to stack up high and the fact that rin itoshi is watching you just cements it all together. “make yourself useful, and hold her up.” he instructs, lazily sucking marks into your skin. “so selfish, rin. just like always. getting yourself off while my precious girl’s a shaky mess. you could have been helping all this time.”

a smile that could rival the devil’s tugs at your boyfriend’s wet lips when rin staggers forward to hold you up in the comfort of his arms. the path to what he wants has always been clear and isagi plays on that like it’s a part of the game you all play — knowing that rin would never give up the chance to hold you this close. you can feel the outline of his bulging cock against your tummy, the thought of it grinding inside you alongside isagi’s fingers doing nothing to sedate the desire coursing through you. your selfish need to cum.

blood rushes through rin’s ears at he way you cling onto him life a lifeline. you might be creaming on yoichi’s thick fingers, letting them stretch you out in preparation for his even thicker dick, but right now — you need rin to ground you and keep you back down on earth.

“can’t,” you whine over the lewd slushy sounds reverberating from between your thighs, and bat your eyelashes up at the younger itoshi — pride internally rumbling in your chest as the black abyss of his pupils swallows his pretty green eyes. “can't hold it, ‘ichi.” there’s nothing greater to you than humbling someone like rin itoshi. he forgets that while you follow whatever pleasure is given to you, you’ll always be loyal to yoichi isagi. hearing you moan his name only shatters rin’s confidence.

“let go for me, baby. cum all over me like the good girl i know you can be,” a deep groan takes hold in isagi’s chest, roots intertwining with his lungs and his very being. much like a sturdy tree. his thumb goes back to signing his name over it, gaze honing in between the sinful movement beneath your clothes. “get on your knees, rin. see how i fuck her nice and good.”

doing as he’s told, rin bites back his humiliation and sinks to his knees before you — keening into your fingers as they move up to grip his broad shoulders and your nails dig into his milky flesh hidden by his kit. from here, gets a front row seat to your gushing sex and how it soils the tiny threads of your boy shorts stuffed between your fattened pussy lips.

sex crazed hormones drift into the air, rattling about and colliding with kinetic energy as isagi picks up the pace — the seat of his palm now grinding against your clit, rubbing you raw and relentlessly. he bites down on your pulse point, and that’s really all it takes to throw you over the ledge. the stacks of ecstasy that had been building within the depths of your soul finally come crumbling down and your release shoots out of you, slapping to the floor in a crude manner.

“o-oh! ‘m c-cumming!” you cry out, feeling evidence of your orgasm blaze a trail down your inner thighs in clear streams as isagi guides you through it. rin doesn’t bother fighting his biological instincts, craning his head up for just a taste, a smell, anything — your sugary and musky scent sending him spiralling while heady precum oozes from his time painfully.

“ah, ah fuck, baby. keep that orgasm goin’ for me, keep cumming. so pretty.” soft praises fall on your ears despite the white noise that overwhelms you, letting yoichi control the way you twitch and react with his large hands still working you through it all — perfectly nestled between your trembling thighs. you came so much, so sweet.”

it’s like yoichi is in awe of you, kissing your cheek as you come down from your high — still clenching and fluttering around his fingers. the pair of you forget about rin sitting on the floor between your legs — bearing witness to the way your orgasm rhythmically drips out of you. it’d be foolish for both boys not to become obsessive over the way you guys. slowly, one of your hands leaves rin’s muscled shoulder to grip your boyfriend’s hair and tug him into giving you a wet and loving kiss.

“you always make me cum so hard, yoichi,” you praise him, your shaky voice sounding angelic to both men. “thank you, baby.”

still licking his way into your mouth, isagi sighs in content, circling his hips into your ass. “all i wanna do is make you feel good,” he breathes his want into you. “are you okay to keep going? we can stop right here. rin doesn’t have to see anymore.”

it’s only then that you remember rin between your legs, discreetly humping the floor for some relief — practically shaking at how bad he wants you.

“you need me,” you say, hunger curling around the tone in your voice. “we can keep going.”

isagi fucking loves you. he’s sure he’s never quite met anyone on the same level of ego and desire as him. maybe you’re both insane, beyond the brink of normalcy with enough danger between you to destroy the whole world — but instead you stick to ruining the man before you both, ripping his ego down until it’s nothing but measly pieces and rin itoshi can no longer look either of you in the eye.

a pair of eager lips land on yours once again — tasting of freshly cut grass and the sweat on your lover’s Cupid’s bow. you suck and bite on one another, leaving your claim visually on each other while your hearts remain tied. isagi grabs at your fleshy ass cheeks, takes your tongue down his throat and lets you own him just as much as he owns you while rin bares witness to your boiling and passionate love.

familiar hands yank down your shorts and underwear in one go — desperately exposing your hot skin to the air conditioned room, causing a wave of goosebumps to erupt over your body in anticipation. excitement. “i wanna fuck you so bad, i can’t ever get enough of you, precious girl.” he whispers menacingly against the shell of your ear, like it’s a threat but instead directed towards the man at your feet. “‘m so lucky,” his hands wander again, cupping your cunt squeezing your waist and pulling the sweetest sounds from between your lips. “being the only one to have you like this.”

once again, you collapse forward and dig your nails into rin’s shoulders — relishing in the way he looks up at you like you’re a forbidden prize to be won. an angel. a diety. you smile at him, innocent and cute, whimpering a breath’s width away from rin’s lips as isagi arches your back for himself — peeling apart your juicy ass cheeks to set his sights on your glistening pussy. your squelching hole pulses around nothing, sending beading droplets of your arousal through your folds.

“hi rinnie,” you simper and struggle to keep your gaze focused on the athlete, feeling isagi rub his seedy hot cockhead against the entire length of his sex. teasing the both of you. “how’s are you doing?”

there’s so much he wants to say to you. to do to you. if rin had a little more confidence and higher self esteem — maybe he could acknowledge his feelings, he could kiss you, make you his, make you forget all about isagi. but rin is a coward paralysed by his own fear of feeling something real. he lets you walk all over him instead. both of you.

“i’m good, how are you feeling?” he mumbles in response, all needy-like. you almost feel bad for him, revelling in the way rin tracks your moans, his mouth dropping open just like yours when yoichi drives his hips forwards and bullies his heavy cock past your fluttering entrance. “f-fuck, you’re so…”

“so what, r-rinnie?”

“so pretty.”

his eyes shine when he speaks, glossy with desire causing pride to curl around your heart and fan the flames of debauchery inside of you. isagi pulls back, his brows creasing in the centre of his sweaty forehead as he adjusts his tender grip on your hips and pulls his cock from the snugness of your drenched heat. he thrusts forward, hitting every pleasure spot he’s ever mapped out along the length of your slippery walls, making you shudder and press your forehead to rin’s for support.

“pretty girl, how are you still so…” isagi grunts, high-pitched and borderline whiny, choking on the spit that pools against the pad of his tongue and slips out of the corner of his mouth. “so fucking tight. god, i needed this. needed you.”

the way in which isagi yearns for you will never fail to make you melt, following your biological instinct which tells you to push your hips back and throw your ass back on him too. “it’s all for you, yoichi,” you drawl, a wet sigh lying on your glossy lips while your boyfriend's milky tips drags along your insides, churning you up just as he kisses your cervix. rin’s face crumples and you feel a little mean for getting lost in his rival right before his very eyes — but the other half of you enjoys the psychological torment you’re putting him through.

you like how at any point he could have gotten up and left yourself and isagi to your fun. but rin stays, because he likes the position of vulnerability you put him in. he trusts you, both you and isagi.

yoichi pacifies himself by latching into your shoulder with pointed teeth, licking over the bite marks as his chest rumbles in content and his hips set a steady stream to fuck you with. his dark hair tickles your skin every time he pumps his cock in and out of you, feeding your body his lust for you and painting you with opaque layers of pre between your thighs. it mixes with your arousal, clear strings slinging against your legs each time isagi’s balls tap at your sensitive clit.

he breathes his ego into you, making your face burn, making you cry out until your throat is raw. isagi has always been able to fill you up so good, his cock is pretty — decorated with spiralling blue and green veins that hit spots you can’t reach with your fingers while is shaft slightly curves, up just enough to never leave your g-spot. even when he’s fucking you from behind.

“oh precious girl, that’s it, throw it back on me,” isagi slurs, hardly able to focus on anything aside from the way you take him in — the lewd pap, pap, pap of your pussy rippling around him. “show me how you want it. how you want me to use this cock for you.”

isagi tells you encouragingly between thready breaths. he’s always been a giver, his pleasure has always been your pleasure and his end goal to make you see stars when you cum. like you, isagi always finds a way to get what he wants. and he wants you to lose your mind to him. in front of rin.

“right there, yoichi — need you right there!” comes your heavenly little whine as you throw your head back onto his shoulder for the nth time that evening. your attention tears away from rin for only a second, giving him the perfect view of your breasts that bounce as yoichi pounds you from behind and the crystallised beads of sweat that run down the collum of your throat. “y’so big, oh my god.”

“you, hah, you hear that rin? she keeps cryin’ my name, praising me like i’m her fucking god.” he somehow manages to snap to his rival.

you have an inkling that yoichi going insane since his voice drips with a huskiness that lowers its octave. he seems to lose his goal, however, succumbing to your selfish cunt that refuses to let him pull out and forces the striker to keep his thrusts deep and targeted inside of your heated core.

bliss is pungent in the air, lays heavy across every inch of your mind and you find yourself succumbing to it — once mover digging your nails into rin’s shoulders until they form pretty crescent moons on the expanse of his milky flesh and you can use him as leverage to fuck yourself back on yoichi’s creamy dick.

everything sounds so fucking nasty, and rin really can’t fucking help it. all of his shamefulness that once painfully panged at each of his nerve endings seems to have fizzled away into shameless. he finds himself no longer caring that his cock is pulsing from watching his friend ( his rival, his enemy, his … crush? whatever …) fuck the girl of his dreams to high heavens and back. with his emerald gaze laser focused on darting between your viscous and drenched cunt sucking yoichi in, and your angelic expression ( creased brows and perfectly pouty lips) — rin let’s his hand slip beneath his shorts to finally relieve himself of the ache.

he hissed at the first contact with his erection, the sound quickly turning to pathetic blubbers that make his ears burn red at their tips — because it feels so good. finally touching himself in sync with isagi’s thrusts, getting himself off to the way he fucks you, loves you. torn between wanting to be either of you. it’s a large thing to admit to himself, sifting through a maze of lust, attraction. rin has been chasing after the want to be loved for so long and somewhere along the way it morphed into wanting to be between you both.

he won’t admit it out loud, however, but he feels lucky enough to watch right now. grateful that he pushed isagi this far.

the sounds of him jerking off his crying cock, rubbing at his slit from time to time, merges perfectly with the sinful symphony of your mewls, your cries and the weightly slap of isagi’s skin against your own. his guttural moans too, and his breeder’s balls smacking down wetly on your equally wet, puffy cunt. you catch on first, teary eyes drifting down to the movement beneath the younger itoshi’s clothes and then back up to his face — which looks lighter, relieved and less tense.

“oh rinnie,” you coo, voice rising an octave — delighted by the sight in front of you and the way in which your boyfriend eagerly chases the hot grip of your abused, leaky hole. “y-you’re so cute… you like watching me get fucked that bad, hm?”

“y-yes, god yes.” he lets out a choked moan in response, his throat dry from holding back and not having spoken in a while.

you grin lazily and lift a hand from rin’s shoulder to cup his cheek, brushing away a stray tear with your thumb. one that he didn’t even know had fallen. “you’ve been such a good boy, watching so well ‘n listening to ‘ichi up until now…” even though your voice wavers, and you’re just as submissive to your boyfriend as rin is to you right now — you somehow manage to reach out to him, lick at the longing parts of his soul that crave affection like this.

“he’s pathetic is what he is,” isagi rears his jealous head while slumping over you — aiming to steal your attention away. he’s rutting into you so fast that you swear you see a blinding white light, gushing down his dick and slicking him all up with your early release. “rubbin’ one off on your stupid cock to my girlfriend even when told not to. seems like you never listen, not on the field. not here. you just live to piss me off, don’t you man.”

it’s humiliating for rin, but he likes it. stuck between your loving praise and isagi’s harsh words. “seeing her cum for me wasn’t enough for me to prove my point to you, but now she’s on my dick and you still won’t admit it.” he barks but doesn’t let up on fucking you senseless.

the hand that squeezes and tugs at rin’s sorely, hard cock only seems to move faster the more mean, embarrassing shit isagi spews at him. tearing the younger player down but making him feel this amazing. he can’t ignore the small spurts of pre cum that his iron hot tip releases just from having the two of you watching him. it’s evident in the dark stain that seeps through the fabric of his soccer shorts.

his cheeks are flushed and his eyelids droopy as he looks up at you, palming himself to your very vision of beauty. the three of you are a mess. you can’t help but sequel like a lamb being dragged to slaughter between rin and isagi — who tears you apart by plunging into you as deep as he can go and pieces you back together with sloppy kisses to your back, tonguing at your neck possessively.

isagi’s veiny hands grab at your ass next to pull you onto his thrusting cock, pushing anything that leaks out of you back into your clenching hole. he peels his sweat soaked chest away from your back and you whimper at the loss of his body heat — only to let out a surprised sob when he spits onto the point at which your bodies join, fucking the froth past your entrance.

everything your boyfriend does to you, has a snowball effect on rin. he no longer holds back, wildly bucking his hips into his hand wishing it were your sluice sex, or your mouth. dying to have his hands all over you the way isagi does. you terrorise his thoughts but your moans and squeaks soothe him — dragging him closer and closer to his high. you’re dangerous, rin concludes, but it only makes him want to see you like this even more.

meanwhile, you’re in no better condition — every time isagi bends you over and ravages you like this, you’re reminded of the many reasons why he is blue lock’s star player. his strong build from playing soccer all around the world pays off in he’s with you, making good use of his new found stamina to wreck your entire being and pound you all the way to hell. though yoichi is shorter and lean where rin is taller and agile, he never fails to make your brain void of any thought and your legs soft thighs with how wet you are. he fucks you like he hates you, like he’s mad at you for your own existence but he speaks to you in ways that emulate love.

“you’re milking me, precious girl,” he mutters as if he’s in awe. “you want my cum that badly? you want me?” yoichi purrs, sending shockwaves through your system and right down to your pelvis — adding to the orgasmic knots that twist there, threatening to unravel at any second. “you’re so pretty, grinding up on me. so dirty, loving how rin watches you. my precious girl.”

“‘m yours, yoichi,” you reaffirm, preening into his touch as it cascades up and down your body like a rushing waterfall. “wanna cum, wanna cum f’you.”

your admission is like a bullet to the chest for rin but he doesn’t want to give this up, revelling how you look down at him, his milky white dick and his blushing face with an expression so sweet his teeth might rot and his ears fill with your honey-like voice — melting his brain. he wants this for as long as you’ll give it to him, for as long as isagi will allow him to witness it.

“i know baby, but you know what i want, feels so much better when you wait for me,” your boyfriend’s thrusts begin to grow sloppy and irregular — indicating the approach of his own high. but isagi knows you and your body better than anyone else, knows how to make you cum so hard that you might black out. you love to be edged, and you love him even more so. you’d do whatever he wanted and then some. and he would do the same for you.

he throbs within your tightness, your pussy papping and pulsating, smeared with isagi’s thick precum that douses your puffy folds in white. the mix froths, creating a foamy ring of white at the thickest point of his length. “p-please, yoichi. i don’t think i can,” you wail in denial like you always do, the sound causing both boys to squeeze the base of their cocks and groan in unison — attempting to stave off their orgasms. “hurts so good.”

rin is reminded of just how good his rival can fuck you. even when you’re desperate to cum (and he’s just as desperate to watch it happen again) — you still have a burning hunger for isagi to control your ecstasy. he wants to give up control like that too. with you, or with his destined enemy. liquid lust rolls down rin’s dick in large waves, his eyes threatening to roll back as he listens to your moans get higher and higher the closer you are. yoichi is in no better condition, growling and chasing after your cunt as your hips attempt to run away from him.

“she wants to fucking cum, you idiot.” rin grunts, finding his voice amidst the sound of crying, moaning and skin on skin. “please, let her cum.”

“why? so you can bust a nut to my fucking girl. jeez, rin. get a fucking grip.”

maybe this is what makes isagi the bad boyfriend rin so desperately wants to make him. putting his pleasure above your own even though rin knows that’s far from the truth — almost relenting while he jerks off to the same pace that isagi fucks you with. but then you call out to him, like a siren from the high seas.

“rinnie, please touch me. h-help me cum.”

his body moves on his own accord after that, the hand that’s not getting himself off to you and his so called friend reaching between shaky legs and salty skin to fumble with your clit awkwardly. rin has never touched a girl a girl before, not even like this. but he tries to recreate it in the way that isagi does, to listen to you moan for him and see you tremble above him.

“h-how’s that?” he breathes, watching in awe as your eyes roll back into your skull.

“more.” you say. barking out the command while your cunt spews a fresh wave of juices onto rin’s hand.

your body seizes up, pleasured from all angles. between yoichi’s cock and rin’s calloused thumb drags random shapes over the pearl between your folds. “motherfucker….” the curse spills from isagi’s lips before he can stop it and admit how fucking amazing it feels to have you tense around him, warm and wet. it’s worse when rin accidentally catches his cock as it slips in and out of you rapidly, churning up your insides. “fucking bastard. at least touch her properly, rub in circles.”

rin does what he’s told, following the simple command and obediently flicking at your clit. it’s totally worth it, surrendering his autonomy to the older player just to have you tug at his hair and squeal his name. you jut your hips back and forth, meeting both boys in their bid to make you see heaven. your limbs threaten to give out on you, you pulse and pleasure tremors through you like an earthquake.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” you chant like it’s a prayer.

the world around you falls away as you’re finally pushed over the edge — a bright white light flooding your vision accompanied by static fizzling in your ears. rin watches you cum a second time as if he’s witnessing the eight wonders of the world, your cunt flooding with isagi’s cum at the same time that you squirt with ease. his load floods your womb, filling you up to the brim and you feel so good you might die. a scream tearing in your throat and the knots in your lower tummy rapidly unravelling. the both of you cumming together, at last.

you can’t help it, surging forward to press your lips against rin’s, kissing him hazily, your tongue prodding through his lips — licking into his mouth. rin creams his pants at the very sensation, damn near sobbing into your open mouth. “f-fucking christ, that’s so hot.” isagi whines, slowly pulling out of you and letting the crude mix of your arousals hit the floor.

it’s only then that rin realises love is not binary. there are no clear paths to achieving the perfect love. there hat tricks or dribble techniques. love is unwinding and binding and there are too many possibilities. and that scares rin, for him to love a girl he can’t have.

your knees buckle under the exhaustion of it all and rin reaches out to catch you before you can pull away and the oxygen from reality floods his brain again. he misses you when isagi reaches you first, coddling you in his arms and kissing all over your face to calm you down and reassure you. loving you in ways rin isn’t sure that he’s capable of.

nosing your cheek, isagi coos out to you — his personality doing a complete 180. “you okay, precious. i wasn’t too hard on you, right?”

you’re so happy to be in his arms, close to dozing off. “‘m okay, yoichi. you were perfect. you always are. i love you.”

“do you need help getting to the showers? i can carry you there.”

eyeing rin on the floor, you look back up to isagi and shake your head adoringly — knowing that they’ll probably need to talk this out without you.

“i’ll be alright, find me when you’re done here. okay?”

the striker lets you back down and accepts a kiss on the cheek from you. you pad away to wash off — leaving him in silence with his younger counterpart. the tension fails to dissipate as they fix themselves, tucking away their dicks and floundering to speak.

rin watches the way isagi longingly looks at the door, wanting to be with you instead of dealing with the consequences of his actions. it dawns on him then, that he literally cannot win against isagi, that perhaps he is better than rin in all ways possible. he’s a loser. he lost to you and to isagi.

“i’m… i’m a good boyfriend. for her, yanno,” isagi says awkwardly after some time, scratching the back of his head shyly. “there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for her…but how much i love her doesn’t reflect in my plays and she knows that. the way i love her and love soccer are different. i could never blame my mistakes on how much i care for her. it would be on me. like today was on you.”

rin can only blink back in response. “that’s true. i’m—“ he wants to apologise, but something inside him, something that he’d worked so hard to undo this past hour doesn’t let him. he can’t submit, be truthful and vulnerable. not when the setting isn’t as intimate as before.

rin still can’t let go.

something familiar — akin disappointment swirls in the blues and azures of yoichi’s eyes, but he doesn’t comment on rin’s silence.

it reminds rin of his brother, sae.

with nothing left to talk about, isagi nods quietly and shoved his hands in his pockets to head for the showers — no doubt to check up on you, be with you openly and happily, but pauses just shy of the door. he throws his head back to address rin once more.

“oh and by the way,” isagi mumbles, pushing his tongue around inside his mouth and against his cheek. looking for the right words. as if he’s holding back — saying whatever comes next against his will. “she did really like you. so, every day i have to prove to her that i was the right choice, the better one. a good boyfriend. so don’t get it twisted. alright?”

he makes his exit shortly after — leaving the younger player with no time to respond.

and rin can’t tell if those words were supposed to comfort him or not. in fact, all they do is make him feel worse.

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