if you score, you can have it ft. multiple blue lock men
ă»â„ă»smut mdni he wanted a kiss for a goal, but you know he deserves far more than that ;)
ft. shidou, kaiser, karasu, bunny
there's a particular kind of chaos that comes with dating a footballer whose ego is already astronomical before they've even laced their boots.
it starts the way it always does. pregame. him stretching, half-dressed, shooting you that look across the room like he's already decided how the night ends. and you, sitting there with your legs crossed and a coffee going cold in your hand, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"if i score today," he says, casual as breathing, "i want a kiss."
you don't even look up. "cute."
"i'm serious."
"i know." you take a sip. "the answer's still no."
a beat. he shifts closer. you can feel him watching you now, that particular brand of attention that's more pressure than patience.
"what do i have to do, then."
not a question. more like he's already negotiating terms, already assuming there are terms. you set your cup down, finally look at him, and let the silence stretch just long enough that he starts to think you might actually shut him down completely.
"score," you say, "and you can hit it from behind."
whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. something shifts in his expression, sharpens. the pregame adrenaline that was already simmering in him finds a new target.
"yeah?"
"yeah." you pick your cup back up. "if."
the emphasis on that word does something to him you'll feel later.
he scores.
of course he does.
ryusei shidou
he texts you from the pitch. while the game is still going. second half, 73rd minute, one goal up, and your phone buzzes with a message that just reads told u with three of those stupid cat-face emojis.
by the time the final whistle blows he's already abandoned his teammates mid-celebration to find you.
you're barely through the tunnel before his hand wraps around your wrist, that sneaky grin stretched across his face, slitted pink eyes lit up like something feral got fed. he smells like sweat and grass and he doesn't care even a little bit. neither do you, though you'd die before admitting it.
"locker room." not a suggestion.
"ryusei, the others are stillâ"
"don't care." he's already pulling you. "made a deal."
the locker room is half-empty, a few guys filtering out, and he walks you past all of them like they're furniture, like there's only one thing in his field of vision right now and it has your face. someone wolf-whistles. he flips them off without turning around.
he pushes you into the back corner, tiles cold against your front, and his body against your back is the opposite. hot. solid. built like he was designed to be difficult to escape from, which, honestly.
"scored twice, by the way," he murmurs into your ear, breath warm, voice dropped to something rougher than his usual sharp-edged energy. "so technically i get it twice."
"that's not how the dealâ"
"shhh." his hands find your hips, grip them, fingers pressing in hard enough that you'll feel it tomorrow. "made the deal. scored the goals. now be good and let me collect."
he gets your pants down quick and efficient like he's done this a thousand times in his head already, which, he has (but thats not the point). he doesn't tease. teasing requires patience and patience is somewhere else's problem. he just lines himself up, kicks your feet a little wider apart, and pushes in.
"hahâ" the sound comes out of you before you can swallow it, fingers scrambling against the tile. he's thick and he doesn't ease into it, just fills you in one slow drag that makes your legs want to buckle and then he laughs, quiet and delighted, at the sound you made.
"there it is." he presses his mouth to the back of your neck. "that's what i wanted."
he fucks you like he plays. instinctive, aggressive, no wasted movement. each thrust snaps your hips forward against the wall, the tile cold on your palms, his hands keeping you exactly where he wants you, one gripping your hip and the other sliding around your front to press flat against your stomach, keeping you pinned against him on the pull-back.
"feels good, yeah?" he's grinning, you can hear it. "say it feels good."
"you're so annoyâ fuckâ"
"that's not what i asked." he angles up, hits something that makes your knees genuinely try to give out, and catches you. holds you up. like he's done this before, like he knew exactly what was going to happen when he pushed there. "try again."
"it feelsâ god, it feelsâ"
"say my name," he murmurs against the back of your neck, grinding in deep, grinding the words into you. "ryusei. when i'm inside you."
you say it. you say it twice. his grip tightens like a reward.
he comes with his face pressed into your shoulder and both hands locked around your hips so hard the bruises will last a week, jerking into you through it, making this low rough sound that you'll be thinking about at the most inconvenient possible times for the foreseeable future. you follow him down not long after, shaking against the tile, completely wrung out.
he stays pressed against your back afterward, breathing hard, and then, very casually, says: "gonna score a hat trick next game."
you laugh despite yourself. he feels it and grins against your skin.
michael kaiser
he doesn't text you. he doesn't need to. you were in the box seats and you watched him score, watched him turn to the camera right after with those light blue eyes and that insufferable golden smirk like the goal was addressed personally to you.
and then he winked.
the man actually winked at a camera in a professional stadium because he knew you were watching.
by the time you reach him in the tunnel he's already separated from the post-match cluster, leaning against the wall with his arms loose at his sides, wet-haired from a quick rinse, rose tattoo dark against his skin. he looks like he was put together specifically to be impossible to look away from. he knows this. intimately.
"i scored," he says, simple, like he's remarking on the weather.
"i saw."
"so." he pushes off the wall, tips your chin up with two fingers. "you know what that means."
he takes you to the car. his car, which is obscene and he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh just above the knee the entire way, not moving it higher, just keeping it there. possessive and patient. the patience is the worst part because his patience has teeth.
the parking garage of his building is quiet. he turns the engine off and doesn't move, and neither do you, and then he says: "climb over."
you know what he means. you move to the back seat, he follows, and the confined space makes everything immediate, makes his height and the breadth of his shoulders suddenly pressing.
he takes your wrists in one hand, pins them behind your back, and uses the other to get you arranged exactly how he wants you. face down, knees on the leather, his chest against your spine.
"i want to hear you say i earned it," he says into your ear, voice smooth as cut glass, quiet in the way that's somehow louder than shouting.
"michaelâ"
"say it." the correction is patient. territorial.
"youâŠ" you swallow. "you earned it."
"good girl." he rewards that with his hand sliding between your thighs and you stop thinking about much else.
he fingers you open slowly, deliberately, like he has nowhere else to be and nothing to prove, two fingers curled and working until you're trembling and he has extracted several sounds from you that you're choosing not to reflect on. then and only then does he pull his hand back, and you hear him, the breath, the shift of fabric.
when he pushes inside you it's a long, controlled slide that feels intentional in a way that none of your exes could manage. he means every inch of it. means the grip on your wrists and the tilt of his hips and the way he pulls back just far enough before driving back in, making each thrust land with enough force that your breath stutters.
"you feel that?" he asks, not rhetorically. he actually wants an answer.
"yes, god, yesâ"
"good." satisfied. almost academic about it. "so do i."
he fucks you with a kind of deliberate precision that should be clinical but isn't, because underneath the control there's something genuinely hungry, something that surfaces in the way his grip tightens every time you make a sound, in the way his composure develops cracks around the edges the longer this goes on.
"mine," he says, near the end. not loud. just factual.
you come with your cheek against cold leather, his name dragged out of you and he follows with his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, breathing hard for the first time all night, the composure finally, entirely, gone.
he keeps you close after. doesn't say anything. just keeps one hand curled around your hip like he's not ready to let the moment dissolve yet, fingers tracing absently over the jut of bone.
possessive even in the quiet. maybe especially in the quiet.
tabito karasu
karasu, predictably, acts like the deal was already a foregone conclusion.
he'd told you before the game, with the particular flat certainty he uses for things he considers obvious, that the opposing team's left defender had a weak right ankle and would be over-compensating by the 30th minute and that he'd exploit it for an assist by the second half. what he didn't tell you was that he'd also time the actual goal himself, sliding into the box at precisely the moment nobody was watching him.
tactical. infuriating. completely him.
he finds you after, still in his kit, gloves still on, and he has that look on his face that he gets when something goes exactly according to his calculations. not smug, exactly. more like⊠vindicated.
"i scored," he says.
"you assisted twice and then snuck in a tap-in."
"still counts."
you laugh before you can stop yourself. he watches you do it with something shifting in his expression, something quieter underneath the usual sharpness. you've learned to notice that thing. it doesn't come out often.
"car," he says. then, after a pause: "please." the word sounds like it costs him something. you take it anyway.
his car is less flashy than his personality suggests, which is very him. clean interior, no nonsense. he drives you back to his apartment without discussion, because there was never really any question.
he gets you upstairs, gets the door locked behind you and then doesn't rush. stands in the hallway for a moment just looking at you with those blue eyes doing that thing where they're taking inventory, cataloguing, noticing everything.
"you look pleased with yourself," you say.
"i am." he peels one glove off. then the other. sets them down carefully. "you look flustered."
"i'm notâ"
"you are." he steps close, tilts his head slightly. "but i can work with flustered."
he gets you to the bedroom with minimal theatrics, which is also very him. no posturing, no extended performance. he just knows what he wants and moves toward it with the same economy he applies to everything. he turns you around, unhooks, unzips, works through each piece of clothing like a problem being solved. by the time you're face-down on the bed with a pillow pulled under your hips you feel like you've been systematically taken apart and laid out.
"you're going to tell me when it's good," he says and it's not bossiness, exactly. more like he's establishing terms. collecting data. even now.
"tabitoâ" and something about saying his name like that, easy and familiar, makes something in his jaw shift.
when he enters you it pulls a broken exhale out of both of you, his breath stuttering just once, barely audible, before he steadies. starts to move. his hands are precise and attentive, one on your hip and one flat between your shoulder blades, adjusting the angle by small degrees until you make a specific sound, and then he keeps it exactly there, relentless and measured.
"there," he says, mostly to himself. "that's the one."
he's quiet during, mostly, which makes the sounds he does make matter more. a rough exhale when you clench. a low, involuntary sound he immediately tries to suppress when you reach back and find his hand. he lets you hold it. threads his fingers through yours.
you come first, undone by the precision of him, the way he never stops paying attention, and he follows close behind with his face in your hair and that quiet, controlled exterior finally, briefly, completely unraveled.
afterward he lies beside you and doesn't speak for a long moment. then: "your reaction time for goal number two was better than i expected."
you turn your head to stare at him.
"the pun," he clarifies, and his mouth does that almost-smile thing.
you throw his pillow at his face.
he catches it. still almost-smiling.
bunny inglesias
he doesn't tell you before the game that he's going to score. he just does.
and afterward, in the slow drift of the post-match hour, he finds you in one of the corridor spaces outside the locker room and he's wearing that gentle closed-mouth smile and his cap with the rabbit face, hair loose and a little damp, and he says, very softly:
"i scored."
"i know."
"so." the smile stays exactly where it is. "you said."
"i know what i said."
"okay." he tilts his head. "are you going to make me ask, amor?"
the thing about him is that he's calm in a way that doesn't read as passive. there's something underneath it, something attentive and patient and quietly certain. he's not demanding. he's not performing. he's just⊠waiting, with the full confidence of someone who already knows the answer and is giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.
you take him back to the apartment. his. it has very little in it, which you've noticed before and never quite asked about. clean lines. practical. like someone who hasn't decided yet whether they're staying.
he takes off his cap, sets it on the table, and looks at you across the small space.
"how do you want me?" he asks.
which is not what you expected. you blink. he laughs, soft and brief, the most unguarded sound he makes.
"i'm asking," he says, stepping closer, "because i want to do it right."
he's gentle in a way that feels considered rather than careful, if that distinction makes sense. like gentleness is something he chooses rather than something that's just the absence of roughness. his hands move over you slowly, unhurried, taking stock, and when you finally get horizontal his body settles over yours like he was measuring the exact weight to apply.
he flips you over, easy and unhurried, your cheek finding the pillow, and he presses a single kiss to the back of your neck before he lines himself up.
when he pushes in he goes slow, slow enough that you feel every increment of the stretch, slow enough to hear his breath change, and you exhale the tension out of your spine all at once.
"okay?" he asks.
"yeah," you breathe. "yeah, it'sâ"
"good." he starts to move.
he rolls his hips with a rhythm that builds and doesn't rush, deep and patient, and he keeps his weight on one forearm beside your head with his other hand finding yours and pressing your palm to the mattress with his over it. not pinning. just covering. it's unbearably tender for something supposed to be a reward.
his mouth finds the curve of your neck, your shoulder, the soft place behind your ear. he doesn't say much, he rarely does, but once, quiet enough that you almost miss it: "you're so warm."
you don't know what to do with that. you hold it anyway.
he builds you up slowly, methodically, like he's reading something in your breathing and adjusting, and when you finally come it's with his name muffled into the pillow and his hand tightening over yours, lacing your fingers together. he follows with his face pressed to the back of your neck, a long shuddering breath, his whole body going still and then carefully, slowly, soft.
he doesn't move right away. stays draped over you, heavy and warm, and the room is very quiet.
then: "next game i'll score two."
you're so wrecked you barely process it. "bunnyâŠ"
"just letting you know," he says, and you can hear the smile in it, small and private and pointed entirely at you, "what you have to look forward to."
michael kaiser x fem!reader
mentions of alexis ness x fem!reader
9.6k words of just pure smut, basically
reupload of the fic from februrary minus all the yapperoni & cheese from me about how bad it is, ya know. iâm tryna be kinder to myself
like mentioned before, he tries to fuck you through your clothes, ig. he, uh, also calls reader pet names. no cheating, reader n ness are just hella intimate w/o a label. idk if reader seems immature or not, i canât figure it out. also, selfshippy asf, or was supposed to be, iâm still debating that.
âare you jealous?â kaiser asks once he knows you two are alone. you know heâs pleased to have you all to himself. he takes pleasure in driving you up the wall. he annoys you to no end. everything he does fucking infuriates you.
âyouâre pathetic,â you reply, not bothering to look his way, making sure you arenât missing any of your things. youâd rather ignore him, but you know eventually itâd piss him off, which, to be fair, would make you a happy camper. ness would be disappointed to see you two like that, though.
yeah, you love ness but despise how heâs been forcing you to play friends with kaiserâthe last guy you want anything to do withâthe prick.
doesnât help that nessâs plan to get you two to tolerate each other more has had a weird effect on your relationship. you still hurl insults at kaiser, only putting up with him when ness is around, but kaiser has shifted. heâs teasing now, annoyingly so. when before he couldnât stand to be in the same room as you, purposely insulting you in german knowing youâd only just begun your attempt to learn the language. ness refused to translate, which left you confused and wanting to kill kaiser.
now he calls you teasing pet names. heâd still insult on occasion, but never with the venom his words used to hold.
âweak insult, little mouse.â
god, you just want toâ
âshouldnât you be elsewhere? like i donât know, heading to the showers?â you ask him, zipping up your bag, and finally turning to face the most obnoxious man youâve ever met. âyouâre sweaty, and you fucking stink,â you add, hoping heâll take the bait. why the fuck did he even follow you here anyway? how was he able to follow you here?
âarenât we a little too old to be getting jealous over such a trivial thing?â ignoring your question and insult, he goes back to the topic he finds more interesting, folding his arms over his chest, the corner of his mouth lifting.
scoffing, you mirror his crossed arms, taking it a step further and tilting your head, a look of complete irritation etched across your face. âdo you get off on these little fantasies that live on in your head?â
âcareful,â he sneers, and you believe youâve managed to get under his skin even just a smidge. but just when you start to smirk, he grins, a cold, sharp thing. âyou wish it werenât real, right? that itâs all fake and pretend. itâs a hard pill to swallow, isnât it? that youâre territorial over someone like me.â
your lips part to snap back, but the link between your brain and mouth snaps. the words rush out on reflex, too fast for you to register before theyâre already out into the air, âfuck off, kaiser.â
the moment his last name leaves your mouth, you freeze. you only ever used it when things got too heated, when he had successfully gotten under your skin. seeing his smug grin widen makes you clench your jaw, your teeth threatening to crack. you just handed him exactly what he wanted, right on a silver fucking platter.Â
âoh?â his eyes widen in pretend shock, yet the predatory grin remains all the same. âlisten to that. itâs much more amusing when you arenât pretending. better to be honest with yourself when i get in your head like this.â
âyouâre soââ you begin, fists clenching, ready to tear into himâto tell him how pathetic you think he really is. youâre ready to say fuck nessâs feelings if it means shattering kaiserâs ego, knocking him down a peg or twoâhell, ten, even.
âsay it again.â
âexcuse meââ
how heâs done it you have no idea, but heâs gotten dangerously close to you since the start of your âconversationâ.
âkaiser. say it again,â he murmurs, leaning in til the space between you is nonexistent, forcing you to take a step back. but he just continues while you try to keep your distance.
âwhat the fuck is wroââ
âyou think i donât know what you and ness get up to?â he asks suddenly, voice dropping to a low, knowing tone.
you freeze, back hitting the wall. itâs a steady pounding, your heart against your ribs, eyes shaking while you search his gaze. that usual taunting glint is there, that look that says heâs trying to get a reaction out of you. but looking deeper makes your breath stutter.
buried underneath those thick layers that make up the asshole that is michael kaiser is something you werenât prepared for. thereâs a claiming, hungry heat in his eyes, an anger that's been simmering for far too long, something ugly brewing. it makes you uncomfortable because it looks familiar. you recognize this look because youâve seen it in yourself before. the look heâs giving you saysâto you at leastâthat he wants to devour not just you, but ness as wellâto consume you whole.
âyou think i donât notice the way you look at each other when the otherâs not watching?â his voice has dropped to a whisper, and you swallow down thickly when he lifts a hand to flatten firmly on the wall by your head. âcan you really continue to pretend for much longer?â
kaiserâs not being the usual annoying prick that he is to you, no, heâs being dangerous, and youâre about to let your mouth get you into even more trouble.
âfuck you.â
because what does he know about you and ness? what does he mean by pretend?
âwhen youâre there, together,â he says with a fake tenderness, ignoring your insult again, lifting his other hand to brush his knuckles along your cheek. âyouâre aching for a space to be filled.â his gaze keeps you pinned, throat tight, your fists clenching. âsadâdoesnât matter that youâre with each other, youâre still all alone. tell me iâm wrong.â
youâre stunned into silence, mouth opening then closing back, brows furrowing. what heâs talking about, you have no idea. what does he mean by being lonely? your mind is running at supersonic speed, trying to fly through all the times you and ness were together. youâve never had sex (err, not really), but there were times when it seemed like no matter how much you gave one another, it wasnât enough. kaiser would cross your mind on occasion, but never when you were doing anything intimate. no, it was more so when you and ness fell into that odd domestic routine without ever calling it anything. youâd find yourself wondering what kaiser was doing, which ultimately led to you scowling, because why were you thinking about him?
you blame it on ness when it happens, it is his fault kaiser is around nearly all the time. if ness would let the two of you just be friends and then let him and kaiser be friends, doing whatever it is they do when theyâre together, then it wouldnât be a problem. ness just wants both of you in his life at once.
kaiser lets his thumb smooth over your bottom lip, pressing along the seam, nearly dipping inside the heat of your mouth. all you can do is stand there, trapped in his piercing gaze. you notice his face softens just a tad, and you canât tell if itâs intentional or not until you hear his next words. âmine,â he murmurs, âyouâre missing it. that last piece of your little puzzle. . . me.â
what on earth. . .
âin your fucking dreams,â you hiss out, managing to find your voice, slapping his hand away, his words leaving you confused. âwhat are you going on about? you donât know anything.â
âoh?â he mocks, his other hand drifting again, fingers brushing your side. it settles on your hip, a testing motionâone to see if youâd fight his touch again. a small shiver ghosts over your form, a quirk of his lips, and heâs crowding in closer, nearly pinning you to the wall. but you donât back downâdonât let his presence intimidate you. thatâs the reaction he wants. for you to lash out. he notices your silence and smirks, âwhatâs wrong?â
ânothingâs wrong,â you tell him, standing up straight, shoulders back as you maintain his gaze. then a thought crosses your mind, one that could get the topic off of you and ness. one that will make you even more irritated, but no longer dig too far into your personal life. â. . . youâre the one making assumptions over a post-game interview.â
his smirk widens, as though heâs satisfied that youâve finally addressed the reason he went looking for you. youâre just relieved he took the bait, and the topic is no longer about what you have going on with ness. âi saw you after. no need to lie to me now.â
âiâm jealous of a reporter doing her job? thatâs what youâre trying to say, right?â just speaking the question out loud makes your brows furrow in confusion and irritation. kaiser is better than jumping to such childish conclusions. he has to have a reason for all of this.
âi donât recall saying that.â
your eye twitches, kaiserâs gaze no longer holding that dangerous edge, but back to that annoying ass, smug asshole look. your jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as you stare at him, not at all fazed by his proximity. âyou didnât have to say it. iâm not stupid, you know.â
it pisses you off every time you speak with him, because itâs almost like he knows something you donât the moment you open your mouth. it makes you want to slap him.
his eyebrow quirks up, thumb rubbing circles on your hip, the other slyly coming to join the first on the other side, both hands gripping your hips. âmouse,â he sometimes says it like youâve done something wrong, like youâre being scolded.
tilting your head, your brows raise as if to say âwhat?â, daring him to say more. which is objectively a bad idea considering who youâre dealing with, but you do it anyways.
he just sighs like heâs amused at your antics, closing the last bit of distance, pinning you flush to the wall. it makes you inhale sharply, your hands shooting out to grip his sides, curling into his jersey. âwhat on earth are you doing?â you hiss. yet you donât push him away.
he angles his head toward you, leaning in, your breath catching as you freeze in place. his nose brushes your ear, soft breaths tickling you. âyouâre not very good at hiding it.â he murmurs, voice low and knowing, âyou look like you wanted to pounce me for even looking at her.â a soft huff of amusement, âyou get the same look when itâs alexis too. . . what, is my little mouse really that greedy? getting tired of pretending you donât want us yet?â
it makes you seethe, fingers digging into his waist, yet he makes no sound of pain or no attempt to pull away. if anything, it makes him get more comfortable, nose trailing across your cheek, then jaw, settling into the crook of your neck. his lips ghosting across your flesh have goosebumps prickling along your body.
you have an idea of what he expects you to say, but you refuse. because why on earth would you if youâve stated that you arenât jealous? it was a post-game interview, and the reporter was a nice, younger woman who seemed nothing but professional from what you had seen.
but clearly kaiser thinks something else happened that wouldâve made you jealous. thereâs no way in hell he thinks you got upset over a woman simply talking to him.
him.
of all the people in your life, michael kaiser.
sure, you have a terrible habit of being jealous when itâs someone you like, but you donât talk about it much. itâs part of the reason why you stopped dating. and regarding you and ness, sure, you do odd stuff together, but you arenât dating. so you have no reason to get upset over anything when it comes to him. itâs one of the reasons you appreciate him so much. thereâs no jealousy involved there. itâs safe. itâs easy.
right?
. . . but why do you get that odd tugging in your gut at the thought of him with someone else, though?
no, thatâs not what it is. you donât allow yourself to get like that anymore. you worked far too hard to get rid of that version of yourself.
and if you arenât jealous with ness, the one you actually care for, then why on earth would you be with kaiser? the man who grates on your every nerve? the man youâre supposed to hate?
âlet it out,â he whispers, lips spreading into a smirk against your neck, âget ugly. let me see it.â
âyouâre so fucking delusional,â you tell him straight up, voice shaking, trying to remain neutral, and his laugh makes you tense for one reason, and then another. his legs shift, one slipping between yours, his thigh a heavy weight against your cunt. his grip pulls your hips forward and off the wall, closing the gap between you, a shuddering breath slipping from between your lips.
the angle canât be comfortable for him, but if it is he hasnât complained; he seems content with his face tucked in the side of your neck, nosing along your pulse, causing you to exhale shakily, fingers in his sides.Â
his hands slip under the top youâre wearingâyour ness jerseyâfingers trailing up your side, shivers rippling from your neck, down the length of your back, an almost buzzing sensation making your skin prickle. a sigh brushes your neck, kaiserâs nose nestled against the skin, a deep shudder rolling through his body, as though heâs drunk on the very scent of you.
this isnât right. every alarm bell in your head is going off, telling you to push him away, to make space between the two of youâthis is a line you shouldnât cross with kaiser.
he says your name quietly, and then you feel his lips part, movements heavy, then the slow, dragging wet heat of his tongue lapping at your pulse. sucking in a breath, your chest rises shakily, his palms feel molten on your skin as they drag upwards. his thumbs find the edge of your bra, tracing along the underwire, shifting higher, ghosting over your nipples. your stomach tightens. instinctively, your hips jerk forward, seeking out the firm press of his thigh.
âarenât you responsive?â
the teasing lilt in his voice pisses you off, lips pressing into a thin line. âyouâre a prick,â you say, fingers bunching up the fabric of his jersey and pulling tight. and he laughs again, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin, vibrations traveling through your ear, a nagging, obnoxious little thing. your breath catches when he presses a lingering kiss just below your jaw, your brows coming together, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and then he pulls away.
thank god.
the sudden loss of his touch makes you a little relieved, chest sagging, only for it to be short-lived when one of his hands snatches up your jaw, while the other settles back on your hip. his hand slides back, resting on the curve of your backside, sliding your core more securely onto his thigh. a gasp, sharp and sudden, tears through you, eyes widening when his grip on your jaw tightens, fingers digging into your cheeks til they dimple, your lips slightly pouting.
a lazy smirk pulls at his lips, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. a gasp trapped between your lips. his mouth ghosts over yours, and your lashes flutter, eyes sliding shut without a second thought.
you shouldnât give inâcanât let him have this over you. but that little voice in the back of your head is telling youâ
âyou want a kiss, little mouse?â his whisper brushes your lips, fingers loosening where he holds your face, allowing you to speak.
your eyes fly open, eyebrows drawing together while you look at him like heâs lost his mind. âno,â you hiss, reaching up to grasp his wrist, ignoring the way your heartbeat thrums in your ears. he sighs, tilting your head back to expose the length of your throat, a whimper pulled from your lips. releasing your face, his fingers trail down your neck, the tips of the digits dancing delicately along your flesh, a tremor rippling through your frame.
âah,â he murmurs, like heâs speaking to himself, fingers shifting, gripping your neck loosely, your hold on him tightening. âcouldâve fooled me.â
swallowing thickly, your eyes drift to his. a soft, involuntary sound escapes your mouth, and the corner of his lip twitches, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to yours a moment later, eyes growing heavy.
you donât like the look heâs giving you, breath hitching, âmichaelââ
but your words are cut off, his lips pressing onto yours, heavy and wanting. you canât stop the moan that spills from your mouth, and he seizes the opportunity, tongue dipping between your parted lips, coaxing yours to play. itâs a deep, languid kiss, one that steals the very breath from your lungs.
heâs doing this on purpose, he has to be. heâs toying with you, seeing how far he can take you til you break. thatâs the only thing that makes sense to you. but why does he seem like heâs intent on tasting every part of you, drinking you up like he canât get enough?
a satisfied hum rises from his chest as your grip on him tightens, nails sinking into his skin.
you have to stop this before it gets messy. itâs just going to get worse after this if you continue like this. so pull the fuck awayâ
but even after you separate, you find yourself seeking out his heat without thinking, lips chasing after the feeling as if youâd starve without it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you. the look on his face pisses you off, but the lack of warmth on your skin is even worse.
âand here i thought you didnât want a kiss. being dishonest about these things isnât good for you,â he teases, and your hand leaves his wrist to rest on his stomach, wanting to push him away, ready to tell him offâto tell him that a single kiss proves nothing.
âdonât flatter yourselfââ
but his lips are back on yours, swallowing down your shocked sound. thereâs no gentleness. he presses his mouth to to yours with a fierce intensity, a display thatâs claiming, were anyone to walk in and see you. the hand around your throat tightens, locked just underneath your jaw, keeping your head in place.
he devours every weak and pitiful sound that he pulls from you, not giving you a chance to put room between yourselves before heâs diving back in, slotting his lips over yours.
ness isnât like this. ness is soft touches, and even softer laughter. heâs careful, submissive at timesânot opposed to you taking the lead, and enjoys being guided. ness burns steady, and kaiser a hot, uncontrollable thing that takes and consumes.
âmichaelââ you gasp when youâve managed to gain an inch of space between you, hands fisting his jersey. his reaction is immediate, tilting his head, preparing to consume your entire being once more when he leans in. you can feel that ugly, toxic spark kaiser drew out earlier come back to life. if he wants ugly, then youâll give him ugly.
you try to be quick, hands shooting up to slide through his hair, gripping the strands at the base of his skull and pulling.
the growl that erupts from his throat is instantaneous. you ignore how the sound makes you feel, to focus on catching your breath, but then his hand is releasing your neck, sliding down your front to cup your breast over your top.
a gasp tears through you, kaiser taking initiative, sweeping in to slot his mouth over yours once more. you hate how quickly your body gives in despite your mindâs protest.
his hand cups the full weight of your breast while he sucks on your bottom lip, teeth sinking into the tender flesh. your headâs all dizzy, your mind taken over by kaiser as if he were a little virus, infecting every cell. the hand on your breast begins to knead, your lips parting around quiet moans. his thumb brushes your nipple, and you swear you can feel it on your bare skin through the layers of fabric.
realistically, you wonder where this will lead to. surely you two werenât about to fuck here, of all places. you have a feeling kaiser would take it that far.
or is he more of a private man? the look he gave you earlier and the way heâs been kissing you. . .
well.
he seems rather. . .
youâre so lost in your thoughts that you havenât even registered kaiser moving. he shifts, thigh no longer pressed between yours, angling your hips, his cock nestled warmly against you. a choked sound of surprise leaves you, your hips rolling forward on instinct when he presses himself flush to you.
âmichaââ you start once youâve managed to pull away.
âshh,â he shushes you, lips brushing yours, giving your breast a soft squeeze. rolling his hips slowly, he lets you feel how hard heâs gotten. warmth shudders through you all at once at the contact, hips pushing forward, wanting to feel more of him. âdonât you want to feel good?â
your breath stutters at his words, and at the same time, his hand leaves your breast, a soft, unintentional noise of protest escaping from between your lips. all he does is chuckle quietly, placing a kiss to your swollen lips while his right hand moves lower down your side til it reaches your thigh. he drags his hand up and down the flesh, letting his fingers sink into the skin. sliding higher, his fingers slip into the leg of your shorts, his lips ghosting over yours as his hand finds the edge of your panties, tracing along the elastic, teasingly dipping beneath to feel your bare skin.
âwant me to touch you here?â he murmurs, giving you a soft kiss, letting his lips linger. your lips part, but he doesnât give you time to answer. his fingers dive deeper, palm sliding across your skin and under the fabric, cupping the curve of your ass, giving a firm squeeze before pulling you flush to him, his cock hot and heavy pressed against you.
your breath hitches at his touch, a small, needy sound escaping your throat when he gives another squeeze. itâs an instinctive motion, your hips pressing into his when his fingers mold to your backside.
but his hand is gone in an instant, an uncontrollable whine slipping from your lips, and he just hums, placing fleeting kisses to your mouth as his fingers dance along your thigh. they move lower, his touch featherlight, trailing down til his fingers catch the bend of your knee. with a sudden possessive pull, he hitches your thigh over his hip, ensuring youâre as close as possible, his length directly against your core.
the sudden jerk of your body against his has you nearly losing your balance, your hands dropping to grip his shoulders, fingers knotting tightly into his jersey. a slow breath washes over his lips, your eyes wide, unable to look away from his heavy gaze, the corner of his lips twitching. your lashes lower, mouth parting when he brushes his nose with yours, fingers digging into his shoulders.
âisnât this better?â whispering against your lips, he gives an easy drive of his hips, letting you feel his cock through the layers of both of your shorts. âwant you to feel all of me.â
his words make you whimper, and a low sound vibrates within his chest, lips roughly closing over yours once more, feasting on every little noise you make.Â
youâre hot all over. hell, kaiserâs hot all over. it rolls off him in waves, making you lightheaded. you donât feel like yourself right now, lost in his kiss as though he means something to you. makes you feel like someoneâs taken over your body, and youâre still trapped, forced to watch from inside as they put you through things youâd never do. itâs too muchâhis kiss, him, everything. you want him out of your head, yet all you can focus on is his lips on yours and his skin beneath your fingers when you touch him.
without noticing, your hands shift, moving to hold his face as he grinds his hips forward, keeping your hips angled to his liking. then his hand moves by your head, sliding down til itâs on your shoulder. you pull back the second you can, questioning his movements.
âwhaââ you look up at him with hazy eyes, finally realizing that youâre holding his face like a lover would, like how you would hold nessâs face. it makes your heart pound inside your ribcage frantically, as if it were about to burst. the sudden odd feelings inside you have you wanting to pull away. how are you offering a gesture so tender to a man youâre supposed to hate? youâre so caught up in the confusion of everything that you donât notice his hand moving.
a sharp, high-pitched whine spills from your mouth, your head falling back onto the wall with a thump, eyes rolling. while you were distracted, kaiserâs hand had traveled far, fingers dancing down your breasts, circling a nipple. then down your stomach, pushing gently just below your belly button. and finally, he found home at the edge of your shorts once more. the simple cotton material made it easy for him to dip his fingers inside, to wrap around your panties, and pull upwards.
the sudden pressure on your clit makes your hips jerk and stutter into his, bucking against his hard cock, his own heavy breathing and groans low in volume but still there.
âohââ you gasp, eyes fluttering, staring up at the ceiling as it swims and blurs, then flickering back down to kaiserâs, which you realize is a bad mistakeâa terrible, terrible mistake.
you should be angry, you should be lashing out at him, calling him every name under the sun. yet you donât. instead you feel yourself frozen under the weight of his attention, his gaze keeping you pinned, a small whimper slipping past your lips.
âmichaââ
he snaps, pressing his cock hard against you again while simultaneously pulling on your panties, adding that roughness to it all. âjust like that.â
âmichael. . .â the moan is weak and pitiful, followed by a soft gasp when he grinds his cock just so, arousal flooding your panties, or whatâll be left of them by the time kaiserâs done doing whatever he has planned.
unable to keep up with the eye contact, your head falls to his shoulder, face turning, slotting into the dip of his neck. you can feel him laugh, the vibrations carrying through your body, and your hands slip to his shoulders, gripping hard.
itâs the fact that itâs kaiser that has you like thisâcaught in his hands, falling apart at the seams, letting him kiss you like youâre the only thing keeping him alive. it makes a tremor roll through your body, eyes rolling, hips giving a little twitch in his direction despite your attempts at fighting it. his words about him being the missing piece to yours and nessâs puzzle linger in the back of your mind, making you wonder if this is why youâre behaving this way.
no.
why the fuck would you ever want kaiser in any way, shape, or form? no. no. no. heâs not who you want.
âlook at me,â he demands, pulling you from your thoughts. you realize heâs stopped all movements. you also notice how your thighs tremble, how the one in his grasp tightens around his hip, desperate to pull him in closer, and your lips twist.
no.
what the fuck is wrong with you?
this is kaiser.
the man youâre supposed to hate. he isnât supposed to be here, pinning you flush to the wall, wanting to make you fall apart for him, and you sure as hell werenât supposed to be enjoying it.Â
âf-fuck you,â you manage, eyes clenching shut while you ignore the throb in your cunt, willing it away as you consider your options on what exactly to do.
he sighs, like heâs disappointed, shaking his head, âbeing difficult wonât help you.â
the sudden shift in his voice is enough to have your chest tighten. you realize, just a tad too late, that he may leave you like thisâthat you may have pushed him too far. and suddenly the words you want to spit at him donât seem all that interesting after all.
without thinking, your hands tighten in his jersey, drawing him closer. and then you jerk in his hold, a gasp torn from your lips, his fingers pull tighter, so hard on the fabric of your panties that you can hear the strain of them stretching, your whole body reacting, nearly convulsing against him and the wall.
itâs borderline painful, but the fabric is tight on your clit in just the right way, to the point that it makes your pussy ache. your head falls back onto the wall with another thud. kaiser dips in, like he knows what he wants. his lips find your pulse and part, teeth digging in, hand pulling the fabric taut until your jaw is slack.
your eyes roll to the back of your head, a mess of arousal pooling in your panties and shorts. itâs messy and sticky on your skin, the amount is obsceneâpure hot slick basically dripping from your cunt, just from kaiser torturing your poor clit.
with his lack of movement, youâre left dealing with how youâre slumped against the wall, his hands holding you up. you feel pathetic, clinging to him like this, falling apart like this. you should just stop, pull away, and leave. but your body is practically begging him for more pressure, your cunt aching without the stimulation.
suddenly, his lips brush the skin of your throat, his voice a sickening sweet crawl, âlook at that,â you can hear the rustle of fabric and feel your panties shift against you, a near sob ripped from your lips. âwhat happened to all that fight from before, little mouse?â and heâs pulling tighter, allowing you that sweet, sweet touch youâve been dripping for.
âmichaelââ you sob, because itâs all you can really do, not having it in you to bite back, hands clawing at him as the pressure on your clit increases. kaiser pulls the fabric taut against your cunt, lingering there for a beat, making you whimper while the pressure builds, before he releases it, leaving you panting.
âi know,â he murmurs into your throat, lips trailing back up to your jaw, open-mouthed kisses placed upon the skin. your eyes flutter again, chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm, hands sliding around the back of his neck, tangling in the soft strands of his hair. another choked sound is pulled from your throat when he starts rocking his hips into yours again. itâs different this time, itâs like heâs trying to fuck you through your clothing, trying to let you feel the full length of himâwants you to imagine what itâd feel like being split open on his cock.
the friction, the scent of him, his words, everythingâitâs too much. itâs all too much, you donât know how much more you can take.
itâs starting to terrify youâhow much heâs affecting you. it feels like the fight you were putting up earlier was all for nothing. heâs reduced you to mere putty in his hands. you canât help but feel like youâre chasing him, wanting more of what he gives.
âitâs. . . ohââ
the sound of your voice seems to spur him on, his cock working harshly against you, the added pull of your panties on your clit driving you to the edge. itâs so intense, and heâs still keeping up with that same rhythm, every sharp pull followed by a brief release when youâre just on the edge of coming undone, punishing you with this perfect game heâs decided to play. your poor clit is throbbing intensely, and youâre not sure if itâs from pleasure or pain. but the clenching of your cunt around a cock thatâs not there seems to give you the answer.
âis this what you want?â kaiser asks when you donât finish your sentence, too caught up in the pleasure youâre feeling. âor is it not enough because it isnât the real thing, hm?â he ends his taunt with a sharp snap of his hips, pulling a choked cry from your mouth, nails against his scalp.
he hisses but continues, dragging his tongue up the side of your neck to your ear, a whine slipping past your lips, eyes clenching shut.
âthis is what you think about at night when youâre in bed all alone, right?â he whispers in your ear, teeth tugging at your lobe. you can feel his fist tight on your panties, like heâs waiting for your answer, deciding whether or not heâll reward you for telling the truth. âtell me.â
heâs got you so fucked in the head that youâre starting to question yourself. is this what you think about late at night? do you imagine kaiser against you, fucking you until you canât think straight?
no.
no.
shaking your head to the best of your ability, your teeth dig into your lower lip, worrying the flesh, adding to the marks left behind by kaiser. âmm-mm.â
âliar.â
and he tugs.
your vision goes white against the back of your eyelids, body locking up, then convulsing in his hold, hips desperately trying to grind into the pressure heâs placed upon your body. his hips weigh heavily against yours, keeping you pinned while also letting you fantasize about what could be.
âm-micââ you choke, eyes rolling so hard they ache, mouth falling open, panting harshly. his nose presses into your cheek, lips placing featherlight kisses on your skin. faintly, you hear him say something, the warmth of his voice brushing your skin. but all you can focus on is the pressure on your cunt, your panties pulled taut between your folds, rough on your clit. ââm so closeââ
âi know,â he coos softly. the contrast to his rough treatment of your pussy pulls a weak whimper from you, âlook at me.â
heâs got you completely wrecked, and he hasnât even fucked you properly. you feel pathetic, and the urge to go against his words again seems great, considering where youâre at. something in your gut is telling you to do otherwise, thoughâsomething you wish you could ignore.
swallowing thickly, your eyes flicker towards him, head tilting til youâre met with his intense gaze, a noise getting stuck in your throat at the look heâs giving you.
an all-consuming look that makes your breath stutter. a gaze that feels like heâs eating you alive.
âlittle mouse,â he murmurs, softly nudging his nose against yours, a gesture that calms you for a moment.
the unexpected tenderness is a shock to your brain, thoughts running wild as you try to process whatâs happening. for a second you freeze, nearly giving in, nearly giving him the soft affection usually set aside for ness and ness alone.
then he gives a sharp tug, lips slotting over yours before you can react, drinking down any sound that dares escape your lips.
he pulls so hard, your hips jerk forward, forced harder on his. and you try to keep up with the intensity of kaiserâs kiss, but heâs dominating you. heâs two steps ahead, leaving you trembling, devouring every inch of you. his mouth drags over yours with a hot, demanding press, slick and insistent.
you can feel that ugly part of you crawling back up your throat, the part that tells you to take. that brief, soft gesture, that ache in your core, joined by another terrifying feeling, makes you inch closer, nearly giving in.
a low groan vibrates through him, a sound that makes your knees weaken, hands combing through his hair, gripping the strands at the back of his head.
you can barely breathe, and if it werenât for kaiserâs grip on your leg keeping you pressed to him, youâre sure your other one wouldâve given out by now. he just keeps kissing you, while every single nerve in your body begins to scream at you, pulled tight, ready to snap at any momentâs notice.
itâs there, heavy in your gut, about to boil over. your thighs begin to shake terribly, clit throbbing in time with your heartbeat, shorts slick with the copious amounts of your arousal bleeding through the fabric. you try desperately to pull away from kaiserâs kiss, to separate, to give yourself even that little bit to let him know youâre about to break.
âmichaelââ you manage, voice broken, but then his lips are back on yours, silencing you. but he knows. kaiser knows, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, right as he pulls one final time, a harsh tug that begins ripping the fabric, threads snapping and tearing, yet you canât be bothered, too busy focusing on the blinding light behind your eyes.
it feels like youâre on cloud nine.Â
your pussy is throbbing, entrance clenching and unclenching desperately, milking the air, wishing there were a cock in place of it instead. but still your body is wracked with the intensity of your orgasm, trembling in kaiserâs hold, he allows you an inch of space, lips still brushing while you pant against his mouth, lashes lowered.
thereâs another pull of fabric, one that has your oversensitive cunt drooling, a moan caught in your throat, hands instinctively tugging his hair, earning you a harsh press of his lips to yours before they bleed away to softer ones. it takes you a moment to float back down, body feeling like melted wax while kaiser shifts, giving you (barely any) space between your bodies.
âthere you go,â he murmurs against your lips, leaving short, lingering kisses. his hand untangles itself from your panties, settling back onto the wall by your head. a soft sound escapes you when he begins rocking his hips into yours again, his mouth parting from yours, soft pants brushing over your lips.
youâre still dazed, eyes heavy, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your body tremble. a sudden thought invades your mind, one that says you shouldnât have liked that. but thereâs an odd little voice overlapping the other one, telling you that you want him closer. you donât know what to make of it. yet you find that voice controlling you, reaching out to him, despite your fears.
untangling your fingers from his hair, you slide your hands up and down his sides, you notice the way he shivers at your touch, lashes fluttering softly before his eyes are back on you. your hands path upwards again til they settle on his neck, fingers brushing his pulse, dipping beneath the neck of his jersey, just caressing his skin softly. it makes his eyes flutter, and he nudges his nose agaisnt yours, placing a quick kiss on your swollen lips.
âyou like kissing me, hm?â he asks, a teasing, breathy lilt to his voice. pulling away, he shifts, hitching your leg up higher, rolling his hips in a way that has him groaning deeply, gaze shifting to where youâre connected. your own focus drifts, eyes flickering towards the ceiling.
ân-no. . .â you tell him, as if he hadnât just made you lose yourself in him.
the word feels wrong as it leaves your lips, even though it shouldnât. because this is kaiser, heâs not your boyfriend, heâs not ness. heâs him. it feels like youâre trying to convince yourself youâre still someone that youâre so clearly not. but what else are you supposed to do in a moment like this?
too much has happened in the short time youâve been in here with him, and it feels like youâre starting to lose your mind. you try picturing the version of yourself thatâs safeâalthough in an odd placeâwith ness. the version of you that despises the man that currently has you pressed firmly against his arousal after having just made you fall apart completely. you find it harder and harder to picture her the longer you try, the image of her fading into nothingness.
you can feel the moment his gaze is back on you, the intensity of his stare burning right through you like fire, even when youâre not looking. he hasnât even said anything yet, but it just feels like he knows every thought going through your head.
âno?â he murmurs, his kiss grazing your chin, purposely ignoring where your mouth tingles for his touch, for even the slightest brush of his soft lips. your breath catches anyway, a shiver rolling through your frame, eyes clenching shut.
thereâs no way you can admit it. what are you supposed to do when your body is telling you otherwise, though? youâre desperate for itâfor him to close that last bit of distance and bring his lips back to yours. kaiserâs doing it on purpose. you know this. heâs withholding to see how long you can lastâto see just how bad you want it. what you donât notice is the way his breath hitches, fingers white knuckled on the wall by your head. youâre far too gone to notice the pressure mounting between you two, thatâs making it hard to breathe.
but then you feel the slightest touch of his lips on yours. the barely there brush, and you break. fingers tangle in his hair, bringing your mouths together in a deep kiss, one that tells him that youâve changed your mind, that youâre not going to pretend you donât like it, that you donât want it. that you donât want him.
âwe shouldnât be doing thisââ you gasp into his mouth, fingers at his scalp. you expect him to laughâto mock you, tease you, to say itâs a little too late for thatâbut he doesnât.
kaiser doesnât say anything, lips still dragging over yours, hips continuing the slow, languid thrusting. and you donât know if thatâs better or worse if he were to speak. only the two of you and the heat between your bodies seem to matter. the friction has your mind hazy and out of focus. the room and everything outside of your little bubble seems gone, distantâlike a dream after youâve just woken up.
he drags you in closer, grinding his cock into you as if he were buried deep within you, your arousal dampening his shorts between you, the weight of whatâs happened undeniable, the wet stains growing larger the more he grinds into you.
the heavy pressure of his hips stays pressed against you, the feel of his hand squeezing your bare thigh like a brand on your skin. his touches are a reminder of your words, that you shouldnât be doing this, but then heâs pulling back, his voice cutting through the sound of your heavy breathing.
âwhy is that?â he emphasizes his question with a harsh snap of his hips, your whole body jolting from the impact, a sharp moan pulled from your lips.
thereâs nothing you can say. you have no answer. youâre simply grasping at anything that can help stop how youâre beginning to feel for kaiser. so, you focus on the drive of his hips, the drag of his lips on your mouth, cheeks, and neckâthe heat of his palm on your skin, until youâre too far gone to even remember why you wanted this to stop in the first place. you ignore the warning bells in your head, ignore the rational part of your brain that tells you to pull away, to take a moment to breathe and think, itâs all faint, drowned out by the mere presence of him. rather, you get ready to take whatever heâs willing to give of himself.
your body sings with satisfaction, every grind deep and precise, meant to leave you trembling. you can tell heâs focused on his own pleasure this time, the hand gripping your thigh angling your hips in a way that allows him to nestle deep against you, damp fabric on damp fabric, his face tucking into the dip of your neck. his heavy length slides over you, the friction from the clothes leaving a phantom ache that makes your heat pulse, hips twitching.
âm-michaelâ!â
the name slips out differently than all the earlier times. a plea for him, not a reaction to how heâs making you feel, but a call for the man youâre so desperately wanting.
want.
the word is not something you thought youâd ever use for him. thereâs a grip on your heart, too, one that youâre so desperate to ignore and forget about. youâd shout how much you want him from the top of the world if it means you can get rid of this weight pressing on your chest.
you can feel when it registers for himâthe shift. the way you said his name. his breath hitches, chest stuttering on his next inhale, before he slides his nose up the line of your throat slowly, like heâs trying to breathe in the sound of his name. a low, breathless groan tears through his chest, a noise that tells you he knows exactly what youâre sayingâwhat you mean. it makes you shudder. more heat brews between you two, clinging to you, like you canât escape it.
âyeah?â his voice is rough, which tells you heâs trying to keep himself under control, even as the way you said his name seemed to shake him. but his movements become more insistent and stuttering, and you let him guide your hips to meet his while he chases the pleasure. itâs obvious kaiserâs moving on pure instinct, not caring about teasing you any furtherânot right now. itâs like he canât stop himself.
a particular harsh thrust has you gasping again, and itâs then that he finally breaks away from your neck. his hips snap forward once more, as if his body reacted before he could think. his eyes widen slightly, pupils expanded, shocked by the loss of control. the muscle in his jaw jumps when he clenches his teeth. the sight makes heat bloom in your core once more, the heavy grind of his hips not helping the situation.
the sudden realization that kaiser is about to come undone against you has a breathy whimper escaping your lips, fingers tight in his hair, tilting his head, and pulling him down til youâre nearly kissing again. you can see the struggle for him to keep his eyes open, his lids falling heavily as he maintains the intense connection between you two, one of your hands sliding down his neck, thumbing over his racing pulse softly, as if to say, âiâm hereâ.
âmichaelââ you breathe into the small space between you, and he bites back a groan, hips losing any sense of even pacing they once had. heâs rocking into you roughly, breath spilling out in heavy, uneven bursts over your mouth. the charged atmosphere from before just grows more intense, his cock grinding on your cunt even harsher, his forehead pressing to yours.
you swear he thinks heâs actually fucking youâthe way his hips are moving against yours is a dead giveawayâand you can almost feel it too. a soft shiver rolls through you when you imagine his thick length stretching you open, a moan making its way through your throat when your cunt clenches desperately around nothing, almost like his cock is actually there.
your thoughts are filled with nothing but him, kaiser. youâre so confused, but every nerve in your body is screaming, body pulsing with a frantic, desperate need for the man pressed hot against you. the phantom stretch makes your thighs tremble, a biting tease that leaves you wanting more. you can only wish to free yourself from this torture, but your body is reacting in a way your brain canât deny.
dragging your hand through his hair and across his cheek, you pant against his mouth, the pure image of him nearly falling apart, melting you from the inside out. the sound of you out of breath forces a shuddering exhale from kaiserâs lips, his mouth dropping a little wider, a tremor rolling through his body.
the hand by your head slams hard into the wall, making you jump, and you hear a muttered apology before his lips drag across yours, messy, sloppy, and unfocused. thereâs no control on either of your ends, your mouth sliding over his, trying to meet him halfway while his hips stutter again, inhaling a quick breath through his teeth, his movements uncoordinated, nearly driving you through the wall.
âmm,â he groans, easing back, lips separating from yours, only for you to draw him back in with a whine. âfuck. . .â
you can feel him tighten against you, a full on tremor shaking his body, every movement, every thrust, every messy drag of his mouth leaving you breathless. he tries to deepen the kiss, and you feel it building within him til he bites back a sound he canât hold in.
his body pulls tight, and he ruts into you as if he needs you through your clothes, fingers curling on the wall, scratching at the paint. his hips jerk and stutter, a choked noise caught in his throat when he cumsâitâs messy, seeping through his shorts and onto yours, a damp heat that makes everything slick and heavy.
heâs breathless against you, and your eyes open to see his clenched shut, hair messy and out of place. with trembling hands, you try to fix the stray strands, smoothing your fingers through his hair and over his flushed cheeks.
everything slows between you, his hips stopping to an easy, languid roll, until itâs barely there. his eyes ease open, looking at you, breath mingling with yours, unsteady and trembling, where it brushes your face, yet neither of you pulls away. carefully, almost reluctantly, he slowly lowers your leg back down, letting your foot find home on the floor once more.
you nearly stumble, but kaiserâs hold keeps you steady. the frantic rush of blood in your ears begins to fade away, leaving just you and kaiserâs shaky exhales. blinking a few times, your hands brush back his hair again, fingers tucking a few strands behind his ear, eyes anywhere but on his as you work, fingers shaking when they come to rest on his cheeks again.
âlook at me.â
his voice breaks through the silence, and your eyes snap to his before you even have time to register whatâs happening. the look heâs giving you is weighted, your chest tightening, releasing a trembling breath. itâs hard for you to find words, your mind a slurry of emotions and questions, his hand on your hip tightens as though he can read your mind.
youâre still boxed in, but itâs not like how it was before. his posture is more relaxed, with one hand casually resting on you, while the other keeps him upright. thereâs an opening for you to leave, yet you donât take it for some reason. earlier, had you been given such an opportunity, you wouldâve jumped on it, but now. . .
his breathing evens out before yours, the hand on your hip lingers, slipping behind your back, his touch dipping lower, finding the curve of your ass, pulling you in close til youâre flush to his front. his other arm wraps around your waist, your own hands shifting from his face to tangle in his hair and grip the front of his jersey, fingers twisting the fabric when he draws you in for a deep, steady kiss, one that says heâs trying to drown himself in you.
itâs the most charged kiss youâve shared yet, as if heâs pouring unspoken words into itâtrying to get himself across as if this is the only way he knows how. you can hear the steady thrum of your heart again, beating so hard you swear itâs going to give out. never, out of everyone youâve ever dated, have you kissed someone like this, with such raw passion that it feels like it could swallow you whole, claiming every bit of you. not even with ness. his kiss when this intense is like heâs wrapping you in his warmth, a big, long hug on a cold winterâs day.Â
when you part, you take notice of his heavy gaze, how heâs focused solely on you, not caring that he fucked you through layers of clothes agaisnt the wall where anyone couldâve walked in, or how heâs just kissed you with such intensity that it made you lightheaded. it takes you a moment to regulate your breathing. when you finally do, everything comes crashing down on you all at once, panic settling in so hard your heart fucking aches.
what on earth does this mean for your relationship with kaiserâwhat does this mean for you and fucking ness. . .
kaiser seems to take notice of the thoughts running through your head, hand lifting to grip your jaw before you shake your head, trying to push him away.
âwhatââ
âno,â you start, trying to pry his hands away from your body, âno, no, no. we canât do this. i canât do this,â you sniffle, gripping his wrist where he holds your face, looking up at him with tears in your eyes. ân-not with you. . . not to alexis.â saying his name for the first time since being here with kaiser feels wrong. youâll always be the jealous type, no matter how bad you try to ignore it. that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you see ness looking at someone else. seeing the way heâd light up when talking about certain people. you pushed it off as something else.
this all comes to mind now, because here with kaiser, you realize youâd been lying to yourself. the two of you canât just stay friends after all that youâve done. you donât know how you got this far thinking whatâs happened was normal or platonic.
the reason youâre upset is so clear.
youâre in love with ness, and you feel like youâve just ruined what you have with him.
âdid you forget what i said earlier?â kaiserâs voice smoothly cuts through your panic.
youâre caught off guard, eyes widening. every little thing heâs said to you since confronting you comes rushing back in, your breath catching as his words play on a loop until theyâre all you can hear.
âmine. youâre missing it. the last piece of your little puzzle. me.â
realization settles in.
kaiserâs here to bind the three of you together. you can feel his hunger pressing into the feelings you and ness share. the weight on your shoulders will finally lift as nothing between you two can be kept secret from him. everything has to be out into the open if heâs meant to consume you fullyâand ness with you. he wants every part of what you two are together.
youâre not sure youâre ready for what change kaiser is about to bring. but as you look into his eyes, your words die off. lying about your feelings will get you nowhereânot just the ones you have for ness, but kaiser too.
youâve no idea when these feelings came to be. perhaps with ness they were always there, and the things youâve done as friends just revealed them. kaiser. . . you donât know when that ugly, jealous part of you started needing him, wanting him only for yourself and ness, drawn to him so selfishly.
you realize kaiserâs plan was not to get you to admit jealousy through another woman, but rather have you come to terms with your feelings for him and ness. he brought up ness first, knowing you wouldnât want to talk about that with him. so you shifted back to his original accusation of jealousy, which let him accuse you of having feelings for them by pointing to those toxic parts of you that you tried to hide. it could have been accomplished a different way, you feel, but whatâs done is done.
thereâs work to be done with yourself if you want whatever happens between you three to work out. all of you have things that need to be addressed, and maybe, by being together, those issues will solve themselves simply because the three of you will have each other.
still, your breath catches, hands trembling at the thought of what comes next.
the final piece has been placed, and now your puzzle is complete.
the five stages of grief were never meant to be a checklist your character moves through in chronological order across three chapters. Let me save you from writing a grieving character who is simply having scheduled emotions:
âč Grief is not primarily crying. i know that sounds wrong but hear me out. a lot of grief looks like doing laundry. cooking something the person liked and then not being able to eat it. watching a show they recommended and never told anyone you finished it. grief goes very quiet and very domestic for long stretches and then ambushes you at completely unreasonable moments like a petrol station or a Friday at 4pm for no reason at all.
âč people who are grieving often seem fine. not because they're suppressing or being brave or in denial, but because humans are genuinely capable of functioning and being devastated at the same time. your grieving character can make jokes. can go to work. can have a good day. can feel guilty about the good day. can feel guilty about not feeling guilty. grief has a very active internal bureaucracy that has nothing to do with what's visible on the outside.
âč Grief also changes shape over time in ways that aren't necessarily about getting better. the first year is often adrenaline, there are things to do, people around, ritual and structure. year two is frequently harder because the adrenaline is gone and the world has moved on and expects you to have moved on with it. your character being more visibly undone eighteen months later than at the funeral is not a pacing problem. it's accurate.
âč The relationship with the dead person doesn't stop. this is the one writers get most wrong. your grieving character is still in a relationship , still arguing with the person in their head, still updating them on things, still furious about something left unsaid, still finding out new things about them from other people and having to integrate a version of them they didn't fully know. grief is not the end of the relationship. it's the relationship continuing without any new information coming in.
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