Their book chapter may be done but that doesn't mean their lives are!! This is the place where their secrets, cofessions, head-canons and lives are exposed. You've got a secret or confession about them, go to the ask box or submit page and tell me. I'll make sure it gets it posted. Ask box is open. Disclaimer: None of the pictures are mine
Warnings: 18+, SMUT, oral (f & m receiving, cockwarming, overuse of pet names and compliments (Logan has a praise kink, I said what I said)
Plot: (very minimal plot ;) ) You have a bad day at work and Logan's the perfect way to make you feel better.
You arrived at the hockey house in a foul mood.
Work had been exhausting. All of your customers had been borderline braindead and rude to boot.
So, instead of calling Logan to come over to your place like you'd planned, you went straight to the source.
Graham opened the door when you arrived, "Hi hon, come on in."
You didn't have it in you to small talk. That's not why you came over. Instead, your eyes found Logan's across the room where he was sat on the couch playing video games.
"Upstairs," you commanded, not even caring that his friends were right there.
Logan's eyes widened visibly. He dropped the controller like it was red hot and hopped over the back of the couch, not even bothering to pause the game. As soon as he reached you, you grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs to his room, accompanied by incredulous guffaws and a low "Daaaamn, baby doll," from Dean.
Once upstairs, you just about forgot anyone but Logan existed.
You smiled contently at the dopey, loved-up look in his eyes before letting your hungry eyes travel slowly down his body. Lord, that man was gorgeous...
"Bed," you ordered.
"Now."
He didn't need to be told twice.
"Yes, ma'am."
His darkening eyes held yours as he backed to his bed and sat on the edge.
You crawled into his lap, your sides already burning at the strong hands gripping your waist. Your hands ghosted over his shoulders, pushing him down into the mattress.
You leaned into him, tongue toying with his ear. "I've had a very long, hard day, so now I'm going to take you apart to make myself feel better."
Logan was rock hard beneath you already, trying not to grind into you. You pushed your hips down harder, biting back a moan at the sharp outline of him digging into you.
The hand planted on his chest immediately registered his heartbeat skipping. This was going to be fun.
You licked his neck, fluttering featherlight kisses over him. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you Logan? Going to listen to me and make me feel good?"
He nodded so fast it would've been comical, if not for the raspy, low words leaving his lips. "I'll be so good for you, baby. Please... Use me..."
The sound sent shivers straight down to your core. You bit your lip, smiling sinfully. "You know exactly what to say, don't you? Such a good boy," you purred, reveling in the way Logan groaned beneath you.
This man... Strong, sturdy, your rock... Trembling beneath you at the slightest words of praise. You would never not be amazed by it.
The kiss you gave him was deep and passionate, all languid tongue and exploratory licks. Logan hummed against your mouth as you rolled your hips. "I love you, baby," he whispered when you released his lips.
"I love you too." The reply was muffled in his neck as you started your torturous exploration of his skin. You took your sweet time, kissing him from the top op his head down to his shoulders.
Your hands slipped under his shirt, effortlessly sliding it off of him, and you just sat back for a while, watching him. "You're so beautiful," you marveled. "So damn beautiful..."
You didn't miss the reverent glint in Logan's eyes before you went back to devouring him.
You kissed, licked, bit... And left so many hickeys on his torso he looked like modern art, all while swatting his hands every time he tried to touch you and grinding yourself down on him.
"Baby..." Logan whined.
You smiled at his desparate little pout, which only made him pout harder. He rolled his hip against you, frantically trying to feel you closer.
Immediately you moved your hips up, settling on his stomach rather than his lap. Your hand came down around his throat.
The way Logan's head rolled back into the pillow, baring his neck to you, pushing into your hand... He was driving you feral.
You tutted your lips. "I thought you said you were going to be a good boy?"
He nodded against your hand. "Sorry, baby," he repented. "You just feel so good, want you closer."
"Hmm, I know, baby, but today's not about you, is it?"
He shook his head.
"Don't you wanna make me feel good, Loge?"
"Yes!" He nodded ferociously. "Yes, baby, that's all I want, I promise. I'll be better."
Your lips brushed against his before you winked at him.
"You're already perfect, though."
"Help me with this." You tugged at the hem of your shirt.
Goosebumps welled up under his touch, his hands taking great liberties while pushing up your shirt. He undressed you slowly, his big eyes glued to you.
"You wanna help me relax, beautiful?"
"Please."
Logan hungrily kissed the insides of your thighs as you hovered over him. His impatience took over quickly, pulling you down on him and burying his tongue inside you.
You gasped.
"Christ, Logan!"
Logan's skill at eating you out was truly unparalleled. His strong hands had you pinned against his face as he rolled his tongue, making you cry out. You couldn't care less that you could probably be heard downstairs, not when Logan was making you feel this good.
Your hands shot down into his hair. Your fingers laced into the soft locks and tugged, pulling a rough groan from Logan's puffy lips.
"Fuck, baby, you're so gorgeous..."
You didn't just say it because of the way Logan's breath hitched against you, but because looking at him it felt impossible not to. He was so unbelievably beautiful you felt compelled to remind him, over and over and over again. Luckily for you, Logan couldn't be more turned on by it. He loved your praise, would do anything to hear those pretty words fall from your lips.
You rolled your hips against him at the same time Logan decided to move his tongue over to your clit, rolling it against you exactly like he knew you liked. You gasped loudly, bracing yourself against the wall with one hand, the other still firmly in his hair. "Keep doing that, gorgeous."
You moved your hips more frantically, riding his face like it was a rodeo.
Logan's tongue kept lapping at your clit, making you see stars.
When he noticed the familiar tightening of your stomach his hand moved away from your hips. With a quick squeeze of your ass, he slipped his hand underneath you, two of his fingers sinking into you as you rocked your hips down.
"Logan!" You screamed out his name as his fingers curled inside of you. "Jesus Christ, baby," you whined desparately.
You were riding him rough and fast, the hand in his hair holding his face firmly against you.
The orgasm building inside you set your insides on fire.
Logan's fingers curled perfectly, hitting just that spot inside of you every time you dropped down on him.
You pulled on his hair. "Look at me."
His eyes fluttered open to capture yours. The pleading, lust-blown look in his eyes made your stomach flutter. "You're the most perfect man that's ever existed, you know that, right?"
Logan whined into you. His lips moved to suck on your clit, making you throw your head back in pleasure. "Fuck, that's it, baby, please don't stop!"
Your eyes found his again, holding his gaze as your whole body contracted. You came screaming his name.
His enamoured eyes didn't leave yours as he greedily lapped up your release. He worked you through it so well you had to push him away because you were getting too sensitive.
You kissed yourself off of his lips hungrily.
"Tastes good, don't it, baby?" Logan grinned against your lips.
"Not as good as you, lovely." You moved down his body to run your tongue over his head.
You revelled in the hiss that escaped Logan's lips.
"Your dick's unreal, baby," you mewled between kitten licks and kisses. "So fucking perfect."
"Baby..." Logan whimpered. Every bit of praise pumped up his ego in a way he hardly knew how to handle. It made him feel lightheaded and like his heart might just beat right out of his chest.
"Best dick I've ever had in my life," you teased him.
"Best man I've ever had in my life, too."
The sound that came out of Logan was as much a groan as it was a whine.
"Gonna kill me." His head rolled back.
"Hey," you caught his attention. "Eyes."
Immediately, his eyes were on yours again.
"I mean it."
The soft sincerity in your voice thightened his throat.
He nodded.
"I love you," he mouthed.
"I love you, John Logan," you whispered before sinking your mouth fully down on him.
"Christ!"
Logan's hand grabbed at your hair, head hitting the pillows again. His hips arched off the mattress, pushing himself deeper into you.
You teased him mercilessly, knowing exactly how to take him to bring him close, only to release him again.
Despite Logan bucking his hips to meet your every movement, you always eased him back when he was nearing his orgasm.
You could tell by the way his hand trembled in your hair that he was fighting the urge to hold your head and fuck your mouth, but you knew your good boy would never...
Instead he was begging for you.
You had him utterly and completely unravelled. He was never more beautiful.
He was whining and whimpering, begging for you to please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top, let him cum.
You admired his writhing body underneath you, the hard plane of his stomach pulled impossibly taut as he tried to hold on to his restraint with everything he had.
"Such a good boy," you purred against him. "Been so good, baby. So damn good for me."
Reducing this grown man to mewls was the most powerful you'd ever felt in your life.
"I think you've earned it, don't you?"
He peered up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Please, please, baby doll, I can't..."
His breath caught on a moan at the finger you trailed over his length.
"'m trying, baby, but I can't take any more..."
"It's alright, lovely," you soothed.
His wide eyes were so open, so completely devoid of self-consciousness, Logan bared himself before you fully.
"Have I been good?"
"So good," you nodded.
"You're such a good boy, baby, did so well. You can come for me now."
You worked your mouth back over him, sucking him down hard and dirty, your hand squeezing his balls.
Logan went off like fireworks, shooting his load down the back of your throat, the most gorgeous groan on his lips.
You swallowed around him, working him through his orgasm until he couldn't take it anymore. He tugged on your hair, pulling you off of his overstimulated dick and flush against his chest.
He kissed you sloppily, still floating in his post orgasmic state. "Baby..." His chest heaved underneath you and you could feel his heart pounding a mile a minute. "That might be the best I've ever felt in my life."
He pressed another affectionate kiss to your lips.
"Yeah? Like it when I compliment you, huh?"
"More than I like skating."
"John Logan!" You gasped mockingly, "Don't let Jensen hear you say that."
"New rule: don't ever mention Jensen again when you don't have any clothes on."
"I wonder if he's ever noticed how much you enjoy following orders."
"Don't."
There was your little grumpuss.
You couldn't help but chuckle. "I solemnly swear never to invoke Jensen's name while naked ever again."
"Thank you." He pulled you closer. "You had a rough day, huh? You wanna talk about it?"
You shook your head, the foul mood you'd arrived in long gone. "Thanks, though. I'm feeling a lot better now," you winked.
Logan kissed the tip of your nose. "Yeah, I'll say."
"Do you maybe wanna go hang out downstairs in a bit? Have a drink?" You asked after a while.
"Sure," Logan nodded.
But when you tried to sit up he spun you around, pulling your back flush against his chest.
"Logan!"
You shrieked.
His voice was low and hot in your ear. "If you think after all that I'm letting you go without a second orgasm, you're out of your mind."
His hand was already trailing between your legs again.
"Jesus, John," you sighed happily as his face settled in the crook of your neck, kissing it intently.
He was all over you, arms wrapped around you, touching and teasing every part of you he could reach. His rapidly hardening erection was pressing into your back.
You reached your hand back to try and touch him but he held you against him too tightly for you to reach. You clawed at his hip. "Baby, please get inside me already."
"So needy," he chuckled against your skin.
You ground your ass against him, eliciting a sharp, surprised gasp from him. "You were saying?"
Logan squeezed your ass roughly "Such a brat," he laughed before lifting your hips and sinking you fully down on him.
"Logan!" You hissed out, the air knocked out of you.
He held you down on him, refusing to move while you both got used to the overwhelming sensation.
Normally, you would have told him to move a while ago, but you were so wrapped up in the way he felt squeezed all the way inside of you, fingers toying with your clit.
You were impossibly full.
It was overwhelming in all the best ways.
You grabbed the hand he had splayed on your hips, holding you in place, and slowly slid it over to where he was making your tummy bulge.
"You feel that?" You whimpered.
Logan didn't say anything, only capable of emitting a low, feral noise as he pressed his hand down, feeling himself all the way through you.
"You're so fucking massive, Johnny, it's insane..." You whined.
"Keep talking." His voice was strained, as was the rest of him, trying with all his might not to move.
"I've never been so full in my life...
You can never leave my pussy again, I'd be so empty I couldn't take it."
You yelped as his teeth dug into your shoulder, trying to hold himself together.
He nodded his head, silently pleading for you to keep going.
"No one's ever filled me up so good before and no one else is ever going to again, only you."
The sharp sting in your shoulder intensified.
"Fuck, yeah, that's right." He nodded.
"You're the only one that's ever going to make me cum again, the only one that's ever known my body the way you do."
He was lading your neck with kisses, soothing the blooming marks his teeth had left, whispering I love you's into your skin with each kiss.
You babbled on as Logan's hand brought you closer and closer to your limit. "Logan, baby, I'm so close," you whimpered.
"I know, baby, me too." He nodded despite still not having moved.
"I want..." You cut yourself off with a moan.
"Tell me, sweetheart."
"Fingers, please."
The strangled noise in the back of his throat didn't fully make it past his lips as he watched you suck two of his fingers into his mouth.
"This how you're gonna come, doll? Entirely full of me?"
You nodded around his fingers, choking yourself on them.
"So unbelievably hot, darling. Come for me, baby."
This time you came at his command, a broken moan around his fingers, your pussy pulsing and squirming around his dick.
"That's it, baby," Logan managed to rasp out before his own orgasm ripped through him, knocking into him like a tidal wave as you were squeezing him unfathomably tight.
"That... Fucking hell, Logan..." You panted. You turned his head so you could kiss the little life he had left out of him.
When he pulled away, his chest was heaving, sweaty forehead resting against yours.
"You are the greatest person in the whole entire world," he smiled. "I love you so much."
"Love you more." You returned his smile.
"You still wanna go grab that drink?" Logan asked after you'd both regained some of your life force.
You nodded. "Although I don't think I can ever look your friends in the eye after this. There's no chance they didn't hear that, right?"
"I've overheard all of them a million times, so they can just deal with it.
Besides, if they heard this, I can guarantee you the only thing they're thinking is DIWIHAGLL."
You rolled your eyes at the ridiculously long - not to mention fake - acronym.
"Alright," you sighed. "Hit me with it."
The smile on Logan's face was way too smug for how sappy it was as he explained himself gleefully: "Damn, I wish I had a girl like Logan's."
I said "I love you". You say nothing back | John Logan
summary: the arrangement was simple: keep it casual, don't catch feelings, don't ask for more than what's on the table. 338 days later, you're starting to think simple was never really an option with john logan.
notes: hii, i'm back!! i was genuinely so overwhelmed by the response to my first one shot. you guys are so kind and it inspired me to keep writing. so here we are, back with more yearning, more angst, and more logan being an idiot about his feelings. my requests are open if you have any ideas or characters you want to see i'd love to hear from you. thank you so much for reading and enjoy ❤️❤️
warnings: swearing, alcohol, light angst, situationships, a puck bunny accusation and a confession in the rain.
word count: 8k
The thing with Logan had started exactly 338 days ago. Almost one year. One full lap around the sun. You knew because you had been counting, the days and the hours and even the minutes since this situationship from hell, as your dear friends had taken to calling it, had installed itself in your life like an antivirus app you hadn't downloaded and couldn't figure out how to delete.
It had started on Halloween, and at the time it hadn't seemed like a bad idea. It was just past eleven and the house off campus that your friends had dragged you to smelled like dry ice and weed, and you were tired and ready to leave, which was an anomaly. You were usually the last one standing, your friends had given you the nickname ending antagonist for a reason. In hindsight, that probably should have been a warning sign. The one night you wanted to go home early was the night everything started.
Though to be fair, things with Logan are not bad. That's the thing people don't understand when they hear situationship from hell. On the contrary, things with Logan are very good. Too good. Too good to look at directly without feeling something inconvenient shift behind your ribs, which is precisely why it's bad. Because he had been so genuinely, almost aggressively nice about the whole thing. He had found you at the edge of that party and sat next to you and talked to you for hours like you were the most interesting thing in the room, and he had made a real effort not to look at your boobs while you were talking, which in that particular environment was either extremely respectful or a sign that he was raised correctly, and either way it had done something to you.
And then you had woken up on his chest the next morning. His warm skin and steady heartbeat, the sort of light that meant it was too early to be awake, and done the awkward post-hookup shuffle of words, and heard: I'm not really looking for anything serious.
A bucket of cold water dropped directly on your head would have been less effective. More merciful, probably.
What else could you have done except agree? For god's sake, he was sitting there in black boxers holding a cup of coffee, extending it toward you like a peace offering, brown eyes looking at you with an expression that was genuinely, unfairly soft for seven in the morning. You took the cup. He readjusted against the headboard and looked at you with those eyes and said, simply: "So?"
So. So what? What were you supposed to say?
"Sure," you heard yourself say. "I'm interested in that too."
Sure. I'm interested in that too. Your internal voice repeated it back to you with the tone of a younger sibling trying to get a rise out of you. That was, objectively, the least true thing you had ever said out loud. You had been raised on Bridget Jones and every famous rom-com ever committed to film. You believed in love, in its inconvenience and its necessity and its complete refusal to be reasoned with. Casual did not cut it for you. It never had.
But god. If Bridget could have seen John Logan in that particular light, with that particular bed head, she would have understood completely.
So you agreed. And after that came the encounters.
At first they were private, almost secretive, you telling your friends you were going for a run and then actually running, just in the wrong direction entirely. Logan telling his that he was going to study somewhere, which was technically true, depending on your definition of anatomy. It gave everything a specific kind of thrill, the pleasant urgency of something that existed slightly outside the normal rules, and for a while that was enough.
But time has a way of dissolving things like that. Gradually, without either of you deciding to, you stopped hiding. And that was when the real problem arrived.
You and Logan became friends.
Not the convenient, surface-level kind, the real kind, the kind that builds without you noticing until one day you look around and realize that this person has become load-bearing in your life. You were always at the house. You knew the full taxonomy of Dean's recent romantic encounters, the specificity of Garrett's current problems, the ongoing narrative of Tucker's various endeavors. You didn't just know about them, you helped. You were involved. You had opinions and history and context, and they knew it, and they came to you with things.
And it went the other way too. Logan had gotten so close to your friends that he would voluntarily drive Marissa to her therapy appointments in Boston without being asked, would send Benny reels about topics they'd talked about the week before, remembered details that even you sometimes forgot. He had threaded himself into the fabric of your life so completely and so quietly that you could no longer locate the seam.
And finally, finally, things had started to feel like they were moving in the right direction. The direction they probably should have been heading since the morning after Halloween. Maybe the casual arrangement had just been a detour — a scenic route to the same destination. All's well that ends well.
And then you and Logan would go to Malone's, and a waitress would glance between you with a smile and say what a nice couple you made, and Logan would laugh in that easy, noncommittal way of his and say: we're just friends.
And there it was. Bucket of cold water. Every time, without fail, like a reset button neither of you had agreed to keep pressing.
Every single time.
Which brings you to now.
You are sitting on Logan's couch, draped over him, legs intertwined, peppering kisses down his neck while he makes a valiant and increasingly unsuccessful effort to tell you about the new episode of some reality show he has gotten inexplicably invested in. Something about traitors in a castle. Who cares. Not you. Not when Logan smelled like that and the house was quiet and his hands were doing that thing where they moved without him seeming to notice.
You sank further into him. The kisses started to linger. His words got sparse.
"Are you even listening to me?" Logan murmured, his voice coming out considerably less steady than he had probably intended.
You hummed against his pulse point by way of answer.
The front door opened.
You both startled, pulling apart with the practiced efficiency of people who had been interrupted before, but the moment you registered it was Dean you settled back into exactly the position you'd been in. Dean didn't care about PDA. He actively encouraged it.
He dropped onto the opposite couch, looked at the ceiling briefly, then at you.
"Okay, I have a question," he said. "Logan, dude, this is for science, please don't be weird about it."
At this point you were sitting upright, Logan's arms still looped around you, his chin finding your shoulder, using you as a very comfortable shield against whatever Dean was about to say.
"Shoot," you said.
Dean took a breath with the energy of someone preparing to say something they had already decided to say regardless of the response. "Do you think I should buy a vibrator for a friend of mine?"
Logan laughed against your neck. You shivered slightly at the warmth of his breath.
"Are you the friend?" you asked. "Are you buying a vibrator for yourself?"
"What? No. I'm a man."
"That doesn't mean anything. Men are allowed to have vibrators."
"I know that. It's not for me."
"I really think you should get one though. For yourself. If you want to be the Samantha of the group you have to commit to the bit."
"I am the Samantha," Dean said, with genuine offense. "And it's not for me."
"Have you even watched Sex and the City?"
"Yes. I'm from New York, for god's sake and you're being such a Carrie right now."
You settled back against Logan's chest, his arms tightening around you automatically, like a reflex, like something he did without thinking about it anymore.
Yes, you thought. And my own Mr. Big is currently holding me on this couch.
Garrett and Hannah came down the stairs in what you assumed were their stay-at-home outfits: sweatpants, hockey jersey, the specific comfort of two people who had stopped performing around each other. The moment they came into view you felt Logan's hand still. Not move away just still. And then he shifted from behind you to sitting beside you, technically still touching but the warmth of it had changed completely. It was less person you are tangled up with and more person you happen to be sitting next to on public transport.
You knew that shift. You had felt it before.
The first time, you had told yourself you were imagining things.
It was a Tuesday, nothing special about it, the kind of evening that had become completely ordinary, you at the house, Logan beside you on the couch, his thumb making absent circles on your knee while Dean argued with Tucker about something that didn't matter. Hannah had stopped by to pick up something she'd left there the week before, and the moment the door opened Logan's hand had stilled. Not moved away. Just stilled. Like an animal that had heard something.
You hadn't said anything. You'd filed it away in the part of your brain reserved for things you weren't ready to look at yet.
The second time was at one of Garrett's games. You had been standing with Logan at the edge of the rink afterward, his jacket half around your shoulders the way it always ended up, and Hannah had appeared through the crowd. Logan had straightened. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it the slight shift in his posture, the way his jacket had slipped back off your shoulders without him seeming to notice he'd let it go.
You'd picked it up off the floor and handed it back to him without a word.
The third time you stopped counting.
Malone's on a Friday night had a particular energy loud enough to feel festive, familiar enough to feel like home. Your usual table was in the corner, the big one that fit all of you without anyone having to pull up an extra chair, and the evening had been good. Genuinely good, the kind that reminded you why you had agreed to this arrangement in the first place, Logan's knee against yours under the table, his arm finding the back of your chair sometime around the second round of drinks, the easy warmth of being somewhere you belonged.
You were mid-story , a good one, the kind that had the whole table leaning in and you could feel it landing, the timing was right, and Garrett was already laughing before you got to the punchline and Dean had that look on his face that meant he was going to steal this story and tell it as his own later, and Tucker was—
You glanced at Logan.
He wasn't laughing.
He was looking across the table at Hannah with an expression you recognized because you had spent the better part of a year learning every single detail of his face, and what was on it right now was something soft and slightly helpless the expression of someone watching something they had decided they couldn't have.
The story finished without you. Somewhere far away, the table laughed.
You picked up your drink. Set it down. Picked it up again.
"I'm going to step outside," you said. "Just — smoke a bit."
"You don't even smoke, (Y/N)!" Tucker replied, laughing, and it killed you because all of Logan's friends had come to know you so well.
"You okay?" Garrett asked.
"Fine. Just air."
You were already standing. Already reaching for your jacket. Logan was on his feet before you made it two steps.
"I'll come with you," he said.
The parking lot outside Malone's was cold and poorly lit. You got about twenty feet from the door before you stopped walking. The noise from inside filtered out muffled and distant, everyone still laughing, completely unaware.
Logan stopped beside you. Waited. He had always been good at waiting, which was one of the things you had loved about him and one of the things that had slowly, quietly driven you insane.
"Don't," you said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't do the thing where you stand there and wait for me to calm down." You turned to face him. The cold air hit your face and you were glad for it. "I'm not going to calm down. So just talk to me. Tell me the truth. Please. Don't bullshit me right now, Logan, I am asking you to not bullshit me right now."
"Baby—"
"Don't baby me, Logan. Not right now"
He looked at you with that steady, unhurried patience of his, which tonight felt less like a quality and more like a weapon.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked.
"I want you to tell me if you have a crush on Hannah." The word crush felt absurdly small for the moment but you couldn't bear the weight of the more accurate alternatives.
Something shifted in his face. Not guilt exactly, something deeper than that. The specific expression of someone who had been quietly hoping a question wouldn't arrive and had known, somewhere underneath the hoping, that it always was going to.
"It's not—" he started.
"Logan."
He exhaled. Looked at the ground briefly. Looked back at you.
"It's not serious," he said. "It's nothing. She's with Garrett. It's not like I would ever—"
"Oh my god." The laugh that came out of you had nothing to do with anything being funny. "Oh my god, you actually do. You actually have a crush on her."
"It's not a big deal—"
"You have a crush on your best friend's girlfriend and it's not a big deal." You repeated it back to him slowly. "I have been right here, Logan. For almost a year I have been right here, and you have a crush on Hannah."
"It's just a feeling. It doesn't mean anything." His voice had an edge to it now, something defensive sharpening underneath the calm. "And you don't get to be mad at me for it."
"Excuse me?"
"You don't get to be mad at me for having feelings." The words were coming faster now, the composure cracking in a way you almost never saw from him. "We said casual. That was the agreement. I can't be accountable to you for things I feel when you are not my girlfriend."
The word landed like a slap.
Girlfriend.
"Right," you said. Your voice had gone very quiet. "I'm not your girlfriend."
"That's not what I—"
"No, you're right. I'm not." You looked at him. Really looked at him — this person whose coffee order you knew by heart, whose nightmares you had talked him through at two in the morning, whose hand had reached for yours in his sleep so many times you had stopped counting. "Can I ask you something? And I need you to actually answer me. Not just wait until I stop talking."
He said nothing, which you took as a yes.
"What did you think this was?" Your voice was still quiet. Controlled. "Not what we agreed on in the beginning. What did you think it was last week? Last month? What did you think it was tonight when you had your arm around me at that table? When you picked me up from my house and kissed me in your truck?" You took a breath. "Because I need to understand how you look at what we have been doing and see something casual. I genuinely need you to explain that to me."
"It's complicated—"
"It's not complicated. It's actually very simple. I just need you to say it out loud."
"You knew what this was when we started—"
"I know what it was when we started. I'm asking what it is now." You crossed your arms against the cold. "Because from where I'm standing it looks a lot like a relationship. It looks like you drive my friends places and remember things about them they never told you twice, and I know every single thing about your life, and we spend more nights together than apart, and you reach for me when you're asleep like I'm something you don't want to lose." Your voice cracked slightly and you pushed past it. "So you'll have to forgive me for being confused about the casual part."
"I can't—" He stopped. Started again. "It's not about not wanting to. It's about what I can actually give right now. Hockey takes everything. My family, my mother, I don't have money, I don't have stability, I don't have any of the things that—"
"I'm not asking you for stability. I'm not asking you for money." Something in your chest had cracked open and you were past the point of closing it. "I'm asking you to admit what this already is. That's all."
"I am being honest—"
"Then be more honest." Your voice broke on the last word and you kept going anyway. "Because I'm in love with you."
The parking lot went completely silent.
Logan stared at you. The words sat between you in the cold air like something that had changed the temperature.
"What?" His voice came out barely above a breath.
"I'm in love with you." Steadier the second time. "I have been for a long time. And I know that's not what we agreed on. But I can't stand here and pretend I don't while you tell me it's not a big deal that you have feelings for someone else." You looked at him. "We are already a couple, Logan. In every single way that actually matters, we already are. The only thing missing is you admitting it."
Something moved across his face — something large and unguarded and almost frightened.
"It's not that simple," he said, quieter now, the defensiveness gone out of it.
"I know it's not simple. I know about hockey. I know about your mom. I know all of it, Logan, because you told me, because that's what we do. But none of that changes what I just said." You took a breath. "So just tell me. Do you have feelings for me? Yes or no. That's all I'm asking."
Logan looked at you.
And said nothing.
The silence stretched between you, long and terrible. His jaw was tight. His eyes moved across your face like he was looking for something he either couldn't find or couldn't say, and the longer the silence went on the more clearly you understood that the silence was itself an answer.
"Wow," you said finally. Very quietly. "Okay."
You picked up your bag. Straightened your jacket. Looked at him one more time this person you had spent 338 days loving in whatever form he would accept.
"Don't follow me," you said.
He didn't.
You walked back toward the warm light spilling out of Malone's windows, past your friends still laughing, past the table that an hour ago had felt like home, and you kept walking. Past the door, past the window, down the street, into the cold.
Too angry to cry. Too tired to pretend. Too done to look back.
Behind you, in the parking lot, Logan stood very still and said nothing which was the thing he was best at, and the thing that had finally cost him everything.
It had been a hard couple of days. But the upside of a not-breakup in college was that you didn't get to wallow, no watching rom-coms until the wee hours, no doing the Bella, watching the months pass from your bedroom window. Life was as it had always been, minus the space Logan had occupied in your weekly schedule. Not a metaphysical space, a literal one. When you opened your Google Calendar you found his game days still blocked out in blue, his training days still marked, everything still there like a calendar that hadn't gotten the news yet.
Pathetic, you thought, and deleted them.
Your days now belonged entirely to yourself, which should have felt like freedom and mostly felt like a lot of unscheduled Tuesday afternoons. No more disappearing in the middle of the day, no more make-out sessions in the library during lunch break. Just you and your own company and the slow, unglamorous work of being fine.
You weren't fine. You were something adjacent to fine that required daily maintenance and the careful avoidance of certain songs.
Marissa had noticed, she called it being under the weather, which was such a specific and old-fashioned way of putting it that in the beginning you had found it strange and now found it completely endearing. Your own personal nanna, showing up with iced coffee and terrible ideas at exactly the right moments.
The terrible idea this time was an underground bar in Boston she had found, which was a surprise since Marissa was fundamentally a sports bar person. You had a strong suspicion the entire excursion was engineered entirely for your benefit and the benefit of your appetite for expensive, colorful drinks, and you loved her for it and didn't say so.
The drive took exactly long enough to hype yourself up.
I'm pretty. I'm smart. I'm a catch.
The bar was dimly lit in a way that felt intentional rather than neglected, all low ceilings and good music and the general atmosphere of a place that didn't need to try. You, Marissa and Benny settled into a corner booth and approximately ninety seconds later Benny's elbow was in your ribs.
"Cute guy. Nine o'clock," he said, in what he apparently believed was a whisper.
You glanced toward the bar. Tall, white jacket, the kind of easy posture that meant he wasn't thinking about his posture at all.
"I'm not really looking for anything," you said.
"You're single. He's cute. The bar has drinks. What exactly is the problem?" Benny tilted his head. "Go order our drinks and make some poor decisions. You've earned it."
"I didn't bring my ID."
Benny stared at you. "You came to a bar without your ID?"
"I forgot." You shrugged.
"(Y/N)." His voice had the specific tone of someone choosing their words carefully. "What is wrong with you. Go. Drinks. Now. The ID thing is a you problem, figure it out."
You slid out of the booth before he could say anything else.
The guy at the bar was, up close, even more irritatingly attractive than he had been from across the room. He glanced over when you appeared beside him, and then glanced again in a way that was not subtle and didn't try to be.
"You look like you're deciding something," he said.
"Whether to admit I forgot my ID at a bar."
He looked at you for a moment. Then he smiled easy and genuine. "Hunter," he said, and held out his hand.
"((Y/N))."
"I'll vouch for you," he said. "If you tell me what you're drinking."
You told him. He ordered both without being asked, which was either presumptuous or exactly right, and you decided it was exactly right.
By the time you made it back to the booth with four drinks and Hunter's number in your phone, Benny was looking at you with the expression of someone who had orchestrated something and was very pleased about it.
You didn't tell him he was right. But you didn't have to.
The thing about Hunter Davenport was that he was genuinely, irritatingly likeable.
You had not been thinking about Logan when you said yes to Hunter's suggestion of getting coffee. You had not been thinking about Logan when the coffee turned into a walk, and the walk turned into two hours of easy conversation that asked nothing from you and gave something back.
That was the point.
You had gotten very good at not thinking about Logan in the weeks since Malone's. It was a skill, like any other, it required practice and the occasional forcible redirection of your own brain, but you were nothing if not disciplined when the situation called for it. You had been showing up to things. Laughing at the right moments. Sleeping through the night, mostly.
You were fine. You were getting finer by the day, which was either progress or a very convincing impression of it, and right now you weren't examining the difference too closely.
Hunter was easy. That was the thing about him. He was warm and uncomplicated and he looked at you like you were worth looking at, which was something you had apparently needed more than you realized.
It was nothing serious. You had been very clear about that with yourself. You were not ready for serious. But his hand was warm when it found yours walking back from the coffee place, and you let it stay there.
You were almost believing it.
The team was at the rink for an open practice, one of the informal ones that sometimes drew a small crowd of friends and the generally affiliated. You had come with Marissa, which gave you plausible deniability about why you were there, and you had sat in the third row and watched without watching, which was a skill you had also been practicing.
Hunter had waved at you from the ice. You had waved back.
You had not looked at Logan. You had been extremely disciplined about not looking at Logan, which meant you were also extremely aware of exactly where he was at every moment without technically looking at him, which was its own kind of exhausting.
After practice, Hunter had come off the ice still in half his gear and found you immediately, easy and unhurried, and said something that made you laugh. Your hand had gone to his arm the way hands do when you're laughing at something someone said, and it had stayed there for approximately four seconds.
Four seconds.
You knew it was four seconds because you had counted them, which meant some part of you had been paying attention to something you were pretending not to pay attention to.
The locker room door swung shut behind Logan without him looking back.
You found a quiet corner of the rink lobby while Hunter went to get his bag. You were looking at your phone, not reading anything on it, when you heard footsteps and looked up.
Logan.
He had changed out of his gear. His jaw was doing the thing: the tight, controlled thing that meant something was happening underneath the composure that the composure was working very hard to contain. His eyes moved from your face to the door Hunter had gone through and back.
"Hey," you said carefully.
"You and Hunter," he said. Not a question.
"That's not really your business."
"You're spending a lot of time with him."
"Logan—"
"I'm just making an observation." His voice was very even. The voice he used when he was the least controlled.
"Make it somewhere else."
He laughed short and humorless. "Right. Okay." He looked at the floor. Looked back at you. "I just didn't think you were the type."
You went very still. "The type to?"
"To go after a guy because of who he plays for." Quiet. Measured. Like he had chosen this version of the sentence carefully. "I didn't think that was your thing."
The lobby was very quiet.
You looked at him for a long moment. Long enough to make sure you had heard what you thought you'd heard. Long enough to see something flicker in his expression, the immediate, unmistakable recognition that he had gone too far.
"Say that again," you said softly.
"I didn't mean—"
"No." Your voice was calm in a way that had nothing to do with being calm. "Say it again. I want to make sure I understood you. Are you calling me a puck bunny?"
Logan said nothing. The flicker had become something closer to horror.
"Because that's what you just said." You tilted your head slightly. "After everything. That's what you went with."
"I didn't — that's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" You took a step toward him. "Because I have been patient, Logan. I have been so patient with you. I said the most honest thing I have ever said to anyone in that parking lot and you said nothing back, which I am trying. I am actively trying to make my peace with. But you do not get to say that to me. You don't get to do that."
"I know." His voice had lost all its evenness. "I shouldn't have—"
"Why did you say it?"
He looked at you.
"Tell me why." Your voice cracked slightly and you kept going. "Because it wasn't an observation. So tell me why."
Something moved across his face the composure fracturing in a way you had only seen once or twice in all the time you had known him.
"Because I can't—" He stopped.
"Can't what?"
"Because I can't watch you with him and not—" He stopped again. Pressed his mouth shut. Looked at the ceiling briefly.
"Not what?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.
He looked at you. Right at you. And for one unguarded, terrible second you could see everything, all of it, the whole enormous weight of everything he hadn't said in the parking lot outside Malone's, sitting right there on his face with nowhere left to hide.
And then he looked away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It was wrong."
You looked at him for a long moment.
"Yeah," you said. "It was."
You picked up your bag. Hunter had reappeared at the far end of the lobby, jacket on, easy smile, completely unaware of the wreckage he had wandered back into. You walked toward him and did not look back at Logan.
But you heard him the sharp exhale of someone who had just watched something leave that they weren't sure was coming back.
Good, you thought.
And hated that you thought it.
Here was the thing about being called a puck bunny: it wasn't the word itself that got to you.
Puck bunnies weren't the worst thing a person could be.
Men were allowed their types, allowed to prefer blondes or brunettes or redheads, to only date younger women, to have a thing for accents, to announce their type to anyone who will listen like it’s a personality trait, to want someone tall or short or with a specific laugh, or say things like "I have never been with a Brazilian before". They were allowed to say these things out loud, to Tinder-filter by height, and if it was possible they would do by weight too, to have opinions about bodies that they shared freely and without apology.
But god forbid a woman had a type. God forbid a woman found hockey players attractive or musicians, or academics, or anyone with a specific quality she was drawn to. Then she was something to be named and categorized and looked down upon. Then she was a bunny.
You were not offended by the word.
You were offended that Logan, who had been silent while you poured your heart out in a cold parking lot, who had said nothing when you asked him the most direct question you had ever asked another human being , had found his voice again specifically to say that. That of all the things he could have finally said to you, after all the silence, this was the one he chose.
That was what got to you.
Not the word. The timing. The source. The specific, devastating irony of a man who couldn't say I have feelings for you finding it very easy to say something that small.
You didn't tell anyone what he said.
That was the first decision you made, walking out of that rink lobby with Hunter's hand in yours and Logan's exhale still somewhere in your chest. You were not going to tell Dean, who would say something devastatingly accurate about it. You were not going to tell Marissa, who would want to talk about it for three hours. You were not going to tell anyone, because telling someone meant turning it over, examining it, and you were not ready to examine the specific shape of what Logan had said to you and what it meant that he had said it.
You knew what it meant. That was the problem.
You had known the moment you saw his face, that flicker of something before the composure reassembled itself, the way his eyes had moved to Hunter and back to you with an expression that had nothing casual about it. You had spent 338 days learning the map of Logan's face and you knew exactly what that look was. You had just also heard what came out of his mouth immediately afterward, which meant that what Logan felt and what Logan was willing to do about it were, as always, two completely different countries.
You were done trying to travel between them.
The week that followed was quiet and it felt different from the other times you had gone quiet. Before, the silence had always been temporary, a held breath. This felt more like an exhale. Like something had finally, after a very long time, finished.
You went to class. You had coffee with Hunter on Tuesday, which was easy and warm and asked nothing from you. You went to Marissa's on Thursday and watched something forgettable on her laptop and fell asleep on her couch, and she put a blanket over you without waking you up, which was the kindest thing anyone had done for you in recent memory.
You did not go to the house off campus. You did not text Logan. You did not check if he had texted you, which required leaving your phone face-down on your desk for approximately four days straight, which was its own kind of discipline.
You were fine. You were getting finer.
You were also absolutely not fine.
Dean found you on a Wednesday.
Not dramatically, he just appeared at the coffee shop near your building where you went on Wednesday mornings, which you had mentioned to him exactly once four months ago, which meant he had remembered it and filed it away and was now using it, which was such a Dean thing to do that you almost smiled.
He sat down across from you without asking if it was okay and stole a sip of your coffee before saying anything.
"He told me what he said," Dean said, without preamble.
You looked at your coffee. "Okay."
"He feels terrible."
"Good."
"I mean genuinely terrible. Like, I've known Logan for three years and I've never seen him—" Dean stopped. Seemed to decide something. "He's not sleeping. He's barely eating. He showed up to practice yesterday and coach pulled him aside after because his head wasn't in it, which has never happened, not once in three years."
"Dean." You looked up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve to know that it cost him something." His voice was straightforward, without manipulation. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. What he said was awful and he knows it. I'm just, you spent a long time showing up for him and I don't want you to think that none of it landed. It all landed. It's landing right now. It's just landing a little late."
You were quiet for a moment.
"A little late," you repeated.
"Okay, very late."
"Dean." You wrapped your hands around your cup. "He called me a puck bunny."
"I know." Dean had the grace to look genuinely pained. "He said it because he was jealous and scared and he handled it in the worst possible way and there is no defense for it. I'm not here to defend it."
"Then what are you here for?"
Dean looked at you across the table, this person who had been in your corner since before you had any idea how much you would need someone in your corner, and his expression was very honest.
"I'm here because he's my best friend and he's falling apart," he said. "And you're also my friend. And I hate watching both of you be miserable when I know exactly why you're miserable." He paused. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just wanted you to know."
You looked out the window. The street outside was grey and unremarkable, the specific flatness of a Wednesday in November.
"How long has he known?" you asked quietly. "That he has feelings for me. How long has he actually known?"
Dean was quiet for a moment.
"A while," he said carefully.
"How long is a while, Dean."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Since pretty much the beginning," he said.
You closed your eyes briefly. Opened them.
"Okay," you said.
"(Y/N)—"
"I'm not angry." And you weren't, which was almost surprising. You were something quieter and more tired than angry. "I just needed to know." You picked up your coffee. "Tell him I said he needs to sleep."
Dean looked at you. "That's it?"
"That's it." You met his eyes. "I'm not ready for anything else right now. But tell him to sleep."
Dean nodded slowly. He finished stealing your coffee and stood up and put his jacket on, and then he stopped with his hand on the back of the chair.
"For what it's worth," he said. "The Hannah thing. It was never real. He told me that too. He said he thinks he latched onto it because it was safer than admitting what was actually happening."
You didn't say anything.
"Okay," Dean said. "I'll see you around."
He left. You sat there with your cold coffee and the grey Wednesday street outside and the specific, exhausting weight of loving someone who had known the whole time and chosen, over and over, to say nothing.
Since pretty much the beginning.
338 days. And he had known since pretty much the beginning.
You sat with that for a long time.
It had been raining since noon.
Not the dramatic, cinematic kind of rain that arrived with thunder and purpose, just the steady, grey, unrelenting kind that soaked through your jacket in the first thirty seconds and didn't apologize for it.
You were on your way back from the library, hood up, head down, thinking about nothing in particular, which you had gotten very good at recently. The art of thinking about nothing. Occupying your own brain with the immediate and the logistical the paper due Thursday, the coffee you were going to make when you got home, the question of whether you had remembered to charge your phone.
You had not been thinking about Logan.
You were almost at your building when you heard him.
"(Y/N)."
You stopped walking.
He was standing at the bottom of your building's front steps, which meant he had been waiting in the rain for some amount of time, which was evident from the state of him soaked through, hair flat, jacket dark with water. He looked like someone who had arrived with a plan and abandoned it somewhere on the walk over and was now operating on something more basic and less manageable.
He looked, for the first time in all the time you had known him, completely unguarded.
"Logan." Your voice came out carefully. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you."
"It's raining."
"I know."
"You're soaked."
"I know." He took a step toward you. "I've been standing here for forty minutes trying to figure out what to say and I still don't know, so I'm just going to say it badly and hope that counts for something."
You looked at him. The rain came down steadily between you.
"You have two minutes," you said.
He exhaled. Ran a hand through his wet hair. Looked at you with the expression of someone stepping off a ledge they had been standing on for a very long time.
"I have been in love with you," he said, "since pretty much the beginning."
The rain was very loud suddenly.
"I knew it when we agreed to casual. I knew it when we stopped hiding. I knew it every time I reached for you in my sleep and every time a stranger called us a couple and I laughed it off, and I knew it in that parking lot outside Malone's when you told me the truth and I stood there and said nothing back." His voice was steady but only barely, the steadiness of someone gripping something very hard. "I said nothing because I was terrified. Not of you. Never of you. Of what it meant. Of what I would owe you if I said it out loud. Hockey takes everything I have and my family situation is a disaster and I don't have money or stability or any of the things that a person is supposed to have before they ask someone to—" He stopped. "But Dean said something to me last week. He said that I was losing you anyway. That all my careful management of the situation had achieved was losing you slowly instead of all at once, and somehow I had convinced myself that was the better outcome."
You said nothing. The rain soaked through your hood and you didn't move.
"And then I said what I said to you at the rink." His jaw tightened. "I have replayed that moment every day since it happened. There is no version of it that I can make okay. I said it because I saw you with Hunter and something in me just broke. Not a good break. Not the kind that leads anywhere useful. Just — I broke, and I said the cruelest thing I could think of, and I aimed it at you, and I have hated myself for it every single day since." He looked at you. "I'm not telling you that to make you feel sorry for me. I'm telling you because you deserve to know that it was never about you. It was never about who you are. It was about me being terrified and handling it in the worst possible way, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry."
The rain fell between you, steady and indifferent.
"You knew since the beginning," you said finally. Your voice came out quieter than you intended.
"Yes."
"A year."
"Yes."
"And you said nothing."
"Yes." He didn't flinch from it. "I said nothing, and I let you carry it alone, and I told myself I was protecting you from the complications of my life, but I think I was just protecting myself. From having to be as brave as you were in that parking lot." Something moved across his face. "You were so brave. You said the true thing and I just stood there. And I have thought about that every day since. About what it cost you to say it and what it cost me to say nothing back."
You looked at him. This person. Soaked through and unguarded and finally, finally saying the thing he had been not saying for 338 days.
"The Hannah thing," you said.
"Wasn't real." Immediate. Certain. "I think I needed it to be real because it was safer than admitting what was actually happening. She has what you and I have, what you and I were and I think I confused wanting that with wanting her. It was never her." He held your gaze. "It was always you. It has only ever been you."
The rain had soaked through your jacket completely now. You were cold in a way that had stopped being uncomfortable and become simply the condition of the moment.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me tonight," Logan said. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just needed you to know that I heard you in that parking lot. I heard every word. And I should have said this then, and I'm sorry that I didn't, and I'm saying it now because Dean was right, I am losing you anyway, and I would rather lose you having finally told the truth than keep you at a distance by staying silent." He paused. "I love you. I have loved you for a long time. And I'm sorry it took me this long to be brave enough to say it."
The street was very quiet under the rain.
You looked at him for a long moment. Long enough to turn it over. Long enough to feel the full weight of 338 days, of every almost-conversation and loaded silence and reset button and bucket of cold water. Long enough to remember his hand going still when Hannah walked in, and the parking lot, and the rink lobby, and the specific sound of his exhale when you walked away.
Long enough to remember, underneath all of it, a Halloween party and a wall and two people waiting out the night from the edges of it, talking like they had nothing to prove to each other.
The beginning, before it got complicated. Before it got careful.
"You're an idiot," you said.
Something shifted in his expression. Not quite hope. Something more tentative than hope.
"I know," he said.
"You made everything so much harder than it needed to be."
"I know."
"I carried that alone for a very long time, Logan."
"I know." His voice broke slightly on it. "I know you did. I'm sorry."
The rain came down. You looked at him this soaked, unguarded, finally honest person standing at the bottom of your steps and felt something in your chest that had been braced for a very long time slowly, carefully release.
"You should have just said it," you said. "In the beginning. You should have just said it."
"I know." He took a step closer. Close enough that you could see the rain on his face, the wet dark of his hair, the expression underneath all the composure that had finally run out of places to hide. "I know. I'm saying it now."
You looked at him.
"Say it again," you said quietly.
"I love you." No hesitation. No composure. Just Logan, standing in the rain, finally saying the true thing. "I love you. I have loved you since pretty much the beginning and I am done pretending I don't."
The rain fell between you and neither of you moved and the street was quiet and everything was very still.
Then you closed the distance.
You kissed him in the rain, which was cold and slightly impractical and nothing like the careful, managed version of Logan you had spent 338 days trying to navigate. This was different. This was him kissing you back with both hands and no hesitation and none of the holding back, and it felt finally, finally like the true thing. Like the version of this that had been waiting underneath all the other versions the whole time.
When you pulled back you were both soaked and breathing slightly unsteadily and his forehead dropped to yours in the rain.
"I'm still mad at you," you said.
"I know." His arms tightened around you. "I know you are."
"The puck bunny thing is going to take a while."
"I know. Whatever it takes."
"And you have to tell me things." Your voice was muffled against his jacket. "When you're scared, when it gets complicated, when your brain does the thing where it decides silence is the safe option. You have to tell me instead."
"I will." He said it simply, without qualification, which was how you knew he meant it. "I will."
You stood there in the rain outside your building, soaked through and slightly ridiculous, and you thought about Halloween and 338 days and parking lots and rink lobbies and all the long, complicated distance between the beginning and right now.
Ladies and Gents we all know Logan is a certified munch
I do not give consent to have my work uploaded anywhere else or fed into AI for training purposes. Any work uploaded or plagiarized WILL be reported.
MINORS DNI (18+)
Munch!Logan would just give you the puppy eyes for appraisal before doing anything you weren’t comfortable with or in the mood for. He would set himself between those legs and just rest his head waiting for the “Okay”
Munch!Logan would dive in, slicking you with his drool, making sure every and all surface area has been covered.
Munch!Logan would use both hands to both finger you and stimulate your clit, however if he’s lucky he’d have both hands splitting you apart as you sit yourself on top of his face (a dream of his truly)
Munch!Logan would let you use him in any way, wether you grind on his face, riding his nose, using him or pushing yourself further onto his fingers while he continues to devour you as if it’s his first AND last meal.
Munch!Logan knows he could never get another, he even gets off at the thought of you cumming under his tongue.
Munch!Logan senses your close, not matter how much you try to close your legs or push his head away, it only makes him wanna open you up more, pushing his head deeper because he can’t get enough.
Munch!Logan thrives off your praise, your voice, your..desire. He’ll continue to compliment how well of a job you’re doing. “Don’t push me away, you know you wanna cum so bad.”
Munch!Logan could drink you up and when he knows you are even closer, quickens the pace as he grinds himself in whatever position he’s in, whether he’s on his stomach grinding on the mattress or on his back, pushing his legs together to get some sort of friction
Munch!Logan would eat it for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. He would go to your place just to eat it and leave, He’d eat it as soon as you wake up, he’d eat it anywhere even if that meant he got nothing. He is a pleaser at the end of the day.
Munch!Logan is forever insatiable especially for you. While you, can’t seem to get enough either.
DISCLAIMER: this is absolutely not a representation of any celebrity, artist, and/or personnel, this is purely fiction. This is purely fictional any pieces of literature that bear any resemblance is coincidental. All work is made and written by me.
✦ literally open to writing for mostly anyone (if i know of them) but as you can tell im obsessed with rafe cameron & garrett graham. wanting to write about about dean dilaurentis soon though!
✦ beware that most of my work, if not all of it does contain smut! that’s what i feel best at writing but again open to anything. i will also continue to update this as i post more, this is just what’s up so far:)
RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ rafe x hypersexual!gf headcannons
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ the eye game.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ house tour.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ we almost broke up again.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ rewritten.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ the L word.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ irresistible.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ our little secret.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ frat boy on a mission.
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ look, but can’t touch.
GARRETT GRAHAM MASTERLIST
. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ interrupted.
❥ my inbox & dms are always open for request, ideas, or becoming mutuals!!!
Summary: Logan loves going down on you. He lives for it, he craves it, he loves everything about it. But what he didn’t expect was your reaction when you were the one who goes down on him.
Warning/s: Minors do not interact. Smut. Mature. 18+. Oral sex (F and M receiving). Unprotected sex. Comfort. Crying. Established relationship. They are unhinged, horny, and thinking about sex all the time but they love each other too. Be responsible for your own media consumption. Grammar/Spelling. If I missed anything, let me know kindly!
Word Count: 3.5k
PART1 | PART TWO
A/N: I’m in no way a pro when it comes to writing smut but I try and this is me trying (and probably experimenting on my writing too). Got inspired while listening to Tears by Sabrina and a conversation I had with my best friend.
I have another Logan fic in progress but it’ll be some time before it’s up since I’m not confident about it yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!
MASTERLIST.
Please do not translate and repost. Dividers by chrisssiren.
Logan is sick, he’s sure of that. But the thing is, as cliche as it may sound, you are the only person who could cure him. He had known a long time ago that he loves going down on girls, he lives for it. But nothing ever prepared him for you and the changes you brought into his sex life.
He’d been with many girls before you, yes. What you and he are doing—at least, some of it—he had done it before. You knew it, having to be one of the witnesses of some of those sexcapades he did in the past. However, that’s never been an issue between you two. Sex with you is something that Logan has never experienced before. But no, it’s not some, “You’re different from other girls” kind of bullshit. It’s the feeling that was different.
You see, the girls he had been with? It was always rushed, short-lived. It was only for the sake of sleeping together. But with you? You build up the moment, but still make sure not to waste time. You make him feel hot and excited, but give him what he wants to balance it out. You let him do what he wants, but signals him when to stop. You make him crave for you, crave for it. And when you especially know when he needs it? You give it to him, no questions asked.
And Logan would always savor the moment when you just unfold your legs for him, when you let him lap at your center like a starved man, and when you encourage him to keep going; even stretching your legs further so he could have more space.
Logan loves your pussy, and he loves every single second of being down on you and if he could live between your legs, he would.
There’s something so addicting about having them wrapped around his head, or when you spread it for him so he could bite on your inner thighs, or the way it almost suffocates him when you’re on top of him, riding his face while he busies himself admiring the swell of your breasts; the way they move when you jerk forward because his tongue hits a certain spot, or the way your chest falls up and down so you can get enough oxygen in your lungs, or when your nipples hardened he just had to let go one of your legs so he could play with them.
Yet he loves it more when you tugs at his curls, moaning for him. The sound you make going straight to his cock, thrusting on the bed or in the air depending on where you got him eating you out. He loves the look on your face—how your mouth forms an o-shape when he sucks at your sensitive nub or when you cover it to muffle the sounds because his friends are sleeping, how your eyes glaze when you’re near, how your lips turn swollen from too much biting, and how your head falls backwards to reveal your neck, thinking about biting the flesh once he’s fucking you.
Logan swore he could cum by just eating you out, but looking at you enjoying yourself? That’s another thing he needs to control. He could combust with a single, “Making me feel so good, Johnny.” but he’d do his best to restrain himself. He’d only allow himself to finish once you do because for him, it’s you before everything else. There were times that even after making you cum three times, he’d hold it in because that won’t be enough. He’d wait for you to say, “Please, let me feel you. I want it.”, that he’d permit himself to let go and you’d be so full of him. Then, he would look at your face only to see you smiling at him, so lost in the pleasure and so fucking beautiful, and he’d take pride knowing he’s the one who made you feel that way—and he feels like cumming again, his cock hardening inside you once more.
He thought that would be it, nothing else could make him feel like he’s doing it for the first time aside from eating you out and you, looking so pretty for him. But boy, was he wrong.
It happened for the first time when Logan felt a little more beaten up after practice. Completely drained and exhausted from all the physical and mental challenges hockey takes from him. You knew the moment he slumped beside you on his head, dropping his gym bag on the side, that he’s spent.
“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you.” Logan’s hands automatically searched for your waist as his head hits your lap, his hair still damp from the shower. He relaxes the moment your hands massage at his scalp, down to the back of his neck, and to his shoulder blades. His usual protective guard is down and at that moment, under your gaze, he’s just a guy who needs comfort.
Your boyfriend needs comfort.
“I missed you too, baby. How are you?” Logan lifted his head a bit, his eyes cast downward, his body barely holding his weight, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you before seeking your warmth again. You bit your lip and maybe, seeing him like that—sore, tired, worn out—is what triggered your desire to take care of him. He spends so much energy in hockey, in studying, in the garage, in everything that he does, including looking out for you without being asked that seeing him vulnerable makes you want to put him first. So an idea popped in your mind.
“Hey, come on, lay down properly.” Logan obliged, rather slowly. You were standing at the foot of the bed, supporting his movements. Once he’s comfortable, you start removing his clothes. He didn’t think much of it at first, he always sleeps with only his boxers on and you learned about it early on in your relationship. It even got to a point that you were the one undressing him and you’d cuddle under his covers.
However, Logan felt your hands caressing his legs as you crawled on top of him. Your fingers tugged down at his boxers until it reached just above his knees, but before you could take it off, Logan caught your hand, crease forming between his brows. He understands immediately what you were trying to do, and it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’s just not sure if he could do any action tonight and he will never forgive himself if he allows it to happen only for you to not to feel good.
“Thank you, gorgeous, but I don’t think I can do—”
“Who said you’re doing anything?” You raised one eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curving into a tempting smile that had Logan heaving a deep breath. He knew it’s happening, you looked so good and while the rest of his body is tired, his cock sure isn’t as it slowly grows hard between his thighs, directly under you. “Just lay down for me, John, okay? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be rewarded for it.”
And nothing ever prepared him for what happened next.
Logan never presented the idea of blowjob, nor you brought it up yourself. In the entirety of your relationship, you never went down for him. You never put his length in your mouth, you never gagged at the feeling of him hitting your throat, and you never knew what it was like to look up at him over your lashes. But just because it never happened, doesn’t mean you never wonder what it would be like.
It’s not like you never gave head before. You have a fair share of experience yourself like Logan, but you keep on wondering if it would feel like the way it made him feel. He told you about it, how going down on you made him feel like an entirely different person. That the way your pussy feels against his mouth was nothing like he ever felt before. That if your legs suffocate him and he dies accidentally, he’d still thank you for it.
You knew it wasn’t about the experience, you knew it was the feeling. Because you trust him, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and comfortable with him that the intimacy instantly feels different. So, you took advantage of the moment to test it out yourself.
“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to, right? We can just—”
But Logan’s head dropped back down on his pillow when he felt your hands around him, pumping him slowly, getting him to completely relax for you. A heavy and ragged sigh escaped his lips at the feeling, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress, shutting his eyes close to regain some control. And he thought that he’s doing a great job at it, he’s getting used to the feeling of the slow movements of your hands that he willed himself to open his eyes.
“Fuck, that feels good, gorgeous.” He rasped, voice thick and rough at your ministrations. The exhaustion of the day leaving his body. The tension, the expectations, the brutality of the world outside his room fading behind him as he let you take care of him. His hands gripped at his bed, not wanting to pressure you to take anything further by putting them on your head.
You shifted your weight, finding a more comfortable place between his thighs. And then you see it before you feel it; the intimacy did feel different.
You saw how Logan does his best to keep his hands to himself, you feel how he tries not to thrust upwards in your hands, you feel from the way he remains so compliant with your touch that he’s not rushing you, and you saw how his eyes glint with encouragement to do whatever you want next—continue or stop, entirely up to you.
The moment was slow and heavy with trust. And that did something to you, probably the way it did something to Logan.
It made you feel good, confident, trusted, and loved.
When Logan felt your movements have slowed, he peeked at you to see that you got this dazed look on your face. He was about to reassure you that it’s okay to stop when you looked down at his dick and leaned forward, replacing your hands with the warmth of your lips. Logan choked on his breath, the words caught in his throat as he felt his self control leaving his body as he completely surrendered to you.
Logan’s entire body went still for a second, a low, guttural moan vibrated in his chest before he forced himself to relax again. His fingers gripped at the sheets again, tighter this time as his knuckles turned white. You saw this from the corner of your eyes and tapped at his thighs, reaching for one of his hands and guided it above your head. He had to fight every instinct to take over because of the action, but he reminded himself that tonight, this is what you want.
You moved over him, finding your rhythm as your eyes flicked up to look at him. His head was still thrown back, buried in his pillow, exposing his adam’s apple. His sweat glistened on his collarbone and you moaned at the sight, he looked completely undone and ruined by your touch. And the same feeling came back.
Looking at Logan, completely at your mercy and stripped of his usual protective and strong stance made you clench your thighs together. You continue pumping at his length while switching between sucking and lapping at the head, his tip leaking pre-cum. Logan’s grip on your head tightened and it should hurt, but you just took him further inside your mouth. You gagged slightly, the sound causing him to massage your jaw, motioning for you to breathe through your nose as he guided your head to stay in place.
“That’s it, gorgeous, don’t forget to breathe.” You understood what he said, you knew when to stop if it gets too much for you, but your mind started to jumble. Because how could he be so sweet and caring yet so filthy at the same time? When you felt your lungs needing some air, you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. And Logan was about to throw a praise when you lick from his base before taking him whole again.
“Fuck me—slow down, gorgeous. You’re killing me.”
It feels too good; the thickness in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum oozing out directly on your tongue, the control he’s trying to gain, the way he grips at your head and caresses your cheeks just to feel himself bulging from it. Everything feels too good and without meaning to, a stray tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek and landing softly on his thighs. Logan snapped up immediately at the unwelcomed feeling, only to see you crying. The immense pleasure brought by your mouth dissipates in the air as he scrambles to seat.
“Woah, woah, hey, talk to me.” He whispered, afraid that if he went a little louder, you'd cry even more. He wanted to move to your side, but for some reason, your hand is still wrapped around his length and you’re still between his legs. Logan tried his best to meet you eye-to-eye with the position, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on your skin. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it something I did? Was I too much?”
You only shook your head at him and Logan had to stop the sigh that wanted to escape his lips when he felt your hand gripped him, and instead focused on making sure that you’re okay. “Hey, it’s alright, we can stop now, hmm? It’s alright, I got you.”
But then you opened your mouth and Logan cursed at himself because maybe he heard it wrong, maybe he heard you wrong. There’s no way you’re crying because of that, right? His girlfriend, who is usually composed, independent, strong-willed, and doesn’t take shit from others, is crying.
All because of his dick.
He studied your face, your eyes that were blown out with lust, your lips hanging open in anticipation, your brows creased together awaiting his response. But above everything, he saw honesty and trust and it dawned on him that he didn’t hear it wrong. Logan heard you correctly.
“I don’t want to stop. I want your cock.”
Because that’s what you really said and you didn’t plan on taking it back.
Not when Logan’s eyes darkened with want as he held your face so softly, waiting for you to take your words back. Not when the words made you shudder when it left your lips, not when it caused you to rub your thighs together, not when your eyes basically watered again at the thought of it in your mouth, in your hands, in your pussy. Not when you’re pushing Logan back on the bed to hover above him, so sure of yourself, repeating the words.
“I love your cock, Johnny.”
Logan doesn’t know what to do. You are equally as obsessed as he was and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He never cried when he’s down on his knees, trapped between your legs, but he sure felt like it every single time. You make him addicted, you make him starve and crave, and you make him mad about it. And seeing you, like a reflection of himself, enjoying yourself, destroys him in a delicious way.
You spent the rest of the night sobbing at the feeling of his length in your mouth and Logan lives for it. He’d smile at you, comfort you, and praise you for it while anchoring himself to keep it together.
“Fuck, gorgeous, you take me so well.”
“You love it? Say it again, come on.”
And between his praises and the fullness of him inside your mouth, you’d look up at him just to ask, “It’s my dick now too, right?”
And Logan had to physically stop himself from pulling you back down his length, his grin widening with mischief and his eyes twinkle with something you’ve never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, his thumbs traced your lips before sliding it inside, your tongue automatically swirling around it as you await for his answer.
“So fucking right, gorgeous, it is.”
The night ended with both of you tangled in his sheets, satisfaction and pride swimming in your system. You were safely tucked beside him after your unexpected discovery, Logan peppering your head with kisses. And he thought, that was it. What he didn’t know was that behind your peaceful form, you discovered another thing.
You love Logan when he respects you in bed. But you love it more when he gets filthy.
He was on his way back to the hockey house when it happened the second time. He just bid goodbye to a classmate when his phone buzzed in his jeans. It was a message from you. An entirely unhinged message from you.
“I need it, please.”
Logan drove so fast back to the house and when he opened the door of his room, there you were, dressed in his jersey. But it didn’t take long for both of you to get undressed. The moment escalated so quickly as you dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.
“Take it out, baby.”
And Logan never complied so fast in his life. Not even when Coach Jensen told him to do better with his moves, to skate faster. But you got him on chokehold with just your words and the next second, you were taking him in your mouth, the dirtiest words escaping his lips.
“You want it so bad, yeah? You missed it?”
“So pretty like this. Keep going. Come on, you got it.”
“Open your mouth wider, gorgeous. I thought you said you wanted it?”
And you’re equally as bad as him. The words you thought that you’ll never say are encouraged out of you because of Logan, and the way he looks at you with so much adoration and pride.
“This is only mine, right? It’s mine.”
“It feels so good in my mouth, Johnny, I don’t want to stop.”
“Yes, I wanted it. I can take it. Please.”
Logan thought—once again and he’s wrong—that would be it. But you’re sneaking into the shower room when you know he’s the only one using it and would join him. Saying how you could not wait any longer and you’d end up spending an extra hour in the showers because both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.
Or at Beau’s party, when he looks too good drinking with his friends and he’d throw teasing glances your way and he’d take it far by sending you a message, mentioning how one of the rooms was his for the night and he’d be waiting for you. Both of you would end up making out and eventually, him on top of you. He fucks you like he’s never done before, but you’re crying for it and he’d be damned if he doesn’t make it worthwhile.
And Logan is fucking sick. Because he couldn’t take the image of you crying for him, for his dick. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about it too, because he does. In the middle of the class, during practice, while showering. Any chance that he could get, he’ll think about it. During those times, he’d shoot you messages.
“Can’t stop thinking about you, gorgeous.”
“Bet you’re soaking wet for me right now.”
“So fucking hard for you, gorgeous. Is your class over?”
He’d smile so hard because your replies matched his energy, it matched his freak. He’d go over them, read them over and over again just to make sure that he’s reading it right.
“I dreamed of you fucking me and I want it now.”
“Can I come over before practice? I’ll just suck a little.”
“Do you think we can get a replica of your dick? Just for study purposes.”
Both of you are so obsessed with each other that even your friends noticed it right away. The changes in your relationship that weren’t there in the beginning, the stolen glances, the mischief behind the smiles, the sneaking in the middle of a conversation. When you and Logan disappear at the same time, they'll understand what’s happening quickly. When they catch one of you smiling at your phone, they know that you’re exchanging unhinged messages yet again.
But underneath all that—the sole reason why both of you are crazy about the sex, about each other—was the foundation you built together over time; the trust, the intimacy, the care, the love, and the understanding where the pleasure should end and begin. The respect you put into the relationship and the boundaries you’ve set, the communication between what you can cross and not.
So, yes, Logan is sick, but at least you cure him and he does the same to you—in more ways than one.
A/N: Thank you for reading, lovely! Stay safe always ♥️
Summary: After discovering how obsessed you and Logan are with each other, you both used it as a motivation to do better in a few aspects in your life. (Or those two times where you and Logan turn situations into something unhinged.)
Warning/s: Minors do not interact. Smut. Mature. 18+. Oral sex (F/M receiving). Fingering. Unprotected sex (wrap it, before you tap it, please). Public sex/car sex. Praising. Riding. Dirty talk. Grinding. Crying. Comfort. Aftercare. Porn with plot. Pet names (gorgeous, sweetheart, pretty, baby). Established relationship. Be responsible for your own media consumption. Grammar/Spelling. If I missed anything, let me know kindly.
Word Count: 5.8k
Part two of Tears. You can read the first one HERE.
A/N: Since they have established their obsession with each other, I tried going deeper into their sexual life in this part so this may come off a little different than the first one. I still tried to balance it with the vulnerability, trust, and passion that they have in their relationship so I hope it came through.
Thank you so much to the lovely anon who requested this and I’m so sorry if this is late. I could only write whenever I have free time, which is not all the time and I have a list of WIPs that I follow (which I’m slowly working on). Anyway, enjoy reading. Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!
MASTERLIST.
Please do not translate and repost.
Divider by chrisssiren.
Whoever got the highest score in an exam will have the privilege to have it first.
Logan’s room was unusually quiet for a week already.
That was always the first thing his three roommates noticed whenever they passed by his room or whenever they checked up on him. You haven’t stayed the night at the hockey house too in that week, which was concerning considering the amount of time you spent there with them. Especially after the discovery you and Logan had recently, which left them both amused and terrified.
It wasn’t like you never spend time at the house anymore, you still do. However, you’d always tell Logan that it’s time for you to go back to the dorms and what’s more surprising is Logan complying to your requests without any question; which in most cases, he’d grumble about just staying the night in his room because he doesn’t want you to go. There was even a time where Dean thought that you and Logan were having a rough patch in your relationship to the point of breaking up. But whenever the two of you see each other on campus, that doesn’t seem to be the case since the public display of affection always gagged him, as if he’s not one to do the same thing with Allie.
Now, they are only left confused on what’s going on between you two. Because while Logan spent his time in his room and at the ice rink, you were also by yourself. Sometimes in Allie’s and Hannah’s dorm, sometimes in the library, or sometimes alone in Malone’s. The confusion only lessened when they realized that it was midterms season and in Logan’s words, “We made a bet about having the highest grade.” But then, even examination days never stopped you from being all over each other. Until, you barged into their home, holding your exam papers and waving it in the air, a smug smile on your face,
Midterm season finally came to an end. Meaning, exam results are also out.
The boys were chilling in the living room, playing a video game that you didn’t pay attention to, when you came. All four of them turned to you, surprise etched on their faces before it landed on the white sheet of papers you were waving above your head. Your eyes automatically met Logan’s and the latter understood immediately what it meant—you’re asking for his results.
Your boyfriend ran up to his room while you occupied the seat he was on earlier beside Garrett. They paused the game, waiting for things to unfold because whatever is happening is much more confusing than when you didn’t stay at their place for a week.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” Dean was finally the one who broke the silence, gesturing to the stairs where Logan just disappeared. You chuckled as you heard objects falling from upstairs. “Is he moving out? Or is this about the bet?”
“Oh, so you guys know about the bet.” You leaned back against the sofa, the smile still on your lips, and used the stack of papers to fan yourself. Tucker, who suddenly emerged from your other side, even tried peeking but you slapped the papers onto your thighs, completely hiding the red ink that showed your grade, keeping the results all to yourself to prolong the anticipation.
“Yeah—well, no. Logan just told us you and him made a bet but he didn’t actually—” But before Dean could finish his sentence, Logan appeared with his own exam papers in his hands, mimicking your earlier actions. The same smug smile, the same proud strut as he approached you. He squeezed himself between you and Garrett, while the latter could only wait for what’s going to happen next.
“Alright, gorgeous, let’s see your results.” You took Logan’s hand with yours and inhaled a deep breath, building up the suspense, and slowly laid your paper face-down on the coffee table. Logan did the same, his chest puffed out slightly, completely confident that his week of absolute isolation in his room had paid off. Because there is no way that he’d lose when he almost went insane whenever he had to send you back to the dorms when the only thing he wants is to be with you.
The three boys leaned forward, the video game completely forgotten. Tucker was practically falling off the armrest of the couch just to get a closer look on your exams. Clearly, they are as invested as you and Logan, because they really are. They spent one week watching the two of you treat each other like strangers. Well, except during the PDAs.
“On three.” You said, your eyes locking onto Logan’s with a challenging gaze. One, two, and three. Both of you flipped the papers at the same time and all five sets of eyes settled on the big red ink at the top of the pages, alternating between yours and Logan’s.
Silence stretched across the living room before a massive and satisfied grin painted your lips, a triumphant laugh following as you threw both your hands in the air, Tucker celebrating with you as he raised his hand to give you a high five. Logan stared at the numbers, his jaw dropping in disbelief. Not because you beat him, but because there was only a decimal point difference in your scores.
A 96.5 and a 96.3.
“No way, a zero point two difference? Sweetheart, how?” Logan raised the paper near his face as he skimmed over the details and saw that the difference came from the essay part of the exam. He froze for a moment and you took that as a chance to steal your paper back from his hands to hide inside your bag. You stood up from your seat and faced him, the proud smile never once leaving your lips as you held your hand in front of him.
“Accept the defeat, Johnny, I earned it.” There was an underlying meaning behind your words and it didn’t go unnoticed by Logan as he quickly recovered from his initial disbelief. The air between you immediately turned thick as your eyes darkened with want. The week of just pure kissing and making out didn’t satiate the hunger you both have for each other. Not after what happened in his room, not after knowing the feeling of having his cock inside your mouth, not after knowing how good it is to be fucked by him while tears run down your cheeks.
“Hold the fuck up. Was the bet about sex? Because oh my fucking goodness, someone help me. I just watched you guys ‘ghosted’ each other for a week to the point of thinking that you were breaking up and now, you’re eye fucking each other? Please, send help. Please!” Dean only received a flying pillow that landed directly on his face from Garrett as the latter mentioned how dramatic he was. The three of them looked traumatized, but they also looked defeated as all they continued the game, turning the volume up to the max knowing what will happen next.
Logan is already dragging you with him upstairs, tossing his exam papers in your bag that he initiated on carrying. But you swore, even with the loud volume, you heard three of his friends still talking about what happened with Tucker finally saying, “I mean, they might be unhinged but they are smart. Imagine using sex as a motivation to get a high grade? I’d do it too.”
Logan didn’t waste time when you reached his room as things escalated so quickly when the door locked behind him. Your back was still facing him when you felt his hands gripping your waist, pulling you back against him. You sighed when you felt the outline of his dick pressing on your ass and you couldn’t help but move with him as he started grinding behind you.
“You feel that, gorgeous? That’s all yours.” You weren’t able to respond, especially when Logan squeezed your ass, pulling you impossibly closer to him. For a moment, you forgot that you should be taking the lead since you got the higher grade. But that one week of depriving yourselves of each other is finally catching on both of you and you’d be grateful to feel him however. But a bet is a bet and like you said, you earned it.
“Remember the bet, Johnny? I got to have you first.”
You turned around in his arms, your eyes searching for his own as you slowly sank to your knees. Logan immediately took the pillow from the foot of his bed and motioned for you to move a little so he could place it below you for comfort. Both of you laughed at the action, because it was a stark contrast to what’s about to happen.
“I mean, I’m allowed to think of fucking you and still respect you, right?”
Logan caressed your left cheek and you leaned into the touch. One of your hands took his as you turned his palm toward your lips, gracing a soft kiss against the rough skin. It was a completely soft gesture from you that made Logan’s heart flutter, but it didn’t last long when you guided his thumb inside your mouth. You sucked at his finger as you slowly worked on removing his pants, pulling it all the way to his feet.
Logan’s breath hitched when he felt your hands wrapped around his hard length, your eyes still locked on his blown out ones and not once you turned away.
“I missed your cock, Johnny. Missed sucking it.” And to prove your words, you tugged him forward on the back of his thigh, his dick now closer to your face. You didn’t waste any more second and replaced your hand with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head as you pumped the rest with your other hand.
Logan groaned at the feeling of finally having your mouth on him again. He didn’t know how he survived the last seven days without your touch and now that you’re on your knees in front of him enjoying yourself, he’s not sure if he can let you go again.
“Take more, gorgeous. I know you can take more, come on.” And you obliged, taking him deeper into your mouth as you felt him hit the back of your throat. You choked a little, relaxing your jaw just like he taught you, and started moving your head. You started slow, taking your sweet time feeling him going in and out of your mouth. Logan’s hand guided your head, only halting your movements so he could go all the way in, your tears brimming in your eyes due to how good it feels and you’re certain that you’re soaking for him right now.
The thick and heavy length makes you adjust the pillow below you so you can feel some kind of relief but when Logan saw the movement, he pulled away from you. Your tongue darted out in the air to chase after his cock, but you ended up swallowing the spit and his pre-cum that oozed out a bit.
“Don’t do that.” Logan’s deep voice was laced with warning and it should’ve scared you. But you knew him, you knew he wouldn’t do anything that will hurt you even if you disobey him. So, you didn’t listen and put your whole weight on his pillow, grinding your still clothed center on the material. Your eyes are still glued to him, but you caught his dick jerking as he watched you hump his pillow.
You took it further when you started removing your shirt, followed by your black bra. Your tits spilled out and your nipples hardened immediately, your hands slowly moved upwards to cupped your breasts, squeezing one to tease Logan.
“Gorgeous, please, don’t do that.”
“Hmm, why? You wished it was your hands? You wished it was you underneath me and not your pillow? You wanna be the one I’m riding?” You stopped playing with yourself and asked Logan to come near you again. He absentmindedly nodded at your question, walking toward you like a man who just fell under your spell.
“Then lay down on your bed.” Logan knew he’s fast, but he never realized he was that fast when he heard your words. At one moment, he was standing in front of you, and the next second, he’s on his bed, fully naked and waiting for you as you removed your pants and undies.
Logan swallowed hard when he saw your pussy for the first time in a week. He’d seen it a lot of times, but being denied it made him feel like a stray dog without a bone. When you walked toward him, he helped you climb on the bed and put your legs on either side of his face.
“Fucking finally.”
Your eyes almost rolled at the back of your head when you felt Logan’s mouth on your folds, lapping at the entrance up to your clit where he expertly sucked and flick at the nub. He kept his eyes on you to watch your expressions, making mental notes of what makes you feel good and what makes you tug at his hair to pull him closer to your center.
Logan is having the time of his life, you can tell by the way he’s switching from abusing your hole, his tongue fucking your entrance and from licking all over your core. You moved forward when you felt yourself getting closer to the edge, pulling at Logan’s hair tighter and that was an indication for him to keep going.
“Johnny, please—fuck, yes. Don’t stop.” And he didn’t. Logan didn’t stop even after you came, even when you tried to pull away from him. He kept you in place as he lapped up every single drop you gave him. He didn’t stop until he saw your tears falling down your cheeks, your whimpers getting quieter but needier. He guided you beside him, but you refused to as you adjusted your position on top of him. You’re now straddling his waist, your head buried on his neck, and for some twisted reason, Logan grew impossibly harder when he felt the dampness of your cheeks on his shoulder.
“You did so well for me, gorgeous. So, so good for me.” Logan rubbed your back slowly, the touch of his fingertips giving you goosebumps. The soft moment lasted for a few more minutes before you lifted your head from its place, your eyes quickly meeting Logan’s and the glint in them showed that he’s ready for more, only if you are too.
And it only took one mischievous grin from you for him to take the hint.
You remained on top of him, sitting up slowly while tracing kisses all over his neck and chest, leaving marks in the process. Your lips outlined his jaw down to his collarbone, his pectoral muscle, and sucking a little on his nipples. He let you do it while he tried to control his movements, especially his hips where his cock is patiently waiting for you.
Logan groaned under his breath when he finally felt your hand guiding it toward your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against your slick opening. The slight friction drew a low growl from his chest and it took everything in him not to thrust upward. So instead, his hands, which had been closed in fists beside him, just gripped your hips firmly—anchoring you, but mostly himself.
“Oh, god, you’re gonna be the death of me, gorgeous.” He rasped, his voice rough and laced with desperation. You smiled at his words, stalling your movements just to tease him, and Logan couldn’t do anything but to watch you with amusement despite the intense hunger flashing in his eyes.
“Well, at least, you’re going to die fucking me.”
Then, with a slow and agonizing movement, you began to fully sink down on him. The gasp that left Logan's lips was swallowed by you as he pulled you down by your neck to meet his mouth in a searing kiss. His willpower and patience completely disappeared when he felt you clamped down on him, your hole swallowing his length with ease. His hips thrusted upward automatically, meeting your movements with force that made your mind go blank.
The sound of your gasping together with Logan’s deep growl went straight to your cunt, your wetness dripping down all over his legs. And he felt it. He felt the stickiness between you but it only urged him more as his grip on your waist tightened. He picked up his pace as his thrust became powerful, leaving you breathless and a whimpering mess on top of him.
“Look at me.” He commanded softly, his voice dropping down as he waited for your eyes to regain their focus to meet his. And when you did, his eyes were completely dark with lust and he smiled up at you. Not the kind one, not the soft one. His smile caused you to clench on his cock, riding him faster. And you felt your eyes watering again due to how completely whole and wrecked he made you feel. His words didn’t help at all, causing you to sob at every thrust and every ministration.
“That’s it, that's my girl. You like how that feels, don’t you?”
“Take all of it. This is what you want, right? Then take all of it.”
“I know, I know. You love it. You’re so tight around me, it’s driving me fucking insane.”
“Tell me, is it good? Yeah? Then say it, let me hear you, come on.”
A broken whimper would escape your lips in every word he threw your way, which only seemed to fuel his lust. A dark, breathless, and proud laugh vibrating in his chest as his hips relentlessly fucks into you. And of course, you'd reply to him. Matching the intensity of his passion, allowing yourself to be completely at his mercy.
“Yes, I love it. Keep fucking me, baby. Please.”
“Harder, Johnny. I want it, please, give me everything.”
“It’s so big—too much—but don't stop. I love it, don't ever stop.”
“It’s so good. Your cock is made for me. It's only mine, baby, mine.”
Your replies made Logan sit up and with his cock still buried in you, he lay you down below him switching the position. Once he made sure that you’re comfortable, he continued slamming his hips into yours, hooking one of your legs to his arm to hit the spot he knew would make you cum. The new angle caused you to writhe underneath him, but his strong grip on your body prevented you from moving.
“Come on, pretty. You want my cock so bad, right? Prove it, come for me.”
And with one final sob, your back arch from the bed as you completely fell apart. Logan grunted on top of you when he felt you tightened around him, his hands giving out for a fracture of second before he regained his composure. He watched as your body twitched in sensitivity, his thrusts persistent as he fucked you through your orgasm. He was almost at the edge too, but what made him reach his climax was your voice as you asked him to come inside.
“Inside, baby. I want to feel all of you.” And he did, after asking you a second time just to make sure. He filled you up, his cum spilling inside as you sighed at the feeling of his warmth overtaking your senses.
Logan laid down beside you once he recovered from his high, his hands holding you protectively against him. His lips peppered kisses onto your skin as his hand gently caressed your body, patiently waiting for you to return to your right headspace. You buried yourself deeper into his arms when you slowly became aware of how cold it was in his room.
“I’m so proud of you, gorgeous. You did so well.” You hummed in response, laying soft kisses on his chest as you pat his back, copying his actions.
“I did so well? The exam? Or for you?” Logan chuckled, lifting your head to meet his and left a peck on your lips, bumping your nose with his. Your eyes closed at the feeling, relishing in the warmth he’s emitting and Logan can’t help but stare, the answer he prepared vanishing as he studied your face.
You looked absolutely beautiful in his arms; all flushed and soft and pressed up against him. He feels incredibly lucky to get to have you like this—safe in his arms where you allowed yourself to be entirely vulnerable, marveling in the aftermath of your activities, and how you trusted him to make you feel good. He feels lucky to be the one to show you love and to receive yours in return, with the same energy and intensity, no matter how normal and crazy.
Your eyes fluttered open when he didn’t reply and caught him staring at you. The once lustful gaze was now replaced with adoration you became familiar with as he always looked at you that way. Logan’s heart thumped so fast, your question totally forgotten until you asked again. “So?”
Logan let out a breathless sigh, melting under your gaze and guided your head back to his chest.
“Both, sweetheart. But you’re more perfect right now.” You laughed at his words, your breath tickling his skin but stayed glued to you nonetheless. Both of you remained tangled in each other’s embrace, but the moment you started drifting off to sleep, Logan spoke again.
“Just so you know, this is not the end. We still have the final exams and I’m gonna crush it.”
If Logan scores at least three goals in a single game, he can have it whenever and wherever he wants.
The roar inside the arena was deafening when Logan hit the puck to the opponent’s net, earning his third score for the night which also secured their win, maintaining their position and winning streak. It was pure chaos as the Hawks brought him up in the air, celebrating the victory he brought for the team.
Yet, despite being in the rink; his friends chanting his surname, the crowd rejoicing in triumph, and the rest of the surrounding stuck in a cheering frenzy, Logan’s eyes still found yours. His lips morphed into a playful and teasing curve, before sending a wink and a kiss your way. While the crowd who saw what Logan did thought it was just the usual “This win is for you too” action that became a norm for him, you knew better than that, thinking of the deal you made two days before his game.
“Three to five goals, baby, and you’ll gain the right to decide when and where you want it to happen.”
“So, I’ll earn that right at three goals, correct?”
“Mm-hmm, correct.”
And now, as much as this whole thing excites you too, you thought that you should’ve said a minimum of five. However, knowing Logan, he would’ve reached that score too especially if the motivation is very tempting. Too tempting for him to not do well in the game.
One by one, the players started disappearing in the shower room while you, Allie, and Hannah decided to wait by the parking lot. The three of you were buzzing with joy as well, feeling the adrenaline as if you were also at the rink. However, you knew that the adrenaline that started shooting throughout your body was caused by something else. You hopped in the passenger seat of your car and started the engine while waiting for Logan. A few minutes later, you received a message from him.
You should’ve known it was a warning; when he asked about you being in the parking lot, when he told you he’ll miss the celebration of their victory, when he thanked you for heating up the engine as he hastily drove at the back of the university where no one really passed by unless the guards did their usual night patrol, when he pulled up at the side hidden by a bush. Because at least, you would’ve been prepared for his plans, you wouldn’t be so surprised.
Because the second he made sure that no one was around, he was all over you. You two ended up at the back seat, your legs spread out as Logan claimed his prize, the sound of your combined, ragged breathing filling the confined space. The leather of the seat was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your boyfriend. His hair is still damp from the shower as you gripped on it to pull him closer.
“Fuck, Johnny, someone might see us.” Despite the pleasure, you still made sure to check on your surroundings. The window is tinted, that’s for sure. You knew Logan wouldn’t intentionally put you in a situation where you might feel even a tad bit uncomfortable. And your mind is really just as twisted as Logan’s, because at the back of your mind, you find this exciting. The thrill of someone might pass by, the possibility of getting caught—everything about this made you ecstatic.
“Baby, please—” But your words turned into a surprised gasp as Logan leaned forward, pushing your knees further against your chest as one of his hands joined his mouth, two of his fingers playing with your entrance as they slowly disappeared inside you. His fingers stayed still for a second before he deliberately curved his knuckles upward, hitting the exact spot that made you arch your back from the seat.
Logan pulled his mouth away just to admire how wrecked you look with just his finger and he bit his lips thinking how bad you’ll get once his cock replaced his fingers.
“Three goals, gorgeous. I did it. And a deal is a deal. Whenever and wherever. And I want it here, I want it now.” He growled softly, his fingers working nonstop as you thrash and twist below him. He chuckled darkly when you tried to reply, only for you to end up choking out a moan when he hit your spot again, and again, and again. Until he felt you contracting around his fingers.
“But holy shit, pretty, you’re impossibly tight when you’re scared it makes me wanna fuck you already.” The devilish grin on his lips widened when your hips lifted off the seat, chasing after his fingers, his thumb pressing you down to keep you in place. You gripped the back of the seat, anchoring yourself at the thought of having your favorite part of him inside you.
“Fuck, you want it? Want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, yes! Fuck me, please. I want it, baby. Want your cock in me.”
“Then you better come for me first and I’ll give you what you want.”
After a few more pumps, you completely shattered. Your whole body shook under his gaze, your fingers digging into the headrest as a loud cry tore from your throat, which you muffled by clamping your other hand to your mouth. And Logan watched every second of it; every whimper that went straight to his dick, every involuntary movement that he feels proud to see. He didn’t pull his fingers right away, he just let you ride out your high, stroking your forehead with his free hand to let you know that he’s there and he’s got you.
“So beautiful, sweetheart. Always so perfect. Do you still want it? Or do you wanna take this back home?” You shook your head at his question, tugging at his jeans to give your answer.
“You said, here and now, Johnny. I want it too.”
Logan didn’t make you beg the second time. Instead, he leaned toward you to catch your lips in a chaste kiss, his hands working to unbutton his jeans and pushed it down enough to free his hard cock. He gripped your hips as he aligned himself to your hole and you let out a desperate whimper when the tip of his length brushed against your dripping entrance. Yet despite how sensitive you are, your thighs naturally parted wider to welcome him. Your body became so familiar with him it knew how to respond even before your mind could register what’s happening.
“Is it not too much, gorgeous? Can you take more?” Logan asked softly, his hot breath hitting your face as he leaned down to connect your foreheads together. He watched your face, searching for any kind of hesitation but he didn’t find any. But he did see how unguarded you become, hooking your foot at the back of his knees to invite him closer.
“Yes, it’s not too much. I can take more.”
The moment your eyes met his in confirmation, that’s when he drove forward. Logan buried himself inside you in one swift motion, stretching you so perfectly that a moan quickly escaped your parted lips. His size and the lingering sensitivity of your climax were overwhelming, but Logan made sure to stay with you, holding your hands as his thrust got faster and deeper.
“Look at you handling it so well, so warm and so perfect.” The praise caused hot tears to form in your eyes and with every powerful thrust, they fell one after another. It was silent at first, but the longer Logan fucked you, the louder your cries became.
“Look at you crying for it. It's okay, I won't stop.”
“So fucking tight, pretty. All for me.”
“Shh, it’s okay, gorgeous, I got you. Tell me if it’s too much.”
But you’re shaking your head at him as your own hips begin to move on their own to meet him, desperate for friction, desperate for another release. When Logan felt your walls twitching, he knew you were close and that was enough motivation for his pace to turn inhumanely possible. The sound of your skins slapping together echoed inside the small space of your car and by the way he’s moving on top of you, any person passing by would know what’s happening inside. The sheer thought of it sent you over the edge, a more violent climax ripping through you.
Logan locked his lips over yours, muffling your cries, tasting your tears as it continuously fell on your cheeks. The moment he registered that you’re fully sobbing in his arms, his body went still as he completely buried his cock inside you, not an inch left unattended as he spilled everything inside, his thick and warm cum filling you up.
After a while, the heavy atmosphere began to settle as both of you recovered from your activities. Logan still has his length inside you, his head resting against your shoulder. Your hand was tangled in his hair, while the other remained holding his. Slowly, he lifted his head to take a look at you and you saw a completely different version of him—there was still the playful grin but the soft gaze in his eyes told you everything.
He kissed the path toward your lips and once he’s face to face with you, he bumped his nose against yours; a practice intimacy he got used to doing after sex.
“Hi, Johnny.”
“Hi, gorgeous.” Logan shifted his weight, moving away from you a little to carefully pull out of your center. His absence caused you to whimper and the sound had him wrapping his arms around you immediately, uncaring of the cramped space as he tugged you toward his embrace. His lips landed on your forehead, sending warm kisses. He also took your bag from the floor of the car, taking your wet wipes to clean you up.
“Look at you, pretty. A beautiful mess, handled everything so well, and you’re all mine.” Logan whispered in your ear, his hands still busy wiping at yours and his skin. He discarded the used wipes at the car console where you keep a small trash bag before tending back his attention to you. He is now fully devoid of the man that he was earlier, consumed by lust and passion. What’s now left was a man caring for his girlfriend, eyes bright and entirely soft.
“Shut up, you didn’t make it to five goals.” You teased him as you hid your face in his chest, patting the hard muscle. Logan let out a low chuckle and kissed the crown of your head, his arms tightening around your waist.
“Watch me make it to five goals next game and we’ll do it in the announcer’s booth.”
“Johnny, not there! That’s Hannah and Garrett’s favorite place.” Both of you laughed at the statement before you settled into a comfortable silence. Logan moved slightly so you can have more space to rest comfortably against him, his chin now resting at the top of your head.
“Alright, not there. Anyway, let’s just stay like this for a little bit, then I’ll drive us back to the hockey house. Is that okay?” You nodded your head, cozying up in his arms as you wrapped yours securely around his torso.
After a while, you told Logan that you should head back home. Your friends understood why Logan missed out on the celebration, but that didn’t stop them from sending you tons of messages. Saying how unhinged you guys are and the way you’ve been using sex as a motivation should be studied, that there’s gotta be an explanation to your ways.
But you already know the answer to that. Aside from how good the sex was and how intimate you both are, after what you’ve found out about each other, it became clear to you and Logan that you trusted each other enough to talk about things you don’t usually talk about and do things that you once thought you wouldn’t do because of how risky it was—like having fun in the car.
It occurred to the both of you that it wasn’t entirely about the actions, the plans, the bets, and the deals, it was also about the person you’re doing it. And you’re just lucky that you’re doing it with Logan.
As you near the hockey house, Logan took your hand in his and pressed a kiss at the back of it.
“I love you, gorgeous. You know that, right?” The gleam and soft yearning swimming in his eyes drew a small grin on your lips and you leaned forward to kiss his cheeks. The warmth of his hand steadied you as you looked ahead, your reply caused Logan to mirror your smile, safe and satisfied.
“I know, Johnny, I love you too.”
A/N: I’m still practicing my writing when it comes to smut since I’m not really good at it but I appreciate you coming this far! Thank you so much for reading and always stay safe! <3
⌯⌲ SYNOPSIS: Things heat up in the hot tub while you and Rafe watch fireworks from your cabin he rented for the weekend of the fourth.
⌯⌲ CONTENT: 18+ — outdoor sex. hot tub sex. hair pulling. praise.
⌯⌲ A/N: I meant to post this yesterday but I never really came in here much while I was out of town! hope y’all enjoy!🎆🤍
The booms, pops and fizzles of the fireworks fill the otherwise quiet mountain air. Your glazed over eyes look out at the view in front of you, the dark sky being lit up beautifully by the bright colors of the fireworks.
Rafe’s hand wraps around your wet hair, pulling your head back so it rests on his chest. His hips thrust into you again, the head of his cock hitting at that sweet spot that’s settled deep inside of you.
“You enjoying this, baby?” he rasps, his lips kissing at the slick skin of your neck.
You let out breathy moan, your pussy tightening around him, pulling a moan from him as well.
“R-Rafe… harder.” you cry out, your hands coming up out of the water, gripping the side of the hot tub tightly as Rafe fucks into you harder.
Water sloshes over the sides, the sound of the water splashing against the concrete ground now coupling with the loud pops of the fireworks.
Rafe bites down on your shoulder, his dick sliding in and out of you with quick succession. You arch your back more, pressing your ass further into him, sucking him in deeper.
“I’m so close, Rafe!” you whimper, lips parted as your dazed eyes watch the fireworks. “Please, cum with me, please?”
“You’re doing so good for me, baby, come for me, come all over my cock and I’ll fill this sweet pussy up then carry you inside and take you in the shower and on the bed.”
The heat of the hot tub coupled with how good Rafe has you feeling has your body burning, sweat running down your forehead and neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, your ears taking in the sound of the fireworks coming up and popping quickly, the finale starting just as you’re reaching your climax.
Your toes curl, a long, drawn out moan spilling from your mouth as that feeling of pure euphoria takes over your body. Legs shaking, you open your eyes, the colors of the fireworks now brighter than ever as you come undone around Rafe’s cock.
Rafe’s thrusts become sloppy, his dick swelling and twitching inside of you. Biting down on your shoulder again, Rafe groans, his dick pushing deep inside of you and stilling as he comes.
Thick, warm ropes of his cum fills you, both of you reaching your peak just as the fireworks come to an end.
The two of you come down from your highs, chests heaving as you both try and catch your breath, sweat running down every inch of your body. Rafe slowly pulls out of you, his hand quickly dipping into the water, his middle and index fingers finding your pussy and shoving into you, making you shudder.
“Can’t let any of my cum spill out of you, baby.” Rafe rasps, his lips kissing at your shoulder.
You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Rafe’s hand that’s wrapped around your hair pulls your head back, forcing your eyes on him. He dips down, claiming your lips with his. “Only for you, happy fourth of july, baby.”
You smile up at him. “Thank you, and thank you for this trip, it’s been… real fun.”
҉ lucky strike ┊need your confession (+18) ⋆˚┊⋆˚ read between the lines ⋆˚┊wake up in the mornin' and to your smell (+18) ⋆˚┊in the alley, in the back, in the center of this room (+18) ⋆˚ ┊⋆˚ some fights you're never gon' win, just keep your eyes off him (+18)┊⋆˚ want your two hands on me like my life needs savin' (+18)┊⋆˚ is it cool if i hold your hand?┊⋆˚ it's my right to be hellish (+18) ┊⋆gimme a blonde that's six feet two┊⋆˚pleasure's a place only we know (+18) ┊⋆˚ break my heart and start a fire (+18) ┊⋆˚ hot summer nights (+18)
¡!shorter works¡! - ⋆ the families (+18)┊⋆ safest in your arms ⋆˚┊soft skin & i perfumed it for ya (+18) ⋆˚┊good ol' nights ┊⋆ overachiever┊⋆ er visits ┊⋆ breakfast in bed (+18) ┊⋆ fogged windows (+18)˚┊ halloween˚ (+18)┊anxiety ┊⋆ warm me up buttercup ┊⋆ twin beds (+18) ˚┊⋆first christmas┊⋆ date night (+18) ┊⋆ pregnancy scare
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ When you enter the Love Island villa as a bombshell, you spark an instant, high-stakes connection with the intense and complicated Rafe Cameron. As you navigate each others web of secrets, messy betrayals, and jealous rivals, you must decide if your undeniable chemistry is a genuine match or just a casualty of the game...
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, smut, mentions of past relationships, suggestive content, mentions of addiction, circumstantial cheating/infidelity, general LI drama, arguments, mentions of mental health, drinking, more detailed warnings for each individual chapter
SERIES TAG NAV‧₊˚ #fic analysis☀️ | #sotb | #mailbox:sotb | #the bombshell files
some quick (kinda important) notes
EPISODES
The Deep End (Day 1+2) | tweets
2. Muggy Mornings and Moonlit Pasts (Day 3+4) | tweets
3. Receipts and Recouplings (Day 5+6) | tweets
4. Do For Love (Day 7+8) | tweets
5. Va Va Voom (Day 9+10) | tweets
6. Is There Someone Else? (Day 11+12) | tweets
7. My Moon My Man (Day 12 cont.) | tweets
8. Fire In My Heart (Day 13+14) | tweets
9. Ex's & Oh's (Day 15+16) | tweets
10. We Never Dated (Day 17+18) | tweets
11. Do I Wanna Know? (Day 19+20) | tweets
12. I Need Your Love (Day 21+22) | tweets
13. Misery Business (Day 23) | tweets
14. Your New Home (Day 24) | tweets
15. Here [Instrumental] (Day 25+26) | tweets
16. Bleed (Day 27+28) | tweets
17. Is It A Crime (Day 29+30) | tweets
18. Cinderella (Day 31+32) | tweets
19. Blue (Day 33)
20. Letter Home (Day 34)
21. Ain't No Mountain High Enough (Day 35)
22. Welcome Back, Islanders (The Reunion)
WHERE ARE THEY NOW? >>
EXTRAS
TR's Style Board
The (OG) Girls
The (OG) Guys
AFTERSUN : Ruthie
💣Meet Rima
💣Meet Miles
AFTERSUN : Topper
The Casa Girls
The Casa Guys
AFTERSUN : The Unchosen (Delaney, Winnie, Thomas, Brandon, and Mattheo)
warnings: older!rafe, jealous!reader, make up sex, rafe is down bad, multiple orgasms, possessive!reader, petty!reader, oral (fem. & male receiving), swearing, slight angst, overstimulation, nipple play, female worship, unprotected p in v, spit kink
📖 NHL!Rafe gets caught smiling at the Ice Girl after scoring a goal on his way back to the bench; his winning night just turned into a loss—now he needs to make it right. ♥️
Reader’s POV:
The cold from the rinks seeps in through the glass as you stand up, watching Rafe in his element, skating with the kind of ease only years of playing hockey could bring. Every movement is smooth and deliberate as he weaves through traffic with precision.
Your eyes widen as he finds his hole, sending this puck sailing past the goalie, lighting the lamp as the crowd goes wild. The area erupts with cheers as his teammates pile on him at the corner in celebration, Rafe smiling ear to ear.
Your heart beats a little faster, and you can’t help but swoon as you see your boyfriend commanding the team and the audience of rowdy fans as the Goal Song plays. He looks over at you, giving you a smile and a wink as he always does, making your heart flutter. But your smile quickly fades as he skates closer to the bench.
You look up at the jumbotron, wondering if you were going insane… because there’s no possible way your boyfriend just skated past an Ice Crew girl and smiled at her.
Not just a smile. The smile—the smile that makes you weak in the knees. The smile he shot you from across the bar all those years ago.
You look up at the screen, watching it again as the pretty blonde skates along the boards, shoveling the snow away with her shovel. Her little Santa Clause skirt catches the breeze, showing off her red, sparkly booty shorts underneath. She even looked surprised at their little exchange, her blonde curls bouncing as she double-takes.
She skates back toward the boards, looking at the bench as Rafe takes his glove off with his teeth, stripping himself of his helmet before running his fingers through his sweaty hair, none the wiser.
You look toward the bench too, watching as she glides past him one last time on her way off the ice—arching her back with each push of her skate blades; tits busting out of the top of the red velvet crop top.
Rafe’s attention is long gone, but that doesn’t mean you’re over it—not in the slightest. He grabs his Gatorade bottle, squirting it lazily in his mouth as his coach yells at the other men about a line change.
It was quick and harmless—probably nothing more than a polite acknowledgment. But at this moment, it feels anything but. Your jaw clenches as you stew a little more, hating yourself for your jealous streak. But waving that feeling is next to impossible, especially when it comes to Rafe. Your Rafe…
The cameras didn’t catch that he smiled at you… All they saw was #2 skating off the bench after a critical goal, smiling at the crowd before turning his attention to her.
Music blares over the speakers again, repeating the goal in slow motion—a repeat of everything in slow motion… Your mind starts to race away, and your irritation bubbles in your chest.
As the game continued, your focus was shot, scowling as you repeatedly watched the girl fight for his attention. But could you blame the girl for trying? She got it once.
By the time the game ended, you were seething. Rafe had played brilliantly, as he always does, scoring two more goals, leading his team to victory, but everything was tainted.
After the final buzzer, Rafe skated out to the middle of the ice, and the crowd went wild again as they awarded him player of the game, airing that goal again.
Rafe looked up at the screen, watching with a proud smile as the puck sailed into the net. He playfully bumped his buddy with his elbow as he watched his teammates congratulate him. And then his smile falters. His lashes beat a few times; utter confusion like he didn’t live that moment once, his gaze landing directly at you.
There were no words needed. You leaned down, grabbed your coat, heading up the stairs before they could even set the award in his hands.
You caught another girlfriend in the parking lot, so you sent Rafe a quick text telling him you would see him at home. Typically, you’d drive home together, celebrating a win with music and laughter, sometimes stopping for a beer and food. Other times, you wouldn’t even make it out of the private parking garage until the arena lights went dark, the two of you sneaking in a celebratory hookup in the back of his G-Class.
Tonight, you didn’t even wait for him to shower and change. You needed your space—space to stew in your anger without him explaining it away.
Rafe Cameron was on your shit list.
When you got home, you went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of wine. Your guilt started to creep in as you briefly talked yourself off the ledge. It was harmless… He would never do anything, I know… You’re being irrational… Just let it go…
The TV was playing from earlier when you walked into the living room— ESPN highlights rolling across your screen. And then there it was again… It was like the universe just wanted you to lose your shit.
The camera lingered a second too long on him as he skated toward the bench. The moment you couldn’t get out of your head played on a loop for the entire country to see. You grabbed the remote and rewound it, watching it repeatedly, your anger flaring hotter each time.
How could he? How could he smile at her when I was right there?
Clink.
You sat unmoved, wine in hand, as you heard Rafe's key pull out of the door, the hardware creaking open slowly. “Baby?” Rafe’s voice was soft, hesitant. He knew you well enough to sense the storm brewing even before he saw you.
You stay silent, eyes set on the screen, taking a sip of wine with the highlights paused and ready. Rafe pokes his head around the corner before he steps in the doorway. His big body takes up the frame—settling on wearing his game-day suit instead of his typical post-game sweatpants and sweatshirt, hoping that maybe that would buy him some grace, knowing you can’t keep your hands off him dressed like that.
He walks a little closer—a bouquet in one hand, a bottle of your favorite wine tucked under his big arm, and his other hand clutching your favorite dessert from that restaurant you love. His expression’s contrite; he smiles nervously. This man is hell on the ice… But now, he looks like he might crack under your gaze.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he says softly as he sets down the gifts, sinking onto the couch next to you. “I… I—Uh… I thought I’d bring you these.” You glance at the offerings, your sharp eyes returning to the TV. “Are you mad, princess?” He asks though the answer is crystal clear.
God, he can’t be this fuckin’ dumb.
You lift the remote, press play, and let the clip roll in silence. His eyes flicker to the screen, and when the moment replays—the goal, the smile, the girl—you have the pleasure of watching it together.
“Baby,” he starts, his tone full of guilt. “I-”
“Don’t,” you snap, cutting him off. “Don’t even start with some excuse about how it didn’t mean anything, Rafe.”
He sighs, running his big hand through his damp hair, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t mean anything by it, princess. I swear. I was just being polite-”
“Polite?” You scoff, finally turning to face him with a manic smile. “You smiled at her like she was the only person in the arena, Rafe. Polite… Really?”
“You’re the only person I care about, baby. The only one I look for is you. I swear.”
“Really?” You pick up the remote and rewind the clip. “Because this tells a different story.”
“Come on, princess,” he pleads as he leans closer. “It was nothin’. I couldn’t pick her out of a line-up. Aight? I don’t even remember doing it. I was just-”
“You might not remember it, but I do. And so does every person watching this on TV who knows you have a girlfriend,” you snap, cutting right through his apology.
Rafe rests his elbow on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he sighs, his voice breaking slightly. “I wasn’t thinkin’ about anything. I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. You know you’re my girl.”
“Yeah… Well, from the looks of it, I’m the only one who knows that.”
”Jesus, baby,” he laughs weakly, not earning any headway—his efforts seemingly making everything worse.
He drops to his knees in front of you, resting his big hands on your thighs as he stares up with those impossibly blue eyes, giving you a look that always makes you melt. “I’m so, so sorry… You’re everything to me. I don’t give a fuck about her. How could I when I have you? Please, baby. Nobody compares to you…” You roll your eyes, flicking your gaze away, sucking your teeth as you feel him melting away your icy exterior.
“I’ll do whatever it takes, princess,” he says, his voice earnest. “Look at me… Please, don’t stay mad at me. I messed up, but it didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t even tell you what I was thinkin’ about at the time but it definitely had nothin’ to do with her.” You return your eyes to him, lips pressed in two thin lines.
He inches in, trying to eliminate the space between the two of you, knowing that if he kisses you, he might win you over. You stop him, pressing your hand against his forehead.
“No.”
“No?” He pouts.
“You’re not kissing me for a very long time.”
Rafe collapses on your thighs, burying his head in your lap. “Please,” he mumbles, muffled against your leg. The corners of your lips curl slightly as you try your best to fight back your smile, but the thought of Rafe like this—the big, strong hockey star on his knees begging for forgiveness—made your resolve waver. “Yeah?” He asks hopefully as he peeks up at you, catching the slight smile.
“I’m not done being mad, Rafe,” you say coolly, looking down at him from the corner of your eye.
“Take your time, pretty,” he sighs deeply as his hands slide lower down your caves, his chin resting on your knees as he looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. “M’so sorry,” he whispers, his voice muffled. “I love you more than anything, baby. Anything… Let me make it up to you.”
You let the silence between the two of you stretch, savoring his sweet words for a moment. The TV plays on, filling the silence. You look at the screen, eyeing a Seasons Greetings message, and scroll across. “Oh, thank god,” Rafe huffs tiredly as he looks over his shoulder, watching with you as the other captain stumbles over his words on national television.
Rafe appears on the screen, fixing his collar nervously as he looks at the camera.
“Well, I’m lookin’ forward to spending this Christmas with my girlfriend. She makes everything better, you know?”
He pauses and smiles as he scratches the back of his neck.
“Yeah, so… I can’t wait to just be with her. That’s all I need for Christmas, honestly.”
Rafe flashes a sweet smile at the camera, and you feel your heart flutter as they put a picture of the two of you up on the screen from the last game, his arm wrapped around your waist as he kisses your cheek. The camera switches back to him as he gives a little wave, wishing the fans a Merry Christmas, before it cuts to his other teammate.
Rafe turns his head slightly, looking at you nervously. You cover your lips with your hand, hiding a smile. “Baby?” He asks timidly.
“You’re mine, Rafe,” you say softly, leaving no room for argument.
“Always,” he assures as he hesitantly moves closer, claiming your lips for a tender kiss. He cups your cheek in his big hands, his perfect smile spreading along your lips. “Always yours, princess.” Rafe pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “Forgive me?” He asks, his voice tentative.
“That was very sweet, baby,” you whisper.
He grabs for you, pulling you to straddle his lap. Rafe wraps his big arms around your waist, burying himself in your neck and holding you tight. “How sweet?” He asks, earning a giggle as his voice lowers. Rafe peels your jean jacket off your shoulders, kissing your shoulder, then your neck, working his way up to your ear.
“Sweet enough to get you out of the dog house,” you quip.
You rest your hands on his big chest, and he stretches his arms, draping them across the back of the couch, looking at you on top of him. Rafe tilts his head casually, but there’s nothing casual about his gaze as he looks back at you. “You know,” he starts hesitantly, unsure if he should continue the thought. The last thing he wants to do is get back on your bad side again. “You’re kinda scary when you’re mad, princess. Sexy as hell, but… Damn, you scare the shit outta me sometimes,” he sighs. “… I fuckin’ love it.”
You giggle and roll your eyes as you pinch the buttons of his shirt between your fingers, popping them open one by one. “I scare you?” You act surprised, but you know it’s true.
“Mhmm, you’re the only person I’m scared of.”
You raise your eyebrow as you draw his shirt open, letting your long nails run down his chest, making goosebumps spread across his tanned, toned skin. “I can tell,” you whisper.
“That’s fair…” He hums as sees your smile. “I’m scared of screwin’ this up—scared of losin’ you. I can’t even think about that shit.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” you say, your voice steady but gentle.
“Yeah, but I do,” he murmurs as he shifts closer, the air between you thick. “Let me thank you properly, princess?”
“I don’t know,” you chuckle breathily.
“C’mon, you want me too,” he smiles. “I can tell…” You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, leaving you in your lace bra. Rafe licks his lips, looking at your body hungrily, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in. “Please, baby,” he almost whines. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you all night… You know how I get after a win, sweetheart,” he mumbles as his big hands rest on your hips. “Had no idea you were mad at me, honey. M’so fuckin’ dumb. I’m so stupid,” he rambles as he reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra before tossing it away.
“Hmm…” You tap your chin teasingly. “I don’t know if that’s enough begging, Cameron.”
“You want more?” He chuckles. You bite your lip and nod ‘yes’ back, arching as you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in a little more. “You wanna hear me beg? Fuck. I can go all night, princess…”
“Go on…” You giggle.
“You gotta forgive me… All I was thinking about was takin’ you home,” he tilts in closer, wrapping his lips around your tit, sucking and flicking your nipple as his hand palms the other, releasing you with a pop. “All I was thinkin’ about burying myself in your pussy all night. Pounding you into the mattress. Filling you up. I had no clue you were mad at me… All I was doing was sitting on the bench, dreamin’ about all the shit I wanted to do with you.”
“You’re lying,” you sigh as he works on the button and the zipper of your jeans.
He looks up at you, brows furrowed like you don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. “Am not,” he answers simply. “If I’m not thinkin’ about the game, I’m thinking about you. When I look at you from the ice, I’m just hopin’ you’re looking at me… Smilin’ that smile,” he hums as he leans in, pressing his lips against your pulse point. “Can’t help but get a little excited when you get possessive over me, princess. All I want is your attention.” He whispers hot against your skin.
“So you’re an attention whore, Cameron,” you bully as you rest your hand on his rock-hard bulge, pressing against him, palming him, drawing the sweetest moans from his lips.
“M’a fuckin’ slut for your attention, sweetheart,” he drawls. “‘Course I am.”
“You know, Rafe… No one can do it like me,” you breathe as you stroke him over his pants, making his head lull back on the couch.
“I know, baby… Why do you think I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, huh?” He asks. “You got me beggin’… I don’t even recognize myself right now.”
“Pretty pathetic for me, daddy-”
“You have no idea,” he answers before you can finish. You step off the couch, making Rafe’s lust-lidded eyes widen briefly before rolling back, the man quickly tugging his pants off as you lower yourself to your knees, slotting yourself between his muscular thighs. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers as he pulls his boxers down eagerly. You look at his pretty eyes, and your hands trace down his muscular chest, nails circling his long, thick cock, flushed and leaking with precum. He grabs your chin in his hand, lifting your eyes to his. “You hear me, baby? I don’t fuckin’ deserve this… I love you.”
“I love you too, baby,” you whisper as he leans down, kissing you deeply. Before he can relax, you open your mouth, showing him your tongue. He groans into a deep, sleazy laugh, spitting inside. “So fucking filthy for me, baby.”
Rafe lets out a deep groan as you wrap your fingers around his dick, pumping your fist up and down his length. He breathes with your strokes, the deep ridges of his ab muscles flexing with each glide of your hand.
“I think about you too, Rafe,” you smile as your tongue glides along your bottom lip, mouth-watering as his precum rolls down his fat cock, catching his prominent vein as it slips languidly down the side.
“Yeah?” He hums as his eyes lighten on yours, looking down at you like you're the prettiest thing in the world.
“Mhmm…” You breathe, watching goosebumps fan along his skin before cleaning it up with your tongue.
“Mpfhh, shit,” he huffs as his big fingers curl into a fist on the back of the couch. “What—uh… What do you think about, princess?” He asks as you start to stroke him quickly, licking and swirling your tongue on his tip, your breast bouncing with each pump, distracting him further.
“This,” you answer simply, half-hiding your smirk with the swollen head of his cock before starting again. That visual made his lashes flutter, holding back his pleasure already. “All I think about is sucking you off, bouncing on your dick…”
“So-So… Fuck, that’s good,” he groans as you wrap your lips around his tip, bobbing up and down on his big cock. “You, baby. Only you. Alright?”
“Mhmm…” You hum around his cock. Rafe’s toes curl at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him. He grabs the back of the couch, clawing into it with his blunt nails while his other hand rests on the back of your head. He doesn’t even guide your strokes, not wanting to ruin your perfect rhythm.
“Swallow it, baby? M’Gonna cum, Fuck. I’m gonna cum in that perfect mouth,” he pants as his thick thigh shakes uncontrollably.
Rafe throws back his head, painting the back of your throat white as he cums long and hard. His cock throbs on your tongue, shit tip kissing the back of your mouth as you take it all.
“Goddamn,” he groans as his body relaxes on the sofa.
You glide yourself off his cock, lips glistening when Rafe pushes his mouth against yours, making you gasp into your kiss as he lifts you into his strong arms, taking you off your feet, walking with you to your bedroom.
He pants between kisses, the man unable to even catch his breath yet. “No one— Fuck, no one does it like you, baby,” he mumbles with a whiny rasp that runs straight through you.
“Yeah?” You ask as you pull away, leaving him chasing your lips. You nuzzle your nose against his. Rafe smiles blissfully, throwing the bedroom door shut behind you.
“I’m gonna make sure you know just how much you mean to me, baby,” he murmurs. “And how much I love you,” Rafe hums, emphasizing each word with a hungry kiss before tossing you down on your plush mattress, mounting you fast.
He grabs your jeans, yanking them down your thighs before tossing them to the side. His lips press against your hot skin, kissing along your hips as your back arches off the bed.
“I am going to worship this body, princess… Every single fuckin’ inch.” Rafe moves even lower, face to face with your dripping cunt still dressed in lace, your panties an absolute mess after sucking him off. "I want you to cum on me, pretty," he says, voice sweet like honey as he looks up at you from between your thighs. “One my dick, on my fingers, on my tongue.”
You glide your fingers through his damp fringe, smiling at him as he kisses along your inner thighs. Rafe breathes in your scent before pressing a kiss against your clothed pussy, making you whimper.
“Fuckin’ love the taste of you,” he sighs. Rafe works off your panties fast, needing more; his hot breath hits you first, his tongue quickly reaching your sex just to slow his pace, lapping up your arousal.
He hums into your core, sending goosebumps flaring across your skin. You grind against his face, moaning as your aching clit bumps against his nose. You gasp as Rafe shoves two thick fingers inside, pumping in fast. He curls them, making you cry out in pleasure, throwing your head back on the pillow in bliss as he strokes your sweet spot again and again.
“My pretty girl’s gonna cum, aren’t you?” He asks as he pulls his mouth away from your clit.
“Fuck, Rafe. Make me cum,” you plead.
“Cum for me, baby…”
You scream out his name, cumming around his skilled fingers as he continues to suck and stroke you through your release.
“Such a good girl for me,” he pants as he kisses your clit, making your thighs jolt with overstimulation as you reach for a breath. Rafe traces your slick folds with a featherlight touch, swirling his tongue around your dripping hole before plunging into your entrance, not wanting to miss a drop, making your fingers scratch into his hair, tugging at his strands.
“Mmm…” You hum as your hands slink up your body, grabbing your tits as you writhe in the aftershock of your orgasm.
Rafe rises on his knees. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, looking down at you like you are an angel on earth.
You snapped back to reality, plump lip tucking between your teeth as you felt his fat tip press between your slick folds. He flicks his velvety head against your clit, watching your muscles jump, your thighs drawing together, making him smirk devilishly at your sensitivity.
“I need your pussy, princess…” He hums as he grabs your legs, spreading you wide before pushing them into the mattress.
“I need your dick, baby,” you whirr, and he buries himself inside you, long and slow, reaching deep into your core, filling you so full you go for a breath. You press it out slowly as he bottoms you out—Rafe’s big hands reaching up to grab your fleshy hips tight.
Rafe fucks into your slow at first, his eyes still trained on your body, watching your curves bounce with each thrust. Your pussy pulls him in with each stroke, filthy wet sucking sounds filling your ears and his as your slickness soaks him—essence rolling down his heavy balls onto the comforter below.
His movements become more possessive and forceful, rutting into you with urgency. His words no longer do him justice; Rafe wanted you to feel them, too. He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.
You grab for him, cursing under your breath as your pleasure mounts, feeling yourself about to come undone for him again. “Do it… Come on, baby. Give me another one, Yeah?” He mumbles, his deep fucked-out voice barely heard over the clapping of your skin against his.
Rafe buries himself into you, throwing his hips into you again and again as his name leaves your lips in a strangled moan. “Keep cummin’, princess. Keep creamin’ all over me. Fuckk,” he groans as his fingers find yours.
“Fuck, Rafe,” you barely push out the words, your boyfriend pounding you into the mattress just like he promised he would, and you swear you down, thinking you can’t take anymore as stars start to dance in your eyes.
Rafe lifts your hands above your head, fingers intertwined, pumping into you as his lips meet yours.
Your heart bangs against Rafe’s, his muscular chest flush with yours, gold chain clinging to your hot, sweaty skin.
“I’m so close, baby… I know you can cum again. Alright?” He pants against your lips as his cock rocks in and rocks out, filling you deliciously each time. He drops one hand, nudging his fingers against your clit, making you whimper into his open mouth.
“Just like that…” You breathe.
“Yeah? That’s what you needed, pretty girl, huh? Fuck…” His words get swallowed up in a moan as he fills you with his cum, his muscles tightening, fingers working even quicker to push you over the edge with him.
Your hands grip his big biceps, nails clawing into his skin as you cum for a third time, gasping to fill your lungs with air.
Rafe kisses you, grounding your dizzy mind. Your body dissolves in pleasure as he wraps himself in you, holding you close.
warnings: dom!rafe, possessive!rafe, softbf!rafe, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, icky “boy talk” at the beginning (not by rafe), protective rafe, boys tease the reader when she's not there, they see a picture of her in lingerie, they start a video of rafe and the reader having sex but rafe takes it from them, ownership kink, kissing, unprotected public p in v, butt plug, praise, cum tasting, wet and messy, squirting, cockwarming
All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! After a few drinks at a hockey party, Rafe gets teased about what a good girl you are, but Rafe knows the truth 💋
Reader's POV:
The basement of the hockey house is alive, post-game with a rowdy crowd. Cheap keg beer spills from red SOLO cups, the packed basement wall to wall with a mix of jerseys and ugly sweaters.
Rafe kicks his feet up, relaxing on the oversized couch with the boys, half-watching some hockey game as they shoot the shit. “Damn,” Alex groans, his wicked smirk glowing in the light of his phone. He zooms in on the screen, smiles, and tosses his head back.
“Jesus Christ,” Kemper hums as he looks at the message Alex got, lifting his phone to “snap” a picture of his—just givin’ Alex hell. “Get outta here,” he shoves him away with a laugh.
“She looks better in that jersey than you,” Kemper shoots back.
“No shit,” Alex pulls it up again, adjusting himself a second later. “She stole my jersey yesterday… Sent me that pic as a congratulations, I guess,” he smiles proudly.
“Where’s Max?” Kemper asks, eyes scanning your group before looking over the back of the couch into the crowd.
“Left about five minutes ago with Lexi,” Rafe adds. “He’s gone for the night.”
“Lucky bitch,” Kemper mumbles against the lip of his can before draining his beer.
“You that desperate, Kemp?” Rafe taunts, lifting an eyebrow in his direction, half-hiding his smirk with his drink.
“Fuck you, Cameron,” he clips as he crumples up his can, tossing the empty drink at JJ. “It’s his fuckin’ fault,” he gestures to Maybank, giving him the finger. “He stole her.”
“Stole her my ass. She wanted me. Not my fault either. You're a goalie, man. Maybe you could switch positions and get pussy from time to time-”
“I get pussy!” Kemper cuts JJ off, cracking another beer open.
“Sure you do,” Rafe taunts, just stoking the fire. Attention naturally falls back to him, the boys ramping up to knock him down a peg. He stretches his big arms along the back of the couch, just waiting for the shit-talking to start.
“Yo, Rafe,” Alex calls out, and Rafe snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes at the predictability.
“Yeah, man. Get on with it,” Rafe chuckles between sips of beer.
“What about your girl? How long has it been… three, four, five months?” Alex slurs.
“Since what, bud?”
“Since what?” He barbs, mocking Rafe like he knows the first thing about you. “Since you got your dick wet. What do you mean, ‘since what’?
The group erupts in laughter, Rafe's lips curling into an amused smile. He doesn't bat an eye— not hurrying to respond, either.
"She's perfect; that's all you need to know," he replies smoothly. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair before turning it to the back.
"Come on, man," another chimes in, clearly not letting it go. "That’s it… That’s all we’re gettin’? Is it that fuckin’ bad?”
“M’sorry, Rafey,” Kemper chuckles, shooting him a crooked look.
The teasing continues, but Rafe just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares them down, the picture of calm confidence. “You guys have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” he speaks, his voice calm and smug.
“Sure we don’t,” Kemper laughs. “You tuck her in after the game or what?”
“She’s around here somewhere,” Rafe smiles, glancing at his phone again before setting it on the counter. He smiles to himself, recalling how you sucked his dick on the car ride home from the game; the man fucking you five inches from your life in the shower when you got back.
As much as you loved the side he showed you when no one was watching—soft and sweet. He loved the side of you that no one else got to see as well… filthy and insatiable, your sex drive giving Rafe a run for his money. Rafe didn't need to defend you—or himself. He knows the truth.
“What are you thinkin’ about, Cameron?” JJ asks, catching Rafe smilin—your boyfriend shrugging before he takes a swig of beer.
“None of your fuckin’ business, Maybank,” Rafe laughs.
The conversation drifts back to the topic of conquests, JJ bragging about the girl he snuck on the bus on the last away game, the two fuckin’ in the backseat all the way home.
Rafe’s phone lights up, buzzing on the coffee table. The screen with your name plastered on the front of it shines like a beacon.
"Uh oh,” Kemper pipes, “lover boy's got a text?”
Rafe unlocks the screen and smiles, spreading a little wider. “What the fuck?” He clips as Alex picks the phone out of his hand.
"Let's see what kind of cute little texts your girl sends, huh?” His voice trails away as he looks at the screen, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open as he catches you in nothing but black lace.
"What?" The others clamor, pushing towards Alex to get a better look.
”C’mon,” Alex whines as JJ plucks the phone off his hands, taking it for himself.
“Goddamn,” Maybank groans as he zooms in.
“Enough, man. What the fuck,” Rafe scoffs as he reaches for it. JJ quickly slides his finger across Rafe’s screen, skimming through the camera roll to find more.
Before Rafe can grab it, JJ lofts it to the next boy, slightly out of Rafe’s reach. Kemper flicks his fingers as well, his eyes doubling when he finds something new.
"Fuckkk, there's a video!" He responds excitedly, one hand gripping the phone, the other extended, fighting Rafe off as he tries to get the device back.
Your sweet moan rips through the phone’s speakers, sending the boys into a frenzy. Rafe's easygoing expression changes in an instant. His smile remains in place, but a razor-sharp edge of possession colors his movements as he stands up, snatching the phone back before they could play any more than a few seconds.
“You like that?” You breathe—your soft, sultry voice echoing faintly through the device before Rafe locks his phone.
The group falls silent, eating their words, struck dumb and speechless as they see a side of you they didn’t imagine existed.
"Like I said," Rafe drawls as he pops another beer, "you've got no idea what you're talkin’ about."
Before the boys can recover, a voice breaks through the haze. “Hey, baby,” you hum. All eyes shifting to you.
The group turns together, watching you step toward the party; your beautiful eyes lock on Rafe’s. He shifts slightly, extending a hand, quickly pulling you onto his lap with a smile. You drape your arm around his neck, Rafe’s arms dressing around your waist, his eyes matching yours, making your stomach flutter.
"Ready to go, baby?" You ask playfully, your intentions for the rest of the night clear in your tone.
“Always,” Rafe smiles as he wets his lip, leaning in for a kiss.
He doesn't hesitate, following you through the crowded hallway, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you climb the stairs, ducking under tacky Christmas decorations and weaving around people playing beer games at the kitchen table.
Rafe grabs two Coors, popping open one for you and one for him. He sets it down and grabs you by your waist, lifting you onto the counter, moving between your thighs, tilting closer, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re perfect, sweetheart. You know that?” He asks, his voice low and sweet.
“So are you, baby.” You lean in, pressing a tender kiss against his lips.
“Would you kill me if I told you they saw that picture you sent me?” He asks.
“Rafey…” You laugh gently against his lips, pecking at them again. “You’re givin’ away all my secrets, baby.”
“M’sorry-”
“ I don’t care,” you smile, gently brushing your lips against his. “Let ‘em know what a slut I am for you…”
“You are, aren’t you, princess?”
“Mhmm,” you hum against his lips before sucking off the bottom, making him groan against your lips.
“… You still wearin’ it, baby?” He drawls.
“You told me to be a good girl and keep it in... What do you think?” You flirt.
“Fuckin’ love you,” he hums.
Rafe wraps his arm around you, lifting you off the counter, pulling you through the packed living room: bodies upon bodies, wall to wall, the air thick with heat and booze—music blares from the speakers, pulsing in your chest.
Rafe crashes down on his favorite chair, the two of you snuggling up in the dark corner. His big hands slide up your thighs immediately, gripping your hips as your lips meet.
“I’m the luckiest man here,” he hums as his hands shift your ass, squeezing tight. One of his hands falls lower before rising again, drifting under your skirt.
Rafe rubs his fingers over your pussy, teasing your entrance over your lace panties, soaking them thoroughly. His rough hands trace up your ass, pressing against the plug, making you whimper against his lips.
“Mmm… Good girl,” he breathes. Rafe draws back enough to meet your gaze, making chills run down your spine. "You got no clue what you do to me,” he hums.
Your fingers scratch into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should show me.”
His eyes fall to your lips—his lusty smile spreading, matching your own. Rafe moves closer, burying himself in your neck, kissing higher and higher. His heavy breathing hits your ear, making your pussy throb. “Right here…” Rafe mumbles. “Let me put my cock in, princess.”
“You’re gonna fuck me right here?” You giggle dizzily, making him chuckle as well, pulling you in tighter.
“You gonna let me?”
“You know I will…” You coo.
“Thought so… Fuckin’ though? Maybe that's a little risky, even for us. You're just gonna keep me warm for a while…” He lies.
“That’s it?” You ask teasingly as you slip your hand between the two of you, cupping his stiff bulge, making him moan in your ear.
“What—you want more?” He taunts, giving it right back to you.
“I always want more,” you whisper. You slip out of his lap, turning around, facing the crowd, the lot lost in their own worlds. Rafe grabs your chin and turns your face, claiming your lips as he adjusts, pulling his pants down enough to release his aching cock.
His thick dick slaps against his shirt. You reach behind your back, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly. Rafe throws his head back on the chair, letting you work him in your fist, thumb skimming over his fat tip. You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you put it between your plump lips, sucking it clean.
Rafe lifts your skirt slightly, pushing your panties to the side. You rise slightly as Rafe seizes his dick in his big hand, swirling around your soaked hole. You claw at the armrests, listening to Rafe hiss out a breath as you sink on his long cock inch by inch.
“Shit,” you whimper as you release your hands, fully sat, adjusting your skirt, feeling Rafe throb inside you.
He moves closer, wrapping strong his arms around your body, tucking himself in your neck. “Pussy’s just made for me, baby,” he breathes, hot against your neck.
You look out into the crowd, but no one is the wiser. Rafe turns your face again, pushing his lips against yours. Your clench around his cock, and he moans against your lips. His hands shift along your body, brushing over your tits, moving down your stomach, slipping just under your shirt.
He presses down on your stomach, making your thigh draw in. “M’so fuckin’ deep,” he whispers as he pushes again, making you gasp against his lips as he feels his own cock.
Rafe’s other hand moves lower, his two long fingers finding your clit over your clothes. Your eyes scan the crowd; the two of you are still in the clear as Rafe starts spiraling his fingers on your sex.
You know you should stay still, not wanting to give yourselves away, but you can help but circle your hips ever so slightly, grinding your wet cunt on Rafe’s lap with his cock buried so deep.
Rafe grabs your hips, his biceps, and forearms, flexing as he pulls you down as hard as he can, making your nails drive into his skin to keep from crying out as he splits you apart. Your head falls forward from the pressure between your thighs.
Your wetness drools from your tight hole, wetting the place between the two of you, making you both a sticky mess. He lifts your hips slightly, fucking up into your slick center, making your eyes roll back.
Rafe belts his arms around your waist, pulling you into him again as you feel your pleasure about to erupt; pussy tightening around him.
“Me too, baby. Me too,” he pants. “Do that thing you were doin’, huh? Grind f’me. Make a fuckin’ mess,” he mumbles. You roll your hips into him, panting against his lips, not caring who sees at this point, more concerned with your pleasure and his.
Your movements start to get sloppy as you lose control. Rafe grabs your hips, coaxing you to the edge. You gush around his cock, creaming and cumming with him, swallowing each other's moans between deep kisses.
The two of you breathe rapidly against each other's lips, little whimpers falling from yours in sensitivity as you feel his pulsing cock move deep in your guts, his cum and the plug making you feel incredibly full.
Rafe pulls you back on his chest, the two of you exchanging sweet kisses as you come down from your bliss. You giggle against his lips, and he smiles against yours at what the two of you just did. You’re shameless display of affection doing nothing but bringing you closer.
He helps you off his cock, buttoning up his pants before guiding you to stand. Before you can step away, he binds his arm around you, pulling you in, lips finding your neck. A sharp gasp and a throaty moan leave your mouth as you feel a loss.
“Why don’t we say goodnight to the boys and head to bed, yeah?” He asks as he tucks the butt plug in his back pocket. You feel the sensation of his warm cum slipping out of your puffy hole and your ass, dripping down your inner thigh. “I wanna be leakin’ out of you when we do, princess.”
warnings: mutual pining, swearing, drinking, rafe and the reader are intoxicated, oral (male + female receiving), bathroom sex, semi-public sex, spanking, unprotected p in v, pullout method, rough oral, dirty talk, praise wet + messy, cum tasting
📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! When you're getting hit on by a loser at your local college bar “boyfriend” Rafe comes in to save the day.
Reader’s POV:
The crowd's roar is deafening as you sit pressed against the glass of the college hockey area. The game had barely begun, but the energy was already electric—hit after hit, shot after shot. Your friend Lexi shouts and claps, pulling you out of your daze as she bangs her wool mittens against the glass.
Rafe Cameron… Your eyes track him as he streams by confidently, his red and black jersey rippling behind him as he skates, dodging the defenseman on his way to the net.
You smile, biting your lip as you look at the man before you. He sat two rows ahead of you in your accounting class, the two of you exchanging no more than two words all year. Still, there’s just something about him that has your heart racing every time you see him.
“You’re staring,” your friend smiles, looking at you from the corner of her eye. She lifts her draft beer to her lips, grinning against the rim before sipping.
“What?” You giggle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. “Am not.” You lie as the warmth of your little crush creeps up your neck, pooling hot in your cheeks.
“Yes, you are, she teases. “And, honestly, I don’t blame you…”
You roll your eyes away, but you can’t get the smile off your face. Rafe skates by the student section, glancing briefly at the glass as he cleans the snow off his stick. The corners of his lips curl into a smile, making your pulse skip, but you quickly shake it off.
I mean, it was a good shift… He had to be happy about that; you explain it away.
After the game wore on, the players moved faster, hits got harder, and the scoreboard stayed locked at an even 2 to 2. You could feel the determination and intensity radiating off him every time he hit the ice; you couldn’t take your eyes off him—like you would’ve regardless.
With less than a minute of play, Rafe broke away from the traffic with the puck on his stick. The crowd rose to its feet, getting louder and louder the closer he got until he drew his stick back and fired at the net. The sound of the rubber puck clanged off the pipe, and the crowd went wild when the red light flashed. The buzzer drones, its sound quickly swallowed up in the Goal Song.
You jump to your feet, clapping and cheering with the crowd. Rafe skates toward the middle, grinning as his teammates mob him, but once that celebration breaks apart, he turns to the student section, helmet off, hair wet with sweat, staring directly at you, smiling, sealing the deal with a cheeky wink.
There was no mistaking it… The look, the smile, the wink. It was meant for you and you alone.
“Did you see that?” Your friend screams before you can even fully process what happened.
“I… Uh…” You stammer, looking at her to confirm what you saw before you say anything, knowing full-well she could be asking about the goal and not Rafe.
“Oh, please,” Lexi scoffs teasingly as she shoves you away. “That shit was for you, and you know it.”
The car ride to the bar was filled with music and laughter. You can't help but get lost in your thoughts. Replaying that moment a few times before opening Instagram, fingers hovering over the search bar.
“Just do it,” your friend laughs, watching it all; face twisting slightly as she catches you debating.
“I didn't ask you,” you chide light-heartedly.
“You’re thinkin’ about followin’ him… Just do it,” she challenges you.
“Do you think that he would have followed me if he was interested?” You ask as you look at his handsome profile picture.
You hesitate for another second, looking through a couple of his newer pictures. And just when you’re about to take the plunge, you look up at the little heart in the right-hand corner, seeing a new notification. New follower, Rafe Cameron.
Your eyes widen on the screen, and you and your friend gasp in unison. Before you can even think about it further, she clicks the little blue confirm button for you.
“What the hell?” You scold her, slapping her away.
“I’m invested, I’m sorry,” she laughs. “What? Were you gonna say ‘no’?” You shake your head ‘no’ and smile, looking at your new friend, feeling your excitement rise.
The bar downtown is packed with post-game and Saturday night traffic. The music is loud, and the energy is high as students pour in to celebrate the hockey team’s win and the start of winter break. You push through the crowd, making your way up to the bar. You order a few mixed drinks before snapping some pictures.
”Ooh,” Lexi coos. “That one’s perfect.”
You upload the pic of the two of you holding drinks, tagging the bar. It wasn’t entirely intentional—or that’s what you told yourself. If Rafe just happens to see it and shows up? Well, that was just a beautiful coincidence.
The night rages on, drinks flowing, conversations blending into laughter, more friends arriving, turning your little group of two into a full-on party. You start to relax a little more, feeling the liquor course through your system, and then you feel something else as a large hand rests on your lower back.
“Hey, Babe.”
Your eyes widen, and you freeze, hearing a voice you were not expecting nor wanted to hear. You turn slowly, coming face-to-face with Mark, a guy from your accounting class, too. The kind of guy who made you excited about the semester’s end. Unfortunately, he was the type of guy who never took ‘no’ for an answer…
“Hi, Mark,” you mumble, keeping your tone flat and uninterested, knowing that even the slightest bit of kindness would be confused for much more.
“You looking stunning tonight,” he praises as he steps even closer, making you take one step back.
“Thanks,” you sigh.
“You here with anyone?” He asks curiously as he scans the crowd. Your friend looks between the two of you—her judgment of his hidden piss-poorly. The girl was unapologetically Team Rafe all the way, and Mark Lundell is no Rafe Cameron.
“Just my friends,” you say as you swirl your finger around lazily, gesturing to your group gathered around.
“No invite?” He fake pouts and you feel your body recoil when you hear it. Mark seems to notice your disdain, but it doesn't stop him from trying. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in possessively. You rest your hand on his chest, pushing away slightly, but he doesn’t get the hint.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you-”
“No thanks,” you shout over the music, not even curious about what he meant to ask.
He chuckles and scoffs playfully, turning his hat to the back as he moves his face closer. “Hey-Hey, don’t be like that,” he soughs.
You close your eyes, swallowing thickly as he continues to talk, wondering what it’s gonna take to get him to fuck off- “She’s with me,” Rafe’s voice rolls through your mind like a sweet dream.
You turn, breath catching as you see Rafe walking in, just a few feet separating the two of you with his big hands stuffed in his jacket. His sharp gaze locks on Mark, and he gives him a little whistle and a nod, kindly telling him to ‘fuck off.’
Mark scowls, looking down at you and then Rafe. “Cameron?” He asks. The two boys are familiar with each other from the gym locker room—exchanging glances when the baseball boys leave and the hockey boys arrive.
“I’m her boyfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, eliminating the space between you. Your heart stutters at the word, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat, reaching behind you to shove Mark out of the way before taking his “rightful” place at your side.
“Since when?” Mark asks as his expressions shifts.
“Since none of your fuckin’ business, Lundell,” Rafe smiles, his tone calm but firm.
“You know, if you’re not interested, you can just say that,” Mark snaps, recovering from his bruised ego by turning to the bartender, gesturing for a new bottle of Coors. “You don’t need to be a fuckin’ bitch-”
“The fuck was that now?” Rafe smiles, his eyes wide and wild as he separates from you, standing toe-to-toe with him. Mark doesn’t back down, his chest puffed as he looks slightly up at Rafe.
Rafe bites his lips, holding back a laugh, his relaxed demeanor’s somehow more intimidating than any show of aggression.
“Call her a fuckin’ bitch again, and we’re gonna have a problem…”
“Oh, yeah-”
“Honestly, bitch. We already have problems because regardless of who the fuck I am, she told you no… And you kept pushin’,” Rafe hisses, emphasizing the final word with a rough shove.
Mark’s a big guy himself, who doesn’t move too far, but the contact made him flinch, leaving Rafe holding back yet another chuckle.
“Walk away,” Rafe mumbles, his voice low and steady.
Mark’s dark eyes lock on yours. The bartender walks over, resting his beer on the bar top. He takes his out, snagging the bottle off the hardwood before rolling his eyes and sucking his teeth, disappearing into the thick college crowd.
You breathe deeply, letting out the deep breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in, quickly turning your attention to Rafe.
“You okay?” He asks protectively as he twists toward you.
You look up at him, your heart racing, and you nod, “Yeah… Thanks for that.”
“No problem,” he shrugs it off. Rafe rests his hand on your lower back, making your heart race, lighting you on fire as he flags down the bartender himself. “You want a drink, princess?”
Before you can overthink it, you rise onto your tippy toes, kissing his cheek. Rafe freezes, a soft, shy smile spreading on his lips, making her feel weak.
“Truly… Thank you,” you whisper. “Do you want a drink? It’s on me,” you assure me, turning your attention to the bartender as she arrives, but you can tell Rafe’s mind is still stuck on the kiss. “Rafe?” You giggle, resting your hand on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath.
“Uh… Yeah. I’d love that, sweetheart. A Coors. Thanks.”
You order your drink, and Rafe reaches over you, his arms a little longer. He passes the bartender his card instead, starting a tab as you protest, but he just rolls his blue eyes and smiles.
The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, easy conversation, and alcohol. Rafe’s charming, funny, and much more than the reserved guy you had seen in class.
You talk about everything—school, hockey, your favorite places in town—and with every passing minute, your little crush blooms into something more. You feel comfortable, like you’ve known each other forever. And to Mark and the rest of the bar, that little boyfriend title he used honestly looked like the real thing.
At some point, the drinks catch up with the both of you. Rafe leans closer, his breath warm against your neck, making you turn into him. The boy quickly pulling you up onto his lap.
“You know…” He says, his words slightly slurred. “I’ve had a big fat crush on you all semester.”
Your eyes widen on his, hands resting on his chest as your mouth falls open in surprise. “You have?” You practically gasp, making him laugh at how happy you look with his admittance.
“Mhmm,” he hums as he wraps his big arms around your waist, moving closer. “You’re so—fuck,” he chuckles as the words get caught on his lips. “You are so fuckin’ pretty.” You laugh and shake your head. “What?” He asks bashfully.
“You, Rafe Cameron, are the prettiest boy I have ever seen-”
“I’m pretty?” He chuckles, lifting his eyebrow as he points to his chest.
“Mhmm…” You giggle.
“Well, shit… Thank you,” he smiles and flutters his lashes playfully.
Just like Mark did, Rafe grabs his hat, twisting it to the back, trying to eliminate the space between the two of you, but unlike the boy before, your tummy only fills with butterflies. Rafe tips his heavy head against your temple, chuckling drunkenly.
“I’ve had a crush on you too,” you admit, and as soon as the last word leaves your lips, he’s wrapping his big arms around you, pressing a rough, wet kiss against your cheek, making you squeal.
“The fuck you have?” He asks as he pulls back fast.
“I’m serious," you giggle as you turn to the side, looking directly into his gorgeous eyes.
Rafe bites his lip, studying yours, his glassy gaze hanging at half-mast. “Well, shit… S’my lucky night. Huh?” He asks.
“Feelin’ pretty lucky myself,” you whisper as the two of you get closer and closer. The air between you feels electric—charged with the buzz of too many drinks and sexual tension. Rafe’s gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, the two of you not realizing how close you’re getting until your lips connect.
The bar around you hums in the distance, and it feels like just the two of you for the moment. It’s uncoordinated—but perfect in its imperfection. Your lips move against his, making heat radiate through your body. Rafe smiles against your lips; you return the same, the pair of you pulling apart, giggling like teenagers caught in the act.
You look at Rafe—that same fire lit his eyes that’s burning in yours. He holds your cheeks in his hands, desperate to kiss him again.
“Should we-”
”We should,” you hum.
“Do that again. Yeah?”
“Mhmm,” you giggle. Rafe guides you off the stool, pulling closer, the two of you stumbling slightly, giggling before your lips find each other again.
“We’re kinda drunk,” he whispers against your mouth.
“Is that okay?” You breathe, just hoping he’ll say ‘yes.’
“It’s okay with me. Is it okay with you, princess?” He asks.
“It’s okay-” You pant as your lips crash into his, warm and messy. You let out a soft moan against his lips, hands scratching into the hair at the nape of his neck as his hands roam your body. His grip on you is firm—yet another assurance that he wants you just as bad.
The world spins around you, your head fuzzy from the drinks and your perfect kiss. You break away just enough to grab his hand, tugging him toward the hallway. "Where are we-" Rafe starts, but you cut him short with another kiss, this one hungrier, more insistent.
"The bathroom," you whisper against his lips, feeling him smile again. Rafe draws back, looking both ways before opening the door. The two of you kiss your way inside, pushing back into the first open stall.
Rafe grabs your hips in his big hands, pulling you into him. You can feel his semi-hard cock pressed against his jeans, getting stiffer every second. You let out a breathy sigh against his soft, sweet mouth, Rafe taking the opportunity to slide his tongue inside as his lips move against yours.
He rolls his back against the bathroom wall, making you gasp as his thigh splits your legs. He leans back slightly, guiding you closer, leading you to grind your aching clit on his upper thigh. Rafe smiles against your lips as you take his wordless direction. He moves his hands from his lips to your ass, squeezing as you rock with the tempo of your kiss.
You gasp as you feel his cool hands rest against your tummy, your little breath turning into a deep, needy moan as he cups your laced-covered breasts in his rough hands.
You continue to grind as his lips press roughly against your neck, sucking with a bruising strength as you feel a warmth spread through you, little pangs of pleasure spurring from between your thighs.
You draw back slightly, biting your lip as you ride his leg. Rafe stares back at you, the look in his eyes painting a filthy picture of the two of you doing so much more. Thinking about you riding him just like this, your warm, wet cunt hugging him tight.
You can feel yourself soaking through your panties with each swivel of your hips. You grab his beautiful face, pulling him in for another kiss, hungry for more. “Rafe,” you whisper needily, your name leaving his lips so sweetly, making him moan into your kiss.
“Yeah, pretty?” He rasps, this voice sweet and thick like honey.
“Can I?” You ask shyly, but honestly, it’s why you brought him in here in the first place, desperately wanting your lips wrapped around him and maybe more…
“Can you what, princess?” He drawls before taking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting and tugging, making chills fall down your spine.
“Can I suck your cock?” You ask gently, feeling Rafe let out a breathy laugh like he can’t believe those words are leaving your sweet lips.
“You sure, baby?” He asks as he reaches his hand down, already working on his button.
You move down to your knees, looking at him through your lashes. “M’sure,” you smile. “Very, very sure.”
You grope his clothed cock with one hand, drawing his zipper down with the other before lowering his pants just enough, looking at his dick tented under the cotton, a wet stain of precum gathered on it. You wrap your lips around his tip, wetting Rafe’s boxers, making his breath catch in his muscular chest.
You suck the taste off, quickly pulling down his boxers too. Your eyelashes flutter as you take him in, his tip still weeping precum, long and thick… You release a desperate moan, thinking about what his length would feel like pushing in and out of your wet cunt, wondering if you could take him all.
You stroke him slowly, watching his eyes fall shut, head falling back on the metal partition. Your heart sinks a little, seeing his head sticking out over the top of the stall about four inches; those concerns quickly wave away as you hear a deep groan leave his lips.
Rafe looks down at you again as you hold his throbbing dick in your hand, running your tongue along his length before teasing the tip. Your hand drifts under his t-shirt, fingers working up his cut abs, feeling the little divots under your fingers deepening with each sharp breath he takes.
“Shit,” he pants as you bind your lips around him fully. Rafe wraps his hand around the top of the bathroom door, squeezing tightly as you take him to the back of your throat, bobbing again and again.
Rafe’s head falls back, knocking against the wall, making his eyes double at the loud sound; the man quickly shushing you with a finger up to his pretty lips and a playful smile like you had anything to do with that noise.
You wrap your lips around his tip, sucking, causing him to buck his toned hips, pitching his long cock in your throat. You lift your hand, slipping it through the slight space between his body and jeans, cupping his heavy balls in your hands.
"Fuck, princess," he groans, "I’m gonna cum.” You take your cue, gagging on him, salvia and precum drooling out of the sides of your lips. He bites his lips, stiffening deep moan.
You rest your hands on his thighs— Rafe’s muscles quivering underneath your palms. He cups the back of your head in his hands, tugging you as close as he can get as he cums deep in your throat.
His breath shudders as you draw out the last bits of his pleasure, swallowing it all as he looks down at you in a drunken, lust-ridden daze. Rafe pushes out a sharp breath as you pull off his cock nice and slow, cleaning off your lips with the back of your hand as he helps you off the floor, leading you back to him. You pant into your kiss, your deep breathing competing with his. “That was so fucking good,” he mumbles.
“Mmm… Glad I could make you feel good,” you whisper as you tug up his boxers, trapping his hard cock in the band of it, not wanting to pressure him into more, given you were the one that pulled him in here in the first place. “Should we head out?” You ask, between soft kisses.
“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles. “Do you?”
You giggle against his lips, moving a little closer. “No… I just don’t wanna pressure-“
“Pressure me?” He asks in disbelief, stopping you before you can finish the thought as his big hands cup your cheeks, pulling you into an even deeper kiss. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
“I don’t know,” you giggle lightly.
“You can use me however you’d like, princess,” he whispers. “Told you… It’s my lucky night. I’m feelin’ lucky. I’m gettin’ lucky. This is the best night I’ve had in a very long time,” he mumbles the last three words between tender kisses. ”Let me taste you, sweetheart.”
”Yeah?” You ask softly.
“Fuck, yeah…” He hums as he fingers the button of your jeans. “Let me get you good and wet first, hmm?” He asks as he rolls you against the wall.
Rafe tugs at your pants just like you did, making you gasp, pulling them down just enough to get at your panties. He slips his big fingers into the waist pant, spreading your legs slightly, making you whimper as he runs two big digits through your slick folds.
“Shit, pretty. Fuckin’ soaked f’me already,” he hums against your lips. “Bet you’d feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He pushes his fingers inside you, making you reach for a breath; Rafe curls them, drawing out a moan from your pillowy lips.
“I want that so bad,” you pant as you stare into his sin-darkened eyes as he starts to work even quicker, broad palm smacking against your puffy clit repeatedly, making it that much harder to hold back your sounds of pleasure.
“You want my dick, princess?”
“Mhmm…” You hum needily.
“Think you can wait?” Rafe teases as he twists his hand, making a moan rip from your throat that has you both looking at each other in shock, fighting back a laugh that quickly turns into another whine as his rough thumb circles on top of your clit.
You bite down on your bottom lip, tossing your head back, and just when you think it can get any better, he moves to his knees, flicking his tongue across your clit, making your muscles jump as his fingers continue to dart in and out. Rafe chuckles against your clit, the warmth of his voice making you whimper, toes curling, fingers twisting in his hair.
“Just like that, Rafe… Don’t stop,” you plead as you feel yourself about to lose control completely.
“Cum for me, princess,” he hums against your sex, the vibrations sending you over the edge, leaving your body fluttering around his big fingers, muscles trembling uncontrollably. He doesn’t stop until your body relaxes fully, you fighting for a breath as you slump against the bathroom wall.
“Holy shit,” he practically moans as he rises to his feet again, his handsome face flushed, chin glistening with your arousal. You pull Rafe to your lips, tasting the two of you together, your body feeling like it could float away.
Rafe pushes you into the wall, his cock hard just like it was before—his want for you practically oozing off his skin. “So, should we get out of here?” He teases you with your own words, chuckling against your lips as you giggle against his; Rafe has no intention of leaving unless that’s what you want. You have no intention of leaving either as you tug at his jeans and boxers again. “Need you so fucking bad,” Rafe mutters as he turns you around, grabbing your wrists, guiding your hands on the wall in front of you as you push your ass onto his hard cock.
Rafe’s hands drift underneath your hockey jersey, lifting it slightly as you bend over. “Gonna get you one of my older jerseys when we get home, aight?” He hums, smacking your ass with his big hand.
“You’re takin’ me home?” You ask sweetly.
“Yeah, baby… ‘Course I am,” he drawls as he leans in, pressing his chest against your back, pushing a gentle kiss on your lips as he traces his fat tip through your slit, bumping your clit, making you gasp.
“We doin’ condoms or what, princess?” Rafe questions as he bullies your hole, bottom lip tucking between his teeth, teasing himself with your warm, wet pussy praying you’ll say ‘no.’
“Boyfriend privileges,” you giggle as you look over your shoulder and smile, giving him a little wink.
“Fuck, I love the sound of that, baby-”
You draw in a sharp breath against as Rafe thrusts into you slowly, his fat tip filling you before he presses in inch by inch, finally bottoming you out. His hands rub along your lower back, letting you adjust to his size; your cunt pulling him in just like he imagined, leaving him tossing his head back to the ceiling.
Rafe grabs your hips, grunting about how tight you are as he pulls out to the tip, shoving himself back inside, making you reach behind your back, wrapping your trembling hand around his wrist to steady yourself and keep from crying out.
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the bathroom, but you couldn't care less. And neither does Rafe, slapping your ass again, making your pussy tighten around his fat cock as he ruts into you quicker and harder.
“Holy shit,” you whimper, your bottom lip quivering in overstimulation.
“Mpfhh…” He grunts, pounding into your soaked center again and again. “So good, princess… Taking me so fuckin’ good. You gonna cum? Fuckin’ cum for me,” he begs as he pulls you back fast, pistoning his hips, fucking you on his dick as your fingers spiral on your clit.
“Oh—Oh, fuck. Rafe,” you squeal as you cum around his cock. Rafe’s jaw tightens, using his last bit of power to fuck you through your orgasm, and the second he pulls out, you gasp, feeling his climax land hot on your lower back. His cum pools in the dip of your spine, rolling down your warm skin.
Rafe clutches your hips in his hands, taking a deep breath as his throbbing dick resting on your ass. The two of you panting and groaning, coming down from your highs together.
He cleans you off, helping you back into your clothes between soft kisses and sweet nothings. Rafe looks at your sweater, scrubbing off a little bit of cum caught on the fabric, making a joke about how he’s technically on the back of your jersey now, making the two of you laugh way too hard.
Rafe’s hand is warm in yours; his firm yet gentle grip guides you through the packed bar. Laughter and music swell around you, but all you can focus on is Rafe’s touch and his thumb gently brushing against your hand.
The two of you step up to the bar at the same spot where you started your night, standing side-by-side with your knight in shining armor. You glance up at him and smile as he orders you two drinks before closing your tab.
Rafe kiss-swollen lips curl into a small smile as he feels the heat of your gaze out of the corner of his eye. He grabs the check off her hands, scribbling a tip and a total. Rafe sets it down and moves a little closer, stepping chest to chest with you; your back backed up against the bar. His hair is messy from your bathroom romp; slightly mussed, a soft purple mark forming on his neck from your lips, a particularly rough kiss.
Rafe grabs your hand, flipping it over, pen hovering over your palm. You watch as he works: his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, his chicken scratch handwriting tattooing your skin, but the words stop your heart.
Tomorrow night 7 pm Luna Rosa I like you a lot -RC
You blink, rereading it like your brain is playing tricks on you. But then he looks at you—those intense, drunken eyes locked onto yours—and kisses the back of your hand.
“I mean it, princess,” he mumbles softly. “In case you had any doubts.”
You rise on your tippy toes, kissing his cheek again like you did earlier in the night before tucking yourself in his neck. “I really like you too, Rafe,” you whisper.
When you pull away this time, he’s not just stunned silent; he’s ready. Rafe cups your cheeks in his hands again, kissing you deeply, pulling you into his arms, and there is absolutely no doubts. ♥️
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ unprotected p in v (in a bath), spitting (alcohol), celebratory sex, intox., light choking, praise, fingering, pet names (baby, pretty, doll + no y/n), soft dom!rafe, down bad husband!rafe, sharing a bottle of tequila + spending all night in the bathtub ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🧂🍋🟩💍🥃 ‧₊ .ᐟ 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔭𝔬 ᢉ𐭩 ✴︎˚
Music drifts overhead, candlelight flickering across the pale stone walls. A half-empty bottle of tequila sits beside a pile of lime wedges on the edge of the oversized tub, condensation sliding slowly down the side. The water is warm, your limbs heavy as you sink deeper against Rafe’s chest.
A quiet laugh slips out of him when the movement sends water sloshing against the side of the tub.
Rafe’s big arm stays wrapped around your waist beneath the water, holding you between his legs while his thumb drifts back and forth across your skin, his chest rising and falling steadily behind you.
His mouth brushes your neck, a smile curling against your skin as he hums along with the song playing through the speakers.
“Tip a little for me,” he mumbles, his voice rough with tequila and lust, the words brushing just below your ear. You giggle breathily, tilting your head for him.
Rafe reaches for the little dish balanced on the edge of the tub, pinching some salt between his big fingers, running it in a little line on the crook of your shoulder, climbing up to your neck.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, head dipping closer, smiling against your skin before he runs his tongue along it, lingering before he tosses back a tequila shot.
The lime is already pinched between your fingers by the time he leans back, biting into it with a crooked grin.
His eyes sink shut, that burn that was there when the two of you started the bath numbed now from a few good pulls.
Rafe sets the empty shot glass on the edge of the tub and sinks a little deeper into the water with you.
“Great week,” he says, completely relaxed.
You smile and tip your head back against him, and he presses a kiss to your hair.
“Yeah?” You ask.
“S’perfect,” he says quietly, like he’s mostly talking to himself. His arm tightens around your waist and a pleased look settles across his face. “Closed a big deal. Made us a shit ton of money, baby. Good tequila. Stunning… stunning wife.”
“So charming, baby.”
“Think I earned a celebration. Don’t you?”
“I’m so proud of you, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling his smile against your skin.
“Never get tired of hearing that, pretty.” His voice slurs from the alcohol, his southern accent bleeding into each word. The depth and tenderness in his tone go straight through you.
The song changes and Rafe immediately starts smiling, dropping his head back against the tub as he settles deeper into the water.
“Fuck, I love this song,” you sigh happily, your hips quickly finding the rhythm he knew they would when he made the playlist in the first place, perfectly placing it in the middle of the list.
“I know you do,” he chuckles, his eyes falling lower, watching the way your body rolls with the music, the lyrics leaving your lips through a smile. “You gonna dance for me?” He asks, like he’s surprised in the slightest, helping you to your feet.
His rich chuckle bounces off the walls as candlelight flickers across your bare, wet skin. The lights are down low enough that he can catch every movement, but he’s kicking himself for not making it just a little brighter.
His chain glints against damp skin as he moves with the music too, ever so slightly, droplets of water sliding over broad shoulders and down his chest. His hair is half pushed back, the other half fallen loose, leaving messy blonde strands hanging in front of his lidded eyes. He breathes deeply, the cut of his stomach muscles deepening every time he chuckles.
His eyes trace down your body as you move, one hand holding your ankle under the water, the other draped over the back of the tub watching it all.
Rafe watches the little river of water slide down your curves as your hips switch to the beat. The wedding ring on his finger sparkles as he keeps time with the song drifting through the speakers.
“You are unbelievable.”
He lifts the tequila bottle passing it to you with a smile, watching as you lift it to your lips, taking a pull.
“Just perfect. Aren’t you?” He asks in a daze as his hand closes gently around your calf and he guides your leg toward him. The movement sends water sloshing against the side of the tub as you balance carefully, still laughing while he settles your foot against the center of his chest.
His lips brush your ankle, pressing a kiss there as his rough hand slides up your leg, kissing you again, just a little higher.
Something in his expression softens when you finally lower your foot back into the water. Your body pulls toward him like a magnet when the song changes.
“My girl,” he hums as his hands settle against your waist, guiding you down to straddle his lap, water rolling over the edge of the tub, landing against the marble floor with a splash.
“Careful,” he teases you playfully, tugging you closer until your knees slide against either side of his hips, the liquor and momentum leaving you slipping forward, catching yourself on his shoulder with one hand, the tequila bottle still hanging loosely from your fingers in the other.
“Fallin’ right into my lap, pretty. How did I get so lucky, hmm?” He murmurs, lips humming against yours, his hands pulling you to grind on top of his lap.
His head tips back against the tub, eyes roaming down your body, watching the way you fit on top—glossy bubbles sliding and popping as they roll over your tits. He groans like he’s starving for it—and he is.
“One more shot, baby. I don’t know how much more I can take,” he whispers as his hand slides up your body. He reaches up, tapping the edge of the tub for the salt, a quiet chuckle leaving him when he finds it.
His other hand slides up your neck, twisting in your hair, pulling you back just enough to sprinkle some salt on the top of your cleavage.
“Lips, doll,” he whispers against your skin and you giggle breathily, lifting the bottle holding a shot in your mouth as his tongue drags along your breast, cleaning up the salt.
He closes his fingers around your neck, pulling you close, parting his lips for you to spit it inside. The corners of his lips curl upward as the liquor pours into his mouth from yours, humming out a moan before he bares his teeth, biting down on the lime.
His eyes slam down, going from sweet to sour, his head quickly falling forward as your fingers wrap around his cock.
One hand slides into your damp hair while the other takes the bottle off your hand.
“Fuck, baby,” he pants hungrily between kisses, moaning into your mouth as you suck on his tongue, tasting the tequila and lime.
Your fingers stroke the underside of his thick cock, making him groan, his breathing choppy as you stroke him with the cadence of your kiss. Your fingertips ghost over his swollen tip, making him curse under his breath before biting your lip.
“Just can’t help but tease me, can you?” He mutters, his abs flexing as you toy with his cock, bucking into your hand as he bites his lip.
Rafe’s fingers tighten on the tub's edge, knuckles turning white. The blood in his cock pumps harder, his eyes growing heavier.
He nuzzles into your chest, grabbing your breasts in his big hands before pressing them together, sucking down on your nipples as your hands wrap around his neck, skimming through his hair.
You gasp as his palm presses between your thighs, rubbing before he slips his fingers through your folds, swirling over your clit, before moving a little lower.
You whimper against Rafe’s lips as he pushes in one finger, then another, curling them inside you. “Oh my god,” you moan deeply, head falling back as he works you with his hand, your body hot and dizzy, pleasure coursing through your veins as he touches you just right.
His hand falls away, wrapping around himself, the velvety head of his dick pressing against your clit, the both of you smiling in anticipation, a little sloppy from the booze, moaning when his tip bullies your entrance, stretching you out when you spread your thighs.
Rafe’s hand squeezes the back of your neck, pulling you down toward his lips. The humidity and tension between the two of you make it harder to breathe.
“Take this fuckin’ dick, huh?” He mumbles, your nails clawing into his massive shoulders, whimpering as you take every inch.
Rafe huffs, tossing his heavy head back, hands landing on your hips with a splash. His biceps swell, pulling you to rock against him.
Water starts to move around you, crashing against the back of the bath and rolling over the edge. “Mpfhh… Shit, pretty. That’s it,” he praises, feeling your pussy squeeze around him.
The two of you start moving with each other as the pressure builds inside, both of you just seconds away from coming undone in each other’s arms.
“Bounce for me,” he mumbles as his gaze falls just like before, eyes stealing glances at your tits soaked in soapy water.
“M’so close, Rafe,” you squeal as you work yourself quicker, bouncing up and down on his cock, your body slapping against him as the shallow water sloshes around you.
You cry out in pleasure, voice bouncing off the walls of the bathroom as he drills up into you, fucking his dick deep.
“Cum for me,” he whispers, and you do. Your perfect pussy flutters around his throbbing dick as he empties himself deep, filling your warm walls with his cum.
Your body becomes one with the water, lips mirroring his as you come down from your highs together.
The music keeps playing softly through the speakers while the water settles around you again, the ripples gradually disappearing as your kisses turn softer. Rafe’s arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close while he sinks deeper into the tub with a contented sigh.
The bottle sits abandoned on the edge of the tub now, forgotten beside the limes and empty shot glasses. The playlist shifts again and a low laugh rumbles out of him, recognizing the opening notes before the lyrics even begin.
You laugh softly when he starts mumbling along under his breath, the words slurring together as his lips brush yours.
“You love this song.”
“Mhmm, s’perfect.” His eyes stay closed as he hums a few more lyrics, his hand drifting lazily up and down your back beneath the water.
“Y’know this is my favorite fuckin’ thing?” He mumbles.
“Tequila baths?”
“Nah.” His forehead bumps yours as a laugh rumbles out of him, the corners of his lips lifting. “You and me.”
Synopsis. The Scent Companionship Program is an all-inclusive, 100% satisfaction-guaranteed solution for the more…carnal needs of unpaired alphas and omegas. Just send a swatch of your scent! It also comes with compensation for your time, and a soft-spoken, 6’2 prime alpha who wants more than just your scent. He wants you.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!omega!reader, aIpha!Choso, OMEGAVERSE AU, heats, rúts, pheromones, falling in love, CEO!Choso, rags to riches, office gossip, tension, pánty-steaIing, he goes FÉRAL, oraI (fem rec.), pússydrúnk Choso, face-sítting, fíngering, spítting, matíng presses, riding, makeshift gágs (for him), first times (Choso’s), making it fit, tummy buIges, manhandIing, rough s, p talking, slight chokíng, implied marathon, overstím, headIocks, knots, matíng bites, getting together, happy ending.
Word count. 16.2k (woah??)
A/N. Think this is the longest fic I’ve ever written babygirls-
“Alright so- female omega, unpaired, heat passed last month-” The brown-haired woman rattles off as she helps you sit down on the examination bed, her clinical doctor’s coat flapping with each stride. You think you could make out the faint gleam of ‘Dr. Ieri Shoko’ on her coat pocket. “-healthy essence.”
“Yay?” You say, feeling slightly dazed inside the stark-white office that you’d been led to. It was more formal than you initially thought it’d be.
And Shoko nods seriously, “I’ll be swatching your pheromones now.” She cracks her rubber gloves, making you flinch, and holds up two round cotton pads. “Don’t worry. It won’t sting, but your scent glands might feel a bit sensitive.”
“I can handle it.” You grin - if not you, then the crisp ¥50,000 notes you’ll be handed after this could. Just a little longer…
As Shoko instructs you to release your strawberry smell, you wonder which lonely, rut-imminent alpha might be paired with your scent.
Just who would be your mate?
Then you immediately tamper that thought—hah! You must be kidding yourself; as if you’d be meeting your fated mate through this.
You let slip a slight chuckle out of sheer ridiculousness, which you instantly stifle after catching the slightly-concerned look on Shoko’s face (honestly, she looked like she was contemplating numerous other exams to conduct on you instead).
Shaking your head, you urge her to continue. Which she does so methodically: coating either side of your neck - where your scent glands were - with some scentless blue gel, placing both cotton pads on those spots, jotting down something on her clipboard whilst she waited.
You were likely her nth college student of the day, and she sighed like it was so.
You knew that most of the others in your department had already contributed their pheromones to this program - why wouldn’t they? It was perfect.
The hot-pink flyer had just shown up one day. Smack-bang in the middle of the campus bulletin. Surrounded by club notices and weekly warning about suppressors and a froth of students and teachers alike that crowded around the strange new addition to their familiar wall of words: THE SCENT COMPANIONSHIP PROGRAM—SEEKING SCENTS (ALPHAS AND OMEGAS WELCOME). ¥50,000 PER SWATCH.
It boasted itself as some revolutionary new form of pheromone therapy, a way for unpaired alphas and omegas to share their scents with each other. To match-make, almost. And during those times of need, the organization would provide those partners with batches of scent-doused clothes to ease them through their needy heats and ruts. Those days when even smelling a member of the other secondary gender would help with those carnal pangs n’ twitches.
Some people joined the program out of sheer good will, some with the desire that perhaps this will lead them to their ‘fated mate’ - those almost mythical Prince Charmings and Princesses and everyone in-between that was to be one’s soulmate. The other half of your heart, soul, body. Two scents in such perfect harmony that they became one.
Most did it for the money.
Honestly, you get it.
But it looked too good to be true—fifty-thousand yen? You’d cautiously waited a few days after noting down the number on the flyer, doing your own research (all the reviews online were raving, surely that was rigged?)
Before finally - finally - it’d taken your landlord hiking up the price of your already-shabby, already-overpriced apartment over some ‘fixes’ (nothing was fixed), your second-hand washing machine breaking down, your bus being late, and your favorite boyband going on hiatus for you to cave and dial that number.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
And so here you were - seated statue-still as Shoko finished counting down on her watch and removed the cotton pads. They were now layered thick with your pheromones, wafting, and she squeezed them gently into a sterilized test tube.
“That’s that. Thank you for your contribution to The Scent Companionship Program.” She stated, and tapped her clipboard - filled with what, you weren’t sure. “Your swatched pheromones will be sent to our labs and examined thoroughly before being scent-tested against the alphas that our findings determine to be the most suited for your scent- I see here that you have opted out of the choice to scent-test against alpha scents yourself, is that right?”
“Oh- yeah.” You say, buttoning up your shirt- honestly, you only half-remembered all those menial technical details on the mountain of forms you’d filled out.
Shoko hums, expectedly she asked these questions a lot. “Right, and you understand that this means you will not be choosing your own alpha? You won’t smell the alpha’s scent to test compatibility. However the alpha shall choose you based on their compatibility with your scent?”
“Ah…” Well, when she put it like that…However, deciding that re-filling out all those monstrous forms was far too much trouble than it was worth (after all, if you ended up disliking the scent of your partner, you could simply not use those clothes during your heat), you only smile sheepishly. “I ah- I trust you guys enough.”
“Well, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” You swear you could spot the beginnings of a smile on her deadpan face. “At Kamo Pharmaceuticals, we are the best of the best. And we’re proud to say we have a 99.99999% success rate in helping find suitable partners for both parties.”
“Wonderful.” You nod, as she finishes her recitation. Before fidgeting, “And about the uh-”
“The ¥50,000 will be handed to you at the reception.” Shoko smiles, knowingly. “You’ll be contacted in the coming weeks by one of our representatives regarding your scent match.”
And with that, she leads you fluidly out of her office. And just before you’re set to leave- “But, off the record-” You turn, somewhat surprised at her sudden conversation. “-do trust us. We really do excel in helping people find their perfect match. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be someone you don’t even expect.”
You smile, “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
But, really, you did wonder what sort of alpha would be paired with you.
.
.
.
“No- not for me.” Choso jerks back as fast as he’d leaned in, his nose crinkling with slight distaste. And then over the other tube, “Not this one, either.”
And he lets the bespectacled medical assistant pull away both vials of pheromones from underneath his nose, the seventh (maybe eight, maybe ninth, he’d lost count) scent that he was testing just today itself - and, yet again, it wasn’t a match.
No matter what their research told them.
Shoko sighs tiredly and looks down at her clipboard, and Choso thinks he could hear the familiar scritch-scratch of her crossing out yet another prospective match.
It’d been like this ever since they established The Scent Companionship Program.
His father, Itadori Jin, had insisted on his eldest son being one amongst the many contributors to it. Patient Zero—‘How can we expect our customers to trust our product if even we don’t trust our product’ he’d said. And Choso had thought that it was a fair enough argument.
At first.
He just didn’t think he’d end up being the 0.00001% that hadn’t found his perfect scent match yet.
Patient Zero and still hopelessly inflicted- he was starting to think he didn’t even have a match. Maybe his secondary gender was too picky, maybe it has something to do with him being a prime alpha (just the slightest step above your average alpha, said to be more dominant, apparently destined to be alone with the way that things were going).
But honestly, Choso didn’t even need someone else’s scent to get through his ruts - they weren’t even that strong!
But, alas, he knew that his father would be bouncing in his seat by the next family get-together. Asking him how his scent-testing has been going so far. Tutting with that disappointed look on his face if he ever said that he’d given up on it. Mumbling something about grandkids and ‘oh woe is me’ and- you get the point.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
And though it killed Choso to take even half an hour off of work to test omega scents, he still did it anyway. Leaned back against Shoko’s examination chair, he grumbles. “Honestly, at this rate I’m never going to find a match, Shoko. We might as well give up…”
“What- and have your father storm my office like last time?”
Dammit, it was worth a shot.
So Choso settles himself without (much) complaint as Ijichi reaches inside the cooler of vials once more. His gloved hand picks out what seemed to be the last of the bunch, a tiny concentration of colorless perfume at the bottom of it, an unreadable name tag at the top. “W-with this we’re done for today, Mr. Kamo.” The jumpy man says; even after a near-year spent in close proximity to him, scent-testing every day like clockwork, the assistant still was anxious around the young CEO.
Biting back a grin, Choso nods. It was going to be a trial like any other, like the countless before it.
Ijichi would flash a cautiously hopeful grin and uncork the glass tube, he would then let the pheromones waft for a few seconds, before bringing it under his boss’s nose. And then it would get sniffed, winced, and rejected in just a few seconds. Except—
Except that doesn’t happen this time.
In fact- it doesn’t even begin to happen. Because Ijichi struggles ever-so-slightly with the tight lid, finally managing to squeeze open the vial just the barest crack. The smallest.
And Choso Kamo felt like he’d just been struck by lightning.
He gasps. He closes his eyes. Then immediately snaps them open again just so he could heave in that refreshing scent pouring out of the vial like a whirlwind. A summer’s day. A beaming sun. A valley of strawberries. The ripeness of the fruit. The sweetness whence you bite into it.
And he was swept up in it with every whiff.
Choso’s large, clammy palm opens up and grasps the sugary air as if to hold onto something - to hold onto you. And he’s feeling the cold floor before he realizes it- he’d stumbled towards the pheromone swatch, knees weak, body moving before his mind.
Shoko’s at his side in an instant, “What is it? Do you feel something? Could this be-” Her breath hitches. “-could this be the one?”
Choso wants to shake his head - no, it’s just a fluke, it’s just his fatigue from overworking, it’s just—but he knew it. His body knew it. And every single fiber of his being would rather have him pass out right then, right there, than deny the obvious effect that this scent had on him.
It was calling to him.
The alpha’s chest vibrates, and he reaches out one trembling hand in the general direction of Ijichi. A low growl escaping from him- Choso can’t even control it, some primal part of himself had to make his point clear.
That vial of pheromones: he wanted it. Now.
The other man yelps, urgently moving to hand him the tube-
“No-” Shoko interrupts, and she waves off the black-haired man. Before turning back to her boss, “I’m afraid we can’t give it to you when you’re in this state, Mr. Kamo. You’re-”
“Give it to me.”
She shudders. Despite the two of them being betas, unaffected by most pheromones, a prime alpha still had that instinctual superiority. That dominance. That voice.
And she almost has half the mind to reach over and give him that vial herself, before she slaps herself out of it. Holding onto Choso’s broad shoulders as if to shake him out of it, too– “Listen- Choso, listen to me.” She mutters in alarm, “We can’t give you the vial when you’re in this state.”
“Give it to me.”
“Don’t you understand?” She shares a look with Ijichi, who’d come to the very same realization that she had. And the man gasps. “You’re in the early stages of rut-”
Choso jolts.
Rut? Now? Here? Like this? He blinks his bleary vision back into focus, it’s as if the office room was spinning. And it takes him a few seconds to raise his nose in the air and sniff - Ijichi had quickly closed the test tube at this point - to recognize the soft, vanilla-like smell of his own scent gusting out. It’s never been this strong before.
This needy.
Never.
And it was way before his schedule, too. He wasn’t due for another few weeks - did your mere scent throw him into rut?
Choso clutches onto the collar of his suit like a lifeline, loosening his tie- fuck, his entire body felt like it was sizzling in the aftermath of your pheromones. Though with your fragrance now safely locked away once more, he could feel himself cooling more or less back into normalcy.
Taking the time to gulp back the saliva rapidly filling up his mouth, he somehow manages to strangle out. “Who- haaah, who is it?”
And then Ijichi stutters out a name.
Such a beautiful, beautiful name. And Shoko’s eyes seem to widen in slight recognition.
“Arrange a meeting for me immediately.” He declares, taken aback himself by how demanding he was being. Choso Kamo was never quite dominant for an alpha. Was never quite a go-getter like the way most others his secondary gender was.
But right now he felt wound up. Fit to burst.
And Shoko nods agreeably, “It would be best for both parties if we do so before your upcoming rut - which seems to be quite soon. That was a close call.” She turns to Ijichi, “Please notify the communications department- stat.”
“O-on it.”
There’s the slamming of a door, and it sounds like it’s from miles away. The only thing that Choso could focus on right now was the faint traces of your scent that lingered in the room, like a memory. An after-image. The existence of you, in all your reality.
Were you the one he’d been waiting for?
He huffs out a chuckle to himself, “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
And though the question wasn’t for her, Shoko nods anyway.
But he thinks he could see, from the edge of his still-blurred peripheral vision, that she was smiling.
.
.
.
You know, at first you thought you were being arrested for something.
The group of suit-clad men had showed up at your doorway the first thing in the morning. So large that they filled out the entire frame, and you felt locked inside despite having the front door wide open. They briefly confirmed your identity, after which you were informed that they were part of The Scent Companionship Program and a meeting had been arranged for you to meet your paired partner today.
“I- I thought they were going to call me?” You’d questioned after getting yourself refreshed and ready. Pulling on the comfiest sweater you could find, you balk at the Herculean group that led you out of your apartment and into the corridor. The narrow hallway felt even stuffier with this group of betas surrounding your every side, like some unsolicited band of bodyguards.
“Circumstances have changed.” One of them answered, holding the building door open for you. It almost felt good, you can’t lie - like a celebrity with your own personal escorts.
Pushing aside obstacles for you, leading you carefully down the stone steps of your apartment and into a damn limousine parked outside.
Even the doormen themselves were gaping openly at the vehicle - this part of town was usually never graced with such luxurious cards. All black with tinted windows. Gleaming like a star. A badge on the front bumper that you didn’t have the time to scrutinize properly, yet seemed to be in the shape of Kamo Pharmaceuticals logo.
There was an official air around the limousine, even more so than a usual one, and you admired the plush, cream-colored interior as you got inside. The escorts followed, forming a protective circle around you- “So…I presume I won’t be getting any hints about who my match is any time soon?” You attempt to lighten the mood.
And a few of them actually nod, “We’re afraid not, madam.”
“But rest assured-” One of them half-smiles, “-you won’t be disappointed.”
A part of you sure hoped you wouldn’t be. And by the crackle of excitement in the air, you doubted you would.
It was a quick ride to the organization building, it’s as if the traffic parted for the car, and you weren’t quite sure why. After being escorted out and checking in at the reception, you’d expected to be led back to the same clinical office you had been in last time.
But instead, the bodyguards (could you call them that now? They certainly felt as such) punched in the button for the highest floor on the elevator. And you quickly found yourself in a rich meeting room, on opposite ends of a dark mahogany table with a man.
An alpha.
And even from here, you could smell the faint whiffs of his deep scent, kept under wraps of his suit collar. Just the faintest traces - they told you he wasn’t just any alpha. He was a prime alpha.
Though, he certainly didn’t give the impression at first glance.
Sure, he had an imposing frame - his suit snugly outlining his well-built shoulders, his trim waist, and the way that his biceps flexed each n’ every time he clenched his fist. In tension, perhaps? Or worry? He certainly looked worried: dark brows furrowed, plump lips worried under his teeth.
It was obvious that he was someone important. And honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever seen an alpha that looked so pretty.
So, so pretty.
There was a certain delicacy in his features. Sharp but fragile. Lashes enviously long. Doey eyes turned downwards. He fidgeted with the curls at the end of his long hair, reaching past his shoulders in the glossiest chocolate color.
Practically jumping out of his seat once the personal assistant (his younger brother, actually, Eso) behind him clears his throat-
“Oh-” Choso snaps his head behind, as if remembering where he was. He’d brought Eso with him for moral support- fuck, he could barely even look you in the eyes once you entered the room. Just knowing he won’t be able to rip them away.
And as the other man urges him to go on, Choso clears his throat finally - finally - staring at you head-on. “Forgive my rudeness, today’s just been…a lot, you know?”
“Tell me about it.” You faintly chuckle, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard. Choso had been careful to wear two round bandages over his glands - scent suppressors - before meeting you, just knowing he’d be going out of control otherwise.
You introduce yourself and he does the same- “Choso Kamo. Please just call me ‘Choso.’”
“Kamo?” Your eyes bulged, and you tried not to sound too rude. “Kamo Kamo? Like- Kamo Pharmaceuticals Kamo?”
He cracked a grin, “Well- yes. One of my own personal endeavors. I always did love the medical factor, though I majored in business.”
Oh damn. “I- I see.”
“And what about you?”
“Ah, just in college. Trying to get that degree.” You explain a little about your own major, and he listens with such rapt attention that one might think you were telling him the truths of the universe. “It’s actually on campus that I saw a flyer for the program, I just never expected I’d be meeting you so soon.”
His eyes twinkle, “And I never expected I’d be meeting you.”
Silence falls. With the two of you shyly attempting to drink in the other’s appearance, the other’s scent, without making it seem as if you were doing so.
Though it was apparently more than obvious Eso who just had a way of melting into the background, making himself known whenever things had to be hurried along.
“A-hem—”
“So-” Choso starts, “About the ah- program.” And instantly you’re at attention, leaning forwards despite the fact that his low voice carried over to where you were sitting. “To be quite frank with you, I never expected to meet my match.”
You nod, as if in understanding.
“And I have to tell you that my rut will be starting soon.”
“Oh.”
He looks at you, intently. “Very, very soon.”
“Oh.”
Choso runs a hand through his hair, “Honestly, I fear that if I’m inside this room for a second longer, I might just start my rut right now.” But he hastens to explain- “Don’t worry- I have my brother here for that very reason, you’re safe here.”
And you ask, “So…how ah- long does your rut usually last? I’m aware that I have to keep providing you with pheromone samples as long as it does.”
He looks at you squarely, “Ten days.”
You balk—ten days? Most normal alphas lasted four days, maybe five. And if it was a prime alpha then they might just last a week - but ten days? Oh, you almost started feeling sorry for whoever was fated to be with Choso Kamo- before you promptly remembered that he was unpaired, and that you were the one he was scent-matched with.
It didn’t meet you were fated to be together, but still…
Choso squirms slightly at your open-mouthed silence, “Yes, I’m aware that it’s slightly erm- above average.” That was putting it lightly. “But trust that I will not overwork you, or overstep, and that you’re free to opt out any second you want to - just say the word.”
You nod, still slightly hesitant.
“And I promise that you will be compensated for every single day.” He beckons over Eso, and hands him a slip of paper - which his assistant walks over to hand to you.
And if your mouth was open earlier, then it practically unhinges at the paper - the cheque - that Choso breezily gave you. The sheer amount of zeroes. The sheer amount in general that might just be the biggest number you’ve seen on a cheque in your entire life—
“Oh- don’t worry, that’s just the advance.” Choso says, taking your silence for dissatisfaction.
“No no-” You hurry to explain, “It’s more than enough. Honestly, I can’t even accept this- please take it back and I can-”
“Please. Take it.” He firmly denies. Before a sudden blush takes over his face, and you watch in awe as the ruby-red rouge dusts over the tips of his ears, down to his high cheekbones, and then down the back of his neck. And he gingerly scratches behind it- “If possible- and- and only if you’d want, could I have ah…” He points somewhere at your figure.
“My…” You point at your chest, before realizing and tugging at your sweater. “Oh, this?”
Nodding you stand to give it to him, but Choso’s brother hastily stops you to hand it over to him himself. Realizing the effect that you had on his older brother.
The way he’d all but shatter if he got too close.
And Choso has to fight not to bury his face in the sweater the moment it’s handed to him. Thanking you fervently, “You’re helping me- so much.” He peeks at you through his long lashes. “So much more than you know.”
.
.
.
FIRST DAY OF RUT.
Expectedly, Choso had been thrown into his rut sooner than expected. In fact- the very second that you’d left the meeting room, and he’d gotten a chance to bury his face in your strawberry-sweet scent.
The very instant.
Your contacts had been exchanged, and you got a text from him soon after about meeting up the next day. Quickly arranging for your next exchanging spot to be in his office, where there were enough of his employees around so that Choso would be less inclined to make a fool of himself (it seems that even a rut couldn’t stop the young CEO from sticking to his workaholic schedule, and when you’d expressed concern in your texts, he simply told you that he wasn’t as affected by it, this was routine for him, a minor inconvenience).
You walked through the steely building, reminiscent of where you’d gone to get your pheromones swatched for the program.
“Hey there-” You say to the receptionist as you enter, and a few employees stare at you as they pass, an unfamiliar face in their lobby. “I’m here to meet Choso? Choso Kamo?”
She eyes you up and down, “Hah! Nice try, was this set up by that uncle of his?”
“No?”
“Oh- his father, maybe?”
“No? Not him either.” You sigh, holding up the bag of another one of your sweaters, and a scarf too - all doused with your pheromones, wafting. “Look, I’m just here to hand off a few things he needs. I’ll be in and out- you can even call him to confirm, so please, if you could help me.”
She takes one look inside the bag and sniffs, “Okay now I know you’ve been put up to this by that damn uncle of his-”
“I haven’t been put up to this by anyone but Choso himself-” You hiss, feeling the frustration bubble up in your body.
And the receptionist had far gone from skepticism to irritation now, she stares you down as she picks up the handheld telephone on her desk. Presumably to call security, what with the way she was eyeing you, and you almost contemplate walking out of this building right now and forgetting you were ever part of a stupid scent program in the first place before-
A call of your name.
“Choso!” You whip around with relief. You find the very man standing a fair distance away from you in the lobby- it seems he’d just gotten out of the now-closing elevator.
His projected voice had every eye downstairs on the two of you now - who knew their soft-spoken boss could raise his voice like that? And look so melty, so shy like that? Just who were you?
They snapped their heads as if watching a tennis match as the two of you raise your arms in greeting, and walk to each other. A short distance before stopping- and Choso quickly puts on a white mask designed specifically to block out pheromones.
And it killed him, oh it killed him to watch Eso close the gap with you instead. To watch you smile at him as you handed over the bag, to nod at something in conversation as he gave you a cheque-
“Choso.”
He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the very sound of his brother’s voice, and only then does Choso realize that he’d been growling. Canines bared. Face snarled.
At none other than the fact that his brother was interacting with you where he couldn’t lest he lose control—fuck, this year’s rut really was driving him crazy. And Choso shakes his head to clear his mind, which only partly works with the way you were smiling at him patiently.
He still felt giddy, and cups his mouth through the mask. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” You call back, making your way out of the building now. And he watches you through every single step, until you were nothing but a speck in the horizon, and even then he watches as you vanish. As if you were never there, other than the weight of the bag that was being pushed into his hands—
“You’re fucked, bro.” Eso snickers.
“I know.” Choso replies, looking down inside. And even with the mask on, the softly sweet scent of your pheromones reaches him, cools down his body, makes him sigh. “Oh, don’t I know.”
.
.
.
SECOND DAY OF RUT.
THIRD DAY OF RUT.
FOURTH DAY OF RUT.
The first two days of Choso’s rut had proceeded exactly as the first one had. It was methodical, almost; arrive at the reception, be greeted by Eso (and Choso, from a distance), hand over the bag of clothes you’d scented with your glands just earlier, and get handed a fat cheque in return.
It was easy, really. And you almost began to wonder whether this was how the rest of the ten days would carry out.
But oh—oh, you should have known better than to think that the universe would make it so easy for you. As if you were getting off that easy.
On the fourth day of stepping inside the lobby area (the receptionist had grown used to you by now, half-believing that you really weren’t some prank set up by Choso’s infamous uncle) your phone vibrated with a new message - one from Choso that told you to come up to his office this time, it seemed that he was overloaded with work, and Eso had called in sick today.
And with no one else close enough to him that was available to trust with your scent swatches, he had no choice but to meet you himself. In his office. A confined space. All alone.
Choso was practically ripping at his hair, wondering what he’d just done, when the stand-in for Eso knocked at his door and said there was someone to meet him.
“L-let her in.” He barely squeaked out, straightening up immediately.
And you yourself were raging with an internal battle - everyone in the office seemed to know you. At least, they seemed to know of you.
They balked once those elevator doors had pinged open, and you stepped out. Then started the stares. Then started the whispers.
‘Wait- wait, is that really the one? So Linda from reception really wasn’t lying- oh, she’s more gorgeous than she said.’
‘This is the boss’s beau? You know, I thought he was celebate but they say she gives him a bag of her more…scandalous attire every morning to the boss as a pick-me-up.’
‘Really? I heard that she’s why the boss has been spending more time cooped up in his office- yes, they’re planning to elope to Switzerland, some sort of luxury ski resort wedding. I don’t think his uncle Sukuna’s invited, no-’
Your skin prickled with embarrassment and bewilderment as you made your way through the throng of gossiping employees. They parted for you, and it almost felt like walking down the aisle.
Straight to the largest office of them all: Choso’s.
Who was waiting for you impatiently- “Ah-” He flinched as you entered, looking around urgently for his mask before- oh, fuck, he realized. Eso had the entire pack with him.
And Choso could do nothing but knit his hands together on top of his table, right beside the flashing gold nameplate of ‘CEO CHOSO KAMO’. His heart thundered, and his fingertips shook ever-so-slightly as he gestured to the seat in front of him. “P-please.”
“Oh! Thank you, but it’s okay.” You wave off, “I’m really just here to give you ah- this-”
You push the bag into his arms, and you swear both your bodies are zapped with something electric as your fingertips brushed while handing over. Your breath caught- you’d never seen him this close before.
And Choso Kamo was even prettier then.
Still seated, he stared up at you with sparkling eyes - something like awe in them. Something like adoration. And those plush, pink lips of his parted—
Before he immediately took in a whiff of your saccharine scent and blushed.
Turning away immediately, “Th-thank you.” He busied himself opening and closing his desk drawers, searching furiously for something inside. “Now let me just get your-”
“No no, it’s okay.” You insist, “You’ve been compensating more than you should, honestly. And the program isn’t supposed to have you pay like this-”
“I do it because I want to.” He stares up at you once more. Shorter this time. Breathy. Like this mere contact with you had him worked up like he just ran a mile.
And as you’re distracted by the spikes of gold in his hazel irises, Choso pushes a cheque into your palm. “For you.” Before he stands up, and oh—you almost have to stumble back. Because you knew that he was tall by his frame, but ah, was he tall. So well built that it didn’t matter what your own height was, he still managed to make you feel small. “Let me escort you out- with your scent so saturated in here, I might just go insane. And I don’t have Eso around this time so, hah…”
But it didn’t sound like much of a joke.
You languidly walk to the towering door of his office, the whispering chaos of outside still sibilating. It felt like a world away.
He reaches for the door, “Let me just-”
“Oh no, I can-”
Several things happen at once. Choso angles his sculptured body to open the door for you, you’d already been aiming to open the door for yourself. Thus, with his well-timed equation, what ended up happening instead was that you’re pinned against the door.
Both your hands on top of the frigid handle. Choso’s leaned-in body looming against yours. Both of your chests bumping against each other- he hoped you wouldn’t be able to make out the pounding mess of his heartbeat.
Ba-dump–!
Your own heart stutters, and something about this heated proximity made you feel slightly dizzy. Slightly drunk on his presence.
And, moving on instinct, you tilt your head into where the curve of his pale neck was. Prominent Adam’s apple of his bobbing. Ready to just inch in - just inch in - and sniff the scent simmering under his collar—
Before you realize just what you’re doing and stumble backwards.
Startling Choso’s hand off of the door handle - that tense moment from before was in fragments now. “I uh-” Your eyes glance to the door, “-thank you for leading me out, I can make my own way from here.” And you make to bow- what? You make to wave, you make to stammer out your goodbyes before you can kiss him goodbye- stop thinking like that.
In a few seconds, you’ve flung open the door. Pacing right outside, “Just text me when you need me next!” Calling out over your shoulder, even though that likely calls more attention to your pairing. You leave Choso Kamo standing at his doorway, dazed, as you leave.
Though a part of you wanted to go back…
No- you maze through the walls of peeking employees, barely even noticing who you have to dart around to get to the safety of the elevator.
Though, if you had, you might have recognized a certain pink-haired, middle-aged man from all those business magazines at the convenience store that you’d pick up but ultimately never read.
Staring at you through his glasses- and then immediately to his flustered son still standing outside his office.
Itadori Jin murmurs, emotions unreadable. “An omega. Leaving my son’s office. On office hours while everyone else is working-” He flares his nostrils to smell the air: the boredom of work, the anticipation of hot gossip, the excitement, the nervousness, the need.
Jin could smell your strawberry pheromones, and the creamy vanilla aftertaste of his son’s trailing after yours. As if in pursuit. “-he’s having a scandalous dalliance. Why- my own son, my own successor- I’ve never been so- so-”
Choso strides over to Jin and attempts to calm him down, “Dad, I can explain. I was just-”
“-proud.”
The younger man gapes, “What?”
“I am so proud of you, my son.” His father claps him on the back, “Why- I thought the day would never come, I thought you’d end up single forever like that ol’ brother of mine. So the program worked? So you aren’t completely maidenless, like all the kids say these days. Yuji taught me that, and oh- he’s going to be so happy for-”
“Dad. Please. Stop talking.”
.
.
.
FIFTH DAY OF RUT.
SIXTH DAY OF RUT.
“Y’know-” You start off, inside Choso Kamo’s office for the third time since you started helping him with his rut. Though - unlike that first time - he now had a mask on, and Eso stationed steadily behind him after his brief leave.
And as Choso raises a brow, urging you to continue, you flick your gaze to the wall of his office with a chuckle. “-you really should consider getting blinds or something.”
All three of you look at the faces pressed against the glass wall of his office, tinted; though that didn’t stop the most determined of employees from trying to pry into their boss’s personal life (you didn’t dare call it his love life, though you knew the rest of this office did. This was business, just business). And they wave excitedly as they feel the stares on them, friendly enough that you really couldn’t say a bad word against them.
Choso catches the action and sighs, “I know.” And he takes the bag from you, but doesn’t open it for everyone’s safety. “I have considered it but ah- nothing yet, as you can see.”
“Forgive me for interrupting, brother-” Eso coughs his way into the conversation, “-but might I suggest an alternative meeting spot for the two of you? One that is more private?”
His older brother grumbles, “Eso, don’t start-”
“Oh, that might be appreciated, actually.” You voice your own opinion - sure, the office was nice, and you’d even made acquaintances with some of the employees. But the gossip and constant asking for a wedding invitation did get a bit much sometimes (not to mention the increasingly odd hours you kept arranging your meetings, all in an attempt to avoid Choso’s bustling father who’d been insisting on meeting you). “Where?”
Eso smirks, “His penthouse, of course.”
Your stomach drops.
Choso’s mouth drops.
And the both of you protest out something that gets drowned out in each other, and the personal assistant’s indifferent continuation.
“It’s quite private. No neighbors peeking in, given the floor, and as much space as you need to keep a distance while you exchange your…things.” How practical. Even you found yourself nodding along as you listened, “And, best of all-” He points outside, “-no Itadori Jin.”
Oh shit-
You snap your head behind you, and through the heavy tint of the glass you could spot a familiar head of coral-pink hair stepping out of the elevator.
You’re immediately rushed to the door—“I uh- I’ll text you.” A hopeful grin on your face.
“I’ll be waiting.” And Choso smiles, softly, before a familiar coo of his name echoes from across the office. And he’s hurrying to help you escape through another one of the elevators in the back of the building.
As you wave goodbye with haste, Choso tugs on his expensive silk tie to loosen it. You always did leave him hot under the collar (literally). The rut was more bearable when he had those articles of your pheromones to go home to, to hold them up to his face, to sniff deeply as he let his hand slip underneath the hem of his sweatpants.
And usually that was enough.
Prime alphas had more control over their secondary gender. But as the days passed, and the ending of his session grew nearer, the tolerable fever of his rut kept turning more into a bonfire, a forest fire. It’s as if his body was fighting to let those animal urges grow stronger.
Needier.
Like it knew he had you so close…so why couldn’t he have you?
He wanted you.
He needed you.
And it wasn’t just because of his rut, these past few days a part of him ached for you and he didn’t understand why. Your scent, your smile, the soft rolls of your eyes as you bickered with him. He wanted it all.
Choso wonders whether it really would be better to have you come to his penthouse, instead - at least that would make it more convenient for you. You wouldn’t have to rush out of there like you did any time you came to his office.
Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?
In fact, he wanted you to-
And then it hits him.
He liked you.
.
.
.
SEVENTH DAY OF RUT.
You pressed the buzzer on the tall, black door. Barely even believing that you were allowed in here - you felt so out of place.
The building that Choso’s penthouse was situated in was one of those massive, high-rise ones that seemed expensive to even look at let alone be escorted to (yes, in the limousine once again). Gleaming windows. Gilded doors. The concierges bowed at you as you passed, and you were showered in complimentary drinks and towels before you even walked into the elevator (that, too, was gilded).
Ultimately, when you finally had arrived at Choso’s penthouse (he had the whole top floor to himself, a button on the elevator just for him), you were antsy before you made your presence known.
You’d texted him about arriving at the building, and was yet to receive a reply- strange. He always replied instantly, as if he really was waiting beside his phone for your message like he said.
But you didn’t think too hard about it, perhaps he just didn’t deem it necessary to respond when you were so close. And would instead just open the door and let you hand off the bag of pheromones like you were supposed to—click!
Ah, there he was. Slowly - agonizingly slowly - the door started opening, and you straightened up where you stood. A smile on your face, and a few words on the tip of your tongue about how fancy of a place it-
You’re in his arms immediately.
Burning hot skin. A needy layer of sweat.
Choso crushes you to his toned, shirtless body like he was adrift at sea and you were the only anchor keeping him above water. Above the storm. And he pants out against the crook of your neck like that was exactly the case.
Like he could finally breathe for the first time in years.
And all he wanted to do was heave in your sweet, sweet scent.
“You.” Raspy. Lower than usual. You swear you feel goosebumps go down your spine the very second you hear his voice. “You’re here-”
“Ch-Choso-” You gasp, feeling your head spin.
“Please.” He seethes, and something in your body twinges. Something primal. “Please- I want you.”
You’re so in shock that you barely even register anything other than him and his arms and his abs and him, him, him.
All around you. Choso was just so strong that the parts of your waist where he wrapped his arms around you began to ache. Where his canines began to prick skin, hovering just above your scent glands and oh- you knew you should move.
You knew you should step away.
But some part of you wanted to melt into the touch.
And in some tiny, unfocused part of your brain the slight pain registers with only one word: vanilla cream. The faintest whiff of it. You gasp, “Choso what happened-”
“Brother!” Eso’s familiar voice echoes out from inside the penthouse. And before long, you see his worried face appear to hold onto Choso’s broad shoulders. “Oh my goodness, I go to the bathroom for two minutes and- oh, you’re not hurt or anything, are you?”
“No, not at all.” You shake your head, your own arms coming up to replace the warmth of Choso’s as he’s pulled away. Somehow…it felt like a part of you was missing. “He was just cuddly.”
“Oh well, he’s been trying to claw my face off all morning.” Eso grumbles, and continues at your questioning look. “We’re not quite sure what happened. The rut seemed to have hit him particularly hard today, and this has never happened before. You know, today he took his first day off of work in years- his first ever since he joined the company.”
“Seriously?”
Affirming, “Seriously. Most alphas need to take them, that’s what a rut is- but Choso has never quite been like that lot. So to see him like this…”
“I understand.” And it really was a stark contrast to the way he was the last time you saw him. Choso was now pulled more or less inside his home now, turned away from you - as if to spare himself from your sugary scent.
His pale shoulders shaking, sweat clinging onto his hair and the back of his neck.
Just being in your mere presence seemed to make him tremble.
“Oh! And this is for him-” You thrust out your bag of clothes (it was a t-shirt and a skirt, this time—hey! You couldn’t help yourself, you really didn’t have anything else this time. Really.) which Eso took with a thankful nod.
“Thank you. This will help a lot, he hasn’t been letting anyone else get close to him - not even Jin, and he’s just out getting Choso some coolants. We think this will help a lot more, though.” And then he turns behind him, presumably to search for the cheque—
“Oh, please.” You step back, moving in the direction of the exit. “There’s no need for that, you’ve already compensated me far more than enough, seriously. Just consider it a friend helping out a friend at this point.”
Choso shivers.
Eso smirks, “A friend, huh?” And he lugs his tall, heavy older brother inside. “Hear that, bro? You’re quite lucky to have such a good…friend, huh?” To which Choso murmurs something dark that you can’t hear, and Eso laughs. “Alright alright.”
And with that, you’re waving off the two brothers (well, mostly Eso as Choso was quite…incapacitated at the moment) and making your way down once more.
But every step felt like weights were attached to your feet.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
As you head back down to the car waiting outside.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
When you still feel the tingle of his touch on your skin. You clenched your fists and tried to remember - only three more days of his rut. Only three more days that you two will be meeting like this. If at all. (‘You’re here. Please, I want you.’)
You want to go to him.
You want to go to him.
You want to go to him.
.
.
.
EIGHTH DAY OF RUT.
It was business as usual. You arrived at the penthouse building, nodded politely at the receptionist, and rode the elevator all the way up to the final floor.
Except, this time, when you pressed the buzzer on the door - there was no Choso.
And so you waited for a few seconds before pressing it again, for slightly longer this time. No Choso, still. And no Eso, either. Nor a beaming Jin, nor even that infamous uncle of theirs that you’ve heard much about.
You tried a few more times before opening up your chat with Choso (he hadn’t responded to you all morning, and you were beginning to feel slightly anxious). And just as you were about to shoot a text to Eso, there’s a rattle behind the thick door. As if something heavy had just rested against the plane of wood.
“Choso?” You ask, cautiously.
And there’s heavy breathing. A low, cracked baritone that says—“Baby.” Shivers run down your spine. Sparks. It seemed he was alone in his penthouse today. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Don’t you worry now.” He reassures you, likely scenting the concerned sourness in your pheromones. And you smell the faint willowy fragrance of him seeping out comforting pheromones of his own. “But m’gonna need you to leave that bag at my doorstep, okay? Just leave it there, Eso will contact you about the rest, and I need you to carefully get in the elevator and leave, alright? Don’t worry about me.”
Exasperated. “Choso, how can I not worry about you?”
“It’s just this hngh- damn- rut-” He replies, as if the very words pained him to say. A hand slamming down on the door—crash! “But you don’t have to worry about it, alright? I’ll be right as rain for you in about t-two days, it’s just a little hard right now…”
“I see.” And with that, you listen to what he has to say. You couldn’t fight against nature; and for a prime alpha that was likely even more true.
You leave the bag of clothes at his doorstep - a pair of your soft, cotton sleep shorts this time, and a skirt that you (almost) had no shame in putting in - and wade your way down. As you get in the elevator, you see the front door to Choso’s penthouse open- and his deep, brown eyes staring at you from across the hallway.
Before the doors shut, and it’s another day.
.
.
.
NINTH DAY OF RUT.
“Choso—” You’d forgone pressing on the doorbell and started knocking on his expensive door by now. Yesterday he’d answered your calls after a few minutes - today it seemed like he wasn’t answering at all.
And yet, you tried anyway.
It seemed that Choso had fully isolated himself from his well-meaning family by this stage of his rut. And they counted on you to hand off your fresh bag of pheromone-doused clothes - he seemed to be getting quite a bit of use from them.
The thought made your heart race.
You shook the notion away and focused on knocking once more - still nothing.
Eventually, your phone vibrated with a text from Jin. He was telling you to simply leave the bag at Choso’s front door like you had the day before, and that he’d pop in later to check that everything was okay with his son.
You sighed, “I’ll be leaving this here, Cho.” Enough so that he could hear. And you do as you said, the bag was heavy today with a t-shirt, and another flimsy skirt. You already start wondering what you’ll share with him tomorrow. “Just one more day- hang tight, okay?”
And with that, you walk away. Getting into the elevator, you attempt to peek through the closing gap for a glimpse of him, perhaps even his gaze, perhaps even the sight of the door opening - no such luck.
But if you had then you’d have been awe-struck.
Choso Kamo. Gone.
It takes him a few more minutes after you’ve left to even think of stepping out into the empty hallway. Once any and every trace of your scent had dissipated from the place. Once he could finally tug his hand out from underneath his pre-drenched pants, rock-hard at the mere sound of your voice. Twitching.
And as soon as Choso grabs ahold of the bag, he all but moans.
Your scent hits him as soon as he opens it up; inside was a t-shirt, a skirt, and a—oh. He really does moan once he realizes what it was. Reaching for that flimsy piece of fabric at the very bottom of the bag, bundled up like it wasn’t even meant to be there, Choso’s right hand furiously slips underneath the hem of his pants once more.
And later - hours and hours later - you’ll be finishing up folding your laundry for the night when you realize: one of your panties had gone missing.
.
.
.
TENTH DAY OF RUT.
It was the final day.
You didn’t quite know how to feel. Of course, you were glad for the fact that Choso won’t be under such agony after today, and that he’d finally have full control of his body. For the first time in ten entire days.
But then again, a part of you was…slightly saddened by the prospect of not seeing him anymore.
You had to admit that you’d grown to like him a lot more than you thought you would. A lot more than a simple scent exchange—no. He was a prime alpha. Unfocused on anything but work. Uncaring. And yet…that was entirely just the first impression he’d given you.
The fact of the matter was that he was much more than that.
Much, much more.
And you couldn’t explain away the slight pang in your heart as you realized that this might be the last time (ever - for who was to say that he’d want you as his partner for the scent exchange program next year, as well) you’d be leaving him your pheromone-drenched clothes. So you take your time nodding at the workers you pass on your way to his penthouse, steps as lingering as can be.
Until, finally, you boarded the elevator.
And you were outside his imposing door once more. Dark and looming. You didn’t even bother pressing on the buzzer anymore, your hand raising to knock—
The door was already open.
You halted. Hovering outside the doorway, unsure of what to do- “Choso?” Calling out, you carefully took a step inside. The door was unbolted yet not fully swung open, more like someone had simply forgotten to lock it. And yet, with the state he was in, you didn’t know what to expect. “Are you home? Are you alright?”
When there’s no answer, you actually go inside.
And the first thing that hits you: the fragrance.
The smell of vanilla vines. The sweetness of whipped cream. The airy feeling of its spread. The warmth that it brings to your body. You take it all in and you feel your knees go weak- fuck, you’ve never felt like this before.
Just because of a—you take an even deeper breath—scent?
Oh, and your feet move towards where the pheromones were more concentrated before you know it. With barely enough sense to close the door behind you, barely enough scent to watch where you were going, to register - it seemed you were walking to none other than Choso’s bedroom.
And it was a dangerous path you were following.
A dangerous path, indeed.
That slight rational part of your brain told you to walk away, to get a beta like Eso to check up on Choso instead. But no—you’d rather walk.
You’d rather stop- and blink yourself back to the realization that you’d just wound up outside the master bedroom. Its varnished wooden door ajar, just like the entrance had been. Streams of vanilla scent wafting from underneath it.
Wafting straight to your brain-
“Baby?” Choso’s guttural growl hits straight to your core, and you can feel your panties slowly soaking at his tone. Deep. Husky. Almost hoarse with need. “Baby- oh, baby. Are you there?”
Even from this distance, Choso could smell your pheromones - and you were sure that you’re puffing it out even more now. Soundlessly, you push open the door, and there he was.
Sprawled against the sheets of his king-sized bed.
Surrounded by your clothes. His skin flushed, covered with a gleaming layer of sweat. Head clammy and rested against his pillows. Stripped down to just his boxers. Hands twitching like they didn’t know whether to pull out of his pants out of propriety, or to grip his raging hot cock even harder. Broad pecs out as he panted—
Choso glimpsed the sight of you entering and threw his head back with a moan- “Oh-” He pleaded, and it almost sounded to you like a whine. “Oh, you don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Choso—” You whisper, hypnotized by the impressive length that was outlined in his underwear. You step into his room, and it feels like stepping into a sauna. Oversaturated with scent, and sweat, and the craving for sex. He flinches at the sound of your voice.
Like he’d just been electrocuted.
Mouth slack. Expression like he’d just seen a ghost.
“You don’t know what you’ve just done…fuck.” And with that, he beckons out one toned arm in your direction. Staring at you dead-on through his half-lidded peripherals, plump lips wobbling. Spit-slicked. And ready. “I beg of you…don’t deny me.”
You take two steps.
Two.
And on the third one, Choso’s effortlessly reaching out and tugging you to him. Straight into his bed. You land straddled on top of his toned pelvis, all wet with a puddle of sticky precum. Drippin’ down the inner parts of your thighs, just feeling your body on top of his makes his erection wad out with creamy pre.
Cascading in beads between your skirt, n’ down your drenched panties. “Sh-shit, Choso.” You whimper, and your inner luna coos. “How do you want me to help you? What do you want?”
And he hums as if he pretends to think - as if he could even formulate a coherent thought right now. Nostrils flaring as he takes in your sultry scent, he grins. “I’ve been dying of thirst these past few days, baby- have barely even had a proper meal.”
You nod, “I can whip something up for you- what would you like-”
“Oh no, baby. I want you.”
.
.
.
“N-ngh—oh.” Your spit bubbles out at the feeling of the tight, hot streeeeetch between your pussylips. Choso’s cracking open those cute, slick-covered thighs of yours.
His pinkish tongue stretching out with a slurp to lick up the mess made all over your skin. It covers you like a sheen, and Choso’s ready to lap up each n’ every drop of slick that clings onto you. Tongue dipping in and out.
And he drag-drag-drags the tip of his tastebuds over to where your panties were, slipping his tongue just inside-
“Oh my god- ngh.” You buck your hips wildly from where you’re straddling his pretty, pretty face. And just as you raise your cunt, Choso lurches his face up to chase it. You shiver as you feel his wet muscle against your panties once more, “Don’t tease, Cho- I thought you said you were hungry-”
“Baby, I’m starving.” He’s spitting out between your bloated folds, voice thick with need. “Oh my god. I’m ravenous. Famished- I think m’gonna fucking die if I don’t eat this pretty pussy right now.”
“Then why don’t you- hck…?”
“Because—” Choso whines out - as if having your treacly cunt so close to him and yet so far was killing him inside - and he looks at you through his long lashes. And you swear you see his lashes glitter with needy fuckin’ tears- “-because you need ta tell me s’okay to.”
“Oh.” Your mouth parts, a cloud of murky breath escaping. It only adds to the heat in the room, every inch of your skin is practically sizzling at this point.
And without further ado, you grip onto the crown of Choso’s scalp. It was drenched in needy sweat, and he whimpers as you tug on his glossy, brown locks. “Wh-what do you-” He mutters as you start to move, a line of drool tricklin’ from the side of his mouth. “-baby, what are you going to- oh, mmmgh-”
And then he’s just stuffed.
Then he’s just getting such a wet, candied mouthful of your pussy and he can’t stop himself from groaning into the taste. Can’t help himself from careening forwards and makin’ out with your pussy even deeper. Can’t help himself from slithering his long tongue upwards and slidin’ straight down your glittering crevice.
A single lick - a single one - and Choso’s suddenly pussydrunk.
“I- I think-” He mumbles away wetly, “I think you’re my soulmate.”
Choso then plunges his tongue into you like a madman.
Thick, salivating thrusts straight between your swollen pussylips. He seems to be aiming straight for your throat with his lengthy pushes, and you feel him stretch out your entrance with his sheer girth. Again. And again and again and again.
Plump n’ clingy.
The round tip of Choso’s tongue slips across your walls n’ and you shiver, you feel him perfectly fill out every hidden crevice. “Oh- oh my god, Cho—your tongue is just so long.”
“You like it, baby?” He’s fluttering his lashes, and you flinch as both of his clammy palms plaster onto either side of your thighs. Trembling. Holding you open. Choso holds onto you so tight that you feel his nail marks dig into your flesh, tugging you down onto his ajar mouth. “Please- please, I hafta know- you know, I was made to make you f-feel good?”
“It feels so good—” You shrill out, your throat botched with hoarse whines. And without you even thinking, Choso’s manhandling you into a steady cadence on top of his gaped maw.
Pushing and pulling.
Swervin’ and stirring.
You have your needy, oversensitive folds spread all open for him, and his tongue stickin’ its way inside your puckered hole. Oh, it was just so cute how you clenched each time he pulled out- it’s like you wanted him to stay so bad.
And his right hand inches in, pryin’ open your pussylips to further bare you to his thrashing mouth. “I’m glad-” He rasps out, “I’m s-so glad I make you feel good, baby. You know you can ride me h-harder, y’know?”
“Are you sure?” You weave a second hand into his scalp, and push away the perspired bangs sticking to his forehead. “But m’worried you won’t be able to breathe, Choso.”
He furrows his dark brows like he’s confused, “But I don’t need to breathe.”
“Y-yes you do?”
“No I don’t.” He insists, firmer this time. And you think you can hear the tint of dominance creeping into his shaky baritone. Tugging you down- “Just- harder. Please. Sit.”
Your body thrills at the idea of properly seating yourself on top of his handsome face. Because you were hovering right now, but he wanted you to sit sit.
Jerking you down- “Just- fucking- sit- who do you think ya are?”
“Your- breathing…”
And before you know it, Choso grips your poor, jittery legs so hard that now you’re sure they leave marks. Ones for days. Weeks. Months. And using his natural strength, he spreads them wiiiiide open—“Open for me- just open f’me. Please. Just a lil’ more…” Salivating at the heavenly sight above him, he then edges his heady head forwards and spits. Leaning in even closer. “I haven’t eaten anythin’ proper in days, my baby. So if I want you to sit, then I mean- sit.”
You properly situate yourself on top of his scorching maw with a yelp, and with this angle- oh. Choso’s able to angle his head even deeper.
Push after push.
Tuggin’ it back out with the most lecherous squelches. And then right back again. He lets his roverin’ wet tip scour every inch inside of you - fuck, he was famished. Letting the cloying webs of your slick seep all the way to the back of his throat.
And Choso groans at the friction of you riding his mouth like you were drunk on it: back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth.
You’re leaving his pretty lips all red and raw with your vulgar tempo- and though it burns with the pressure, he doesn’t let up. He doesn’t even slow down.
He doesn’t do anything but pin you down onto his gluttonous mouth with one hand, whilst the other spreads open your folds. Thumbing down your crevice, Choso swabs your throbbing clit as he passes.
And he gulps back the spittle building up in his mouth once he sticks the forefront of his digit inside. Gutturally openin’ up your hole, “And look at her—oh.” You shake at his pants as he continues massaging his thick thumb inside. “My dessert.”
Dessert.
Fuck- you snap your head down in slight concern to check up on him. And what meets you is Choso’s barely-open eyes, his hazy peripherals, his cute blush, his babbling mouth. He flaps his lips open a few times and takes you in even deeper.
“O-oh.” You arch your spine into the perfect curvature, grindin’ your cunt down in sensual figure-eights. “Fuck yes- yes, it feels so good-”
“Fuckin’ tastes so good.” Choso grunts out, Adam’s apple bobbing after each heavy gulp of your syrupy slick. “Better than anything I’ve ever had-” You’re riding his face to madness, letting out slurp after slurp that echoes out each time you slide your tender pussy up, up, uuuup to the tip of his sharp nose. And then all the way down, just to do it all over again. “Better than anything I- oh, anything that I could possibly even imagine.”
And then he pauses - not the scourin’, slipping movements of his mouth - but the way he was prattling away.
For that moment, the only sounds in the room were the wettened slurps of your pussy and the way that you were struggling to catch your breath- Choso himself doesn’t even seem to need to respire. No, he was much too focused on entering his prolonged ring finger and middle inside your sappy cunt.
You feel the way he stretches you out on his single digits, the slightly feverish heat of them being tracked oh-so-perfectly inside.
Reaching even further than what his mouth was able to reach. Stirrin’ against every tiny nook and cranny. Stretching you out, out, out.
And like Choso was made to - like he solely existed to - his body manages to find your sweet spots so easily. Squeeeeelch. The curvy ends of his fingers digging against the sides of your walls, slickly, you smell the pure carnal satisfaction in his pheromones as you shiver.
Your mouth dropping into a breathy ‘oh’ at the feeling of him stroking your poor g-spot. “There- r-right there, oh my god…ngh.”
“Oh, you’re getting even wetter, baby.” He gapes his mouth open at the way you were dripping out like a waterfall. Like an open faucet. “Awww, s’this all f’me?” The most sugary-sweet sploshes of slick that’s targetted straight into his open mouth - but just because Choso was fucking you with his digits doesn’t mean that he’s letting you off easy with his tongue, either. “You- you know, I almost can’t keep up- heh. Ngh, but I will.”
“You- you will?”
“Fuck yeah.”
And there’s something growling at the back of Choso’s throat. Something primal. Something that makes him sound half-crazed- and he’s acting like it, too.
Wrenching you straight down onto his face like a seat. He’s making you sit all idly as he laps his flattened tongue all over the front of your pussy, drinking in each n’ every ounce of syrup that he was urging out.
And right in time with the way his fingertips probed into your tender g-spot, you could feel his tongue sliding everywhere. Almost as if he was painting. From the line of your slit, to the button of your clit- and then he’s even trying to thrust his greedy way inside.
Like he was trying to fuck you twice with both his fingers and his tastebuds.
Slurp after slurp. He uses the strong tip of his tongue to tug aside your pussylips, and slides in a third finger.
Now fucking you with all three—“And oh- look at her, she’s so soft. So sweet. So-” He could barely even speak with the way he was lunging forwards between breaths to leave such long, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt. “I wouldn’t mind even suffocating between these pretty thighs, c’mon- harder.”
And there it was again, that little mantra. “H-harder? Again? Choso, are you sure what you’re asking f-”
“I know too well, baby.” Pouting, “Want this pretty pussy to grind against me, please?”
“But I already am-”
“Even harder. And-” With a slight jolt that runs through Choso’s lanky body, he’s sniffing the air - or more accurately, your soaked cunt. And whatever he smells makes him grin. “-and you’re just so close- I need you to cream all down my tongue, m’kaaaaay?”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops, and surely- you could feel the twinges of pleasure that were rushing up your core. Sparking. “Yes-” You listen to him, and the luna inside you purrs. “Please- wanna cum- please please-”
And Choso’s listening. Choso’s nodding.
Accelerating the hammers of his fingers, it makes you throw your head back with a keen. Your body shaking- and each of these, the alpha below you takes happily.
Any time you pushed him around. Any time you were clutching onto the strands of his body and movin’ him to perfectly angle his swabs against your g-spot. Any time you crushed your pussy down on his mouth, he himself bucked—
“M’so close—” You whine through your tears, now that you knew your orgasm was impending. And he hears that confession like the prettiest melody he’s ever heard.
“So cum, baby.” Choso stares up at your tensing expressions atop him - so beautiful. “Please- c-can you cum on my face?” And then he’s tugging his slick, velveteen tongue across your clit. Bringing your attention to it- “Right here, baby. Cum riiiiight here…”
Not waiting any longer, you do cum.
Right then and there - exactly in the middle of his sizzling tastebuds, like he’d wanted you to. Your orgasm drags out in waves of bliss, and with each one he bullies his fingers upwards.
Strike after strike to your g-spot-
Your toes curl, you see stars.
“Oh.” You shake on top of his mouth, feeling so easily overstimulated by his ruthless pace. You run a hand through his hair, “You really are starved, Cho- easy there, you’ll choke.”
He giggles wetly through the whines n’ wads of slick you were letting out. “Baby, I told you- I don’t mind if I fuckin’ suffocate if it’s between these gorgeous, gorgeous legs.” As if to prove his point, he only surges you through your high even further. Letting it linger. “In fact, I’d be honored.”
It’s with these exact words ringing in your eardrums that you ride out the entirety of your high. Until you’re shaking and sensitive, until it’s nothing more than a fuzzy sensation at the pit of your stomach.
“I know you’d be honored, but-” You whimper, “-oh, baby. M’sensitive.”
Choso jolts at the nickname you’d just used for him- “Th-that’s unfair. You should know how much power you- fuck, have over me like this-” And it really doesn’t help that your candied pussy has him pussydrunk.
“You’re saying that when you have me like this?”
You’re noticing that his pheromones seemed to have tampered down from the unstable manner they were earlier. Sure, they were still just as strong and frequent - but they seemed to be more of a controlled roar than bursts.
Adoringly, you run your fingers through his needy scalp, chasing your touch- only, you’re so weak with the aftershock of your orgasm that your hand slips. It slides under Choso’s pillow. And soon enough, you’re holding onto the stringy hem of your panties.
The exact same ones that you thought you’d lost last night.
He’d somehow acquired them, and hidden them away under his pillow- perhaps at the sound of your intrusion into the penthouse. And you hold them up to his bleary line of vision with a huff, “And care to explain this?”
“Well you put it in my bag, baby.” He puffs out, gingerly. “And m’not gonna complain about something so sweet…”
“As expected.” You grumble out, half-heartedly, before you get a lecherous idea yourself. With a sloppy slurp! you extract yourself off of Choso’s ravenous mouth.
And he chases your pussy with a whine- only for that very gluttonous maw of his to get stuffed with your balled-up panties. Perhaps if this was any other alpha (especially a prime alpha, at that) then they might have been irritated, then they might have spat out the damn thing and gotten revenge instead.
But what Choso does is choke on your lewd panties and whimpers.
His hips thrusting upwards needily. Those tight, tight boxers of his had all but slid off by now, and your cunt scrapes against the rotund crown of his shaft. Feeling it dribble out in precum down your slit, you slide down his size leisurely- “And I guess you can’t complain about something else just as sweet, hm?”
He muffles out a moan through his gag - before he realizes that he wasn’t making any sense, and can only nod and nod and nod.
“Thought so.” You giggle out, before turning your attention downwards. “And now, to see whether it’s true that it’s always the quiet ones…”
And once you finally drop down his underwear, you finally have an answer to that.
Because Choso was big.
Mentally, you count up his swollen length - about seven, eight- no, over nine entire inches that throbbed and pulsed eagerly at the feeling of your gaze on him. And he was measurably as thick, decorated with a few winding veins that you run your fingernail down.
Just the slightest touch. You follow down the somewhat unruly line of his dark happy trail. Enough to make him spurt out in pearly beads of pre, that drip down your wrist.
He was blushed the cutest red on top of his tip, matching the flush that was overtaking his face. Choso gnaws down on his bottom lip, his hips bucking in impatience as you continue your teasing ministrations. “Come- come on-” Uttering through your damn panties still - it seemed as if he didn’t want to take it off. “Won’t you ride me- ngh, stupid, baby?”
“Oh- so is that what you want during your rut, Cho?” You balance yourself on top of him, guiding his fat tip between your folds. “Have you ever done this before?”
He shakes his head fervently- “No- no, ngh. It feels like I’ve been waiting for you my entire life so won’t you- hck!” Rutting. “Please just- fuck me.”
And so you do.
Well- almost. You plop your hips down to take in the first inch of his ruddied cockhead. It was honed just so perfectly to squeeze his way inside, pointed at the tip n’ then opening you sinfully up, up, uuuuup—
“Ohhh—” Your head falls back, lungs heaving. He was stretching you out until you were rendered speechless, and Choso was barely even trying. Having you drunk on the sheer size of his cock already. “Shit, Choso. You’re so big, it’s unf- oh.”
You stop short.
Because that’s when you crack your eyes open to take a good, long look at him.
The way that Choso’s flush was fuming at his point, the way his eyes were rolled so far back that you could only see the whites of them, the way his mouth was unhinged with such a ragged groan of your name-
“Fuh-fuck…fuck.” He could barely even manage out, and goosebumps bristle all throughout Choso’s clammy skin at the first feeling of your hot, drippin’ cunt.
Fuck, he even has to spit out that panty gag of yours that he loved so much.
Before you know it - before he even knows it, because fuck if he was in control of his own body at this point - he’s already rutting upwards into your heated pussy. Not even a proper thrust. Not even trying, actually.
Just wanting to feel you.
“Oh-” You gasp, “Easy there, Cho.”
“S-sorry, baby.” He groans, and stops himself just in time. To support his claim, both his hands reach above him and hold onto the wooden pillars of the headboard. Clenching. “Take all the time you need, okay?”
“Mhm—”
And so you do. Teasing. Grinding.
It was just so sensual the way you were taking him. And the thing was- you hadn’t even gotten used to his size yet. So all you were doing was feeling the resistance of your slick walls. Fighting back, gritting his teeth; he whines as he attempts to stay in control, “Take- all the- time-”
“I will.” You purr, and it makes him just melt. Oh, how badly he just wanted to hold onto you and fuck you stupid, until you couldn’t talk back to him in that sultry voice that left him as putty in your hands. “But it’s just so hard, that I…”
“That you what?” Almost sounding pain. A man with his life on the line.
And you take your time pretending to think, “-that I don’t even know if I can take it all, Choso. What a shame.”
His voice cracks, “Oh, that’s okay, baby. That’s okay- don’t have to do anything you d-don’t want to, honey. But oh—” And the bed creaks once he holds himself back from yet another thrust. “-p-please try.”
“I dunno…if only I had someone to help me.” You pretend to look around, “I just wonder who-”
“I can.” Eager. So, so eager. He’s trying to keep himself restrained n’ under control, but it doesn’t fucking work. His chest practically vibrates with the force of his secondary gender begging to enter you- “Let me, baby? I promise I can get it all the way-” One of his hands lets up the grip of his headboard, sliding down your middle. He marks an ‘x’ midway down your stomach, almost near your damn lungs. “-h-here. Does that sound good, ngh-?”
“Mhm—sounds perfect- oh.”
He doesn’t even let you finish your sentence - doesn’t even let you finish your train of thought before Choso then holds one side of your hips and reels his achin’ cock back to push and push and push.
Squelch after such lecherous squelch.
“Oh my god-” Choso moans out, hollowly, once you squeeze your gummy walls ‘round him. And he locks his eyes down to where the two of you were connected before he repeats his pushing motions. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. So this is what a p-pussy feels like…she can feel this good?” He murmurs, breathless. “That should be illegal- oh, this shouldn’t be fucking allowed- you could kill a man.”
You gape. The way he positioned his pistons was so perfect, grazing each ridged crevice inside your channel. “So you’ve really never done this- ngh, before?”
“No- never in my life. But oh, baby, if I knew it would feel like this then I’d have fucked you right in the- hngh, meeting room that I met you.” With that said, he fucks up into you primally. “So now will you h-hold still and take it alllll?”
Something in his crazed smile made you tremble. And you can’t stop yourself from responding back, “Y-yes?”
“Tha’s not good enough, baby. I need you to tell me you’ll take it-” Before you know it, he has one hand on your neck. “C’mon.” The other’s still holding onto the headboard, flexing in a way that makes you ogle his chiselled muscles. “Say it.”
Shocked by this sudden desperation, this sudden dominance. “I’ll t-take-” You can barely even breathe - not just because of the rough hold he had on you, but the way that his hand then slithers back down to your stomach now.
And Choso was pushing down where the most pressure was on you already, feeling for his cylindrical intrusion as he fits inside.
Feeling for himself as he does.
You’re being bucked and busked in tiny bounces upwards each time Choso’s ramming his hips into you. And he decides that he just won’t let you get away that easily. Cooing, “Yes? Please tell me, honey- please.”
“Gonna take it- ngh.” You whimper, your entire body shaking each time he slipped in yet another inch. His cock was so long that it felt like it was never-ending probing into your deepest depths. “-all- fuck! M’gonna take it all, Cho—”
And then something in him seems to snap.
Because with a final, furious rut- Choso’s bottoming out.
He’s hitting the back of your cervix with a wet thwack! He’s letting his entire veiny length throb inside you. He’s shattering the ancient wood of the headboard with his pure inhuman strength, before bringing his hands down to your hips.
He just broke the bed- and now with both of them glued there as if with adhesive, you’re pinned to him.
At his full, carnal (lack of) mercy as Choso drills into you at a speedy pace. You swear he’s hitting the goopy back of your pussy multiple times a second, burrowing his thick circumference deeply into the back of it.
“There-” He husks out with his smoky breath, and it sounds more like a grunt. “There there there there there-” Every syllable of his is punctured with a thorough push against your spongy cervix.
And his heavy, partially-closed eyes are simply latched onto where your pussy glistened around his thick hilt. You were stretched so widely open around him that he almost felt bad for that poor cunt of yours - “Fuck, m’r-really inside- ngh. Can you feel me all deep inside?” Hazy peripherals probing up at you for answers. “Does it feel like this pussy’s gonna n-ngh- remember me, baby?”
“Yes- fuck, don’t even joke about that.” You whimper, because it fully felt like he was molding your snug channel to his size. “M’feeling you in so deep.”
“Heh, and I can see that.” He chuckles, and you wonder what he’s talking about.
Snapping your head down, you realize just what it is - because it didn’t matter just how your body was proportioned or angled, the thickness of Choso’s shaft was so generous that he could see himself bulge from the outside.
Such a cute lil’ bump that he follows with one thumb, letting it linger above your womb to feel the vibrations of him hitting the back of your pussy. “Look at thaaaaat—almost makes me wanna fuck in a-another bump into you, my baby.”
Oh?
Oh.
Your jaw gapes, “Choso, do you mean a-”
“Yes.”
“You wanna fuck me pregnant-”
“Oh—don’t make me imagine it like th-that.” And you’re quickly understanding why: because it made his rock-hard cock swell even further. He was getting even harder. His pheromones gusting out. His already-incredible length snagging against the sides of your walls with his big he was getting.
He looked completely shattered at the mere thought.
An expression which you can’t help but get addicted to. And, slowly but surely, you find yourself melting atop his broad body. “Well- that- ngh, that is what ruts are for, aren’t they?”
Still not stopping, he just slightly blinks up at you.
Just slightly lets it sink in.
It takes a full five thuds against the back of your needy pussy before the words fully register in Choso’s buzzing brain. And he acknowledges them with a sudden, damp gasp- “So you…” Lovingly scraping his open palm down your front, your womb. “- you would let me cum inside, baby? R-right here?”
“Mhm, really.”
“Really really?” He repeats in disbelief, and the tips of his fingerpads shake as he holds onto you. As he flares his nostrils and sniffs- “Oh, baby.”
You look towards him at the hushed tone of his voice, the way he almost sounded as if he was in prayer. “Yes?”
“You’re in heat.”
He’d pushed you into heat.
And now he was pushing you onto your back. Your head pressed against the soft pillows, you whine as your limp legs are thrown over his shoulders, your heels digging into the divots at his Herculean shoulders. “And I’m- haaaah—” Honestly, he sounded as if he was in a daze. As if he was dreaming.
In an instant, you find your knees being pushed all the way up to your tits, and Choso’s clammy forehead sticking to yours. Burning hot.
He takes a few seconds to admire you like this, before his tongue flickers back to life- and so does his rough cadence. “-and m’gonna give you exactly what you want, my little omega.”
A baby.
Your inner luna was yearning for it- and by the way that Choso sniffs, you’re sure he could smell it on your scent.
Squealing at the stretch of both your hamstrings and your poor pussy, you throw your head back and take it- rapid, burrowing thrusts. More like pistons. Straight to your g-spot. Then push-push-pushing his crowned tip against every inch of your depth, he doesn’t leave a single speck of space inside you that isn’t dotted with his precum.
Choso spits against his snarling canines, “Gonna fill you up r-right till- here-” You find your throat in his clutches, bringing his face even closer against your swollen scent glands. “Gonna fill you up with my cum until you can’t even remember your name. And then- and then…”
“And then…?” You’re bawling out, feeling the sparks of your high start to simmer after each plunge. Each of his dirty, dirty sentences.
“And then—” And even though Choso was already so close, he’s bustlin’ himself even deeper against the heady crook of your neck. The edges of his honed canines nipping at your skin, as if to remind you exactly what he’s capable of. “-then m’gonna fill you up with my knot until you can’t remember anything but that.” He promises, “Honey, you’re not walking outta this room until you’re pregnant.”
“O-oh-” You shudder, your hands clawing down Choso’s scalp and down to leave red, red lines over his back. “I want that- hck! Oh, I think m’so close, Cho.”
He groans, “Fuck- seems I’ve filled you enough already that you’ve forgotten my name, too, hm?” Choso snickers as you look on in confusion, unsure whether it was your cockdrunken self or his pussydrunken self that was mistaken. “Why don’t you try sayin’ my hah- actual title as you cum on my cock- huh, baby?”
“Your- your actual name?” You see stars once he jabs your bruised g-spot.
“Mhm—” And he drags out his strokes so deliciously. Such windy, slurping noises that emanate every time he’s letting his shaft pull out and plunge all the way in - and what’s even worse?
Not only was Choso targeting your cute g-spot, he was doubly reaching over to pinch your clit. His thumb roverin’ wetly over it, “C’mon. Say it, baby.” As if you knew exactly what he was talking about. “Say it- call me…your mate.”
Something seems to twist and shatter inside of you - and in an instant, you’re hitting your high. Ending off the blissful burst of your orgasm with a broken call of that title.
Again and again.
The arrows of pleasure were just constant - you don’t think you’ve ever experienced an orgasm such as this. And perhaps it was on instinct, perhaps it was purely because he’d mapped out the mannerisms of your soft pussy so well, but Choso’s able to pinpoint the timing of your exact peaks.
Stabbing his rapidfire hips in before each one, he prolongs your high out until you’re seeing completely white. Your mouth falling ajar with ribbons of miry saliva-
“Ch-Choso-” You sob out, pulling him even closer to you. Your pheromones are seeping into his skin and yours, surging with each mountain of euphoria. Before you finish out shyly, “Cho- ngh, my mate.”
“Oh, f-fuck.”
And with a squelch, he’s pouring out in hot, ivory sap just like he’d promised to you earlier. So much of it- that you start to wonder where it all even came from.
Gluey lines of seed that streak your walls, Choso’s fucking each n’ every wettened wad inside until your walls surely look like such a mess. All webbed up inside, you swear you could feel the sploshes of it jostling with each jackhammer. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck-” He grits out, salivating through his snarl. Again and again, the round curve of his balls hit you with thwacks! “I need to…”
You urge your neck closer to his mouth, “Cho—”
“Fuck- I can’t- not yet-” He finishes off his orgasm, riding it out on your precious cunt. You were just so wet- so soft with the sprayed volumes of his cum, that it felt like heaven to even run his thumb down the swollen middle.
With his thumb, Choso slightly parts your folds and smears the creamy mess he’d made in the middle. It was dribblin’ all out now, forming a nice ring of his seed.
And - all buried to the hilt, still - he draws out a cute lil’ ‘C’ on top of your cunt. “I’m your m-mate.” He breathes out, and the vanilla scent of his pheromones turns more airy. Happier. “And I hafta fuck you like it.”
Before you know it, you’re being flipped over - easily.
And Choso pulls out for just the barest second to help you situate, before he’s back to pressing his fleshy cockhead between your pussylips once more. He squeeze-squeeze-squeezes that thick girth inside, letting out the huskiest groan as he does so- “Ah ah, where are we going, my mate?”
“Oh, I was just…” You’re lost for words. So dumbified at this point that you didn’t even know you were jerking your body away; stuck between wanting to run away and bucking your hips back for more, more, more.
But Choso helps you with your decision: he wraps his big, beefy bicep around your neck. Chuckling at the splash of saliva that escapes you at the restraint- you’re suddenly being tugged back against his hips. Back against the throbbing cock that enters you easily, his zig-zagged veins tickling your outer rim. “You didn’t think we were done yet, right, baby?” And he sounded as if he was genuinely confused.
You look over your shoulder at him- oh, Choso was ruined. “Ah- um, perhaps?”
“That’s cute, baby. But you’re gonna let me- hah, fulfill my duty n’ fill this pretty pussy up until she can’t take anymore, right?” He wanted to watch you struggle to take his sheer volume. His cum. From behind, you could feel his thick knot swelling already- “After all…you do remember that m’still an alpha, right?”
Right.
.
.
.
After that second round came a third, expectably. And after that third came a fourth. And after that fourth- oh, Choso couldn’t help himself.
He just kept going back for more.
Because there was then a fifth, a sixth, a- honestly, you don’t even know which round you were at right now. All you knew is that you were completely n’ utterly fucked, on top, your thighs screaming for rest as you straddled his slightly bucking hips.
And Choso himself wasn’t doing much better.
He was completely flushed the exact same shade of crimson as his cockhead, from head to toe. Darkened eyes almost shut. Mouth permanently agape. Only lolling open even wider after each press of your ass cheeks against his pelvis.
You were riding him crazy.
And Choso’s murky peripherals roll to the back of his head as he felt you cum - for the nth time that night. By now, it was just the slightest tingle at the pit of your stomach, and you sobbed as you rode it all the way through.
“Yes-” He whispers, almost to himself. Cock overstimulated, the skin on his pelvis all red and raw. And yet- and yet, he still couldn’t stop. Thinks he’d rather die than stop. Sniffling back tears of sensitivity, “Yes yes yes- use me, baby. Use me, my mate.”
Choso’s puffing out pleasurable pheromones, you’d long since come to realize that they almost worked like aphrodisiacs for the two of you.
And it made you shiver, placing your face against the perspired crook of his neck. “Ngh- cum inside.” You physically move Choso’s large hands over to the front of your stomach, where he’d stuffed you with so many wads of his ivory sap that it was starting to bloat a lil’. “Please- wan’ it, ngh, inside.”
“A-as you wish, my wife- fuck.” Choso throws his head back (oh, and he doesn’t know whether it’s because of his high or that mere image of you, vowing to be with him in this life and the next). “-I-I mean, my mate.”
With that, he’s stuffin’ your orifice so much.
It’s hot and splashing against your crevices, your womb.
Not enough space for it all, it drips out like a waterfall around his happy trail, which now glistened with your sweet juices. But he couldn’t have that- now, could he? And Choso slowly - agonizingly slowly - squeezes his fleshy knot inside you. Pushing and pushing. Just tuggin’ on your walls, your entrance is so tenderized by him that it doesn’t take him too long to get the wide circumference of his base to fit inside with a wet plop! A raw stretch that makes you cry out at the oodles of cum trapped inside you.
Until it geysers. Until he’s spurting out in enough ribbons of seed that he eventually cums dry-
Until he’s turning his face inside the crook of your neck and biting into your scent glands.
You gasp as you feel the bubble of it pop! underneath his sharp teeth, and a sudden burst of pleasure explodes through your body. Hard enough that you might just be crashing into your next few orgasms all at once- “Oh- oh, fuck, Choso- my mate.”
In turn, you let your own canines bite into the glands on the side of his neck.
It leaves a bite mark just as hard and desperate as his. Just as permanent. And before long, you’re basking the aftermath of your multiple rounds, the haze of your dual fragrances now melding into one.
It takes Choso raising his nose into the air and sniffing this gradual change for you to realize- “My…my mate.” You start out, intertwining your hands with his. He sidles up against you, as if both feverish bodies were trying to become one. “No- or should I say, my fated mate?”
“You noticed.” Choso smiles, eyes twinkling with tears. And it all made sense: the intense reaction he had to your scent, the way his moved yours, the connection you felt. “I thought you never would. Where have you been my whole life?”
You coo, “Of course, I would notice. M’sorry it took so long-”
“Never apologize.” He insists, shaking his clammy head. “I’d wait lifetimes for the one that completes my soul.”
After that, once his knot went down, you two went another round - slower, this time. Not quite as fogged by the lust of your pheromones and ruts and heats, you took the time to hold each other.
You were so overstimulated that you could barely even feel your high, and Choso was fully cumming dry by this point. And yet, he was still raring to go yet another round after that - which ended up with you falling asleep right in the middle of it.
Somewhere in the middle of that, Choso had gotten up to clean you off and gently place fresh sheets over your ruined ones. He’d tucked you into bed, and cradled your tired body- ending up being the small spoon somewhere during the night.
And somewhere in the middle of that, Itadori Jin had come to visit, after some time too long without either you or Choso answering your phones. He’d wondered where you were—and was given the answer to his question the moment he walked into Choso’s bedroom.
Ah.
Young love.
Careful not to wake the two of you, he’d cheered right then and there. He knew it! He knew it, he knew that program would be good for his son. Look at the two of you now! And he almost contemplated taking a picture to commemorate the occasion before thinking better of it.
He left the door cracked as he left.
Yes, probably not. He can take as many pictures as he wants at the wedding.
.
.
.
‘Did you hear that’s the boss’s mate- yes, the fated mate! I know! I thought those things were a myth, too, but everyone knows that they’re fated.’
‘I seriously thought Jin was lying, I mean- our workaholic boss with such a gorgeous mate? Oh, but look at that bite mark on her neck, it’s clear it’s true.’
‘They met on that Scent Companionship Program, didn’t they? You know I signed up the moment I heard-’
‘I still hear they’re planning to elope in Switzerland- yes yes, and they don’t plan on inviting Sukuna, mhm. Oh? You guess he’s going to crash the wedding anyway? Don’t be silly, you don’t have to guess- of course, he’s going to crash the wedding anyway.’
It seems that news of your new bonding had reached the ears of the office. And it was all thanks to Itadori Jin.
Or, well—you tugged on the collar of your shirt. You guessed that the numerous bite marks (and especially that one rather garish one right where your scent gland was) didn’t help, either.
They stared. They whispered.
They tittered as they noticed that you still couldn’t walk entirely straight.
Still, holding your head up high, you nodded your polite greetings at the ogling office staff as you waded your way through them; carefully dodging the probing questions, the stray phone, or the one that asked for an autograph? What was that all about?
Choso, too, seemed to have beared the brunt of the day’s hottest gossip as you finally met him inside the office room. Glancing at the tinted glass of his room that had even more peeping Toms than usual.
“I’ve contracted some people to build an actual wall of concrete there.” Choso sighs, rubbing his aching temples - though, that seems to remedy itself quite quickly when you press a chaste peck there. “Immediately.”
“Long overdue.” You hum.
He nods, “Yes, and I’m also working on getting some sort of barring policy - or perhaps a restriction, I don’t even know if that’s allowed in this case - on a certain someone-”
Synopsis. A bad boy? Check. Your parents hate him? Check. Considers you the cute lil’ good luck charm for his high-speed street races? Check. But you’ll be riding more than just Choso’s car…
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, racer!Choso, street racing AU, Choso with tattoos and piercings, talks of F1, small towns, gossip, slight good girl x bad boy, he’s so down bad, pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem rec.), he goes FÉRAL, spítting, fíngering, cúmming in his pants, he’s BIG, tummy buIges, making it fit, headIocks, manhandIing, Prince AIbert’s piercing, running from it, matíng presses, rough s, body worship, DÚMBlFICATION, creampíes, overstím, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 10.6k
A/N. I refuse to watch the F1 movie so this is the closest thing-
“Look at him-”
You sigh, “I know, he’s…”
“-bad news.”
“-hot.”
It was inevitable that you and your group of friends would look at each other with odd expressions at the clash. You always did whenever it came to him.
Choso Kamo - the star of your cozy lil’ town’s latest gossip.
You’d heard (well, it was impossible not to hear) that he’d just recently moved from the big city for an exchange program at your local university. Why anyone would willingly travel to some ramshackle town to be gawked at, you couldn’t understand.
“I’m just saying—” You’re grumbling, gaze flicking across the green campus to where Choso was seated underneath a lone tree, face bent into a book.
Your stare lingers on the twinkle of his ear piercings in the sun, “-he doesn’t seem that bad.” The dark, dark line tattoos crawling down the side of his neck. “Who knows? He seems almost…nice-”
Just then, he’s turning his head - precisely to meet your eyes.
Oh.
You can feel your breath hitch- and something at the pit of your stomach twists in a sudden lurch before you’re turning away in an instant. The glint of his deep eyes too stark, the intensity in them too burning.
“She’s right.” Shoko’s the first to pipe up from your right, tapping her manicured nails on the top of your campus bench. “I won’t deny that everyone’s being a lil’ hard on the guy just because he has a few tattoos and piercings.”
“And he’s a city big-shot with an annoyingly loud car.”
“And he’s a city big-shot with an annoyingly loud car.”
Utahime shudders, seated right in front of you so she has to turn at the feeling of Choso’s stare - who immediately looks away. “Well- fine. But it’s also the way he looks at…”
Your little group leans closer as she trails off, seemingly lost in thought.
Before nodding to herself in affirmation and narrowing her chocolate eyes- “-at you.” Unabashedly, she’s jabbing her index your way, as you sputter in protest, “No no, I’m serious! It’s like he- he wants to eat you or something, my dear.”
Shoko smirks, “Kinky.”
“Shoko.” You’re groaning, flipping back through your textbook to distract yourself, if anything. “Don’t let my parents hear you, Uta. They’ve warned me every single day since he’s stepped foot here to steer clear of him.”
Which wasn’t quite effective when you shared half your classes with the very man that haunted every nook and cranny of your town - and the minds of the people living in it.
And especially not when you couldn’t help but notice him during said lectures; tall, quiet, always seated at the very last row with his head in some car magazine, fingers twiddling with the chunky metal rings on his long fingers.
Not that you’re looking at him that closely, that is.
You find your thighs involuntarily pressing together as you’re hastily darting your eyes to Choso once more, taking in the subtle curve of his pierced lips. The slooow flutter of his long, chestnut bangs in the breeze- “Y’know they told me just this morning to never so much as let him look at me? Apparently some neighbor of a neighbor of a neighbor saw him driving late at night and assumed he was involved in everything shady possible.”
“Understandable.”
“Still dealing with the ol’ folks, huh?” Shoko grins as you wince, a reminder of the parents that absolutely refused to let you hold your own in one of the university dorms.
Not quite out-of-the-ordinary for such a small community, but you still did feel a twinge of envy whenever Shoko and Utahime happened to mention something about them being roommates.
“You should just move in with us, y’know- fuck whatever the lease lady says, we have more than enough room.”
“Ah, one day.” Clearing your throat, you’re standing up- “Anyways, I should really get going before I miss my lab time.”
“Aw, Yaga keeping you late for another project?” Your friend muses as Utahime grabs onto your skirt with a protesting whine, trying to tug you back down onto your seat with all her might. And it’s a small chaos that erupts in a few surrounding giggles, a stray eyeroll or two - and for a certain dark-haired man to spy up from his motor book.
Heady eyes locked on the scene, his gaze seeping right through your body. Choso tilts his head with a glimmer of interest that leaves your mouth dry no matter how many times you swallow.
Oh, he looked just devilish.
You struggle to keep your voice even, “Yeah. Lab project.” And before you make your escape, you’re stealing one last glimpse at him- “No need to wait up, I’ll find my own way home.”
.
.
.
You were definitely, absolutely not finding your own way home.
And it was all your fault of staying way too late behind class hours, glued to one of your most important finals projects.
“Dammit. Dammit.” You’re whispering to yourself as you check the time flashing on your phone - just a little past 10PM, you’d already missed the last local bus.
The university was so empty that you could hear your own heartbeat thumping in your eardrums, in rapid unison with your footsteps. Leading up to the campus parking lot, a quick check showed you only a few stragglers that you didn’t know.
With a sigh, you make sure to stand underneath where a streetlight was overspilling its glow, weighing your options in the dim atmosphere.
You could call Utahime for a ride - or maybe your parents? But as much as you loved them, the multiple earfuls you’d get on ‘responsible time management’ was enough to have you closing out of your Phone app.
Maybe you could (affectionately) blackmail Shoko into borrowing Utahime’s car? No, the one time you two decided that was a good idea, the other girl had given you both a lashing that had you bowing at her feet for weeks.
Swearing underneath your breath, you’re opening up the Uber app and making appalled note of the prices. Ah, perhaps you were just meant to sleep here tonight. “I’d rather beg for a ride from Yaga-”
And then you hear it.
You’re sure that anyone within a five-mile radius hears it, in fact- that low, infamous vrrrr— that made the ground beneath you quake ever-so-slightly. It was the very noise that roared past your quaint neighborhood streets at night, the very noise that your parents made sure to complain about every morning after.
And there was only one man who would drive such a behemoth.
Choso’s midnight black Ford Mustang glistens as he’s lazily pulling up to the flickering streetlight, taking up nearly the entire pavement. Too fast, too be lost, too slow to be heading for anywhere but you were - you can only gape as his tinted windows pull down almost silently.
Almost smugly.
The first thing you’re spying is the glimpse of a pale, beefy forearm gripping onto a leather-clad steering wheel. Tattooed and toned.
And then it’s him - Choso Kamo, in all his glory.
“Need a ride?”
You’re blinking, voice never quite reaching your throat- “Wh-what?”
The first sound of your pretty, pretty tone and his hand tightens on the wheel - as if he’d just been zapped by volts of electricity.
He chuckles softly like he’d expected this, stray arm coming to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. And you don’t know whether you’d simply been standing out in the cold long enough to muddle your mind, but you swear that Choso’s ears tint a bright red. “I uh- I wouldn’t mind dropping you off home…or wherever it is you need to go?”
Expectantly, he’s searching his molten eyes up for an answer. But the longer Choso stares, the longer your silence stretches - and the darker the tips of his ears flush.
“If- that is, if you don’t have another ride coming for you of course.” He’s peering his irises around, as if expecting one of your friends to pop out from the bushes any second now. Words running a mile a minute. “Sorry for assuming, I just saw you here alone and- oh, p-promise it wasn’t anything creepy I just notice y- fuck, I messed this up.”
And his shy smile withers, replaced by the anxious twiddle of his silver snakebites. Hand reaching for the gear shift now- “I should just-”
“No, wait!”
You’re calling out before you can stop yourself, and it’s like Choso’s body listens to your words before his brain does. Because he’s halting in his tracks with a comical yelp, enough so that you have to stifle a smile.
“I uh…I don’t have a ride, actually.” You’re telling him, with a deep breath.
And it’s only with a final glance ‘round your surroundings that you’re confirming Yaga really wasn’t here and you really couldn’t bother him instead.
Looking down at Choso and oh- he’s staring up at you with stars in his eyes. Curved grin urging you to speak- “If it’s ah- not too much trouble, I would really appreciate a ride back home.”
“Yes- yes, of course.”
And as if he’d not just been two seconds away from speeding down the pathway in embarrassment, he instantly lunges out from the driver’s seat. Speeding to the other side of the car and holding the passenger’s wiiide open for you.
You’re slightly taken aback by the manners, by the innocent smile that suggested he’d never even thought of anything less. “Oh!” Making sure you’re safely buckled before gently shutting the door, “Thank you?”
“Any time.”
You can’t lie to yourself and say that you’d never imagined what the interior of Choso Kamo’s notoriously intimidating car might look like. Feel like.
You just never imagined it to be as close to heaven as you could get - all luxurious woven seats and a touchscreen polished enough to mirror your awed face.
You’re running your hand down the side of the car as you give directions to your home, your family would never even let you get close to a ‘deathtrap’ like this. And as Choso starts driving, you can’t help but breathe in that slightly bittersweet lavender scent of him, clinging onto the interior.
“This…this is-” You’re grappling for the words as he’s shooting a kind smile your way, “So all those car magazines aren’t just for fun, huh?”
Choso’s lips twitch, “You noticed. Yeah- a 2025 Ford Mustang Dark Horse.” Tapping the wheel reverently, “My pride and joy.”
“I can tell.” As he looks at you curiously, “My family, we ah- we can hear you driving down the street sometimes, it’s incredible.”
Snickering, “Bet the neighborhood hates me then. With good reason, this thing goes from 0 to 60 in four seconds. 500 horsepower-”
Then there’s a look he shares your way - something the complete opposite of the nervous, stuttering boy he’d been earlier. Perhaps closer to all the whispers that shrouded him instead- “-without modifications, that is.”
And you didn’t doubt that he’d made many.
“So how fast can you really go?” You’re asking with a quirked brow, slightly leaned over the console to take in all the numerous meters on his side of the seat.
The heat of your proximity makes Choso bite back a gasp- “Trying to find out?”
There’s something in his words - his tone.
“What if I am?”
“I-I’d advise you against it.” He’s answering easily, the thickness of his thumb toying with the gear shift in dizzying circles. “Don’t you know what everyone in this town says about me?”
“They say a lot of things-”
“The loudest being that you should stay away.” Long, dark locks fall over his features as he nods, pulling to a stop at a barren red light. Darkness inking beyond his headlights, as if the only living beings on Earth right now were you, him–
“You know, I don’t care what they say if I don’t truly know you.”
“Let’s- let’s just drive slow, get you home safe and you can forget about m-”
VRRRR—!
And the assholes that had pulled up to the side of Choso’s car.
Gesturing him to lower his window, the boisterous voices from the neighboring vehicle hit you instantly. “Oi- nice car!” And before Choso can seemingly thank them, they’re revving up the engine of their own. “Would hate to embarrass ya in front of your girl, though.”
“She’s not my-”
“Why doesn’t she come with us?” One of their troupe of men lean out of the window, “We can show her a real fast car.”
You grimace, taking a glance at the still-red light. “Ew.”
“Oi-”
Your savior turns up the engine of his Mustang, cutting off the other man cleanly - and just a peek his way shows you his darkened eyes. Eyes hooded, face bathed in red from the traffic stop. Tone hard enough that you’re wondering whether this was the same man from just a few minutes ago. “Those are fighting words.”
Orange now.
A sleazy cackle rings out, “That so?”
“You’re asking me?”
“No, I’m asking your gir-”
Green.
You’re instantly sunken deeply into the cushion of your seat as Choso speeds off- tailed closely by the Mercedes of your unwelcome guest. So fast that your surroundings are a blur, so hard that you can barely even move your mouth-
“A- a race?” You’re managing out.
“And we’re gonna win.”
Speeding; and you have a slight feeling that Choso was barely even trying as he’s looking over at the rearview mirror to watch the flashing headlights of his opponents.
Muttering underneath his breath, he shifts his gear with a clack to burst in speed- “Fucking imbeciles.” And if you thought his car was loud before, then you weren’t ready for him to smash the Sports Mode on his touchscreen and make the engine keen deafeningly.
“Hold on tight, my girl.”
Clack!
“Shit, a fucking Mercedes, huh?”
Clack!
Clack!
Another gear shift, and you’re seeing the trees of the landscape mix into one great splash of mere green. Choso flicks his eyes over in the side mirror only once- before the entire car swerves to the right to block off the Mercedes. “Fucking imbeciles.”
“Ch-Choso.” You’re gasping out, holding onto your seatbelt for dear life. Fuck- you think you’re seeing the line on his speedometer jerk upright as he steps harder on the gas pedal.
“Yeees–?”
Your finger trembles - whether from fear or adrenaline, you have no idea - when you’re reaching it somewhere past the windshield. Eyes nearly bulging out of your skull once you take in the familiar road, “There’s a bend coming around. Hard.”
“Perfect.”
Clack!
You’re hitting the large dip in the road before you know it- thrown in so hard against the left side of the Ford Mustang that you claw onto Choso’s arm. Reached right over the console to grab onto his flexed biceps, “Heh.” He looks down at you through lowered lashes for a second, “Told you to hold on tight.”
Gaping speechlessly, you dig your nails against his pale skin and watch as he bites down on his lower lip.
Fingers tilting down the rearview mirror, “And now, for those bastards.”
Bracing yourself, you manage to garner up enough strength in your body to raise your front off of him - only mildly mortified about being thrown around like a ragdoll by his driving. Taking a quick glance behind, “Oh, they slowed down for the bend.”
“Mhm, told you we’d win.” Choso grins, easily flicking off the Sports Mode for an easier regular one. You’re cruising smoothly down the velvety road, Mercedes long out of sight and out of mind. “You’re like my good luck charm- that means I better get you home safe n’ sound now..”
And that’s exactly what he does.
No more races, no more assholes on supercars - you’re turning into the suburban street of your tidy neighborhood without another hitch.
Well, if you don’t count the rumbling engine that was sure to disturb all the neighbors, that is.
But strangely enough, you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as much as you should. Not even when he’s slowing down by the familiar driveway to your house, not even as you watch the lights inside flick on at the noise.
Dwindling into a low purr by the time that Choso stops- “A-about before- I am so sorry about that, I don’t know why I let them get to me and-” He’s running a hand down his pretty features, “-and I promised myself I’d be good for you but-”
“Are you kidding me?” You breathe.
“I’m sorry.”
“That was-” He winces, waiting for your outburst. “-amazing?”
Choso’s fawny eyes widen, “What?”
“That was the most alive I’ve felt in ages.” You’re starting, “I mean- sure, I wanted to throw up a little but I promise once the nausea stopped it was really fun. And did you see the look on their faces- pffft, those assholes deserved it. Fucking- Mercedes.” Against all judgment, you’re gripping onto his broad shoulders just to shake with emphasis. “I didn’t even know you could drive like that- have you ever considered real racing? Fuck, I wonder if you could go even faster with this beauty.”
Now it was his turn to be awestruck. Soundless. And suddenly you’re understanding just how self-conscious he must’ve been back at the campus.
“Hello?”
“…”
“I mean…oh, what am I even saying.” You couldn’t grab your bag fast enough, hastily opening the door. “Thank you for the ride!”
You make three steps to your front porch - exactly three for Choso to snap out of his little reverie and chase right after you.
Long legs striding up, one of his matching exactly two or more of yours- a large hand catching your wrist, soft breath striking your face once he pulls you back. “Wait.”
Pants desperate, voice pleading.
You’re staring up at him so close that you could count each of his glinting metal piercings - those two sensual snakebites on his lower lip, one on his left eyebrow, several dangling upon both ears. And you swear you see one wink out from the tip of his pink tongue as he’s opening and closing his mouth.
“Do you-”
“I hope-”
You both speak at the same time, huffing out in slight amusement. You gesture for him to go, and he insists, “Ladies first.”
“Fine.” You’re letting him have his way, and the defeat is not nearly as bitter as how sweet it was watching Choso beam down at you from his height. “I just ah- hoped I didn’t weird you out or anyth-”
“Never.”
He says it so seriously that you almost find yourself taking a step back- almost, because he still had his warm fingers curled softly around your wrist. As if he’d noticed your flighty demeanor, Choso drags you a few steps back with him, leaning against the side of his supercar. “Actually- would you like to go to a…thing-”
“A thing?”
“A place-”
“A shady place?”
“Yes-” Seeing the look in your gaze, “-but no! It’s just a race- a big one.” And fuck- he was finding it difficult to hold the line of your sight, ears scorching redder and redder every second you bored up at him. “And I want you there- if you would like to come, as my…” Choso winces, like he was despising each word spilling from his mouth. “-good luck…charm.”
You grin, “Is that a date?”
He squeaks- “If- if you want it to be.”
“Hmm.” Pretending to think for a second, you’re only deciding to let Choso off the hook after you watch as he genuinely, physically sweats a trickle of perspiration down his temple waiting for your answer. “It’ll be a date-” He gasps. “-if - and only if - you win first place.”
The grin you’re gifted with is devastating - and Choso Kamo doesn’t stutter a single syllable as he quirks a brow. As he leans in. As he bends down just enough that his deep, drawling words tickle your ear, “Oh, you’re gonna watch me win, baby.”
Oh.
And you’re still thinking of them even as you manage to waddle your feet back up to your house after exchanging numbers. Predictably, being met with a lecture from your parents and yet not registering a single word.
That is, not until-
“-and wasn’t it that boy?”
Snapping up at their disapproving tone, “Who? That was Choso, he gave me a ride when there was no one else on-”
“You should stay away, you know what they say.” Wagging a finger reproachfully, “How many times have we told you to stay away from brutes like that? And you just had to go and get fondled by the exact same one the entire town’s been talking about- and don’t lie to me, we saw you through the window.”
“Then you’d have seen that we were doing nothing.” You’re gripping onto your bag hard enough to tear, heart thumping with anger where it was once excitement.
“That was not ‘nothing’, girl. I thought we raised you better than that.”
“But-”
“All the loud cars and the tattoos. Mark my word he’ll end up-”
Mumbling, “He was actually really sweet…”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ll ruin your life.”
“I barely have one.”
With a long-weary sigh, you block out the rest of the screeching to head for your bedroom - the same ol’ innocent bedroom you’d had since you were a child. Throwing yourself over your bed, you scroll through the listings of studios in your university area, as you often did.
Except this time, you dare to bookmark one. Just one.
.
.
.
It was hard not to know when Choso Kamo stared.
Because Choso never stared, he never tore his eyes away from the glossy pages of his motorsports magazine, even during lectures. And you always did wonder how he managed to top the scores of each exam despite that.
Except for now.
Right now, you’re feeling the burning sensation of two dark peripherals on the back of your head - immediately making you swivel your own gaze behind you.
Lo and behold, there he was - pen tapping on the side of his plush, rosy lips, brows furrowed as if you were the toughest of calculations he just couldn’t figure out. But the moment your pupils meet his, Choso only grins.
Mouthing, ‘Tonight.’
Your veins bubble when you notice more than one pair of eyes from the lecture hall on the two of you, and the implication of something happening ‘tonight’ wasn’t lost on your little audience.
But you nod anyway, a reminder of what the two of you had been texting back n’ forth for days now. ‘Tonight.’
“What’s happening tonight and why are you eye-fucking Choso Kamo?” Shoko’s whisper infiltrates your little bubble - and many other nearby bubbles, if the way that a few students titter was anything to go by.
“Shoko.” You elbow her side.
“No no, I want to know too.” Utahime pipes up, “Have you learned nothing from the two-bit bad boys in those shitty Netflix movies we watch?”
“He’s not just a two-bit bad boy, he also has a car.” Shoko’s adding on, “And I heard my neighbor’s friend’s aunt’s cousin say that he’s an F1 hopeful-”
The other gasps, “Is it the athlete’s salary tempting you, my dear? Y’know, I’m old money-”
Groaning, “It’s not like that.”
Shoko’s glancing between the two of you - Choso back at his books now that there wasn’t anything more worthy of his attention. You were looking away, after all. She balances a pen on her upper lip in thought, “When did that even happen, though?”
After a few seconds of trying to hide in your hands wasn’t working - in fact, it only made Professor Gakuganji throw more and more increasingly disgruntled glares your way - you sigh. “Well…you two remember last week when I stayed late at the labs? And I said someone was kind enough to give me a lift?” At two matching nods, “It was…”
“Him.”
“Him.” Utahime shakes you by your shoulders, “He didn’t do anything weird, did he, my dear? Oh, do I need to kill-”
“Not at all—” You wave them off, deciding to tell them about the impromptu race later today - preferably at an open space where it would be more acceptable for Utahime to scream bloody murder. “He was actually sweet and…”
Utahime and Shoko gawk at you with wide eyes, and the shorter-haired of the two speaks. “…and?”
“And a bit…cute.”
The pen clatters to down, down, down to the floor.
Already interrupting the class enough, you decide to simply rip the bandage off in one go- “And we may or may not have planned a date for tonight.”
It turns out that you’d very unfortunately overestimated Utahime’s ability to control her scream in a closed educational environment.
.
.
.
It was electric.
You felt electric.
Choso leans over his seat to indulge in your personal space, and you’re sure you’d be melting if it wasn’t for the way that both your eyes were locked on one noisy opponent - that Mercedes.
Engine revving right beside the Ford Mustang, sour faces peeking through the window with a thirst for revenge - who’d have thought that your lil’ enemy from the street competition would wind up being your opponents in an actual street race?
Honestly, tonight you’d let Choso drive you deep into a dingy corner of the town you didn’t even know existed in all your years living here.
You doubted that anyone knew of this secretive scene.
Filled to the brim with as many supercars as your lonely roads could hold- hell, Choso had told you that some participants drove from multiple cities away solely for these races. They were lining every inch of tarmac like glitzy streetlights made to overpower, the type to have given half your town an aneurysm just to think about.
“It’s why I ended up here for my exchange program, y’know?” He was whispering in your ear, voice low in a way it was just for you. “The racing, the cars, the practice. I wanted it all before I went big.”
Dark eyes flickering briefly to you, “Didn’t think I’d find something else worth winning, too.”
Your breath hitched, you didn’t know what else to say to that. And Choso didn’t elaborate- instead informing you on the make and model of the cars that would be going up against him this time.
And the roaring cheers grow deafening by the time a woman in a glittering outfit waltzes over to the middle of the track, a handkerchief held carefully in hand. Her cheery voice chimes out. “Alriiight, I want a nice, clean race around town- not. You know the drill- all racers on go by the time the cloth drops. Ready—?”
Teasing the little fabric around, you can pick out a few stray shouts surrounding the car- “Choso? That’s Choso Kamo? No way he seriously brought his gal- the man doesn’t even know how to smile-”
“They say it’s his last official race before he goes pro- better show off then, eh?”
“Move move I can’t see- Oh my god it’s really him, shit, he has a girl, too. You think they’ll win?”
As you’re nervously toying with your fingers, you jolt at the sudden feeling of ice-cold rings sliding around your throat. One hand of Choso’s on the wheel, the other putting slight pressure on your neck to make you gasp. “Don’t you worry, baby. We’re gonna win this.”
“Set—!”
“Because of the date?” You watch from the corner of your eye as she’s waving the handkerchief ‘round like a chequered flag, raising it up, up, up—
“Because I have my lucky charm with me.”
“Go–!”
.
.
.
“Oh sh-shit.” A shrill whimper tears out from your throat the very second that Choso’s slimy tongue hits your inner thighs.
He’s just so long - so dexterous that the pinkish tip of him curls inwardly along your sodden panties. Lavishing the swollen folds of your pussy with a few kittenish licks, you feel yourself buck in need at the slight graze of his tongue piercing. “Fuuuck, Choso, you’re not even gonna take my p-panties off?”
“Haaa—” His scalding hot breath gusts out in a sticky pant, and you can only watch as his lips purse to spit straight down your slippery slit.
A fat glob of saliva that he’s smearing with the front end of his thumb, snickering. “No.”
And then Choso’s pursuing the quivering lips of your pussy like he’s a man starved - ravenous. Fuck, you didn’t even know how you got here.
It was a given that he would win that street race, coming in first among all the cars with an almost ridiculous lead. But it was only when Choso had kept driving - not even stopping to collect his cash prize - that you’d started to question what he had in mind…
And there you were- sprawled out across the back of his Ford Mustang and smearing the expensive seats with your sheeny slick.
He’d driven you to the edge of some romantic viewpoint, a place to watch the twinkling stars above - but right now, Choso was drinking in a much better view.
“Oh-” The edge of his sharp jawline strikes your cunt, “Oh.” And no matter how close he was, he wanted more - he needed to see your pretty pussy all up close n’ personal.
Using the knobbly edge of his thumb to pull your folds apart with a sluuuurp, Choso’s mouth just waters seeing you drip ‘round your stringy panties. “Congratulations to me.” He’s drawling, syllables shaky. “She’s better than any grand prize, my baby.”
“You’re just so filthy—” You’re whining, hips rutting off of the cushioned seats while he’s making out with your pussy through your panties.
Slap after slap of his mouth plastering to every inch of your hot core.
It’s as if he was just trying to make you even messier, with each side of those rosy pink lips drooling against your pussy. “Mmm, tell me something I don’t already know, baby.”
Slickly rovering his tongue up n’ down the line of your slit- you feel Choso hone his wet muscle until he’s aligned precisely towards your sloppy hole. Pushin’ against the barrier of your underwear like he’s attempting to thrust his way in, “Stop teasing me, Choso–”
“Teasing? Who’s teasing?”
Another push of his tongue against the cloth of your drenched panties and you shriek, just barely feeling the pressure of his mouth drag against where you really needed him the most. “Then eat me out properly-”
Mockingly confused, your pupils sprint all the way to the back of your throat as you’re feeling him murmur straight into your cunt. “M’not teasing, I just can’t see-”
“S-see?”
Looking down so fast that your chin knocks against your chest, in the dim street lighting you can make out the long mess of Choso’s hair. The way his unruly bangs were gluing to his forehead, half-obscuring his darkened gaze.
“Mmm, m’just doing what I can—” He playfully hums, so close that he was practically nose-deep n’ yet still refusing to make out with your pussy past your panties. “Oh, if only I had my pretty girl to pull my- oh, fuck.”
Choso doesn’t get to finish his damn sentence before you’re giving him exactly what he asked for.
“Is this enough?”
Your trembly hands plunged into his clammy scalp, tugging on his silky hair- enough for you to admire his pretty, flushed face. All twisted into a mean smirk, “O-oh, now I can see.” There’s something unsteady in his words, as if he was on the very verge of shattering. “Now just tell me where you want m-mmpf-”
Then you’re shoving his face between your legs and Choso moans.
Mouth slacked all the way ajar- lengthy tongue coming out to simply flick aside your ruined panties. “F-fuck.” Choso’s wastin’ absolutely no time prodding at your clenched hole and squeeze-squeeze-squeezing inside. “Lemme see her. Lemme taste her- my pretty baby.”
Rutting the front of his hips into the backseat, he clings two large hands upon each side of your hips to haul your pussy deeper against his mouth.
Primal tongue slobbering everywhere, he’s gluing his textured tastebuds to the roof of your entrance and watches as you squirm oh-so-cutely. Pushing n’ pushing until he feels the first pressure of resistance from your cunt, “Ngh- Choso, dunno if it’ll- fit-”
“But you’re a goood girl- aren’t ya, baby?” Reeling back with a dewy plop! to prod his tongue into each of your nooks. “So aren’t ya gonna take my tongue like hah- a good girl?”
Your hand claws to clamp your mouth shut as you feel him stick his mouth against your entrance and start to bully inside once more. “I- I don’t-”
“Ah ah, none of that.” Only to have one set of his slender fingers tug down your shaky hand, hearing your pretty whines like his favorite song.
Fuck, Choso can only let you buck wildly once he’s rubbin’ his tongue piercing along your clit. “You’re gonna be loud-” His tongue was just unfairly flexible, twisting around until the metallic orb near the middle hits down your nub with a splat! “Yeah- exactly like that, pretty baby.” He could barely even speak through each pressurized push, “Gonna let this, mmm, entiiiire fuckin’ town hear. And then-”
And then he’s throwing your boneless limbs over his broad shoulders, ankles locking on instinct ‘round the back of Choso’s neck.
It’s the change in angle that has you gasping, holding onto the cushions surrounding you for dear life when that only makes his mouth roam deeper- “-th-then you’re gonna fucking take all of my- ngh- tongue.”
Muffled, each syllable leaves your pussy all raw n’ sensitive.
Splashing out oodles of syrupy sweet sap each time the tip of Choso’s taste buds scrape the inside of your cunt. Stretchin’ out your poor hole to the maximum until you’re mewling at the sting.
Constricting widely, he’s shovelling your walls apart until you’re memorizing the exact feeling of his tongue. Pump after pump.
He wasn’t just hungry - it’s like he hadn’t eaten for eons with the way that Choso was grinding and grinding his face between your face. Each gyration of his tongue rendering you speechless, licking all over your sweetest spots until not an inch was left undiscovered by him.
You feel the glossy points of his snakebites stick against the base of your outer pussy and gasp.
“And then my cock next.”
“Oh- oh my god- ngh-” You babble away- was it possible to bottom out on a tongue? Because the curvy tip of his tongue was reaching all the way near your g-spot and you couldn’t help but sob.
Hands trekking down on instant to-
SMACK!
Your fingers twitch where Choso had swatted your hand away, crushing it within one of his. “But Choso-”
“And who said you could play with my prize?” He tilts his head, dark eyes narrowed in a way that looked almost dangerous. Plump lips twitching with a sleazy grin, “S’my pussy, baby.”
Before you know it, he’s guiding your guilty hand down to meet his maw. Slick-sheened fingertips finding their way just between his lips- oh, he was greedy for your sweet, sweet juices. He wasn’t about to let you have a single drop.
Sucklin’ on them like his favorite flavored lolly, Choso stares right into your eyes once he replaces what you wanted with his own fingers.
A drive-roughened index smearing open the edges of your pussy, “D’you know that?”
You’re shuttering your eyes in need, “Oh my god your fingers-”
Pressing just inside your hole, “Do you know that?” You can only let out a few more mindless wails in response, and he’s slipping a second finger against the roof of your core. “Need you to answer me if you want-”
“Yes- yes.” You claw against his strong wrist so hard that you’re leaving marks. Doing anything - everything to get him to go deeper, to sloppily fill you up from the inside with his fingertips. “Oh…mmm, please, Choso.”
“And don’t you forget it.” You’re being treated like a lil’ plaything - one thumb flicking your clit, two more scouring inside your glossy walls. “I’m taking my prize tonight.”
There’s a lecherous, resounding plop! as he manages to fully sink in the two prolonged fingers all the way till his knuckles hit the slope of your pussy. The curvaceous edge of Choso’s index easily mazing past to locate your throbbing g-spot, “Oh fuck- so deep- ngh, so…”
Only letting off once your own fingerpads are licked all clean of your slick, he hastily pushes his face back into your treacly cunt. “That’s it, thaaaat’s it. Fuck up into m-me- into my face.”
And he had you have you on his flushed face - Choso needed you on his face.
Right then and right now, it’s like he’s fighting against himself for a mere piece of your pussy. Like the sweetest dessert in the world, he laps up every slimy ounce of leaky slick- wide tongue draaagging in circles ‘round and ‘round your sensitive hole.
One that was being absolutely pummelled by his fingers, he’s filling up every slick orifice with the curve of his digits. Hooking them so they thrash right against your g-spot-
“This is how ya do it.” You swear you watch as the mountains of Choso’s knuckles turn red with the slamming impact of his pumps, “Look at her- mm, just look. Now this is a winning celebration, huh?”
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Your pupils are speeding in stupid circles within the whites of your eyes, hands twitching on his brown locks. The metal of his snakebites snag against the sensitive part of your folds and your legs shake, “It just feels too good- hck!”
Dragging down his handsome face harder against your pussy- and the manhandling force makes him rut. Crushing the rock-hard outline of his bulge against the carseat, “Too good, huh?”
And then the unthinkable happens - Choso dares to pull his long, hammering fingers out of your pussy.
Instantly latching his pearly white canines onto your clit to bite so you can’t get out a single complaint- he’s forcing you to be patient as he reaches for something in the back pocket of his trousers. “Don’t you move now.” As you’re starting to push away from his shoulders at the sheer fucking stimulation making you see stars. “Don’t you fucking move.”
He’s serious about not letting you escape- one hand reaching behind his sweaty head. He grips both your ankles in one hand and locks them together, pinning them firmly together, dragging you to him.
“Excuse me for this, baby, I can’t take my hah- reward otherwise.”
In a split-second, his fingers are back to bullying between your puffy pussylips- but they weren’t the only thing pryin’ apart your bubblegum walls.
Oh.
With a gasp, you’re lurching your dazed head up as much as possible - watching in real time when Choso’s now-ringed fingers disappear between your folds.
Chunky, cold metal rings scraping your innards carnally, you feel him press a particularly textured one against the area of your nerves and see white- “Oh- oh my god, mmm—” Reaching for the very back of your core, he’s scissoring your cunt open to reach for your g-spot with a dull thud!
Pushing into each softened spot.
Your throat’s clogging with saliva again and again as he’s thrusting in n’ out, in n’ out, in and- “I don’t think I’ll last.”
Fuck, that makes him push his raging erection against the cushion and groan.
“Then cum on my face.” Choso states simply, pressing a sweet lil’ kiss on your clit. Your quivering entrance splatters out a few speckles of glittery slick that latch onto his chin, “Cum on my mouth.”
Sticking his long tongue out, you can see the dot of his piercing glimmer in the dim lighting. Rovering down to swirl on your clit, he’s driving you wild with precise, prodding rolls right over your overstimulated nub.
It was a dual stimulation - and you should’ve guessed from all the expert driving, but he was damn near taking you to heaven with all the multi-tasking.
Clawing at your every gooey spot, the splotchy stains of your sap cling onto his lips like a gleaming medal. Every swirl of his greedy tongue on your clit making your back arch so cutely into his touch.
The flesh of Choso’s bottom lip teasingly juts out to tickle his snakebites along your slope, “Cum alllll over my tongue, baby.”
At this point you don’t know what to ogle - the vicious lashings of his mouth, or the way he just looked so pretty doing it.
Stray strands of his bangs falling over his forehead, ears burnt rouge, biceps flexing as he fights off the thrashing of your legs to keep you in one place.
“Oh- oh, fuck-”
“Yeah-” Your eardrums flood with the rickety sound of friction on his decadent carseat, and only then do you realize that Choso was humping it. Fucking you with his mouth the way he wished he could with his swollen cock right now. “Yeah yeah yeah- exactly.”
Honey-brown eyes locked right into the target of your own as he bucks n’ bucks his face deeper into your sloppy pussy. Wrist aching, mouth panting, but he couldn’t fucking stop.
You’re feeling him directly smash in a repeated one-two against your g-spot and choke- “I-I think m’gonna…” Trailing off, each n’ every word slurs together into one long call-out of his name. Thighs twitching as if you were electrocuted, “Oh, mmm- m’cumming, Cho-”
The only thing you can manage through your wobbly lips before throwing your head back and cumming.
Rushing into your orgasm so hard that it makes your ears pop! “I…I can’t believe I- fuck!” Your lashes flutter at the way he kept his probin’ fingers jackhammering through your high, blinking back tears. “Y-you’re only making it even ngh- better.”
Plap! Plap! Plap! The rugged joints of his knuckles nearly rub raw at the impact against your pussy’s slope, scouring against your poor battered g-spot.
Your hands were on his ready head, holding on to grind on those pretty features in sloppy drags. Zaps of your pleasure bursting at the feeling of his piercings on your flesh, “You really are filthy.”
And Choso was more than happy to have his mouth be used, have the tip of his nose be ridden.
“That’s it-” Eyes twinkling watching your cute lil’ hole spray him with flecks of slick, each peak of your high making you clamp down.
He’s slithering his tongue just vertically down your treacly cunt to try n’ bully it greedily inside. Swabbing with the metal of his tongue piercing, and you think you see white. Head throwing back at the sheerly raw stretchhh—
Yearning to feel the way your goopy innards squeezed ‘round his muscle once more, “Tha’s it- oh, baby, clench like that and m’gonna cu- fuck.”
Too late.
Too late; Choso was already feeling your snug, dripping insides melt around his tastebuds and he was already creaming his pants. A dark, dark stain forming where his leaky orifice kept wadding out seed- the man takes a glance down and tuts.
“S’all your fucking fault, y’know?”
“M-mine?” And by now your wave of euphoria was nothing but a few tingles here and there- so Choso’s lifting himself out from between your trembly legs. Albeit with a sloppy last French kiss on your sopping pussy. Two.
Three.
Four- fuck, you had to be the one to wrench Choso away by the base of his perspired bangs. Leaving a few jet-black stains of his eyeliner smeared between your legs.
Forcing him to stop pussydrunkenly chasing the taste of your cunt, “Yes, fucking look at me.” He sounds gone. “M’addicted and it’s all y-your fault, baby.”
And he was dripping wet from his twitchy girth, so much so that his trousers stick to the upper half of his thighs like a second skin. Choso’s peeling his ruined pants and boxers off and oh-
“Fuck.” You’re gasping, in a daze. Eyes never leaving the hot, pinkish length that he’d just freed, “You’re so…”
Big.
Huge.
Staggering.
Damn near nine or ten inches, and so pretty, too.
The cutest lil’ shade of pink on his globular tip, glistening with cum n’ covered with a few sparse veins that led to his happy trail. More than rock-hard, it looked painful. And was that- oh, fuck.
He had a fucking Prince Albert’s piercing - right there, dotted on the line of his sensitive slit. Choso slaps down his heavy cock between your legs and watches as you squirm at the feeling of him slipping n’ sliding between your folds.
From your distance leaned against the end of the backseat, you’re measuring him up. Eyeing the girth of him, fuck, he was fat enough that your legs squeeze-
“Now now-” Hastily, he unsticks your clammy thighs and flips you over onto your front. Leaning his weight down on your back to keep your restless body pinned, “-none of that.” Tonality breathy, octaves higher. “None of that none of that- oh, you’re not getting off easy tonight, pretty baby.”
Somewhere along the line of you ogling his impressive length, Choso had taken off his rugged band t-shirt. And fuck- you didn’t know which view was better.
Because he was naturally ripped - all lean abs and pecs that jiggled once he’s leaning down. Your mouth waters when you take in the piercings going through his rosy nipples, the draconic tattoos going down his neck.
You’re craning your head, now on all fours. “I-I could’ve guessed.” Sheepishly, as he’s aligning his thick, throbbing cockhead against your entrance.
Choso pulls back on your tattered panties with a snap! “We’re gonna give this entire town something to hah- talk about.”
And that’s exactly what he does.
Because the moment you feel his reddish crown bulge between your folds- you almost bawl. The utter primal stretch so much that he’s clawing onto your hips to keep you still.
“Come on.” Choso spits into your open mouth, one of his free hands pressing up on your tummy - hard - just to feel that sensation of his large outline spearing through your walls. “Come on come on-”
“Fuck- fuck, Choso, you’re in s-so deep-”
“Here’s the finish line.” You hear him titter from above you, index paintin’ an invisible line somewhere about halfway down your stomach. Right where his target of your womb was.
And before you can get out a single word, he rears his hips closer and makes you see stars. Closer. Deeper. The curvy weight of his tip bullies between your first ring of muscle, so thick that you can barely even clench. “First, m’here-”
You gasp, “Wh-what-”
“The- the starting line-” He’s hissing out, deliciously rutting a meager inch back n’ forth just to make you feel the way your entrance was gaped to the max. “Now I’m…”
With a hand pressed down to feel your cute tummy bulge, Choso’s fat cock slips further down your walls. Easing in after such a raw, primal squeeelch-
“-here.”
“Oh- my god- I can’t believe-” You whimper, nails clawing at the faux leather for all he was putting you through. Just a few more solid inches, a few more visceral bucks of his hips and you’re babbling stupidly. “Are you ngh- are you there yet? Are you even halfway?”
“Mmm, not quite.” Choso twists out a grin.
Free hand snaking between your legs to lap up a few ounces of your sappy slick, mixing with his cum from before. It’s such a filthy concoction, and it’s exactly what’s being used to draw a line right over your tummy.
“M’here and then-” Another rut, another line - higher upwards this time. The fat, aching length of his cock was slickly mazing between your walls and making your head spin. Tapping that lil’ spot with his pointer, “…h-here.”
Until you could feel every pulse, every vein.
Choso Kamo didn’t even have to try to fill your poor channel up, his vein-decorated shaft poking into every tiny crevice and cranny. Until you felt like you were being molded to his very size.
“And- and then-” Even he wasn’t immune to the completely carnal feeling- your cunt was just too hot, too soft. He’s pokin’ his pointed tip into one of your tender spots and throwing his head back at the way it makes your glossy walls tighten. “-finally-” Rutting. Half-thrusts. “-here.”
Hitting your cervix dead-on, right with his pierced part.
“H-heh…the grand prize.”
Shit, all this effort putting up a cool front and that very first thrust shatters Choso.
It makes him gasp, it makes him stutter- groaning out your name in a gravelly tone like a mantra.
“Fuck- the…grand- oh.” He’s babbling away his own joke, planting yet another thorough slam all the way to the back of your pussy. Hard enough that the vehicle quakes.
Strawberry-pink tip swelling up just a bit more at the impact. Sheathed until those curly dark hairs at his base, and Choso chuckles like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. “Your cervix- I hit it- got s-second place, too.”
Second place…?
You blearily blink your eyes, saliva flooding at the pure stretch. “Are you-”
Pap–!
“And third-” In a sultry split-second, you’re being pulled back by one of Choso’s beefy biceps - in a fucking headlock. His pierced lips kissing the side of your face, “Got third, too, baby- are you p-proud of me?”
Your hands fist in his silken hair- “Yes- Yes yes yes- ngh, it just feels too good, Cho.”
There’s a sudden slurp, and suddenly the two of you are snapping your heads back down to watch how your stimulated pussy grows even wetter. Spraying out syrupy slick with each of his furious pumps, every slam leaves his meaty thighs stuck to the backs of yours like adhesive.
A roughened thumb slithers down to spread your pussylips. “O-oh.” Just so that he can watch his achingly hard cock disappear from your winking hole. Studded piercing dipping in and out in and out in and out- “We’re gonna break this damn car, baby— Just like this hah- pretty pussy is breaking me.”
Headlock tightening, backseats creaking. “Ch-Cho, are you-” Another smash against the spongy layer of your cervix and he swears.
You’re peering into the tinted window of his Mustang and seeing the full effect of your sweet, candied pussy on him.
Head hunched, back muscles tense.
It’s like he was breaking - bit by bit with every swab of his cocktip against your deepest innards. The rounded globe of his orifice probes into the door to your womb and you find yourself drooling. “Choso, are you even ngh- okay?”
Choso’s long lashes bat, eyeliner smudging ‘round sexily, “No. Fuck.” Sizzling tastebuds lolling out to lick the salted tears streaming down your face. “Fuck- fuck, how could I ever be okay?”
You’re feeling his abs plaster against your spine, usin’ the weight to angle his roaming length even deeper. “A pussy as sweet as you- ohhhh.” Grunts departing into your ear following each rut after rut- “M’n-never going to be okay.”
Choso’s puffy veins drag against your g-spot and you whine. “H-harder.”
“Harder?” Something that sounds like a pussydrunk giggle escapes him, eyes wide. Feral. “Can you even handle harder, my girl?”
Huffing, the first thing you’re thinking to respond with is a sloppy nod. Your neck is barely even capable of keeping your heavy head upright by now, “Faster, too.”
Oh.
Oh.
You were fucked.
Because when you said ‘fast’, you didn’t think that he would act this rapidly. Taking barely a second - no, a nanosecond - to plunge his angrily hard dick out n’ flip your limp body over.
From the filthiest doggy position to having your legs ‘round his slender waist, his cock ebbing deep inside once more. The new angle easily lets his weepy girth map your walls, mazin’ inside like a searchlight.
Reaching your aching g-spot easily- “Hold on tight, my girl.”
And then he’s fucking your dizzy brain thoughtless.
Until the firm, steady frame of his supercar was shaking from side-to-side.
Plump, raging cock stuffin’ right between your folds to poke against the top of your cervix. Again and again. Thump after thump.
His piercing is so cold that it makes you shiver. And Choso takes extra care to make sure that his winding veins find a way to precisely scrape your most treasured spots.
One hand holding onto the right side of your face, gently brushing against the top of your cheekbone. “It feels so hah- good, oh.” The other toying with your pretty lil’ clit, “So good it’s driving me- fuck, crazy.”
Drawing out the cutest hearts with his thumb on your nub, Choso was just so gone that you swear his pupils were starting to turn heart-shaped, too.
Especially once he catches two of your hands snaking down the sweaty line of his chest- stopping right where the curve of his pecs were. Without a second thought, you’re fingering the sensitive area of his nipple piercings.
Choso arches, he shivers. “Heh, you’re fucking dangerous, baby.” Drilling cock overspilling your insides with a few sticky wads of precum as you tug on one of them.
You whine when he’s withdrawing the loving hand from your cheek to swab the cavern of your mouth. “That’s what they said about- ngh- you.”
“Mmm—” He lolls his head pussydrunkenly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You’re sure that Choso’s leaving a few bites and smears of eyeliner for you to worry about later. Each word punctured with a thrash of his rotund tip, “Well, they don’t know me yet.”
“A-and I do?”
“Well…” And that makes the sinful man grin.
It makes him unload the hand from your ajar maw - removing it with a few stringy ribbons of spit. And it’s exactly that moisture that Choso’s using to write out your damn name on his left pec, right above his heart.
“You-” Your voice clogs up in your throat- because he wasn’t done. Far from it.
Because soon enough, the ringed fingerpads simply teasin’ your clit start to repeat in a pattern. A swoopy few movements that you’re realizing is his name.
C-H-O-S-O-K-A-M-O
Yours on his heart, his on your cunt.
Spelled out expertly on the buttony top of your clit, you’re seeing stars after each quick movement. The sharp turns n’ swoops of his name being branded onto you was almost too much to handle.
Which was exactly what he was looking for- and the tips of Choso’s plush lips twitch at the sight of you slowly edging towards your high. “Yeahhh, you fuckin’ do. Know me better than hah- anyone else here, my pretty baby.”
Throat breaking out in a sob, “I-I’m so close-” Pulling on his hair, thrashing up your hips. “Not gonna hngh- last too long, Cho—”
“Oh, yeah? Say my name like that- say my name.”
But you can’t say anything, really - because in a singular, fluid motion, Choso has your legs perched on his flexing shoulders. Your capped knees pressing down until they hit your tits- the realization smites you and you gasp.
“A-a mating press?”
“Whaaaat–?” Drawling out through a drunken hiccup, he gifts you three strikes with his Prince Albert’s on your g-spot. Thud-thud-thud. “Wanna see your gorgeous fuckin’ ngh- face when you’re cumming on my cock.”
This angle was perfect for glissading a line of pre straight across your g-spot, unstopping until he’s hitting the back of your cervix with a rattling thud. Speeding his sloppy tempo up until the smacks of skin-on-skin were downright deafening.
Ears ringing with the sappy squelches reeled out of you after every second of his rough cadence. With the way the car was shifting- “You’re just so- so filthy.”
“Mmm, only for you, baby.” Comes out the ragged response, something near the tailend of his sentence cracking. And so is his restraint. His sanity. “A-Always for you, baby.”
He’s driving into you as if he was crazed; toned pelvis of his stinging red, temple trickling with sweat, the fat circumference of his crownhead was leaving absolutely no spot unturned. Thumb nearly a blur on your clit, it makes you arch to have him rewriting his name over n’ over n’ over.
Choso’s simply ruining you from the inside out, and you can feel your body twitching already in response.
Pants hoarse- gone. He finishes off yet another signature twist of your clit - C-H-O-S-O. “Anything for you, baby.”
And then you don’t know who’s first - it’s simply crashing into both of you at once.
A long, blissful wave of euphoria that leaves your vision all white n’ delirious. You’re just so full- being stuffed to the very brim of your dripping wet pussy with his cum. Creamy white ropes that glue to the start of your womb n’ end up being stirred about by his length.
The only thing you can even think to do is wrap your arms ‘round Choso’s neck and give him a lingering kiss.
Mind spinning, stomach twisting - it’s probably the hardest orgasm of your life.
Feeling him moan into your mouth through each clench of your high, “Better than I’ve ever fucking- ngh, imagined.”
Oh, it was just too cute to have him confessing like this as he’s fucking you through his high.
Pushing each knot of sinful cum even deeper- “You’re better than a ngh- dream.” It makes him sensitively whimper to feel you clamping down at his words. Webs of ivory syrup sploshing through your channel like a second skin. “You might just be- oh, my dream, my girl.”
There’s just so much of it.
So much that’s spilling out. Coating his bulky base in a slathered ring of white, neither you nor him can even think to care about the stained material of the seats.
Only plowing probe after probe of his blushin’ tip to probe into your favorite spots, Choso leaves your toes curling at the pleasure of having him draaaaag out your high with his veiny cock.
And it takes you a few seconds to register his whiny words- “You- you really mean that?”
“Y-yeah…” He’s breathing out, in awe. Flinching when your fingers start to caress the crimson tips of Choso’s ears, “Meant every fucking word.”
“And I do, too.” At his slightly puzzled expression, you’re chuckling. “Remember the first time we met? I told you I don’t care about hck! anything this lil’ town says.” It’s almost too intimate having you brush away his bangs from his gawking eyes, but you couldn’t think of anything more fitting. “N’ I still don’t give a single fuck what they have to say-”
“O-oh.”
Choso ends up cumming again - simply from hearing those words fall from your beautiful mouth.
Except, this time, it’s dry. Just a single pearly bead of sap bein’ withered out, he juts the throbbing crown of his cock up against the roof of your cunt.
Knees planting deeper upon either side of your hips to give you a thorough slide of his exhausted, pierced cock. He’s cumming out near sparks by the time he spits out- “Your- your parents are gonna kill me.”
“My parents are gonna kill me.”
“N-next time-”
You knew he’d just bared his feelings out for you, but you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the mention of a ‘next time.’ “-m’fucking you in your bedroom, my girl-” The raspy tone of Choso’s breath makes you shiver, up close n’ personal. “-while your parents are home.”
.
.
.
“Did you hear- they say that Choso Kamo races F1 and he’s-”
“Forget the racing! Did you hear he’d apparently taken her out- yeah, her, after that race last night and…well, I hear there were numerous noise complaints at that cliffside viewpoint.”
“Oh, my aunt’s her neighbor and she said the house was in chaos the entire night after she came back. Couldn’t even walk apparently.”
“He was that good?”
“Good enough that she packed her bags and moved into a place of her own, apparently.”
.
.
.
“Aaaaand Verstappen holds the lead but Kamo’s close behind—” You never did get tired of the revving thunder of the cars, the booming voice of the Formula 1 commentator fighting to be heard above them.
You’re leaning against the wall of the VIP box with Utahime and Shoko - meant only for family and friends, stomach churning as it always did whenever it came to the last lap of Choso’s races.
“Oh- oh! You can see Kamo weaving behind, ohhh it’s a tight one, ladies, gentlemen, and every folk in-between.”
It was honestly still surreal to be here, of all places, after everything.
After how many told you that he’d break your heart, and here he was holding it with him through each lap like he’d fall apart without it.
As the distance closes - all power, pressure, and speed - you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs despite the fact that he won’t hear. “Come on— Cho–!” Waving about the flag with his number and color as all his tens of thousands of fans did. “Not too long for the finish line–!”
The announcer bellows, “Ah, you’ve got Kamo’s girlfriend, one of our most beloved F1 WAGs, yelling as the finish line draws nearer- so close! So close! Will he make it?” As that chequered flag raises, his familiar car speeds. “Push now, boy!”
His engine roars - and so does the crowd, split-seconds later.
“And in the final corner, it’s Choso Kamo who seizes the chequered flag—! He wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a drive! What. A. Drive.”
Choso doesn’t give a single shit about the few victory laps, he doesn’t even wait for a final discussion with his pit team.
Zooming right past the finish line and further along the main straight. Right where it was most visible to you from your seat, he’s immediately punching on the gas pedal and swerving the absolute monster of his racecar.
Right then and there on the tracks.
Right into the shape of a…heart?
You’re giggling behind your hands as the commentator cackles– “A celebration for his eighth win this season, Kamo shows off his title- and his love!”
Surrounding you, you can hear the crows coo and cheer, you can already taste the fizzy champagne being popped. And in nearly no time, your boyfriend has pulled his car up to the parc fermé - running right through the outline of a heart he’d drawn in celebration.
Running right up the stands to you-
But not into your arms.
No, not at all.
Instead, Choso Kamo drops to one knee right before you.
The audience loses it- and you hear the booming loudspeakers squeak. “Wait- wait’s what’s happening in the VIP box?! Choso Kamo- it can’t be-”
And Utahime, without a single word, digs inside her purse and throws a small, velvety ring box over within the blink of an eye. One that Choso catches with ease. And oh, he just looked so pretty.
The same boy you met all those years ago - lengthy hair mussed up from his helmet, rosy lips quivering, face flushed.
“Is everyone in the pits watching? Is everyone at home watching? This is absolutely sensational! Choso Kamo has just seized the moment to propose to his long-time girlfriend, an incredible celebration of love we’re seeing here on the tracks today.”
So in love.
Choso whispers, “It would be a dream…if you would marry me, my girl?”
Tear-filled, you can only nod.
“Ladies and gentlemen, and every folk in-between — we have a winner—!”
A/N. The things I would do for him cannot even be spoken into existence.
thinking about f1 racer! gojo satoru and how you're his pretty little good luck charm.
while other f1 drivers took the time before the race to meditate or maybe talk to their race engineers and pit wall about their car, satoru would find himself knuckles deep into your pussy.
"a-ah– toru!" you mewl, manicured nails braced against the wall of the waiting room as you let your boyfriend work out all of his racing stress on you. the sound of your dripping cunt is lewd and loud, juices trickling down your thighs as you quiver in your heels, panties bunched at your ankles.
"shh, baby," satoru coos against the shell of your ear, lips brushing against it as his free hand snakes to cover your mouth. "you don't want everyone outside to hear how good i'm making you feel, right?"
of course, you were worried that satoru's engineers outside could hear you. after all, you were only separated by a door that may or may not be unlocked – satoru never confirmed or denied it. his race engineer or his personal trainer could walk in any moment and all they'll see is your teary eyes and how your cunt was greedily sucking in satoru's long and deft digits.
you shake your head, unable to coherently form an answer while satoru rearranges your mind and guts with only his fingers. your lover knew your body like every race track on the grid, the sharpest corners, the flat-out straights, the quickest ways to get you to cum.
call it performance anxiety, but he could never do well on race day until he manages to get you to squirt all over his fingers at least twice.
"c'mon, pretty girl," you hear your boyfriend's honeyed voice through the haze of pleasure as his fingers bully your g-spot, almost like a wake-up call, making your body clench around him. "i don't have much time left before i gotta get into the car. you're not going to deny me my championship win, are you?"
you shake your head once more, drool catching at the corners of your mouth. eyes rolling back and hips thrown back, you could only whimper and whine as you barrel towards your second? third? orgasm of the day, rendering you weak to the whims of your boyfriend.
satoru's fingers curl against your gummy walls before stretching them out, a dragged out and cocky "yeaaah" from your boyfriend as he stares at your glistening cunt with an almost prideful look. your pussy seizes satoru's fingers when your orgasm finally crashes over you which sends your knees buckling towards each other and satoru's hand slipping from your mouth to wrap around your waist quickly.
drivers and their reaction speeds.
"woah there," satoru chuckles dreamily, an almost boyish tone to his laugh when he watches you tremble like a newborn foal, his arm strong against you to steady you. "maybe i can put world orgasm champion to my resume, huh?"
you glare at him weakly over your shoulder as your body comes down from your pleasurable high despite the empty feeling of satoru withdrawing his digits from your sopping cunt. strings of your essence stretch as he pulls away, and you watch your boyfriend clean his fingers up with a gleeful hum.
"oh, come on, don't at me like that," satoru coos as he manhandles you into standing straight so that he can crush his lips against yours, letting you taste just how sweet you are. "you know it'll just get me going again, pretty girl."
you can't help but roll your eyes a little but you kiss him back nonetheless before pulling away with a sweet 'mwah'. the two of you make quick work of making yourselves presentable again, a routine at this point where satoru cleans you up with a towel while you adjust your clothing before slipping your panties back up, business as usual.
"are you sure you don't want help with that, toru?" you ask him, eyes darting down to the almost painful looking bulge in his race suit before you look back up.
"nah," satoru dismisses your concerns before he suits himself up and then flashes you a cocky smirk.
have you all on top of me, actin’ like it’s not that deep | dean di laurentis
“My pretty little fuck doll.” He grins and sits up, laying you on your back. His hips never cease and you feel him slipping even deeper. “Right there, huh?” He doubles down on his movements, chuckling darkly when your hands start pushing against his stomach.
contents — 18+ content, smut, porn without plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, dean talking you thru it holy, exhibitionism (curtains are open lmao), overstimulation, slight dacryphilia, pre-established safe words, all acts are consensual!
word count — 579 | title — you right by doja cat
gabby says — i’m alive!! (but for how long 🫠)
The room is engulfed in darkness, the only thing illuminating your sweaty bodies are the lights from neighboring buildings. The curtains are wide open, and anyone can see how Dean has you pinned to his bed if they try enough.
You are pressed to the sheets, your shaking legs draped over his shoulders as he leans close. He has you bent in half, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.
“Don’t tell me you can’t take it, baby,” he coos, his voice tender but his tone mocking. “You can take it—I know you can.” He thrusts into you slowly yet so deeply, and you gasp into his shoulder, your eyes rolling back.
“Oh, God, I feel so close!” You cry out, and he laughs into your ear, and you shiver even more than you already are.
“Are you?” He groans when he feels your walls clench around his cock. “I can feel you choking my dick, baby.” He lets out a strained chuckle. “But you know you gotta work hard for it, sweetheart. I can’t have you turning into a brat now, can I?”
Before you can even respond, he swiftly pulls out and flips you over without breaking a sweat. Before you even realize, you are straddling his lower stomach, sitting right above his cock.
You peer at him through your tears, and he all but grins up at you. “So pretty when you cry for me, baby,” he croons, his soft tone a stark contrast to his bruising grip on your hips. “Do you want to cum?” You nod eagerly above him, and he chuckles. “Get to riding then, babe.”
You manage to lift yourself and sink down on his length with his help, and you both let out sounds at the intrusion.
“So tight, honey,” he groans, guiding your sloppy movements above him. “You can do better than that—I know you can.” He watches you with a mix of amusement and lust dancing in his eyes.
You rock your hips almost wildly, planting your palms on his solid chest, while he guides your movements with his grip on your hips. “Like that?” You pant as you start to get more confident in your actions—almost bouncing now.
“Hell yeah, baby, just like that,” he grunts, planting the soles of his feet firmly on the bed to meet you halfway with his own thrusts.
“God, I’m almost there!” You throw your head back as you feel your hips rock erratically against his.
“My pretty little fuck doll.” He grins and sits up, laying you on your back. His hips never cease and you feel him slipping even deeper. One of his hands slide from your waist down to your cunt, his thumb swiping your clit, and your jaw drops open in a silent scream. “Right there, huh?” He doubles down on his movements, chuckling darkly when your hands start pushing against his stomach.
“I’m gonna cum!” You moan, and he takes your wrists in his free hand. With a deep thrust, you cream around his cock, and he groans as he feels you clench around him. He ruts into you a few more times before spilling deep inside you.
A few minutes pass before he finally pulls out of you gently, mindful of your sensitive cunt. You whimper anyway, and he just smiles down at you softly. “Think we should do that more often?”
“Maybe with the curtains drawn next time, babe.”
“Aw, no fun.”
“Dean!”
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