you're laying on your bed, scrolling on tiktok. your calf pressing your knee, leg bouncing softly as you smile at a stupid video. bakugo comes into the room, freshly showered and tired from work. you look up and smile, "hey, baby."
he dived into the bed. his head right next to your bottom. he pryed your thighs apart and used them like a pillow, softly rubbing his face against it and guiding your leg to rest on his back. "hey." he murmured sleepily, eyes falling shut as he pulled your hand to his hair.
you smile softly, threading your fingers through his hair. he slowly drifted asleep with your legs wrapped around his shoulders. his hands grasping at you.
Was looking on the bluelock wiki and apparently sae regularly takes 1 hour naps?! thought it was such a cute idea for a lil drabble so here you gooo. literally just straight fluff.
As much as your boyfriend rejected the idea of spooning, protesting that sleep was strictly a time of rest and personal space, you could always count on his mid-day nap as a loophole to his no-cuddling policy. By afternoon, after interviews and practices, Sae practically had no energy left to deal with people; not even to swat you away. So, to his misfortune, it eventually became accepted routine for you to snap on some brand-sponsored eye masks and settle down on the couch with him during his designated nap time - at exactly 3 pm.
"Alright," he would say, setting the timer on his watch. "Come here."
And at 3 pm exactly, your only rule was to keep silent. Almost always, you found yourself on top of him, your head resting on his chest so you could fall asleep to his heartbeat. He'd tolerate the clinginess, just for an hour, and maybe unconsciously (?) sling an arm around your waist protectively. The two of you would stay like that until both of you fell asleep. Once you woke up, the precious hour would be over in an instant.
This habit of his (now, yours) had actually proved effective to your sleep schedule - you found yourself less groggy during the end of the day, and your overall energy had increased decently. Though often, you wondered, was it really the sleep that rejuvenated you, or getting to be in Sae's arms?
So, on an unassuming night, you decided to experiment. Shifting sneakily under the covers, you carefully took Sae's hand, beginning to wrap it around your waist as slowly as you could until you heard his tongue click. You groaned.
"Uh-uh," he muttered groggily. "Don't even try it, babe."
ᩙ❤︎ ᩙ ꒱ # cw info𓈒⠀ dilf leon ⋆ resident evil ✷ !fempov — ⋆ leon scott kennedy ⋆ prn links ⋆ leon ༝ !reader ⋆ established relationship ⋆ re2 ⋆ NSFW ⋆ re9 ⋆ feminine !reader ⋆ .ᐟ (＞。☆)
꒰𓏼´ `𓏼 ྀིᥩ ꒱ # disclaimer𓈒 this post contains adult content intended strictly for people 18 years or older. this boundary is in place for legal and safety reasons. Any accounts believed to belong to minors will be blocked immediately .ᐟ ◛♡
leon ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈ resident evil 2
first tiოe playing w it ݁ 𓈒 helpless to your thıghs
— tags: dom!jaafar, nickname giving, cock riding, pussy eating, blowjobs, praise kink, teasing, public teasing, sex positions, etc.
— this is my first time writing and posting on this app, so this may have grammatical errors. I hope you guys enjoy :)
𓏵 Jaafar would give you soft, passionate kisses as he undresses you and lays you down on the bed.
𓏵 He calls you baby — or ‘MY baby’ specifically — as his go-to nickname during any intimate moment, using it as his way of praising you.
𓏵 Jaafar absolutely loves it whenever you subtly press and grind your ass against his bulge while the two of you are surrounded by a crowded space. The teasing contact, no matter how slight, instantly sends excitement rushing through him and leaves him completely riled up.
𓏵 He would sometimes “accidentally” let his hand slide over your ass before resting it on your waist whenever the two of you were out in public. It immediately sends shivers right up to your spine.
𓏵 He loves it when you wind your fingers through his hair and gently tug on those curly brown locks, it literally sends blood rushing down to his groin.
𓏵 He will purposely trace your clit but refusing to put his fingers in you. He knows exactly how to get a reaction out of you, and he enjoys the way your patience starts to slip the longer he keeps you hanging there, caught between frustration and anticipation.
𓏵 He likes to lubricate his fingers using his saliva to stretch your tight cunt while looking deep into your eyes with his own puppy eyes. He doesn’t want his baby to be in pain, right?
𓏵 Licking up and flicking his tongue, tracing circles and sucking it into his mouth, pressing down and massaging it while he pumps his two fingers inside you. Such a fucking sucker for spoiling your pussy.
𓏵 When it’s about time to hit your climax, he immediately pumps up his fingers on to your tight cunt more rapidly as he curls it into your spongy and velvety walls, while simultaneously sucking your clit— making you cum all over his pretty face.
𓏵 When giving him a blowjob, he likes watching your head bob up and down. He holds eye contact with you, clearly affected by how responsive you are, and it boosts his ego seeing how tears fill up your eyes.
𓏵 Mutual masturbation.
𓏵 He also likes it whenever you slap his hot throbbing cock on to your pretty face while you’re sticking your tongue out. (lol)
𓏵 Addicted to sucking your neck and tits, covering you in love marks all over. He takes his time cherishing your nipples, teasing them with his thumb, sucking and nibbling on them interchangeably.
𓏵 He absolutely loves shower sex. Especially the way every thrust and movement echoes softly throughout the bathroom walls. More than that, he’s completely captivated by the sight of your body covered in soap and bubbles, looking both teasing and irresistible beneath the running water.
𓏵 He wouldn’t mind being called Daddy once in a while, but doesn't necessarily have a huge daddy kink.
𓏵 He loves hearing you curse out his name and infact, he’s hooked to it.
𓏵 Whenever he’s thrusting deeply into you, taking every breathless moan and desperate reaction from you is his proof that he’s making you feel good.
𓏵 Jaafar is not loud during sex, but he makes the filthiest noises—grunting and whimpering sweet nothings into your ear.
𓏵 He has a deep passion with doggy style. Watching your body move with every thrust he gives you is enough to completely drive him insane, and to him, it’s the most mesmerizing sight imaginable.
𓏵 Lights off.
𓏵 Sometimes, he can’t help but let his hands wander over your beautiful body, gripping your waist tightly and occasionally giving your plumpy ass an appreciative squeeze as he loses himself in the moment.
𓏵 He also adores giving you the mating press, loving how close and intimate it makes the two of you feel. Being able to hold you beneath him while watching the sweat bead across your flushed face completely captivates him, and the way you react to every movement only pulls him deeper into the pleasure as he digs in to your pussy more and more.
𓏵 Loves it when you toy him around and take control in just the right way. With his hands firmly on your waist, he carefully guides your movements while watching you ride his cock with swift and confidence. Captivated by how effortlessly you grind against him and set the pace mixing with your soft mewls.
𓏵 He likes watching your facial expressions as he slowly teases the slit of your pussy with his pink fat tip. He finds you adorable whenever your lips part slightly in surprise, letting out a soft whimper, creating an ‘o’ shape as his girth carefully stretches you out.
𓏵 “You want me to fuck you like this?” He emphasizes each word with the press of his heat on your wet folds. It’s both shameful and sinfully hot with how utterly vulnerable you are.
𓏵 He talks you through it, his voice low and steady, praising you for how well you take his fat cock and how obedient you are for him. He makes sure you stay grounded in his words, calling you his good girl and letting you know how much he enjoys the way you respond to him, especially when you start to lose yourself in the intensity as he buries his hard throbbing cock into your cervix, hitting your g-spot.
𓏵 When it’s time for his release, he doesn’t force you to take his cum. He wants you to take it at your own pace, in whatever way feels most comfortable for you.
𓏵 Though he’s intrigued by the thought of filling both of your holes with his hot load. ;)
hm: aftercare.
𓏵 He worships you and your body, softly praising you for how well you did and how well you took everything. He keeps telling you what a good girl you are, repeating it gently like it’s the only thing he wants you to remember, and how much he loves you. Afterward, he holds you close against his chest, humming quiet lullabies as you rest, occasionally running his fingers through your hair and giving you soft, reassuring head pats. :)
imagine you and your f/o(s) in the comfort of your shared bed, lying down at the end of the day. hands reach for one another as you try to get closer—a way to unwind and relax before you need to get up the following morning.
you move to cup their cheeks and press slow, gentle kisses all over their face, and they reciprocate your tenderness by letting their fingers rest just below your back, thumbs massaging the skin there. you gaze into each other's eyes, your breaths mingle and synchronize. as you share your goodnight kiss and cuddle together, the warmth of your pressed bodies seeping in, you think there's no other place you'd rather be.
How would Blue Lock boys react when discovering their girlfriend has natural talent for football.
Blue Lock Characters x Female Reader
A/N: Blue Lock boys, but is just the pretty boys with long lashes, a.k.a Sae and Hugo (I know Rin too, but I didn't have the time ;;). Proofread? I did what I could. Honestly the most fun part of this was writing sound effects, it feels so silly haha.
If you enjoy this one, go read -> Part I where you have the best boys Isagi, Bachira and Reo c:
w.c 2.1k
‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Itoshi Sae
♡ You didn't play football actively or as a living, and that was okay, that had never fazed Sae. Most people just weren't cut out for it and were doomed to be average.
♡ It's not that he thinks you're just ‘average’. Because why would he ever date someone like that? Your whole person was above most of everyone he's known. Just not in football.
♡ At least that's what he thought.
♡ It would happen at dinner in your home, Sae had finally made time in his schedule and he couldn't refuse when you said to visit your parents.
♡ Everything was going normally, until your parents decided it was the perfect time to start talking about the past.
♡ “Isn't it amazing that Sae is a professional soccer player? Oh, it reminds me of when our little girl used to play in high school.” Your mother said smiling, because of course your parents were more than happy with Sae as your boyfriend.
♡ Although if something made them even happier, of course, was talking about you.
♡ “Yeah, she was so good, but she chose college.” Your dad answered in good humour.
♡ “I wasn’t that good.” You tried to dismiss it with a smile shaking your head subtly, but it fell on deaf ears.
♡ All this talk was innocent, but Sae's eyebrows furrowed just slightly, like, you would've had to look really closely to notice.
♡ Maybe it was the fact that your parents were comparing him to your old self that just played in high school, like they could ever be equal things; or maybe the fact that you never mentioned you played soccer.
♡ You just shrank in your seat with a soft embarrassed laugh at the memories. “Mom, dad, you can't just say that. They're different things, Sae is a professional.”
♡ “That's right.” Sae agreed with the same bluntness as always, without hesitation.
♡ Your dad looked at him amused, he was already used to the attitude of the boy, but still entertained because of what this meant right now.
♡ “So she hasn't told you, eh? Sweetheart, go get the album.”
♡ That's how it started.
♡ On one side Sae had your father yapping about how easy it had been for you. The way you were just always above the expectations, coaches begging you to keep playing the time you had left in school.
♡ And on the other side, there was your mother, showing photos of you in the soccer team of your school. Pictures of you scoring, winning, getting prizes that recognized you as ‘MVP’, recognizing your talent.
♡ How you had offers to join bigger teams, you had everything necessary to succeed. And then you turned it down because ‘it wasn't your thing’.
♡ All that while you felt his piercing eyes on you. Not judging. But thinking.
♡ Sae didn’t take well being wrong.
♡ And all this meant Sae had been wrong about you, the whole time. It's not that you didn't have what it needs like other people– you did, and you decided to not use it.
♡ He didn't understand that.
♡ On the drive home, after a moment of silence, Sae suddenly spoke.
♡ “It isn't too late.”
♡ “For what?” You replied confused, not expecting that.
♡ “Soccer.”
♡ You looked at him and exhaled softly with a smile, you knew it would stick with him, like everything that includes soccer.
♡ “Sae, that's nice– but seriously, I never took it seriously, it was just fun.”
♡ That made it even worse. You didn't even try and yet you still had been the best?
♡ Sae didn't insist, but he didn't forget about it either. He didn't understand why someone with so much potential would just let it go to waste.
♡ Usually he would assume they're cowards, lack of passion, lack of determination.
♡ But he knew you, and knew that you weren't like that. He had seen you doing what you like, and you weren't a coward, you had passion and determination.
♡ Maybe that's why he didn't keep bugging you about it. You were totally capable and he respected that.
♡ After all, among all the things he hated, the worst was people who can't have their own dreams and base them on others.
♡ That didn’t mean he understood it.
♡ Weeks passed and he still didn’t.
♡ Sometimes you still caught him looking at you in silence, squinting his eyes as if thinking really hard, looking more like a grumpy cat than anything.
♡ But the more he watched you doing something you loved, the more he convinced himself that maybe it didn’t have to make sense, as long as you were happy.
Vivian Hugo
♡ Now, this case is a little different. As Hugo’s girlfriend, you were aware of his philosophy.
♡ It would be impossible not to, this man is not subtle about it.
♡ And that included his bad habit of acting as an unsolicited advice giver.
♡ Which leads you to quickly understand that for a good coexistence, he could never, NEVER, find out you’re practically a prodigy at football.
♡ You could already imagine it, he would never let go of it. And it would be a very possible headache.
♡ The thing is, you liked playing football. Although you never could envision it as something to do for a living.
♡ Hugo never questioned it. If you never mentioned playing football, it must have been because you weren’t good at it, right?
♡ Why make someone try something they didn’t have talent for? It just wouldn’t make sense.
♡ At least that’s what Hugo strongly believes.
♡ All your facade came down when you decided to tag along to his football practice. Because it was something romantic to do as his girlfriend, no?
♡ At least it was supposed to be.
♡ Besides, he kept talking about how he found a guy that would finally help him achieve his dream. Why not meet him?
♡ Everything was normal, practice was almost just as you remembered, except that they were boys, and you were watching from the bleachers instead of being part of it.
♡ You were just taking a sip from Hugo’s water bottle (because you didn’t bring one, and girlfriend privileges, I guess) when you heard they would do a practice match.
♡ That was okay.
♡ The part where you almost choked was when they mentioned they needed one more, and one of Hugo’s teammates casually mentioned the chance of you joining to fill the space.
♡ It was supposed to be casual, maybe even a joke, and you tried to laugh it off.
♡ And you could've fooled anyone— anyone except your pretty boyfriend, of course.
♡ His intense stare right on you.
♡ He didn’t think it would make much of a difference, whichever team he was in would win anyways (Mr. humble here), one less, one more, was nothing.
♡ Maybe in other circumstances he wouldn't have thought much about it, but it included you, and let’s be for real, this is Hugo who we are talking about.
♡ He considered everything; what were the chances that the day one of his teammates was absent, you were there? Oh, and they could just use an extra person to join, and YOU were there.
♡ Conclusions? Must be destiny. Duh.
♡ He still didn’t know what, but it had to mean something.
♡ “She’ll play on my team.” Hugo said at the same time he dismissed one of his actual teammates, who looked offended, though like everyone, he knew better than to try to argue with him.
♡ “Vivi, you don’t have to do this, it’s not like I would be of any support to the team.” Lies.
♡ “Things happened like this for a reason, you must try.” He stated as if it was an undeniable truth.
♡ “But what do I know about football? I’m just going to be standing there.” More lies.
♡ “Then so be it.”
♡ If it wasn’t because he was your boyfriend, you would be sure his pretty face wouldn’t have stopped you from lunging at him.
♡ So the match started.
♡ It felt weird going back to play after so long, and it felt even more weird trying to pretend you actually didn’t know how to play football.
♡ The first half you spent trying to not do much really, it was easy, not like any player wanted to give the chance to the other team to steal the ball.
♡ As perceptive and annoyingly stubborn as ever, Hugo noticed, and it’s not like he would just let it slide— so he pressured.
♡ Somehow, after some tries, he managed for the ball to get to you AND leave you with no other choice than to really act.
♡ So you acted. Actually had to lock in when you saw other players running to steal the ball, some of the opposite team and some of your own team— rude btw.
♡ At the last minute you finally kicked the ball, it seemed that it was going to be stopped, going straight to another player, and suddenly— WHOOSH the ball took a wicked spin, curving inwards, redirecting, and FUSH-FRRUT!! sneaked past the surprised goalie and into the net!
♡ It was a goal! It had been a while since you felt that, that adrenaline that made you wanna grin and pump your fists up.
♡ Everyone surprised, goalie with a hurt ego, someone staring at you intensely from a few feet on the field— wait, what?
♡ That’s when realization hits you, turning your head slowly only to meet the eyes of your boyfriend, looking like a mix of surprise and as if you committed the greatest act of betrayal against his persona.
♡ Because no matter how much of a prodigy you were, no one did that without at least having practiced before at some point in their life.
♡ And he was not shy about expressing it.
♡ He walked towards you quickly until he was standing in front of you.
♡ “You said you hadn’t played before.” He uttered, and even though he already wanted to start his speech about talent, aptitude, and destiny— he couldn’t.
♡ This was different from the other times. Before, it was always him lecturing someone for wanting to do something they didn’t have talent for, but that wasn’t your case.
♡ You had talent, and you chose not to use it. You weren’t reaching for a goal out of your capacities, you were actually voluntarily giving it up.
♡ You weren’t chasing a destiny that didn't belong to you, you were refusing it.
♡ That was wrong too. And of course he needed to express it.
♡ “I’m sorry, I know how you feel about it, so I didn’t want you to feel bothered—” You tried to explain by seeing his troubled expression just to be cut off by him.
♡ “You’re wasting your talent, you know that, right? You have the aptitude to be better than most people, you should be focusing on nurturing your abilities—”
♡ You knew where this was going (exactly what you were trying to avoid) and it was your turn to cut him off.
♡ “Wow, stop there preacher.”
♡ “I’m not a—”
♡ “Up-up-up. Listen, I know you feel… troubled with this, but I’m not changing what I do.” You said, carefully studying his reaction, at least the little you could see from his poker face; and for a moment it looked like he would accept it.
♡ “But this is clearly the right choice.” Surprise for no one, he didn’t.
♡ “Are you saying I'm not good enough at what I do right now?”
♡ “I'm not saying that.”
♡ “Then I choose the destiny of following what I do currently.” You said, trying to sound firm with your resolve, but of course, you decided to date one of the most stubborn men ever to exist.
♡ “That's not how it works, you have to follow the destiny you have better aptitude for to be successful…”
♡ “Is your destiny ever shutting up?” You said just to be epically ignored.
♡ He kept talking, he even placed his hand on your shoulder and you had half a mind to leave him there yapping or shut him up yourself.
♡ After that day Hugo didn’t exactly abandon his conviction about you not accepting your destiny.
♡ Just stopped when you threatened him about really getting annoyed.
♡ I guess it didn’t matter how much he loved his belief of how people are supposed to live, at the end of the day he loved you more.
♡ So even if you annoyingly refused to follow your destiny, it didn’t matter that much, cause he knew you were part of his.
A/N: First of all, can you tell I know nothing about soccer? It's still fun though. Second, thanks a lot @lifequixotics for the suggestion, (if you don't don't want to be tagged say it and I'll delete it) I caught up with the manga rather quickly, but then I couldn't get myself to write anything, hope you enjoy it, even though I feel like the ending was kinda lazy, thanks again ♡. Third, but not less important, whoever read this I hope you have a wonderful day or night, drink water and don't stay up late writing stuff like me ><
Warnings: Explicit sexual content – mature audiences only 🔞
Emotional angst | Forbidden romance | Hockey royalty drama | Brother's best enemy trope | Phone sex vibes | Teasing until someone breaks (probably him)
Summary: Stolen nights. Late calls. A jersey that smells like secrets and a forbidden game that’s spiraling out of control. a connection neither of you can name but both can’t ignore. But when desire turns to possession and possession starts feeling dangerously close to love,the rules change.
🔥 Proceed with caution: this boy is trouble & your heart won't survive unscathed.
Authors note: We have set the stage, the tension is building and the heat is about to reach a whole new level. Buckle up, because this is going to be one hell of a ride! 🔥
You’ve seen him countless times since that night in Montreal.
So many stolen moments wrapped in hushed breaths, dim hotel lights, and the kind of sex that leaves your bones weak and your thoughts scattered.Each time was hotter than the last,charged with a hunger that felt less like lust and more like need. A silent game only you two played. No promises whispered. Just heat, hands, and the unspoken rule, No one can know. Especially Shane your brother.
You’d meet at the arenas when his team rolled through after a game, late night rendezvous disguised as your training, since you had so many figure skating completions coming up, perfect excuse. You’d slip into empty lounges or back corridors where shadows were thick, hearts pounding louder than skates on ice.And every time he touched you,it was different. Although you tried to avoid that. Not just rough possession anymore. Or something to have over your brother. There were softnesses now, the brush of his thumb across your jaw before he kissed you senseless, the way he’d hold you after like he never wanted to let go.
But then morning would come. And that would be gone, like it never happened. That was the agreement. And so reality came back. He'd leave without a word sometimes. Other times? A smirk over his shoulder as if to say. Still winning. You sometimes saw it as a power play, his hockey rivals sister. When he went back home to Russia,after playoffs ended you thought he would disappear from your world completely for a few weeks. But it never really happened like that. Not even oceans could kill what had started between you both,the current still humming under everything else happening around it. Your brother’s relentless rise… Rozanov’s growing legacy…and whatever this thing was twisting deep inside Ilya when no one was looking,including himself.
Because here's what no one saw. When he got home to the cold house with an atmosphere like the ice and medicine bottles lined up neatly beside an old man who barely spoke to him,unless he was bringing home a Gold. That he didn’t call anyone else first but you. Also while you were lying awake thinking about how nobody fucked like him ever again since those nights and how every other touch felt empty because they weren't his hands holding down your wrists or whispering filthy Russian promises only meant for you behind locked doors far away from cameras & contracts & reputations that demand perfection. This wasn't supposed to happen.But damn...It already did.
The silence stretches after your last thought, heavy with everything left unsaid.
Then your phone buzzes.
A single message lights up the screen. You saved him as ‘i’ like it’s not obvious who it is.
I: ‘Still thinking about me?’
Your breath catches. It’s been a few weeks since you last saw him,where he had you pressed against a cold wall and made you come with just his tongue and a whisper in Russian that still echoes in your dreams.
You don’t reply right away.
I: ‘Don’t pretend you weren’t just touching yourself thinking of my mouth on you again’
You bite your lip hard enough to sting.And then you answer.
You: ‘well aren’t you full of yourself? how do you know I’m not thinking about someone else?’
The dots appear instantly. Then stop.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Then finally
I: ‘Because no one else gets under your skin like I do... And we both know it hurts when I’m not there to fix it.
Your stomach flips,half arousal,half something deeper,you refuse to name yet.Before you can respond,the call comes through.Voice only.No video.Call waiting on line one flashing across the screen like a dare…
You take a deep breath before answering,letting the silence stretch just long enough to drive him crazy.
“who’s the one thinking about who now? I was busy," you say the second you pick up, teasing in your voice.
A low chuckle echoes through the line. "But you answered anyway."
"Go to sleep,Rozanov,"you whisper,though neither of us plans on sleeping tonight.
His voice drops,the accent thicker now like it always is when he’s tired.
“Can’t sleep, bore me to sleep will you?”The cocky bastard.
“you fucker, I will hang up this phone right now” you chuckled, threatening in your tone. Then his laugh,that fucking laugh. "Fine,fine. I'll behave." His voice is more teasing than serious now. "For now."
That makes you laugh,the tension between you both easing just a little. "I don't believe you," you say. "You're incapable of being good."
He hums in agreement,the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Can't argue with that."
There's a pause,the silence heavy with the weight of what's left unsaid.
"But I do have a question."
His voice drops,low and rough. “Are you in that big bed of yours all by yourself?”
You roll your eyes,even though he can’t see you. “I might be… why? You checking up on me?”
“Just curious.” A beat. Then softer: “Wish I was there to find out for myself.”
But before you can respond he says,casually now.“If I were there,I wouldn’t let you sleep at all.”
You laugh,trying to match his lightness despite the warmth pooling low in your stomach.
“Confident as always.”
“You love it,”he murmurs.
And damn him… He’s right,of course. It’s infuriating how fast he can undo you with just a few words. But you'll die before you admit that.
"You're so cocky, has anyone told you that?"
His chuckle is like velvet, dark and sinful. "All the time."
"It's annoying."
"But you like it," he counters, knowing he's right. "You're impossible," you mutter, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
“And yet… you’re still on the phone with me,” he says, voice thick with satisfaction. You roll over onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds answers. “I must enjoy suffering.”
He laughs low and knowing and it sends a shiver through you. “Then let me make it worse.”
Your breath hitches as his voice drops again, rougher now.“Tell me what you’re wearing.”
"A hockey jersey," you say,tone dry.
He chuckles again,the sound sending a jolt down to your core. "I must be rubbing off on you."
You roll your eyes even though he can't see. "Don't get cocky,Rozanov."
"Too late," he replies,voice cocky as ever. "And whose jersey is it?"
“Oh,” you pause, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Shane’s.” A beat of silence. Then “Blyad,” he growls, low and rough with amusement. “You’re wearing your brother’s jersey?”
You laugh softly, tracing the collar with one finger. "Yes, I'm supporting my home team obviously."
He scoffs, voice thick with mock outrage. "Disgraceful." But there's heat under it,the kind that coils in your stomach because you know exactly what he's thinking. "And I’m sure Shane would love knowing you’re under his jersey while talking to me." Your smile widens into a grin. "Oh, I’m sure he’d appreciate it even more to find out you’ve been fucking his sister in secret."
He lets out a sharp bark of laughter,dark, wild and then mutters something fast in Russian too quick to catch. You raise an eyebrow despite yourself.
“Did you just call me something dirty?” you feel yourself smirking.
A low chuckle echoes through the line,his accent rougher now, making your breath hitch.
"Wouldn't you like to know," he murmurs,voice full of that cocky self-assured confidence he always had.
You smile in spite of yourself. "Your English is getting better," you tease lightly. "Have you been practicing just for me?"
He laughs again,and the sound is like velvet, sending goosebumps down your arms. "Maybe. maybe not”
"oh yeah, how come hmm?" you challenge, voice soft but playful.
"Because I want you to understand me," he says, the teasing edge fading just slightly. "When I tell you how much I miss your body... when I say exactly what I’d do if I were there right now."
You shiver.
"And what’s that?" you whisper, despite knowing you shouldn’t play this game.
A slow smirk curls in his voice. “First,I’d take that fucking jersey off you… slowly.” His tone drops lower, rougher. “Then I’d kiss every inch of skin until you were begging.”
You close your eyes as the image floods your mind.
“But since we’re so far apart…” he continues, “I’ll settle for making sure to keep you awake tonight with my mouth in a different way.”
You swallow hard.Asshole. And yet… it’s working. But before you can answer The door to your room creaks open, and before you can react, Shane strolls in, a hoodie draped over his shoulders and his phone in one hand. You’d totally forgot that you’d agreed he could stay over this weekend.
"Yo," he says casually, tossing his bag onto the chair by the desk. "You seen my lucky skate laces? The ones from my last game?"
Your heart is still pounding from Ilya’s voice in your ear. You quickly press mute on the call,hopefully fast enough and try to keep your breathing steady.
"I don’t know where your dumb lucky things are and it’s fucking 22:30pm Shane, look for them tomorrow," you say with an exaggerated eye roll, pulling the covers up just slightly like that’ll hide anything. "And also,knock first!"
He ignores you completely, already rifling through your closet like it’s some kind of treasure hunt “They were with that jersey,” he insists “I left them in the bag with it after I gave it you after the game”
You freeze.Because guess what’s tucked under that very drawer?
A single black glove.
Rozanov's glove.
From their last heated encounter in Montreal,one you’d stupidly kept as a souvenir. You don’t know why.
"Shane." Your voice comes out sharper than intended “Get out of my closet."
He turns,mock offended.“Whoa chillax,Y/N,it’s not like I’m looking for sex toys or something.”
"Oh god shut up and get out!"
He laughs,finally stepping back,but not before giving you that look,the brotherly suspicion that cuts too close to home.
"You good?" He tilts his head."You seem… twitchy."
"Yeah!" You gesture wildly at the door.“Just tired! And violated! Go find your dumb laces somewhere else!"
He holds up both hands. “Fine,fine.I’m gone.” With one last smirk,he shuts the door behind him. You wait three full seconds before unmuting. Only to hear a low,murderous chuckle on the other end…
Rozanov, “Lucky laces… huh? and what sex toys hmm?”
"Fuck off” you grumble, cheeks warm. And he chuckles again,the sound low and rough in your ear.
He's enjoying this too much.
"Hey... when's your next game here?" you ask,tone casual.
"On Wednesday... why?" he asks,feigning nonchalance.
"Just curious." you reply.
"Mmmhmm." He doesn't believe you but there's in his own voice too. "What are you upto, pretty girl?"
You smile,despite yourself. The familiar nickname sends a warm shiver down your spine, even if you'd never admit it. "Wouldn't you like to know?" you tease back.
"... yeah." his voice drops lower. Rough,with a touch of heat that makes your heart skip. "I would."
"Too bad." you murmur,smiling to yourself. "I don't kiss and tell."
He growls,the sound reverberating through the line and straight to your core.
"Tease." He mutters.
"You love it." The words slide out before you can stop them. Dammit. "Oh, I know I do," he murmurs, voice dark and lazy like he’s already imagining it.
You bite your lip, then go for the kill.
“Funny you mention teasing… since I might be wearing something very interesting at the charity ball next week, if you attend that is.” it was a charity event that one of the hockey players were holding and all had been invited. A beat. “Something small that you can insert… and completely under your control.”
Silence.
Then a low, dangerous growl rumbles through the phone. “Y/N.”
You grin.
“And if you’re extra good during that game and don’t piss off shane” you add, voice barely above a whisper, “Maybe I’ll let you press the button yourself.”
“fuckkk,” he breathes rough, strangled and you can feel his restraint cracking from thousands of miles away.
“But until then…” You yawn dramatically. “I’m going to sleep. All alone in this big bed… with just this jersey on”
He lets out a sharp laugh,half fury, half helpless want.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters.
“Sweet dreams,” you whisper sweetly and hang up before he can respond.
Phone down,you stare at the ceiling with a smile playing on your lips.
Game on.
Ilya POV
Ilya stares at the phone in his hand for a few seconds,stunned.
He can't believe you just did that.
You had to be the most infuriating,teasing,perfect girl. His heart beats fast,he runs a hand through his hair,trying to steady himself but it's useless. The image you planted in his mind is too powerful to shake away.
"Fuuuuck, she is going to kill me," he mutters.
He's already thinking about next week.
Flight from Russia to Montreal
The jet hums softly, getting ready to set off. The cabin dimmed. Ilya leans back in his seat, one earbud in, the other dangling,just enough cover. His phone is angled low on his lap, hidden from wandering eyes.A message lights up the screen. A message or two won’t hurt before set off.
Y/N: Still thinking about those lucky laces? Or should I be worried you have them… and what else might’ve been in that drawer of mine?”
A smirk tugs at his lips,small, private. He types one handed, thumb moving fast.
I: “If I had find something else… you’d know. I’d make sure of it”
He hits send and exhales slow,sinking deeper into the seat,his mind already somewhere warmer than this fucking metal tube that will soon be flying over frozen lakes.
Then..
"Who's got you smiling like that?"
Nikita’s voice cuts through,the youngest rookie with a mouth too loud for his own good. He leans over from two rows back,half grinning like he’s about to expose state secrets.Ilya doesn’t look up,right away.His thumb traces the edge of your last text,the teasing tone still echoing in his head like it’s spoken aloud instead of typed.
"Just some girl," he says finally,casual as ice,dark eyes flicking sideways with a smirk that gives nothing real away."You wouldn't know her."
Nikita snorts.“Damn,Rozanov actually likes someone? Thought you only fucked puck bunnies between periods.”
That earns him a glare sharp enough to draw blood,but there's no heat behind it.Ilya just shakes his head,tucks the phone face down beneath his jacket,and leans back again,closing his eyes like he can will himself into silence before he says something stupid. Like how no one else touches him right anymore.How every time another woman tries,he thinks of your laugh.Your bite.The way you challenge him even when your legs are wrapped around him.
But no.One secret at a time.And this?This is not for them to know.Not yet.
Then the plane takes off, engines roaring to life, and the world shrinks to a speck of lights far below as the jet climbs into the darkening sky.He looks out the window, trying to count the stars,but all he can see is the memory of the way your body moved under his hands.The way you moved around him as if you belonged there...Ilya closes his eyes again.This is going to be a long, long flight.
…………..
There's a shift in the air as the plane begins its descent,a little shudder as the jet shucks off a few thousand feet.Ilya blinks,coming back to the present.A glance out the window tells him they're just minutes out now.He exhales,tries to shake the thoughts of you out of his head as the city comes into view.
He needs to focus.
The plane lands with a smooth roll, tires screeching lightly against the runway. Ilya waits, letting the others file out first. When he finally stands, he pulls his phone from his jacket. Airplane mode off. One new message waiting.
Y/N: Safe landing? Or did you crash thinking about me?
He smirks under his breath, thumb hovering,wants to answer right away but then tucks it away without replying. He grabs his bag and steps into the terminal. Montreal greets him with gray skies and a sharp gust of biting wind. He ducks through the terminal and out to the waiting car,sliding into the backseat with a nod to the driver. He feels his phone buzz again as the car rolls away from the airport. He can already guess who it is but resists the urge,tapping his thumb on the leather seat,watching the city passing by outside.
The car weaves through the early evening traffic, heading to the team hotel. The city is alive in a way that only winter brings,lights glittering on snow, holiday music wafting from passing cars, couples walking arm in arm.The phone buzzes in his pocket again,and this time he can't ignore it. His heart jumps as he sees it's from you,and when he opens the message,he has to bite back a growl.
Y/N: “I have something special to show you after tomorrow's game, if you are interested that is”
Y/N: “But only if you win. don’t tell my brother is said that. And if you behave.”
A pause, then another message instantly follows.
Y/N: “And no fighting with my brother. I don’t want a broken jaw distracting you from what I have planned.”
He smirks, slow and dangerous,like he already knows exactly what kind of trouble that mouth gets into.
I: “So it is something worth winning for?”
He waits a beat before sending the next line.
I: “But behaving was never my strong suit… though I might try… for you.”
Then one last text, typed with deliberate slowness.
I: “Just tell me one thing,am I going to see your face the second we’re alone? Or do I have to work for it?”
He hits send and leans back against the seat,a dark fire building in his chest.
Game on indeed.
Then a few minutes later another message appears.
Y/N: “Oh you’ll have to work for it…”
His breath catches.For a man who’s fought ice wars and stared down legends, he feels something dangerously close to being unglued by those words.Ilya closes his eyes briefly, jaw tightens like he can physically hold back the reaction coursing through him.He types slowly,this time with no smirk in his fingers.
I: “You love fucking with my head.”
A pause.
I: “And I’m not promising to behave anymore.”
He powers the phone off then,and tosses it onto the seat beside him,like it’s safer that way. Because if you keep talking like that?He won’t make it through tomorrow's game without crossing the ice straight for Shane,just so he can look him dead in the eye while knowing exactly what happens after the final buzzer.
"Rozanov." The rough voice cuts through the silence.Ilya blinks, comes out of his head to see the car has stopped. The hotel stretches out in front of them,glass and light against the darkening sky.He hadn’t even noticed they arrived.He exhales,tries to find his bearings as the driver climbs out and opens the door.Ilya steps out. Cold night air greets him.
He doesn’t text you.
Not even when he’s in the hotel room, shirt off, standing by the window with a bottle of water and his phone face down on the dresser like it’s evidence.
He tries to focus.
But then his old flame from St. Petersburg slides into his DMs,bold as ever, sending photos that used to make him hard without thought. Now? He scrolls past them without reply, thumb lingering instead on your gallery folder deep in his phone’s vault. To that one picture of you laughing, not even nudes, but your cheeks pink, eyes bright… completely unaware he’d snapped it mid conversation. He stares at it longer than he should.
Then shuts everything down.Lights out by 11. Discipline is armor tonight.
—
Morning comes,sharp and electric.
The rink is buzzing early,pre game warmups for both teams scheduled close to each other before media hits and coaches draw lines for battle plans later that day.His team filters onto the ice first,but Ilya lingers near the entrance,rather watching than skating right away,because you are out there. Must of had an earlier training practice. On blades as sharp as the secrets we keep. Even here,in leggings and gloves, your hair curly,your presence is like a wrecking ball to him. Your movements? Clean,fierce,determined.A figure skater sharpened into something sharper,a blade wrapped in silk no one sees but him now.
And yes,some of his teammates notice too.One mutters something low about “Hollander’s sister looking dangerous today.”
The second you push off from the ice, glove wiping sweat from your brow, one of Ilya’s younger teammates,a cocky kid lets out a low whistle.
“Damn. Your brother really should keep you locked up you know?”
Someone snorts. “ save a few of those moves for us love.”
Ilya doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.
But his jaw clenches so hard it aches.Then you turn slightly as you pass them on your way to the exit and flip them off with that same effortless grace, one gloved hand lifting in the air without breaking stride.The team erupts in laughter.But not Ilya.No,he watches the way your hips sway under those fitted training pants,the bounce of your curls beneath the hooded jacket pulled tight around you. And something possessive flickers behind his ribs,hot and silent and dangerous. He should look away.
He doesn't. Because while they see just Shane Hollander's sister...He sees what should be his.
Your POV
Later that night, The arena is electric,crackling with that raw, live wire energy only a rivalry game can bring. You’re in your usual spot behind the visitor’s bench with your family,close enough to see every shift, every hit,every flicker of Ilya’s icy focus under the glare of the lights.Shane plays hard,always does but tonight it's like he’s fighting ghosts. One bad turnover leads to a clean Russian counter. Then another. Ilya doesn’t score but he sets up two goals with passes so sharp they slice through defense like butter,his voice rising in guttural Russian as he barks orders across the ice. And that final buzzer sounds,Boston wins.You feel it before you even see him,that pull,invisible and magnetic as Ilya peels off his helmet and skates toward the tunnel,his gaze scanning,burning until it finds you through the glass.
You don't smile.
Not yet.
But your eyes say everything. Later.
—
Post game showers run long,media scrums drag on,and Shane barely looks at you when he finally trudges out,wet hair stuck to his forehead,proud and bruised in all the right ways. Your family had gone home with Shane, you said you were meeting up with some friends after the game. But once they were gone,you linger near player exit two outside the arena. But not close to be seen,a bag slung over one shoulder,tapping your boot like impatience is an art form.Then,the door swings open.Ilya is dressed in jeans now,a hoodie half up,but eyes already locked onto yours like gravity just shifted its center to this exact point on earth where we are both standing now.
Ilya stops a foot away. “You gonna tell me what’s in that bag or do I have to search you?”His voice is a low slide through the night.
You lift your chin, a smirk playing at your lips. “Depends. Were you good?”
He takes a step closer, slow and deliberate like he owns the space between heartbeats. “I won.” His eyes flick over you,dark, hungry. “Didn’t start any fights. Didn’t touch your brother more than the handshake required.” A pause. Then quieter “I even smiled for the cameras like a civilized man.”
“So polite,” you tease, turning slightly as if to walk away.He grabs your wrist,gentle but firm and pulls you back just enough that his breath ghosts over your ear.
“Then I deserve my prize.”
You shiver, but don’t pull away.
“Maybe,” you say softly, holding his gaze in the dim glow of the arena’s exit light. "But we’re not doing this here."
His thumb brushes your pulse point.
"Then where?"
You tilt your head toward the quiet street beyond. "My place." Your voice drops to a whisper only he can hear "If you're still behaving."
"Y/N," he murmurs as he falls into step beside you down the sidewalk “your place?” he seem surprised.
"yess Ilya? where else?" you mutter. You suppose it had always been hotel rooms, his place wherever the games were placed.
He falls into easy stride beside you,shoulders slung forward against the cold.The city moves around you,taxis and late goers hurrying for last calls or warm beds.But for a moment,it feels like it's just you two,walking through the night. He looks good like that against the shadows,wind in his hair,hood pulled low. You can feel the heat of him even with the space between you. You don't pull away when he reaches for your hand. You guide him through quiet streets,the city blurring to a hum around you. The only real focus right now is the heat of him next to you,the rough brush of his thumb against your own.A silent walk in companionable silence,only broken when you turn off the sidewalk toward a small house set in the back of an old neighborhood. Ilya slows, watching the warm glow through the windows,the streetlights flickering behind him.
You glance back,a question in your lifted eyebrows.
"don’t worry, I’m not going to murder you”
He laughs,low,rough in his throat,before following you up the walk.The house greets you warm and homey,with photos lining the halls and cozy couches. You close the door behind him,and then it's just silence and him.
Alone.
"Make yourself at home," you say, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it over the couch. "Want a drink? We can order food.?"
He’s already looking around,eyes tracing the framed photos on the wall,Shane's rookie year,his first trophy,your completion photos, photos with the family at Christmas like normal happy people. Then he turns to you,his gaze heavy with something that isn't desire just yet.
But close.
"Yeah," he says finally, voice rough. "water and uh yeah we can order."
You nod toward the kitchen."Help yourself.I’ll be out in a sec.Don’t snoop."
A smirk tugs at his lips as he moves past you into the dim light of the living room."Wouldn’t dream of it."
You roll your eyes and disappear down the hallway,to your bedroom.The bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, heart thudding. You pull out the jersey from your drawer, enemy colours,black with bold white numbers, 81, his number, his name. The fabric slips over your head,your arms sliding into sleeves too long,your thighs exposed beneath the hem.
No panties.No bra.
Just Ilya’s name stitched across your back,and the quiet thrill of knowing exactly what this would do to him. You take a breath,touch your lips once with two fingers...then open the door.He’s on the couch,his phone in hand but looks up instantly,the second he hears you step out.And freezes.Water bottle halfway to his mouth.Eyes go dark.Jaw locks tight enough to crack bone. He swallows.His throat clicks.His hands are gripping the bottle now,fingers white.Your breath stutters as you take in the look on his face.He's staring at you like he's never seen you before,like he's seeing a hallucination.He doesn't move when you walk toward him,and he sure as hell doesn't look away.His gaze is rough as he watches you cross the room,the jersey shifting as you move,showing more and more skin with each step.
When you reach him, you take the water from his hands, set it on the table deliberately. His eyes haven’t shifted from the jersey once,and you feel the heat of his gaze like a fire.
You move closer.
He could reach out,grab you,pull you onto his lap right now and you wouldn’t resist.Instead, he just watches you with that dark,wild gaze. "Like what you see?" Your voice is soft,and the smile on your lips is too cocky.He stares for one more long minute.Then he lunges.He grabs you by the hips and pulls you down so you're straddling his legs,his arms around you, holding you to him in one single, fluid motion.You gasp,your hands automatically grab his shoulders. His head lowers,and he buries his nose in your neck,inhaling deep like he's trying to breathe in your scent,and you can feel his hands,tight,unyielding against your hips as his thumbs press into the bare flesh exposed by the jersey.Your breath quickens.His lips brush your ear.
"You did this on purpose."He murmurs,voice rough.
"Mmm," you say, arching into him slightly,a breathy sound that is more a moan than a word.He growls.Your skin is burning,your own hands moving over his shoulders,tangling in his hair. His lips trail down your neck,teeth against your throat and you shiver,back arching in his grip, hips rocking into his. He grips harder,pulls you down,makes you grind into the hard lines of the muscles in his thighs,and you hear him curse low under his breath,the sound sending fire through your veins.
Your head falls back,exposing your neck to his mouth.He bites down,teeth harsh enough to mark,and you can feel his grin when you let out a sharp gasp.He's breathing hard already,his hands skimming up your back,over the jersey,skin burning hot under his palms.
His voice is ragged in your ear, "I'm going to ruin you."
"Promises,promises," you say,and your voice almost doesn't have the steadiness to match the words.He laughs low,a breathless sound.Then your back is against the couch cushions,your legs around his waist,his mouth hot on your throat and you can feel him everywhere,everywhere except where you need him.
Your nails rake across his back.He hisses,but doesn't pull away. "Fucking Tease," he growls, voice dark and ragged against your skin, one hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, rough fingers just shy of where you're already aching. "You wear my jersey like this on purpose and expect me to just sit here”
Your breath hitches as his thumb brushes over you,just once, a slow, maddening press to your clit, realising you had no pants on.
"You're soaked," he murmurs, like it's an accusation. Like he’s winning.You moan softly,involuntarily,and his eyes flash with triumph. "You did this to yourself," he says, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in smoke. His thumb circles again,slowly,maddeningly. "Walking out here in my jersey? Like a fucking altar call?" He leans down,his breath hot against your ear. "Like you were made for me?"
You can't speak.Can't think.Just feel,everywhere.He slips two fingers inside you without warning,and you cry out,back arching off the couch.
"Look at me," he demands.Your eyes snap open,and he’s watching you with that dark intensity,no mercy,just hunger and control and something deeper that neither of us can name right now. You stare down the dark well of his gaze, and the world seems to spin around you, everything tipping off its axis until you're falling,falling,falling, and he's the only thing in focus, the only solid point in this mad world.
"You're mine," he says flatly,voice just a rough edge of command. "No one else gets to see you like this." His fingers crook inside you, pressing deep, and you almost lose all control. "Answer me." He's watching you so closely. Waiting.
You bite back a moan. "No one."
"No one else," he echoes,the command in his voice like a lash. "You understand me?"
You can barely get the words out,the world blurring at the edges. "Yes. God,yes."
"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dark velvet against your skin. His thumb presses harder now,in time with his fingers, and you're coming apart,shattering beneath him like glass in a fire.
You cry out,his name torn from your lips without thought.And he doesn't stop.Not when you're trembling.Not when you beg.
Not until you’re gasping for air and your body goes slack under his hands. Only then does he slow,withdrawing gently,his fingers gliding out of you as he watches the aftermath ripple across your face.He brings those fingers to his mouth,sucking them clean without breaking eye contact,dark,glossy eyes holding yours like a brand.
Your chest heaves, skin flushed, every nerve still humming.
You can’t look away. Can’t speak.
He leans in slow,too slow and presses a kiss to your collarbone, gentle for once. A contrast that makes your throat tighten.
Then “Now,”his voice is rough again, “I’m going to fuck you, while you are wearing my name”
"Mmm," you say, your voice a breathless hum. "Promised me you would."
He smirks against your skin dark, dangerous, utterly undone and in one smooth motion, flips you beneath him on the couch.Your legs part for him instinctively. He doesn’t rush. No,he takes his time unzipping his jeans just enough to free himself, hard and heavy against your thigh. One hand grips your hip to hold you down as the other tugs the jersey up around your waist.
You’re bare beneath it.Exposed.Ready.
He lines up slow,tip just grazing your entrance and holds still.
"Look at me," he growls again.
You do.
And then he sinks in deep with one brutal thrust that steals every thought from your mind except him,his name on his jersey over your shoulder,his eyes locked on yours,his body claiming yours again and again like it’s always belonged here.A moan rips from your throat and he doesn’t move at first,jaw clenched so tight you think it might break as he lets you feel all of him,fills every inch of space like punishment and worship all at once.
"You feel that?" His voice is raw,ravaged."This? is all for you”
You can't speak,but nod,breath hitching as tears prick the corners ofyour eyes,not from pain,but something deeper.
"You’re mine," he growls, starting to move, slow, deep strokes that drag across every nerve. "Say it."
Your fingers claw at his back, nails leaving red trails. You shake your head slightly, teasing even now.He chuckles darkly and pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in harder, making you cry out.
"Say it."
Tears spill over.
"Ilya..." It's a whimper. A surrender.
He leans down,nose brushing yours,his voice dropping to a whisper only you could ever hear,"No one else. Say it."
You gasp as he thrusts again,powerful,certain.
"Yours... I'm yours."
"Good," he breathes, his forehead dropping to yours,his hips never slowing. He’s relentless,every stroke deeper than the last,each one carving his name into your skin without a pen in sight.You cling to him,legs tightening around his waist,fingers tangled in his hair as the world narrows to this:the heat between you,the sound of skin on skin,the quiet thud of the couch against the wall with every thrust.
He kisses you then hard,messy,no grace,tongue sliding against yours like he’s starving. And maybe he is. Maybe this is what happens when you hide how you feel for years,till it all explodes into something reckless and real.
His hand slips between your bodies again,his thumb circling your clit just right,and suddenly,you're coming with a sob,his name ripped from your throat like a prayer.He follows instantly,a guttural groan tearing from deep in his chest as he buries himself inside you,pulsing hot and thick,sure and claiming until there's nothing left but us,tangled breathless,on this couch,in this house,in this moment that feels too big to survive.For long after,he doesn't move.Just holds you close,breathing hard,nose pressed into your neck like if he lets go,you'll vanish.And quietly,so quietly it almost gets lost in the dark.
"I kept my promise."
You don't ask which one.Winning.Behaving.Not starting a fight with Shane.Or that final unspoken vow written behind every touch. I won’t let go.
The night is still quiet outside. Your chest has finally stilled,breath evening out with his,your heart beating slow finally in perfect time to his. His forehead is still pressed against yours,his face buried in your neck, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his back,your mind still too hazy to form coherent thought beyond the feel of him,everywhere.There's a long moment of silence between you,the world held so still you couldn't say if seconds or hours are passing. It's him who breaks it finally,voice a low hum against your skin that's more felt than heard. "I should leave."
You don't say anything at first,just turn your head and press a kiss to his hair,almost involuntarily,before you catch yourself.He lifts his head then,meeting your gaze as he pulls away,not quite leaving,just enough to see your face.His eyes are dark,focused, searching.
"But I don't want to."
"Stay," you say,your voice hushed. "Just for tonight."
His eyes darken,a heat there that makes your breath stutter.He lifts a hand up,brushes a strand of hair from your face,tracing your lips softly with his thumb, as if he's still trying to memorize every part of you all over again.He swallows,his throat bobbing like he's fighting something much more than just himself.
He leans in, rests his forehead against yours again,brief, tender and just as you think he’s going to say yes, his jaw tightens.A beat.Then another.He pulls back slowly. Too slowly. Rolls off you without a word and stands, already tugging up his jeans, movements sharp with something that isn’t anger,regret.
You sit up slightly on the couch,the jersey slipping off one shoulder,hair wild from him,touch still humming under your skin. “Ilya…”
He won’t look at you when he zips up.
“I can’t,” he says roughly,staring at the floor like it holds answers neither of us have yet named.“Not like this.”
Your throat closes.
“Ilya” you whisper.“This was… real.”
He finally looks at you then,his eyes full of storm and fire and fear so much fear. For what saying yes could mean.
“I’m sorry y/n,” he says lowly,reaching for his jacket.“If I stay….” he didn’t finish that sentence. As if he stays tonight,something changes that can't be undone.And Ilya Rozanov doesn't run from fights on ice...but love?Love terrifies him more than any rival ever could.So without another word,he turns.
Opens the door.Steps into the cold night without looking back.
