.˜”*°• Cyrella Cytus •°*”˜.

———

This whole time entanglement chaos gets to a point, right? I mean, one second you’re in the Museum of the Collector, pushing a bus that belongs to Doctor Strange and winning, then you get pulled into another fight and now you’re in space with Intergalactic Wakanda.

You still being mentally sane during this whole situation is a bigger question that needs to be answered.

And not having a severe concussion from all the times your head has been smashed into walls and buildings is the biggest question from across all universes.

Your other teammates spawn in, but you don’t take the effort to turn around and see, still recovering from your last match.

Until, a small, grumpy and roughed-up Canadian comes up and greets you.

“Knew it was you, bub. The smell of bonfire and burnt candle wicks follow you everywhere.” Wolverine waltz into your view.

You smile softly at your old mentor, “Hey, Logan. Nice to see we’re on the same side this time.”

He laughs low, before giving you a “light” nudge to your guts. “Damn, kid. You’ve become an absolute unit since the last time I saw you.”

You grunt lightly, your hand brushing over where he hit you. “Yeah it’s called being a Vanguard, you should try it out some time.”

He chuckles, with Galacta counting down in the background.

“By the way,” Logan whispers and you lean a little over to hear him better. “She’s here if you two wanna stop playing cat and mouse and talk.”

On cue, you look over and lord behold, you swear your eyes pop out of your skull.

Magik stands there, rolling her eyes at something Deadpool says, with Gambit instigating the entire conversation.

A full mutant team (minus Deadpool), with you, Jean, and Illyana being the only women, that’s great.

But the Russian is dressed up in Disco attire, shiny and bright, skin showing and she actually looks happy.

Strange, but her smile is the most beautiful thing on this earth.

And fucking hell she looks yummy.

“Don’t waste time, child.” Magneto speaks to you but it goes in one ear and comes out the other.

“Securing mutantkind’s victory is important.” He keeps going.

“Oh, no worries, old Professor.” Your eyes haven’t left Illyana’s body and when she turns around to say something to Jean, oh lord… please give you the strength to focus.

“I’ll secure our victory with no problems.” You reply sternly to Magento.

He smiles quietly at you calling him Professor, remembering the old days of when you were his student, and levitating out as soon as the spawn doors open up.

And everyone else follows after, but you don’t budge, watching the X-Men (minus Deadpool) pass by.

“We have a whack-job as our strategist? Great, we might lose this battle.” You grumble to yourself.

“You think so? Wade says he never misses.” Illyana says, right by your side so suddenly.

You laugh, “Please, you really believe that? Wade always misses his shots. Let’s hope Remy picks up the pieces he drops…hopefully.”

Now that Illyana is closer, you have a better look at her outfit and lord have mercy, you really need a bucket of freezing cold water after this.

“What’s up with the Disco look?” You tilt your head to the side, soaking Magik all in. “You just came back from a Dazzler concert?”

Illyana chuckles, actually cracking a smile and you want to see her smile everyday and every hour.

“No, I didn’t go to a Dazzler concert.” Illyana inches closer, you choose to ignore it. “I came back from fighting Shield agents in New York. Apparently, Kingpin is the new mayor and he has the whole city on lockdown, arresting any superheroes he spots.”

“Mhmm,” You hum, acting like you’re listening, which you are. “So where does the Disco vibe come in? Saves the day?”

‘Yana laughs again, and you feel your face blush and heart palpate like a giddy idiot. “I guess? I killed Shield agents on the dance floor.”

“Of course you did.” Your eyes drift to the open spawn doors then back to the Russian. “You’re Magik, no one walks out unharmed.” Illyana seems pleased with your statement.

“It isn’t too flashy.. da?” Illyana asks, and you want to shake your head “no” so quickly, but you pace yourself.

“No, I think it’s the right amount of flashiness.” Your eyes are slow when you check her out, and Illyana smirks internally when your gaze lingers on her exposed stomach.

“Plus, it looks good on you…” You trail off, mind blanking.

Magik hums, placing a hand to your chest, where she feels your heart racing so fast.

“You know what else looks good on me?” She looks up behind her lashes and you think you could combust any moment now.

You gulp, mouth dry and words dying in your throat. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to get your dirty paws on her hips, craving the feeling of her skin beneath your fingertips.

“Uh—“ You consciously tell yourself not to stutter.

God, Illyana makes you feel like a fool, she gets you so nervous she has you talking a hundred miles an hour.

The Russian laughs again, biting her bottom lip and her eyes have become a darker shade of blue from lust. The hand on your chest travels up and wraps around the back of your neck, black nails dig lightly into your skin.

Oh my god, you’re hard, and it’s not even a joke.

“You.” She whispers against your lips, flushing her chest to yours. “Your lips look really good on me.”

Oh lord.. forgive you.. you’re about sin.

You’ve never yanked someone so aggressively fast in your life, okay you lied. You did snatch up an enemy Spidey a couple matches ago to stop him from harassing your Strategist.

Magik laughs at your eager hands, finding your strength to be a very attractive characteristic you possess, but the sound gets swiftly muffled by your lips on hers.

The blonde is chest to chest with you, your tongue parts her lips and you fight for dominance. Your hands drop from her full hips down to her ass, grabbing a handful of Russian cake and cheering to yourself when Illyana moans into your mouth.

The nails in your neck dig deeper, while Magik’s free hand rests on your abdomen and pushes you back, still keeping your tongue intertwined with hers.

You follow, letting her blindlessly guide you until the back of your knees hits something hard, like a bed frame. She pulls back, a thin string of saliva breaks when she gets far enough and shoves you back onto the bed.

Your backside makes contact with clean sheets and a soft mattress. You are vividly aware that this bed has to belong to Black Panther or his sister, but those thoughts hastily vanish when you watch Illyana bend over.

She connects with your lips again, biting your bottom lip and sucking on your tongue as she drags a hand down from your chest to your groin. She gropes the prominent bulge between your thighs and you groan out loud, your head rolling back at the sensation.

Illyana’s smirk deepens, nibbling and licking at your throat as she massages your swelling length.

“Someone seems excited to see me.” Magik’s accent is thick in lust.

Her teeth bite into the collar of your costume and she pulls, letting the material slap back against your skin. Then, she impatiently lifts the top-half of your costume up and over your chest, licking her lips at the gorgeously sculpted abs that grace her vision.

Her nails drag down, leaving red marks into the skin, actually wanting to groan out in filthy lust when it goes back to its normal shade.

“Fuck.. Logan wasn’t lying.” Illyana whispers low. Those same fingertips find the buckle to your belt, and unlocks it.

She drops between your spread legs, leaning over to leave black stained kiss marks around your v-line. She brushes against a small happy trail, and grins, lapping up any sweat that’s starting to develop on your skin.

“You are an absolute unit.” She bites at your hip, fingers playing with the waistband of your boxers.

Illyana marks every untouched part of your skin with her black lipstick, teeth and nails. She makes a show while licking up your abdomen, her tongue in every sharp line and toned muscle.

You can’t breathe, it’s getting hard too. Your shaft throbs uncomfortably in your boxers, twitching and leaking pre-cum from the tip.

“Oh shit..” You drag a hand down your face, the other one fists the white bedding tightly.

You stare down at the mess Illyana has made around your abdomen and navel area, shiny in her spit and stained black from her lips.

And this is only the beginning.

The blonde tugs your pants low enough to where it shouldn’t get in the way, mouth watering at the way your boxers hug your hips and thighs deliciously, emphasizing how big your junk is.

She can’t help the smug smile that graces her lips, her thumb tracing over the band to your undies.

“Pink? I didn’t know you own pink underwear?” Illyana flashes you her canines.

“It’s just the waistband.” You argue back, the hand buried in the sheets lets go to grab at Illyana.

You clasp the back of her neck, directing her face closer. She obliges, nuzzling her cheek against your rod, even going as far as to suck and lick at it through the fabric.

Holy shit, you’re about to bust pre-maturely.

You can’t speak or think, all you can do is groan and watch as Illyana finally yanks your underwear down, eyes dark with lust and thighs squeezing tight.

Your dick springs up from its confined prison, the cold breeze slightly cooling you down from overheating like a fool. Illyana chews on her bottom lip, perfectly manicured nails wrapping around your throbbing length.

You moan at the first touch, the hand on Magik’s neck moves to rest on top of her hair, not to control but to guide.

“Such a big girl.” She presses her lips to your base, and your cock twitches, more pre leaking from the tip and your stomach is twisting in pleasure.

“Did you miss me?” Illyana mumbles against your skin, “I missed you.”

The Russian looks up as she asks the question, blue eyes gazing into yours as she sucks and nips at the base. Her lips part open, black lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth and she drags her tongue up to the tip. The bitter and slightly sweet taste of your cum hits her tongue, causing Illyana to moan at the flavor.

Seems like your diet has been good and healthy.

You groan deep, fingers curling around the base of Magik’s ponytail. “Fuck..” You pant, stopping your eyes from rolling back as you watch the teleporter suck at your tip.

“Fuck me..” You gritted out, your grip is deathly on those poor sheets.

Illyana pulls away with a loud pop, she licks at her lips before pressing a chaste kiss to the tip, extra pre-cum spills from the action.

“That, I’m trying to do.” Illyana jokes, but you’re too caught up in pleasure to register her words.

The mutant starts at the base again, dragging her tongue up from the underside of your cock to the tip and widens her mouth a little more to try and take all of you at once.

‘Yana succeeds, mostly. She makes it half way before her gag reflexes kick in, but she’s aiming for all of you down her throat.

“Fuck!” You shoot up from being propped up on your elbows, the hand buried in the sheets, burns through the fabric.

“Illyana.. oh god..” You sigh, the hand on her ponytail feels useless.

She keeps direct eye contact as she takes more of you. Her nails scratch intensely at your thighs, the rough material from your pants keeps her grounded.

She gags slightly and you’re quick to soothe her, thumb stroking her cheek as she pauses to breathe out through her nose.

“Easy..” You whisper, your hips twitching to shove the last two inches of yourself into Illyana’s mouth. “Don’t.. ugh.. hurt yourself..”

Magik takes that as a challenge and shoves the last two inches of your shaft down her throat. Her nose is buried in your coarse hair at the base, and your cock rests heavy on her tongue.

Your eyes roll back and the groan you let out is low, all this pleasure hitting you like a truck. Illyana swallows, her throat working magically around your tip and you almost black-out and shoot your cum into her warm mouth.

You roughly tug her off your cock, the pop she makes is loud and she’s breathing heavy, face flushed from deepthroating you.

You switch hands, one holding Magik by her hair while the other squeezes at your base, preventing you from exploding everywhere. You can’t stop the small spurt of cum that dribbles out, landing on Illyana’s lips.

The Russian licks it up, moaning at the texture and taste. Her hand overlaps yours, guiding you to slap your tip against her wet tongue, where more semen shoots out.

“Illyana..” You desperately plead. “I’m going to fucking cum if you keep doing that.” You squeeze harder at your base and frantically think of things to halt your orgasm.

Logan? Magento? God, fucking Deadpool. A dead puppy? Maybe Sunspot’s annoying and unhelpful advice on women and relationships? Maybe Scott being a pain up your ass? Or how You’re going to die if you don’t stop these two Dooms from clashing? Can anything stop you from cumming at this point?!

Your teammate takes pity on you and for the last time, pulls back and stays off, your shaft and Illyana’s lips are sheer and covered in her saliva.

You both take a moment to inhale oxygen, hearts pounding and racing and the air in the spawn room has become dense with sex and heat.

Illyana’s slick drenches the inside of her thighs, her clit throbs against the fabric of her leotard, painfully aroused and needing you in her now.

She casually starts stroking your cock, to keep you up and ready, but it seems like staying hard isn’t a problem for you. Your hand reaches down to rub at her cheek again, and if the Russian hadn’t caught herself, she would’ve purred at the feeling.

However, she does lean towards your warmth, taking your thumb into her mouth and biting on it. Her strokes get faster and her cunt gets wetter, then she removes her hand and your thumb and abruptly stands up.

“I’m going to ride you.” Illyana growls, straddling your lap and measuring your cock up against her stomach. “I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you’ll want me and only me.” She wraps her hand around your thick neck and squeezes.

Your gaze narrows, your strong hands grab at Magik’s hips and grind the blonde onto your dick, making sure your tip bumps against her sensitive clit.

Illyana moans, the hand enclosed around your throat tightens, but it doesn’t cut off circulation. Her hips feverishly follow the pace you’ve set, yanking you forward to bury your face in her breasts while she reaches behind her to tug her leotard to the side.

You bite and kiss and suck at her bosom, licking her nipple over the material of her top and wanting to rip everything off. One hand leaves ‘Yana’s hip to palm at her asscheek, opening her up and angling your cock better to slide between her soaked folds.

Illyana’s body lurches forward, she’s biting into her bottom lip to keep her noises down and her nails further pierce the nape of your neck.

“Snowflake…” You mumble against her jugular, licking up the side of her neck. “Let me in, please.”

Illyana hates when you use that nickname, because she hates how it makes her feel. How it makes her feel all soft and vulnerable, how butterflies form in the pit of her stomach, and how you look at her like she’s needed, wanted, worthy of the type of love you hold for her.

And you, all needy and thrusting hopelessly beneath her, your tip nudging against her entrance but you don’t display your strength and take her.

“Let me in.” Your words echo deafeningly in the blonde’s mind. She wants to, she wants to so fucking bad, it hurts. You don’t understand how much she wants to, how much she craves to, but she can’t. Because if she does, she’ll lose you too.

So, in Magik fashion, she chooses to ignore your words and the double meaning behind it and reaches between you both to guide your hard cock to where she needs you the most.

You both watch as Illyana’s pretty fingers wrap around your shaft once again and directs the head to her entrance, where she starts to push you in.

You both moan at the same time, Illyana’s forehead falls to rest on yours and your gaze shifts to watch her expressions. Her eyes are shut, a deep crease forms between her brows and she quietly pants against your lips.

The tip breaches Illyana’s opening and this time she moans unbashfully, white hot pleasure surges through her body and it’s getting overwhelming.

Now that you’re in, the Russian removes her hand from the middle of her thighs and wraps it around your throat, ensuring her grasp is strong before shoving you back on the mattress again.

Despite having both of Magik’s hands encased on your neck, she doesn’t squeeze hard enough to cut off circulation. They dig in your skin as she sinks further and further down on your shaft, her beautiful eyes are still closed and she bites her bottom lip.

“You look so pretty like this.” You murmur out, Illyana’s petite waist fits perfectly in the palm of your hand.

She ignores your words, thumbs pressing into your throat and you cough a little from the uncomfortable sensation.

Illyana hates you. Hates how you make her feel, hates how you put all these butterflies in her stomach and you make her feel like a giddy child. Hates how she feels like she has to prove her worth to the world to have you, hates how you break her walls down so easily and it makes her soul yearn. Hates how you two argued and before she could clear the air, you got up and left.

You left her, you left Illyana behind. You left her right when the two Dooms decided to play God with every universe, stranded and alone, just like how six-year old ‘Yana felt in Limbo.

You abandoned her, and she fucking hates you for it.

But, my god, she hates herself even more for still loving you after everything.

No matter what version of you she crosses paths with.

And when did you get so big?

Your thick girth splits her walls open inch by inch, her slick soaks your length as she tries to accommodate for your size.

“I hate you..” Illyana exhales, “I hate you so fucking much..” Her fingers squeeze and your coughing becomes more prominent.

“Why did you leave me?” Another inch slides in and she whimpers, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. “You promised me, you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

You stretch her wider and Illyana can’t help but gasp, one hand loosens its grip to drop down to your chest and she claws at it.

With the reminding two inches left of your cock, the Russian slams her hips down, ultimately taking in all of you and generating a loud slap from the skin on skin contact.

You’re heavy and thick and hot and you fill her up nicely, your tip kisses her cervix and Illyana swears she can feel you in her stomach. Magik’s eyes shoot open when you grind upwards a little, before gripping the back of her thigh and lifting her up as you pull out. You keep going until the tip is the only part left and slam Illyana back down.

Her breath gets caught in her throat, and wow, it really does feel like you’re in her guts when you do that. Illyana’s other hand occupies the one on your chest, and now both are clawing at the flesh there.

You set a pace, rolling your hips up and mentally reminding yourself not to bust each time her walls clench tighter and her cunt gushes around your shaft.

‘Yana follows the rhythm, meeting you in the middle when you thrust up and she slams down. The clapping of skin against each other is blaring in the spawn room, and the air is clouded with sex.

“I’m sorry.” You groan, propping yourself up on your elbows and concentrating on your next words. “I’m sorry she did that to you, that I did that to you. You know I would never hurt you unintentionally, right?”

You sweep Magik’s bangs away from her sweaty forehead and her blue eyes roll back when her throbbing clit brushes your skin and you find the spot that gets the Russian’s thighs shaking and toes curling.

“Shut.. ugh.. up..” Illyana pants, clawing desperately at your chest, her nails breaking skin and leaving behind red, irritated lines. “боже мой (oh my god)… fuck.. oh fuck.. harder.. d-deeper.. fuck you’re so deep, baby.”

She whines, aggressively riding you now and practically using you to fuck herself on. The head of your cock keeps kissing her cervix and she can’t take it anymore.

“Y/n..” ‘Yana whimpers your name and she sounds almost like she’s pleading for comfort. “Please.. I’m gonna cum.. f-fuck.. I-I’m going to cum all over your cock..”

You smash your lips against hers, ignoring the clashing of teeth and swallowing all of her moans and groans. Your hips and hers don’t falter in pace or power, the wet smacking sounds louder and your thighs are starting to burn from all this action.

You break the kiss, sinking your teeth into her neck as you drop your hand down between your moving bodies and press your fingers to her aching clit, doing circular motions.

“It’s okay.” You mumble against Magik’s cheek. “I’m here now, you can let go, I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Illyana sobs, she slams herself down one last time and creams all over your cock. Her walls clench and squeeze and gush around you tightly, like she’s trying to milk every single drop out of you, while her nails claw harder at your chest and you haven’t even cummed yet.

But, you’re not too far behind.

“God..” You sigh, still thrusting to reach your peak. “You look so beautiful when you cum, Illyana. So pretty, my pretty girl. Fuck, let me put a baby in you, snowflake. Let me make it up to you and make love to you all night.”

You babble, drunk off of your love for Illyana and how good her pussy tightens each time you thrust in and out. You grab her by her neck this time, licking at her tongue as the Russian creates more of a mess on your thighs at your display of strength.

“I’ll fuck you so good all night long— you’ll wake up in the morning with my cum stuffing you full and pregnant with my babies.” You growl against ‘Yana’s lips and she cries out.

Your confession triggers a second orgasm for Illyana, which triggers your climax. You groan roughly, your cock’s pulsing and twitching as you dump load after load of cum in Illyana, painting her walls white with your substance.

You both collapse, bodies suddenly drained and sore from this nasty, messy exercise. Illyana lays on top of you, her head rests against your chest where she can hear your pounding heartbeat. Her face is flushed to the max, she’s sweaty everywhere, her makeup is ruined, her thighs are sticky and her hair isn’t as neat and put together like before.

You’re equally a fucked-out mess as well, your skin is also overheating to the max and it feels like you’re burning from the inside out. You try to steady your breathing and your racing heart, choosing to not think about the fact that you’re still buried in Illyana’s sweet goodness.

You caress a hand down Illyana’s back, drawing soothing shapes to ease and distract her. You stare up at the ceiling of the spawn room, your chest is heaving up and down, then post-nut clarity hits you and now you’re slapping your hands on your face and groaning loudly into your palms.

What the fuck did you just do?

Illyana takes that as her cue to get off of you. She sits up, leans back and you peek through the cracks of your fingers as you watch the Blonde ascend herself off your spent cock, a ring of cream stains your base and shit that’s hot.

It comes out with a wet pop, prompting Magik to whimper slightly at the empty feeling. She places herself on your thighs, both of you watching as a thick glop of white spills from her puffy entrance.

She takes your semi-hard cock and uses the tip to push your seed back in her, you bury your face deeper into your palms and your noises get muffled.

Once satisfied, she fixes her disco leotard and unstraddles your lap. She settles on her knees, by your side and gazes as you make no attempt to collect yourself.

Her pupils follow the way your chest rises up and down, your skin stained black from her lipstick and red from her nails. You make no effort to heal them, and Illyana feels guilty about how deep she really scratched you.

Thankfully, she left no hand marks on your neck and if she did, they were already gone. Your thighs and groin area was soaked in you and Illyana’s mixed juices, also stained from her lipstick and shiny from your sweat.

Unexpectedly, ‘Yana helps tidy you up. Her touch is gentle and almost hesitant as she softly tucks you back into your boxers, zips and buttons your combat pants up and buckles your belt.

She relaxes a hand against your chest, brows frowning at the blooded and irritated flesh.

“Heal.” She simply says. “Please heal these.. I didn’t mean to cut that deep..”

Your arm is thrown over your eyes but you nod, confirming that you will.

Without looking, you reach your free hand out to rest on Illyana’s cheek, thumb stroking the teleporter’s face to reassure her.

She melts into your warming touch, wanting to stitch and drill this moment into her soul. But, all good things come to an end and you both still have a battle to finish.

Begrudgingly, Illyana lets go, bending over to press a sweet kiss to your abdomen one last time before pulling your top down and getting off the bed.

She summons her Soulsword, glances at you from behind her shoulder then teleports into the ongoing fight.

It takes about five minutes for you to actually recollect yourself, you paw at the leftover lipstick smudges, and when they don’t come off, you give up and leave them.

As soon as you step foot outside of spawn, Wolverine comes back from the dead, grumpy and pissed as he usually is.

He stomps his way over to you, suspicious as you stretch your limps and tweaked muscles.

“Where the hell have you been?” He gruffs, nose twitching at a certain scent.

“Got stuck.” You quickly lie. “Lost track of the team and had zero clue where you guys went.”

Logan hums, clearly not falling for your lie and isn’t even impressed. “You smell like Illyana. I said talk, not fuck, sport.”

You rub at the back of your neck, not really sure on what to say or how to respond. “It’s her way of talking, Logan. One of the few moments where I can get a glimpse of what's running through that pretty little head of hers.”

Logan’s face contorts to worry, and his fatherly instincts kick in to comfort you. “Bub—“

“EW!” Deadpool’s voice rings through, echoing off the walls. “IT SMELLS LIKE SEX IN HERE! WHO WAS FUCKING AND WHY WAS I NOT INVITED?!”

and listen. you knew, objectively, from the articles, from the photos. you knew he'd gotten tall. but knowing it and standing in front of it are two categorically different experiences.

he was across the room when you spotted him. talking to someone, head tilted slightly, that same unhurried stillness he'd had as a kid, that same patience, except now it was wrapped around a frame that made the guy next to him look like he was standing in a different scale. lavender hair, a black cap with a rabbit's face on it, scars on his face that you hadn't seen before, vertical line down his right eye, a horizontal one crossing his cheek and nose.

the scars made something tighten in your chest, but you didn't look away.

he turned before you got the chance to decide what to do. like he already knew where you were standing.

those red eyes found you across the room and his mouth curved into that soft, gentle smile. quiet. easy. like nothing in the world.

"hey," he said, when he drifted over, because of course he came to you first, of course he did. his voice was lower than you remembered. "it's been a while."

"yeah," you said. "it really has."

you had to look up at him.

you didn't know what to do with that.

"you got tall," you said, because you're an idiot apparently and his smile didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. something warm and slow and patient, like he'd been waiting for you to say exactly that.

"you told me i would," he said.

you don't actually remember who suggested leaving. maybe it was mutual. the details blurred together in the specific way that details do when something is already inevitable and your brain knows it before your mouth catches up. what you remember is the ride over, the easy quiet of it, the way he sat with his arm resting in the open window and didn't fill the silence with anything.

you remember thinking that the innocent spark was gone. not cruelly. just gone, grown over with something else, something quieter and more knowing and entirely more dangerous.

you remember the door closing behind you and him turning around in your apartment, taking in the space with that same unhurried attention he gave everything, and then looking at you.

"so," you started.

"you used to put your hand on my head," he said.

just like that. no preamble. and you felt heat crawl up your neck.

"bunny…"

"to show how much shorter i was." he stepped toward you, easy and slow, like he had all the time in the world, because he did, because he always did. "you thought it was funny."

"it was, like… playful. i wasn't trying to be mean."

"i know," he said. he was so close now and you were doing something embarrassing with your breathing. "i know you weren't."

he lifted his hand and set it flat on top of your head.

the warmth of his palm. the gentle, deliberate pressure. the way he held it there for just a second, easy and certain, while you stood under it and felt the bottom drop out of your stomach.

"look at that," he said softly.

and without warning he kissed you.

it wasn't rough. not at all. it was slow and careful and somehow that was so much worse, the way his mouth moved against yours with that total patience, one big hand cradling the back of your head like you were something he'd been thinking about putting down for a very long time.

you made a small sound against him and he swallowed it without urgency.

"bunny," you managed, when he pulled back just enough, "you're…"

"i know," he said quietly.

he walked you back until your knees hit the bed and when you sat down the height difference hit you all over again. he was still standing and you were looking up at him. something about that made heat pool directly between your legs, embarrassingly fast.

he took his cap off, set it aside. looked down at you with those soft red eyes.

"can i?" he asked.

"yeah," you breathed. "yeah, obviously. come here."

he was so careful undressing you that it almost made things worse. hands finding buttons, fabric, his fingers warm and unhurried, like he was studying each new thing. when he got your shirt off he looked at you for a moment without touching, just looking, with an expression you couldn't fully parse. not hunger exactly. something deeper than that. something that had been waiting.

"you're staring," you said.

"i know," he agreed, like it wasn't an accusation.

his hands moved to your hips and he laid you back, settled over you and then you understood it properly. the size of him. the way he blocked out the ceiling. he held himself up on one forearm. his free hand moved down between you, fingers pressing through the fabric of your underwear.

"oh," you breathed.

"yeah?" he said softly.

"yes, yeah, bunny, god…"

he pressed harder, slow circles, watching your face the whole time with that gentle focused attention, like you were interesting to him, like your reactions were something he was cataloguing. you squirmed under his hand and he let you, patient and unhurried while you got wet and desperate against his fingers.

"please," you finally said.

"please what?"

"you know what."

his mouth curved into that soft, quiet smile. "i want to hear you say it."

you exhaled. "please, bunny. please, i want you to…"

he moved your underwear aside and slid two fingers into you, steady and certain, your back arching off the bed.

"fuck," you choked out.

"there you go," he said, like you'd done something right.

he worked you open slowly, curling his fingers in a way that made your thighs shake, mouth dropping to your neck, your collarbone, your chest, pressing soft careful kisses while you fell apart on his hand. no urgency. complete patience. the most infuriating patience you'd ever experienced.

"bunny i swear to god if you don't…"

"if i don't what?" another curl of his fingers. you made a sound that embarrassed you.

"please," you said again. "please, i need you, please."

"as you wish," he said simply.

he took his time with that too. lining himself up, pressing forward slowly. you felt every inch of it, the stretch of him filling you open and the low broken sound that came out of your mouth you absolutely couldn't help. he was so big, not just tall, and the pressure of it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

"s'too… hah… a lot," you gasped out.

"you can take it," he said, low and quiet against your temple. not a command. a fact. stated with complete certainty. "you can take it."

he was right. god help you, he has to be right.

when he finally bottomed out he held still, letting you adjust, you could feel your pulse everywhere. your hands gripping his shoulders, his skin warm and solid under your fingers. he pressed a kiss to the side of your face, unhurried.

"okay?" he murmured.

"move," you managed. "please, move."

and so he did.

long slow rolls of his hips at first that pushed the air out of you each time, the pressure building steady and relentless. you found yourself arching up to meet him, chasing it. his breathing was controlled, measured, because of course it was, while yours was already ragged. the sounds of it, wet and rhythmic, filled the room and your face went hot with it, hotter still when he shifted his angle and found something that made your vision blur.

"there," you gasped out. "bunny, there, don't stop…"

"yeah," he said softly. "i've got you, princesa."

the pace built gradually, like everything he did, slow becoming something steadier, something that had weight to it, each thrust pushing you up the bed slightly, the headboard meeting the wall in a dull rhythm. you were talking, you realised distantly, broken syllables that weren't quite words, yesyesyes and please and his name spilling out of you with no real control. he watched your face the whole time. those red eyes, soft and focused and patient. the scars on his face catching the low light.

"you're close," he said.

"yes," you managed. "bunny, yes, please…"

he reached between you, thumb finding your clit, pressing in slow circles while he kept that steady rolling pace and you completely lost the thread of yourself. the orgasm built in your legs first, tightened through your core and when it broke it broke hard. your thighs clamping around him, your voice cracking on his name, your whole body shuddering through it while he fucked you through every second of it without stopping.

when you came down you were shaking. he kept moving, slower now, easier, his breath finally uneven against your shoulder.

"i'm gonna…" he started.

"yeah," you breathed. "yeah."

he pressed deep when he came, held there, a low quiet exhale against your neck. everything still.

the room smelled like sex and warm skin. the sheets were a disaster. your thighs were still trembling faintly if you paid attention.

he was on his back beside you, that same unhurried stillness, one arm behind his head, red eyes on the ceiling. you lay there trying to remember how breathing worked as a normal automatic function.

the silence sat between you, not uncomfortable. just full.

"bunny," you said eventually, staring up at nothing.

"mm."

"i missed you."

a pause. he turned his head to look at you, and his expression was that same soft, unreadable thing, the thing you hadn't been able to name back then and still couldn't quite name now.

"i missed you too," he said.

then he reached over and set his hand flat on the top of your head. slow. deliberate. warm.

held it there.

and you felt it go all the way through you, the quiet weight of it, the patience in it, something that had been waiting years to mean exactly this, that gentle pressure that said i told you so without a single word, that said look at that, that said now you know, and underneath it all, something that sounded almost like mine and almost like finally and entirely like him.

Taglist: @inu1gf @143-ilyuu @irethepotato @mikemsmm @bbladie @sky-casino @thetwinkims @elemayooooooo @angelhqlo1111

“do you ever wish you had like… muscle?” 

the question was silly, especially when directed towards sae itoshi. he looked up from his spot on the couch, his piercing eyes following you as you sat beside him, curling into his side, your cheek pressed against the meat of his bicep. 

“what?” he gave you a look of confusion and slight annoyance, eyes finding yours as you looked up again. 

you blinked, shrugging your shoulders and pressing your cheek impossibly closer to his arm. “i mean, do you ever wish you were jacked? like that teammate of yours with the different coloured eyes. aiku, or whatever.” 

were you being serious? your face was literally pressed deep against his bicep which, he supposed in comparison to aiku were smaller, but they weren’t nonexistent, not in the slightest. his body tensed, a heavy scoff leaving his mouth as he rolled his eyes at you, his gaze now deadset on the tv in front of him.

“you’re actually fucking crazy.” 

sae wasn’t paying attention to whatever random background noise he’d thrown on, he was focused on the way you shrugged, mumbling something under your breath before letting go of his arm and slouching into his lap. 

it had all started as a tease, a stupid tiktok trend you were naive enough to think your boyfriend would be able to call bullshit on the second you spoke. 

but oh were you wrong. 

your head tipped back onto his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed together as you brought your hand up to curl around his bicep which was pressed against your neck, your head in the clouds each time he flexed it, the muscle putting pressure against your throat.

“sae..” you breathed, your words folding into a moan as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of your hole. 

“still wanna ask your dumb questions?” he simply scoffed, tightening his arm around where he had you in a headlock.

his fingers moved faster, the wet noises a melody to his ears as it mixed with your whines. “think you’re so funny comparing me to that nobody.” 

you wanted to chirp back, dig yourself a deeper hole. but, before you could even form a thought, sae curled his fingers up, the pads of his ring and middle finger plunging deep into that spot that made your vision go bleary with stars. 

“shit, sae!” you cried out, dropping your hand to curl around his wrist, hoping to slow his overwhelming movements even if just for a second. he didn’t stop, he simply lowered his head slightly to press his lips by your ear.

“let go.” he whispered, squeezing his arm hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut, your wrist limping down to his thigh. “atta girl. can feel you squeezing around me. you close?”

you nodded as best you could, your movement limited by the way he held you, your mind working overtime just to keep you conscious in the moment. you barely processed the way he nipped at your ear, littering kisses all the way down the side of your neck. 

“admit it.” 

you made out his words, your face twisting in confusion. “what?” 

“admit you were fucking with me.” he huffed, thrusting his fingers impossibly faster. “admit you like my fucking arms.” 

your chest was heaving as you began to lose it, your head dizzy from his arm limiting your oxygen. you were fighting to find the words, your hand shooting up to grip his arm, your fingers wedging themself in between to give you a bit of relief. 

“love ‘em, sae,” you moaned softly, your words light and airy. “so fucking- big!”

before he could tease you further, one more curl of his hand and you screamed his name, your mind fuzzy as your orgasm hit, your release spilling down his hand and onto his wrist.

you could hear sae let out a breath as he felt you pulse around his digits, only pulling out when he felt you go limp against him. 

“did so good, beautiful.” he mumbled, starting to loosen his grip around your neck. 

but to his surprise, your fingers tightened around the muscle, keeping it in place and maintaining a soft pressure that had you relaxing into him further, the warmth radiating off of him and onto you. eventually he felt your breaths slow, your body relaxed as you fell asleep. 

sae shifted your bodies, getting comfortable on his side as he brought you down with him, his arm still unmoving as he held you, smiling to himself as he felt a bit of your drool roll down his skin. 

feel free to request anything and everything bluelock!

Alexis Ness did not know how to ration affection.

He gave it the way he believed in magic—whole, radiant, unashamed.

It showed everywhere.

In the way his body oriented toward yours without thought.

In the way his smile—perpetually playful, perpetually sharp—lost all mischief when his eyes found you.

In the way his hands hovered close, trembling with restraint, like he was afraid that if he touched you too deliberately the spell might break.

He saved things for you.

Not carefully—instinctively.

A chocolate bar pressed into your palm before you could refuse.

A jacket shrugged off his shoulders and wrapped around you mid-sentence.

A seat claimed beside him, knees brushing, heat pooling, his gaze flicking down as if gravity itself had betrayed him.

You noticed.

Everyone did.

Alexis Ness loved like a man incapable of subtlety.

Still—you hesitated.

Because history whispered.

Because patterns existed.

You loved your body. You did.

You loved its softness, the way it curved and settled, the warmth of it, the honesty of it. You took up space without apology.

But the world had taught you who athletes were supposed to choose.

So when Alexis looked at you like you were something miraculous, you told yourself he was just kind.

Until one night—

late, quiet, the city holding its breath—

he walked you home and didn’t stop to think.

You were mid-sentence, keys in hand, when he turned suddenly, eyes blazing, breath sharp—and kissed you.

No warning.

No permission asked.

His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding it back for years—like restraint had finally snapped. His hands found your waist, firm, grounding, reverent all at once, fingers sinking into you as if confirming something real, something undeniable.

For one stunned heartbeat, the world ceased.

Then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath shaking, eyes shining too brightly to be contained.

“I’m in love with you,” he said—abrupt, fierce, breathless.

Not a question.

Not a plea.

A truth hurled into the open like a spell spoken aloud.

“I didn’t plan to say it like that. I didn’t plan anything. I just—”

His laugh broke, fragile and wild.

“I love you. I love you. I couldn’t keep pretending it was quieter than this.”

Dating Alexis was like being adored without pause.

He loved you out loud.

He learned you greedily—the way you drank your tea, the hour sleep tugged at you, the snacks you pretended not to crave. He showed up with bags full of offerings like a devotee, eyes lit with triumph.

“You mentioned this once,” he’d say, pleased.

“You deserve it.”

He kissed you shamelessly.

Your cheeks in public.

Your forehead in passing.

The corner of your mouth when you were distracted.

As if loving you was a declaration he refused to soften.

And your body—he worshipped it.

Not cautiously. Not conditionally.

But like something sacred.

His hands traced you slowly, lovingly, mapping every curve as if engraving them into memory. He held you like you were something precious and powerful, like your weight in his arms was proof of reality.

“You’re beautiful,” he’d murmur, voice thick, face pressed to your stomach.

“You feel like something real. Like proof the world is kind.”

When you sat on his lap, he held you proudly.

When you leaned into him, he smiled like he’d been chosen by fate itself.

He spoiled you—openly, happily.

Clothes when yours wore thin.

Blankets when he noticed you liked being wrapped up.

Small objects he insisted carried meaning.

“This one feels like your laugh.”

“This one reminds me of how you exist.”

And when doubt slipped in—quiet and careful—you barely finished voicing it before he stilled.

“Athletes usually want different girls,” you said softly.

Alexis turned to you like you’d spoken heresy.

He cupped your face, hands warm, insistent, eyes burning with something feral and tender.

“I don’t want different,” he said fiercely.

“I want you. I want the way you take up space. I want the warmth, the softness, the truth of you. I want the parts people overlook because they don’t know how to believe.”

His voice cracked, raw.

“I spent my whole life believing in things everyone told me were imaginary. Magic. Miracles. Love that doesn’t abandon you.”

He swallowed.

“You’re not an exception. You’re the proof.”

Loving Alexis meant being chosen in daylight.

His hand found yours in public and never let go.

His gaze warned the world—not with jealousy, but certainty.

At night, he folded you into his chest and spoke truths meant only for the dark.

That you calmed him.

That you quieted something ancient and aching.

That when he imagined the future, you were already there—inevitable as fate.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered once, half-asleep.

“Not because you need me. Because I want to.”

And you believed him.

Because Alexis Ness loved like someone who had waited his entire life to find something real.

And when he did—

He loved it loudly.

©an1m320v3r

This one has been in my drafts for a while now.

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