sky

Tch…Toji’s scarred lips curl without him even realizing it. He’d noticed you the second you stepped into the rink - he always did. The second you’d stepped into his life, the second you’d stepped out of it. It was like this undeniable tug at the pit of his stomach, this rush of victory, this sudden warmth that he couldn’t explain - and couldn’t quite imitate no matter how many layers he wore.

Not that he would reminisce, of course. 

You’d met at one of his games—and to this day, no matter how many other matches he played in, he still considers that one of his best. It was in the feeling that you gave him - that game felt different. It was.

His eyes kept drifting to where you sat behind the plexiglass, and his skates have never glided smoother across the ice. It was a win for the records. After the game, Toji himself had been mulling over whether or not he should approach that pretty university student that had been shouting his name throughout the entire game- when you yourself had shyly walked up to him in the fan-signing section.

Steps tentative, a book crushed to your chest.

You’d asked him for an autograph in that sweet voice—and he’d scribbled his number out then and there. Media training be damned.

And when he’d asked you who your favorite player was- lo and behold, you’d replied that it was…Shiu Kong. He doesn’t think he’s laughed louder in his life.

That was also the game that got him on the radars of national team scouts.

You’d dated for a year. Almost exactly.

And to be transparent, it’s already been six months since the two of you broke up. Over some…honestly, he doesn’t even remember properly. He knew it had to do with his updated training regiment and the way he’d been pushing himself during the Olympics drafting season - and because of it, Toji knew he fucked up. He knew he missed dates, missed quality time, missed milestones. Barely came home from the rink.

You didn’t even care about that, he thinks. You wanted him to pace himself and take some breaks, he thought that sounded like a nightmare. Eventually, the last straw had been when he’d missed your one-year anniversary, and it’d accumulated into an explosive argument- that, he could remember.

He’s gotten better since then, he thinks.

But Toji was just about as over it as any man would be over the love of his life- fuck, did he really get his cringe after the break-up? That probably wasn’t good for his health. But it’s just that…he hasn’t felt that particular rush of victory ever since you left.

Not even when he was chosen for the official Japanese ice hockey team, not even when they landed in Milan, not even when they progressed to the finals.

But today…

The fucking finals of the Olympics and he was sitting on the players’ bench before the game, scouring the stands for but a glimpse of you. The fuck have you done to him? 

He could feel that surge of warmth, however. As though every fibre of his body had long since attuned to you, wasn’t whole without y- fuck off. The point was that you were somewhere here.

And Toji was reminded of those days you’d be sitting in the very first row of his games- front and center, waving a banner with his number, wearing one of his red jerseys. ZENIN—it would say on the back. Not one from the merchandise store, of course, though those sold out so fast that even Toji himself wouldn’t be able to get his hands on one.

So his eyes slid along the first rows of fans. The turnout was incredible.

Japan vs. the US. 

And Toji could guise his sudden alertness towards the audience as checking for any distractions in the stands - he didn’t want to be off his game during the fucking finals, now, did he? Especially not considering that their newest recruited defense player was…

But he knew that was bullshit.

Nothing ever threw Toji Zenin off his game.

And yet…and yet once he spotted you - seated amongst a clump of blue-wearing supporters on the other side of the rink, right opposite where he sat on the players’ benches - he couldn’t help the sudden jitter that ran through his body. Honestly, he thinks he might just break that streak of (substantiated) overconfidence before a match-

Fuck, how beautiful you were. 

Just as beautiful as the day he lost you, it makes everything almost move in slow-motion. If this were a movie - and it somewhat feels like one right about now - then the music would swell, and Toji’s eyes would turn to hearts, and perhaps there’d be a dance number or two and then a montage of-

Bullshit, bullshit! Toji Zenin wasn’t thrown off his game.

Toji Zenin was unaffected by your presence- and the fact that you were wearing a jersey clearly representing the other team. He didn’t fucking care.

He didn’t. Not even about the fact that you were currently in the middle of a very heated argument with one of the US players. Blond hair. Black tips. Shorter than him. Not even by how close you leaned into him. And Toji doesn’t bother to wipe the scowl off of his face as he perks his ears in your direction - one could never be too sure whether you were trading secrets with this e-boy blue-team boyfriend of yours.

You would never, to be clear, but just- just let him fucking evesdrop-

“—can’t believe you would do this to me.” Your voice carries, and the little tremor in your tone makes his eyes widen.

Sure enough, he could see the glimmer of tears in your eyes.

You’re rising up from your seat slightly, and it draws the attention of fans around you. Seething, “I can’t believe you would-”

“Shhhhhhhh—” The man has the audacity to bring a finger to his lips and shush, likely louder than you were being in your controlled tone. Trembling, but controlled. His half-blond bangs sway just a little as he looks towards his own team and coaches, then back towards you. “You’re being crazy right now.”

“I’m being crazy?” Laughing in disbelief. Holding up a phone that seemed to be the other man’s, presumably given to you for safe-keeping during the match. “I’ve seen the messages, and you say I’m being crazy-”

“You are. You’re acting hysterical and I need you to calm down.” Toji couldn’t see the man’s ugly face, as he had his back turned towards the benches. But he could see every bit of how this particular sentence made your expression crumple- “Look I don’t know what you think you saw on those texts, but it isn’t what you think it is. It’s locker talk- I went out with the other players, got some drinks, met some fans and…nothing happened with any-”

“You’re cheating on me-”

“You’re paranoid.”

Your eyes flash, “But-”

“You know I always hate to talk to you like this, baby. I really do.” He reaches up and puts a pale hand on the plexiglass, “But you’re just being paranoid. And I don’t want to call you insecure, but-”

“Don’t you dare—” You’re standing up now.

“See? This is exactly what I mean.” From the ruffling of his uniform, Toji could tell he was crossing his arms. Oh, how he wished this son of an asshole would turn around right now- just turn around and let him get a good look at what gave him the right. His cruel lips curl just a little bit in a way that just looked so familiar. It makes his blood boil. “You’re being crazy.”

And Toji sees the exact moment you furl in on yourself. “But…” It makes his fists clench.

Before he knows it, he’s gritting his teeth so hard he tastes metal.

“I’m a hockey player, baby, I’ve gotta network.” With such a tone of finality, he ends off—“Stop being so hysterical, and maybe we can have a civil conversation after.” The man kicks his blades into the ice and starts to push off, “Cheer for me loud during the game. My teammates are going to be watching.”

You don’t say a thing.

But he does, “You’re lucky you’re dating me, y’know?”

And that’s when Toji’s eyes finally fall to the text upon the man’s uniform.

ZENIN.

He knows who it is even before he turns—and Toji falters. Not out of reconsideration, or anxiety, or fear - but out of the sheer surprise that ah, this was going to be convenient.

Because Toji Zenin knew the bastard - more than he would have liked to.

Naoya Zenin was a part of his past whether he wanted to or not. He was the snot-nosed, bratty second heir to Zenin Industries that would hide behind corners and snicker to himself whenever Toji got caught sneaking out to the arena again. Whenever he was told off for going against Zenin family values - against his duty to become the head of their sport equipment business - by whichever higher-up happened to be feigning for a stress outlet that day.

Short and sweet, Toji Zenin wasn’t supposed to become an ice hockey player—let alone the fucking best in the country. But he digresses.

And how fucking hilarious was it that the (second) heir to a family so vehemently against Toji becoming an ice hockey player…also became an ice hockey player? He had an inkling this would happen - when Naoya’s mean-spirited amusement turned into surveillance attempting to catch him sneaking out of the estate, turned into watching him play at the local arena. Turned into awe.

He knew the boy was stunned ever since the first time he watched Toji play. And he never laughed when Toji was caught after that day.

But it seems that that still hadn’t stopped the kid from growing up into a fucking asshole like the rest of them.

He was damn glad he’d escaped from that household the very second he’d gotten an offer from a local team, the Tokyo Ice Bucks. Though a morbid part of him wished he’d stayed just long enough to be there for when Naoya announced that he, too, wanted to become just like their disgraced once-heir. How he wished he could’ve seen the reactions of his high-strung relatives, his uptight family friends, his parents, his council—though, seemingly it hadn’t worked out too bad for Naoya.

As he climbed up the ranks, he’d heard through the grapevine that his cousin had been sent to some of the most expensive training centers in the world. Ultimately getting signed onto a team in the US (though the hefty sum his family had paid likely helped, but those were just rumors of sports business…). He also knew that the other man had gotten naturalized recently, getting chosen for the Olympics team. He knew it all.

Toji just didn’t know that Naoya would also be your fucking boyfriend.

“Major scene, eh?” Kusakabe clatters himself down on the bench, slightly winded after a practice run. He fixes the laces on his ice skates, “I saw your ex-girlfriend there, she’s gotten even more beautiful. She seemed to be arguing with-”

“Mhm.” Replying absent-mindedly, Toji stands.

“Something about cheating- what a fucking bastard. Doesn’t deserve her, but then again neither did you.”

“I know.”

And Kusakabe frowns, “Does she know that she’s dating your weirdo estranged cousin?”

“No fuckin’ clue.”

“Oi…” Comes the slightly wary tone at Toji’s swift, dismissive responses—Kusakabe looks up at his teammate. “Don’t do something stupid.”

But Toji doesn’t answer, too fixated on watching the remains of your argument with Naoya: you sitting down weakly in your chair, looking around to make sure no one notices as you wipe away the tears in your ears before they overspill. He sees red.

He shoots up to a stand.

“Oi-” Kusakabe’s more panicked tone echoes across the ice- did Toji already get inside the rink? He was skating on the ice before he even registered it. “Oi, fuck-face. Asshat. Toji—”

But Toji’s eyes were set on one thing, his ears were listening for the commentator announcing the imminent start of the game.

“Toji, don’t do something stupid-”

And maybe he was stupid. Because it wasn’t for nothing that Toji Zenin was named the most feared man on the ice by The Hockey News just this year. He stood big. He stood tall. He stood unafraid to fight his entire childhood, so why should he be afraid to fight on the ice?

234 fights since the start of his ice hockey career.

234 fights won.

And right now the man wasn’t afraid to get blood on his hands, even if it suspended him.

Their coach barks at the rest of the Japanese team to get into position, and it’s a blur as he bends low at the faceoff spot, awaiting the referee to release the puck. Toji Zenin: captain of the Japanese Ice Hockey team.

His eyes shift past the US captain before him—to where Naoya Zenin was lined up as well. And he can see the precise, exact moment that the other man registers- and a shiver courses down his spine.

The puck drops.

It goes to the Japanese team.

Toji swoops the puck using the blade and attacks between the forwards- pitiful, honestly. He could almost let out a slight burst of laughter as he senses the dumbfounded looks on their faces—and yet, he doesn’t spare them a single glance backwards as he races between members of the other team. Past center. Past forward.

 A right-winger attempts to steal the puck. He’s ignoring Kusakabe’s call to pass and toe-dragging around his bland-faced opponent to skate right past. Right winger. Left winger. 

The forward surpassed yet again.

At the speed of light, screaming audience members meld into one.

All but you.

You—you’re all that’s on his mind as Toji makes it unscathed up to the defense- past left defense. 

Until he’s left facing the very man he hasn’t seen in ten years. Eyes like his, though they were dark and widened in fear - somewhere in the far distance of the stadium, Toji hears one of the commentators make a remark about their relation. He doesn’t listen.

He feints the puck slipping out from the leash of his hockey stick for a split-second—just long enough for excitement to flicker in Naoya’s eyes and for his own hand jerk to claim it. Only to smile- hah, you fucking thought.

And Toji’s slamming at the back of the puck - straight into the net of the goal.

Bursts of cheers and commentary as the Japanese men’s ice hockey team scores the first goal of the Olympic finals. Fans getting up onto their feet. Hands high in the air.

But Toji’s own curls into a fist that meets Naoya Zenin’s jaw.

The sickening sound of bone crushing against flesh, knuckles - it’s never sounded sweeter in Toji’s ears. The baffled man is on the floor before he can even register what happened. Thud! There’s a gasp that echoes throughout the stadium, before the two-toned man haplessly attempts to get up and get at least one hit in for his own dignity—but it’s too late, he raises a feeble hand but it falls. Meanwhile Toji pummels punch after punch.

Hard enough that it makes the ice floor shudder.

Long enough that the referee glides over and their team starts surrounding them.

Naoya’s now spread-eagle on the floor and sobbing for mercy, which Toji genuinely didn’t hear - he genuinely didn’t. Couldn’t. His ears were ringing and his eyes were seeing red- no, they were seeing that vision of you wiping away your tears.

His prominent knuckles met the swoops and structure of Naoya’s face, features that he can’t deny make him wonder…did you see Toji in him? The proud slash of his mouth. The high cheekbones of the Zenins.

It made something twist within him to think that not only might you have seen Toji in him- but then he would’ve betrayed you as such. As if Toji ever would.

Naoya made you cry.

He couldn’t beat this fucker harder.

It takes four of his own teammates to pull him off.

And by then, even the commentators had stopped speaking, the audience watching in a mix of interest and horror. Their hands on their mouths. Toji staggers onto his feet and yet his hands were still clenched - still twitching as though he was in the middle of the fight.

Kusakabe’s nails dig into his skin even through those thick uniforms, and he’s muttering something in his ear about the referee and a five-minute timeout. But Toji doesn’t care.

Toji isn’t looking at the referee, or the coach, or any of his teammates.

He turns his head over his shoulder to look at you—

You with your mouth agape, your eyes fixated reciprocatively on him, your blue jersey taken off to reveal your normal clothes underneath. There was a slight tremor in your body as you take in your ex-boyfriend, Toji. 

Victorious from beating up your cheating boyfriend. 

And the black-haired man can only smirk.

He tastes iron, and it’s only then that he realizes he had a nosebleed. Dripping from his left nostril and down across his lips, his garish grin; not from a single thing Naoya did, of course - that fucker hadn’t even gotten a single hit in…Toji was almost reconsidering whether the bastard was a Zenin at all - but perhaps from his teammates fighting against his fighting, perhaps from his sheer anger, perhaps just from looking at you for the first time in six months.

Even from here, he could see the slightest snippet of your bra strap peeking out from underneath your t-shirt.

It was the Japanese national ice hockey team red.

Or more like, Toji Zenin red.

He smirks even wider.

.

.

.

Needless to say, Naoya Zenin was carried out of the game in a stretcher.

Toji didn’t feel any regret about it - not even a single speck. His penalties still applied as well- for about five minutes before he was back to kicking ass in the finals. Metaphorically, this time. 

He was about to show them why exactly he’d become the captain of the national team in such a short time.

And he could take on whatever shit they were commenting about a ‘family feud’ and a ‘beau stuck in the middle’ (who the hell even told them that? He was sure it must’ve been that loudmouth Kusakabe) if only…every time he circled the perimeter of the rink, he could see that smile of yours through the plexiglass screen. No banner with his name, but still cheering him on in a sea of blue.

Also needless to say—Japan won gold at this year’s Olympics for men’s ice hockey. 

The celebrations were overpouring - streamers, confetti, fans attempting to jump their way into the rink. This was about tenfold the intensity of celebrating any local game they’d won, and yet…his eyes were anywhere but on the commentators, the audience, the teammates that were huddling around him. 

Toji was turning his dazed head left and right- only attempting to find you.

“We won—” Kusakabe yelled out at him, giving him a hefty thump on the back and pulling the man into his embrace. “We fucking won, you asshat-”

“We did.” Toji’s lips felt parched. He couldn’t see a single sign of you through the chaos. “I think.”

They - meaning the rest of the team, with their captain tacked-on and looking slightly astray ever since he lost sight of you - celebrated for the pictures, for the podium. They celebrated on the ice and off it.

Eventually, the celebrations extended past the rink and towards their locker rooms. It was a sprawling room that’d been especially constructed; white walls and wood-panelled furnishings, even whiter ceilings that gloried down even more spotless racks for each, swathing the end of the room in a semi-circular fashion. It was where they kept their helmets and their jackets, took them off like armor after such a win. Towards the other end of the chamber were the stalls where they showered, large enough to house a small group in each of them, with benches of clean wood.

The tile beneath was colorless except for five familiar rings intertwined, spreading their wings from one end of the locker room where the showers were—and down to the benches where the celebration had bled out. 

The players had long since filtered out to celebrate with food and family, except for one particular captain of which he had no family visiting. But also because he was getting his final warnings on pulling such a stunt like that…

“—I have no idea what-” Coach Shiu Kong peers through his stern eyebrows at the man seated on the bench, his head bowed low. “-or who triggered you to start enforcing like that, but know that you are walking on very thin ice.”

If Toji hears the other man - his best friend - then he doesn’t show any sign of it.

“Their defender practically needed to be hospitalized.” Shiu sighs, “I don’t give a shit if you beat the boy up, but keep it within guidelines. I overheard some of the officials discussing whether we should’ve given you a much tougher penalty.”

At that, Toji flinches.

“A much tougher penalty.”

Being a player himself not too long ago, however, Shiu could understand the other man somewhat. And he knows the captain would do it all again. 

Gladly.

Toji remains silent, and Shiu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look- you’re lucky you got off with a five-minute penalty this time. Insanely lucky. Next time you’re not gonna be so lucky, so I suggest you keep your fists to yourself.” 

“Tch…” Their star player wrinkles his nose and looks away.

To which Shiu claps him on the shoulder, “Look, you did good out there.” Looking closely at the other man, “And I know the girl- I’ve seen her around practice when you used to bring her, before she stopped coming around. Gorgeous. But keep your head on straight.”

One final clap. “You did good.”

Before he, too, leaves.

The locker doors swing behind him. And then there was one.

As the celebrations raged on outside, Toji doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench - thinking to himself. About what? Everything and anything. He couldn’t quite pinpoint one thought before it flowed into the next one, and even then just as he’d register it—suddenly it was speeding into the next. Aqueous. 

But one thing was for sure, they were all about you.

You.

You.

You.

Knock-knock-knock.

Who the hell knocks on locker room doors?

Slightly bemused and perhaps wondering whether this was a paparazzi hoping for a good shot, Toji leans back in his seat and lets the knock reverberate. He doesn’t answer before the doors are clicking open, and a set of footsteps ring across the vast, dampened chamber - a set of footsteps that he’s memorized far better than his own heartbeat.

It was you.

This realization doesn’t damper his shock a single bit as your head peeks ‘round the tiled corner. Breathing out an exhale of relief as you realize that he’s the only one there, you’re revealing yourself properly in his line of vision now.

“Oh, good.” And your voice- fuck, even your voice doesn’t feel real. It echoes slightly in the space, and makes you sound even more dream-like in Toji’s ears. “I didn’t feel like walking in here and seeing an eyeful of ice hockey dick.”

“Think about ice hockey dick a lot?” They’re the first words out of Toji’s mouth to you in six months, and suddenly he feels like banging his head against a wall. 

“You mean Naoya?” Your nose crinkles in distaste, and he feels like spitting. “Hell no—” He feels like laughing. “I told him we’re breaking up the second he got put on that stretcher.”

He startles himself with a guffaw, “As the bastard was being carried off?”

“As the bastard was being carried off.” You’re nodding, before awkwardly shifting on your feet. “I’m sorry.”

One of his brows raise, “For what?”

“I didn’t know he was your cousin. I just thought the last name was a coinci-”

“Nah- forget about it.” Waving off one hand - roughened with so many years of training, of holding a hockey stick as though a lifeline - in your direction. “No harm done, girlie. Guess that jus’ means you have a type- though obviously…” Toji stabs a finger in his direction, “-I’m the handsome one of the family.”

“As humble as ever, I see.” You tease.

“Always.” He shrugs in a nonchalant attempt, though his green eyes kept straying to you. “You look good.”

You’re meeting his eyes slowly. “You look good, too.”

And whatever he sees in your expression makes him gulp. “Fuck-” He whispers underneath his breath, reaching up and rubbing the burning back of his head. “Now, not that I mind ya being in the men’s locker room but…”

“O-oh.” You jump slightly, as though just now reminded of your objective. “I wanted to thank you.”

He’s taken aback. “Huh?”

“For…well not that I condone violence buuuut—” Averting your gaze from his, “I wanted to- thank you.”

“Y-yeah.” Breathless, “No harm done. The fucker didn’t deserve you anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a slightly challenging look in your eyes now, “I wonder who did.”

Toji Zenin then stands from his seat, and you’re taking a half-step back as if you’d forgotten just how much the athlete towered. His shoulders had gotten broader since the last time you saw him, fitting out the shape of his brand-new uniform snugly. His biceps bulkier. His hips more defined. His face more ruggedly handsome. His sage eyes sharper—and currently locked in on you…

“To be quite honest…” Toji starts, a slightly husky timbre to his tone, “I don’t think anyone did.”

You jut your chin up in defiance, “I disagree.”

“Clearly the current dating pool isn’t good enough if you ended up dating fucking Naoya of all people.” And was that a silent seething you could hear in his tone? “Never would I blame you for what he did, girlie. Never. I’m just wondering what the hell attracted you to him in the first place.”

And your hand’s reaching up to touch him- “I have…I have no idea.”

“Because don’t you know what you deserve?” His large right hand reaches out to cup your cheek tenderly- before he’s gliding it to the back of your neck and squeezing you meanly. “Tell me.” He tightens his fist and makes you look up properly at him, “Tell me what you deserve.”

To which you’ve just finished grabbing onto his red jersey. Tugging him to you—you’re walking backwards and dragging your ex-boyfriend with you. “Someone…handsome.”

He grins, “Mhmmmm?” Fingers tap-tap-tapping the cute column of your throat. “And what else?”

“Someone big n’ strong.” Step by step, you head towards the nearest vertical surface you can remember - one of those wooden partitions that separated the shower stalls from the changing area. “Someone really good at hockey.”

“Heh-” He fails to hide the glint in his eyes, “And?”

“Someone sweet, though he pretends not to be.” Giggling at his huff, “Someone interesting. Someone that opens up. Someone that won’t give up.”

“And?”

“Someone filthy rich-”

“Heh, gold-digger.”

“Someone that can change for the better for me.”

It’s with a quiet thud—! that you’re hitting the partition now- taking Toji with you. He braces himself with a large arm pressed on the area above your head, and from here you can ogle every single muscle, vein, and twitch.

Every single scorched pant as he leans in.

Blinking up at him, your heart races at the question you were about to ask. “Someone that’ll fuck me right?”

He smirks and you swear you can feel it against your mouth. “Why the question mark, doll?”

And then his lips are on yours.

Rushing. Ravenous. Famished.

Toji massages his scarred lips against yours, smacking at the taste of that dewy cherry lipgloss you had on. And he doesn’t hesitate for a single second before letting the tip of his tastebuds draaaaaaaag right down that gloss, humming. “Missed this taste.” He trails his right hand up to rest against the edge of your chin—widening the gap between your pretty lips n’ swiping his eager tongue in. Hot and open-mouthed.

Kissing you so filthy.

Toji fucking groans something feral as his tongue slips even deeper, reclaiming those velvety spots inside you. And as he feels your mouth water, feels your hips start to squirm, the ice hockey player can’t help but chuckle. 

Lifting his left hand off of the wooden surface to run down your front, managing you away from the partition and inside the stall. You’re walking blindly backwards, being led by solely his hands - nothing inside but the showerhead above and the wide open space. Toji pushes you against the cold tile and kisses you even more fervently—“Missed how wet she’d get just from kissing me.”

Cupping your pussy through your short, short skirt.

“Is she purring already?”

You gasp, “You can’t just say that-”

“What was that?” Toji cocks his head in near-innocent confusion, “Can’t hear you over her congratulations.”

“You fucking-”

The next thing you’re seeing is enough to knock the wind out of your lungs - and the words. And it’s not because of anything Toji says, it’s not because of his expressions or his gestures, or even the way he rubs the mountains of his palm against your clothed pussy—it’s because of the way he doesn’t hesitate before letting his knees hit the tiled ground with two deep thuds.

Fucking kneeling before you.

Toji throws your non-dominant leg over his shoulder, and bores up at you with half-lidded eyes. Heavy. Darkened with arousal- he wanted you so fucking bad.

He was a man deep in thirst.

In a single motion, the hockey player flips your skirt up n’ tucks the hemline into your waistband. 

It’s almost as if he’s in a daze - as if he’s hypnotized - as he brings his face closer to your throbbing core. Where your pussy was nearly beating out of your red panties—before Toji flares his nostrils and gives that dampened spot on your panties a gooooood sniff. “Mmm, s’like coming home.” Your mouth gapes as you wonder whether he even realized what he was saying- was it possible to even act so starved? So animalistic? Open-mouthed, he breathes out a scorching hot pant that makes your legs shake. “Shit—shit, shit shit-”

“What?” You squeak out in—well, perhaps in surprise, perhaps because of the way your ex-boyfriend doesn’t waste a second more before nudgin’ your legs apart and sticking his nose right between your clothed slit. Slurp! 

And his mouth merely opens with a gasp.

With a groan.

A sudden jolt courses through the hockey captain’s muscular body. And before you know it- before Toji himself knows it, he’s clasping onto either side of your hips and draaaagging your pussy all down his face. 

All across every handsome feature of his. It doesn’t matter if you still have panties on, he’s gaping his dampened maw wide open and saaaaalivating across every nook n’ cranny he could reach. That cute crevice of your pussylips growing even wetter as you start to feel his nosebridge rub uuuup and down, uuuup and down- up and down. 

Gurgling those sweetened wads of slick at the back of his throat as he ebbs himself even closer- “Oh my god, pretty girl…” And for a second there, you think he’s talking to you—only to find Toji pulling away with a squelch! of fabric. His half-lidded eyes remain fixated between your legs, and that sinful mouth of his glistens eagerly with your juices. “Fuck, oh my god-”

“Wh-what is it?” You’re squealing out, despite fully knowing that he’s talking to your pussy by now. Just your pussy.

And Toji croons upwards, his glazed eyes flickering towards you. “Your sorry excuse of a boyfriend doesn’t eat you out, does he?”

You gape.

How the fuck did he know?

“Because she told me- duh.” Toji rolls his verdant eyes as though the answer should’ve been obvious - the answer to a question you clearly don’t remember asking. Out loud, at least.

Although…your mind isn’t clear at all.

It’s so clouded by the way he massaged the top of your folds with his tongue. Those rugged, textured tastebuds flicking aaaaaall over your outer lips, dipping into the outline created by your slit. In and out. In and out.

It’s as though he was already attempting to fuck you through your damn panties- perhaps the only thing holding him back right now. Toji taps the flattened surface of his tongue across your sopping slit once he’s completely sure he’s slurped up every ounce of you there was to slurp-

“Can you hear her?” He utters hoarsely. And he doesn’t even need to wait for your response - Toji surges in once more in a way that was almost uncontrollable—“She’s purrin’ so much- heh.”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the cloying, clingy taste.

You were just so weeeeeet and warm.

“She’s been so neglected. Poor pussy.”

“Oh—” Your mouth drops.

And that’s the last thing you’re managing out before Toji tucks the rounded tip of his finger beneath your ruined red panties, making it snap- once before tuggin’ them aside and spitting. Letting the vertical line of saliva lubricate you a bit more for him to swab his tongue everywhere and anywhere—“She- she hasn’t been tasted like this in aaaaages.”

“I haven’t, I haven’t-” You sob.

That pointed chin of his plasters against your cunt, nearly hitting the back. And Toji’s pushed up so deeply against your pussylips that you’re wondering whether he even has the space to breathe- crushing his face between your folds. What was that saying about big noses? “She hasn’t been tongued the way she likes it.”

Wrenching your head off of where it’d been rested against the cold tile wall. “H-huh?”

With a growl, you’re shocked as his four thick fingertips come slammin’ down on your pussy. “Pay attention, doll.” And he’s juuuuust nudging aside your sensitive folds to lap up the sap leaking between them. Feeling that cute orifice of your hole that was just clenchin’ around him, “She hasn’t been tongued the way I know she likes it. Dirty girl.”

And you’re shivering as the very first inch of his girthy muscle slips inside your entrance. “Fuh-fuuuuck-”

“She hasn’t been tasted like she deserves.” He pants out between rovering movements with his head now, baaaaaack and forth. Baaaaack and forth. Faster each time. Deeper each time. “She hasn’t been spat on. She hasn’t even been fingered-”

“Fuh-fuuuuck, ngh—yes.” You’re keening out, your voice crackling dangerously. “I mean no- no, he didn’t.”

Feeling the leer of his lips against your other ones, something almost cruel to their shape. “I know.” His severe timbre - mixed with the scrape-scrape-scrape of those textured tastebuds inside you - make you see stars. No warning—and he’s reaching up to plaster the crown of his thumb against your throbbing clit. “And I’ll fuckin’ kill him for it.”

Without thinking much of it, you’re grabbing onto a handful of his jet-black hair and bowing your body forwards. “Toji—”

“Look at her.”

As though he wasn’t even hearing you right now- Toji’s eyes were widened, his voice slightly breathy. Both of his hands were positioned on either side of your cunt n’ spreading your puffy pussylips apart. “Fucking look at her…”

Toji’s tone was trembling.

Toji’s tone was wrecked.

And you’ve never seen the man knot his dark brows like this- as though he was at the feet of a shrine and worshipping you with looooong, deep thrusts into your wet cavern.

So watching him between your legs like this- you already knew that Toji was a ravenous eater from your relationship. But to hear him be so desperate?

You couldn’t help the next words that fall from your mouth, “N-Naoya always thought it was emasculating to-”

There’s a brief squelch then a smack!

He’s tugging his hands away from your stinging clit, before kissing all over it. Sucking. It made your knees weeeak to feel him unabashedly press up against your pulsing nub as he thrusted his tongue inside - sniffing, moaning, breathing you in. “How can ya have a pussy like this…” 

Letting his jaw droop even further open as he presses the tip of his tongue inside, swabbin’ into every geysering orifice. “How—?” He’s massagin’ your tight walls apart from one another, accelerating with every soft gasp you’re letting out. “How can ya have a pussy like this n’ not just fucking drown yerself in it?”

You’re bucking off of the frigid tile, leaking out a few more dewdrops of slick.

He moans as he watches that bead of translucence exit from your hole n’ cascade between your legs- “Some men die of thirst whilst others fucking- fuck, fist their cock to the thought of this pussy every night.” 

Excitement zips down your spine as you realize he’s talking about himself- every night? For six months straight? “Every-”

“Every night.” Toji affirms. “Six months straight. I thought about how many times I’d make you cum on my tongue.”

“Shit—” He’s then fucking your poor hole battered, harder than the strokes he had before. Those were just to fit the first few inches of him inside, these were to make your velvety pussy feel him.

“Every fuckin’ night. I missed this pussy soooooo—” Spitting. “-much. Every night, I thought about how much my poor girl must be missin’ me. Every night, I thought about how much better she’d taste than any sweet dessert in the world.”

“Toji—” Your whines rattle through the locker room. “Shit, it feels so good-”

“And it’s the fuckin’ least she deserves.” 

Without any further warning, Toji then slides the larger end of his thumb between your sopping wet slit. Collecting a few wads of your clingy juices, he’s pushing it back in—

“Fuck, she’s so tight.” He whispers underneath his breath, nose crinkling at the way your gooey walls immediately rush to clench around him. His tip being engulfed by the warmth. Not only were you sucking him in, but those cutely trembling hips of yours were jerkin’ off the wall expecting more, more, more- “She hasn’t been fucked properly in a while…”

And before you can even register it, he’s removing his thumb with a wettened plop! Rapidly replacing it with his lengthy middle finger, his index.

Scissoring those scouring tips open inside you.

Swabbing them into those ridges n’ sweet spots.

Letting them jostle against one another and against your most tender areas-

Fuck, you’re throwing your head back.

Those thoroughly thick fingers of his kept filling you up so much more than his tongue did, and you’re gnawing down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from making too much noise—even more than you already were. In and out. In and out.

How you missed the pleasurable burn of him stuffin’ you. 

The way it sends carnal shockwaves up your spine- especially every time he pushes past the shy squeezes of your first ring of muscle. The first restraint. 

“T-Toji…” You’re wailing out in that pretty tone that makes his ears perk up immediately, “Please—” Your hips rut upwards, “So close to…”

“Tch- d’you even have to ask?”

And you didn’t think that Toji Zenin was ever the type to forget anything to do with your cunt, did you? Did you? 

Because this wasn’t his first damn rodeo: you best believe that the first time Toji ever had the chance to feel you clenchin’ around his fingers, he took the time to memorize every nook and cranny inside. He’d mapped it all out.

He’d drilled it straight into his brain that if he quirked his fingers juuuuust so to feel the spongy depths of your roof- then shovelled his fingers along that pathway…juuuuust so. He’d be greedily swallowed up until his joints, and it’d only take a few more vulgar thrusts for him to locate that special bundle of nerves inside of you.

The one that made you see stars. The one that made you call his name out loud enough for the neighbors to hear-

“Heh…” He dares crack a smirk, “And he hasn’t found this spot yet, right?”

And right now, your prettily cracking whine was echoing across every corner of the locker room. “T-Toji—” He’d found your g-spot. Reeling his slick-glazed fingers back just enough to roughly push and push, to dig his rounded fingertips against that throbbing area. Constantly. “Right there- k-keep going. Right there-”

“Heh- keep going? You seriously ever thought I’d stop—?” The captain of the national theme looks genuinely baffled you’d asked, disbelieving of the words. Him? Stopping when you’re completely begging for him not to? “Doll, I’d rather fuckin’ die than let this pretty pussy down.” 

And with that said, Toji wraps his swollen lips around your clit once more.

He was stimulating you with twice the blissful waves now- once with his fingers probing into you and pinpointing each sensitive nerve inside you. The other through the wet smacks! of his lips, latching onto your knobbly clit and sucking as though the sweetest candy in the world.

You watch as Toji’s handsome cheeks hollow out because of his suctioning. His pretty pink lips were all glossed over with layers of your sploshin’ cunt, rolling drunkenly over that nub.

“I need you to cum on my tongue.” The black-haired man sputters against your wet, treacly cunt—his breaths becoming more n’ more ragged by the second. Tone thick, “I need you to cum on my fuckin’ tongue so bad-”

“M’so close—” You’re using the leverage you have on his sweaty bangs to tug him in even deeper- not that Toji could go even deeper.

But he smirks at your sheer desperation and you can feel the formulation of his expression against your sodden pussy. And that’s when your panties are being properly ripped off your hips- straight off. Clean. With his teeth. As you buck and gasp, he’s spitting out the useless lace remnants into his left hand and snakin’ it between his legs.

And you’re not quite sure - you can’t see beyond his hunched core - what Toji’s doing with that particular treasure. But by the way his biceps suddenly flex as though gripping something, by the way he lets out a sudden grooooooan deep into your pussy- you can already guess.

Toji’s sculptured arm starts flying up and down at a rapid pace.

In the same sloppy, striking cadence as he’s fuckin’ his tongue between your soft pussylips. He jerks himself off furiously, a thin line of sweat drizzling down his forehead the more, and more, and more-

“Toji, baby—” You’re whimpering out, tugging on his shaggy strands a bit to make him look at you. “M’gonna cum- so don’t stop, m’kay?”

“Has-” Panting out a murky breath, “Has he ever made you cum before?”

To which you’re almost embarrassed to shake your head, “N-no…”

“Can’t believe he’d- fuck.” Toji grumbles, his thick brows marrying together. Those sharp canines of his make an appearance as he snarls, “M’gonna kill that bastard. M’gonna fucking kill him-” Slapping the velvety underside of his tongue down-down-down—“But first m’gonna make you cum.”

And since the last time you saw him, Toji Zenin has learned to keep his promises. And he’s proving it.

Which is why it takes only a few more vicious strikes at the very bottom of your pussy - at the very target of your g-spot - for you to throw your head back n’ start shaking with your orgasm. The white-hot pleasure coursing through your every blood vessel makes you cry out, so much better than you remembered.

This wasn’t the same as idly prodding yourself with your vibrator while your boyfriend wasn’t home.

This makes you buck. This makes you gasp. “C-cumming—” Your thoughts coming belated to you as you’re riding out Toji Zenin’s handsome face, elongating your high on the prominent curve of his nose or the puffiness of his lips. “Cumming, Toji, shit…s’the best it’s ever felt.”

“Uh-huh?” He murmurs up wetly at you. “Only the best for m’girl.”

“Your girl?” And that makes something within you tremor almost as much as your orgasm.

“Shhhhh, and ride out your orgasm-” He’s talking you through those soaring peaks of your high - incredible. 

Because not only was Toji curving his fingertips just right against your g-spot, but he smirked against your clit and gently bit down on that nub.

You’re flinching upwards- never having experienced something so strong. At least, not in six months.

And it seems like forever before your high passes - not that you were complaining. That orgasm left you all heated and raw, feeling so wound-up that you honestly thought a mere brush of Toji’s fingers would be enough to get you cumming again.

Your overwhelming wave of pleasure is just barely finished before Toji stands up to his full height again.

Blinking away the tears in your eyes, you’re looking up at him. The slightly-dimmed lights of the locker room created the effect of a halo around his head- how ironic…because the way he’d made out with your pussy made you think of Toji to be someone from quite the opposite realm.

But you don’t get to comment on that right now.

No- you were too busy watching slack-jacked as he tugs off his national team jersey. 

And you’d already seen Toji shirtless before - of course, you have. You’ve already seen him in every state there was to see him—but it’s seeing him after so long that really makes your cunt twitch. Your eyes sweep across his broad shoulders, those toned pecs with a certain familiarity- you note that he still had that unruly line of his happy trail. It was deep black in color, a ruggedly handsome look to it as it started off at his abs then snaked all the way down, down, down…

His chiselled abs. His slightly-tanned skin.

The only real difference that you could’ve pointed out was that Toji, in fact, seemed a little…bigger than you remembered him. Bulkier. Beefier. Broader around his arms and his pecs.

And perhaps that was in part to do with memory- but more likely it was that his new training regiment with the national team had been serving him well. Very well.

And his cock, fuck, his cock…

Toji hadn’t fully exposed himself as he jerked off whilst eating you out- but it was more than enough. Just enough of his black hockey pants getting nudged down—they stuck around his meaty upper-thighs, and you’re left starin’ at the thiiiiick throbbing cock in-between.

Toji was big. Toji was hard. Toji was so reddened at the tip of his bulbous shaft that you wondered whether it must be painful-

You hadn’t forgotten just how big he is, had you?

But you swear Toji had been around seven or eight inches the last time you’d…seen him all those months ago. But this? This was about nine- fuck, if you pulled out a ruler than you wouldn’t be surprised if he was around even ten inches. 

Perhaps that was just your imagination refusing to concede that your ex was the largest you’ve ever had. The best, too.

Thickened so much that it made your legs squeeze. Covered in veins from underneath his reddish tip, and aaaaaaaaall the way down to his tanned base. 

Those hefty balls of his clenched at your attention, and you’re both thinking at the same time that he must’ve really missed you.

Toji reaches his right hand up to his face and spits—slithering it down to give his aching erection a good tug. That mere touch was enough to make him ooze out a few more droplets of pre, capping the top of his crowned tip as though the prettiest glaze.

He has to cough ever-so-slightly to rip your attention away from his cock.

Even then, you could barely keep your eyes off of your ex-boyfriend as he turned his hockey jersey the right way. About to throw it over his shoulder when—he looks at you and seemingly gets an idea.

“Off, doll.”

And suddenly it’s a blur of hands and grabbing - Toji’s pulling your own clothes off, ultimately leaving you in absolutely nothing. He tucks those remnants of your panties in his pants pockets, and tugs your head through the holes of the jersey—

“Y-you’re making me wear this?” You’re babbling out stupidly as he steps back to admire his work, “And only this?”

Toji lets out a low whistle, “Fuck, yeah.” Before gesturing for you to twirl- “Now turn around n’ put your hands on the wall- hah, I want to see my name on you while I fuck you.”

Nevermind the fact that technically this was his last name, as well.

But that didn’t matter - never would. These were Toji’s colors, Toji’s number.

And right now, it was Toji’s fat- aching cock that was making your pussylips bulge apart. Slowly and sensually.

He might’ve been ravenous when he was tasting you for the first time in six months - but Toji was taking his goooood time filling up your driveling orifice. Stuffing back the beads of slick that kept on spraying out of you, letting his pointed tip stretch your entrance out.

He’s letting his breath hitch as he reels his hips back a bit, pushing his twitching cock iiiiiiiiiinside and then out. Iiiiiiiiiinside and then out.

Baaaaack and forth.

Baaaaack and forth.

That ruddied roundness of his cockhead gets stuck between your lips, and Toji’s brows furrow- he attempts to pull out. He really does.

But you’re just gobbling him up so damn greedily- inch by fucking inch. That he can’t help but arch his toned hips against yours- soothing the globes of your ass cheeks a bit before Toji gives a nice, honed thrust. Pointed deep towards the back of your pussy.

Though he isn’t getting that far with your snug channel.

“O-oh—” The captain groans out as he’s sucked in deep, push by fuckin’ push. The intrusion of his girth makes its way ‘round your first ring of tight fuckin’ muscle - slotted between your legs and enough to leave your knees weak with only a few shallow thrusts.

Toji’s having such fun holding onto the side of your waist- eventually moving to hook ‘round your pretty thighs when it seemed as though you were going to collapse.

His pretty girl, so desperate to take him that you can’t even stand.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He breathes out, scorching breath gusting down the curvature of your spine. “Fuck, my girl’s pussy feels so good—”

“Toji-” And for the first few of his semi-thrusts, you’re letting your eyes roll to the back of your head. But thereafter you’re jerking your hips back in desire for more, craving all those carnal itches inside of you satisfied by Toji’s thick cock. “N-need it.”

Toji opens his mouth to tease - you’re sure of it - but at that very moment you’re using your velvety walls to give him a thorough clench that makes him break off into a groan. “This pussy’s been so hungry f’me, hm?”

Shivers wracking through your entire body. “Y-yes-”

“He didn’t fuck you like he should’ve, hm?”

“He didn’t—fuck.”

“Always wished it was your- heh, ex beside you, huh?”

Tearily, you’re looking back at him with an expression of sheepish guilt. “Yes…”

“Oh—” And the mere fact that you said that - your mere answer - is enough for the towering man to hunch his body into yours. To buck his hips into you like an animal.

It wasn’t even planned.

Just an instinctual movement to graze his dribbling tip against the very forefront of your womb- Toji lets his cockhead pulse inside you for a moment before starting to fuck you again. Slightly speedier, slightly deeper. 

Slightly rubbin’ the line of his flared ridge against your dewy insides—it made the man’s balls clench to watch the way you’d drip n’ suction around him. You were fucking thinking of him? Just as much as he was thinking of you? “So this pussy has been greedy f’me.” As if to prove his point, he’s easing in just a few more puckered inches to swipe the front of his burning divot against your spongy cervix. “How many times have you touched yerself to the thought of me?”

“I-I—” It takes you a sudden slap on your pussylips to realize that he was genuinely waiting for an answer. 

“How many times?” Toji gasps between his clenched canines, Adam’s apple bobbing in fervor. “And don’t lie to me, girlie- I know s’been more than once.”

“So many times-” Just the most sultry scrape against your g-spot- the sensation of Toji’s pulsating cockhead pressing on those nerves feels so good. Good enough to reveal your secrets, your hazy brain seems to think. “T-too many times to count-”

“Fuck.” He has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep himself from cumming too soon. Too fast. If anything, he wasn’t going to be like that (likely) two-pump chump boyfriend of yours.

Which is why the older man finds himself smearing his left hand over your pussylips once more- this time, however, it wasn’t to place a mean spank. It was to spread those folds open and roll his fingertips over your neglected clit. “Dirty girl. And h-how many times have you cum just from the thought of me?”

“All of those times, Toji.” The constant rhythmic nudgin’ of your favorite spot was enough to leave your mind absolutely shattered by this point in time. “All those times I—ngh, can only cum if it’s you.”

“Oh?” Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck. D-don’t even fuckin’ say…” He reaches down and slams his hand against your clit once more - partly to take his mind off of those sinful words you were babbling, partly out of punishment for exactly those. And if you were in any better state of mind, then you’d have marvelled at the fact that you’d just made Toji Zenin sound damn starstruck. Just with your pussy. “Don’t even fuckin’ say that shit.”

He leans over you and nuzzles his cheek against your own.

Scarred lips muttering into your ear, “I know she’s been- fuck, needing me just as much as I need her.” They’re kissing down your sweaty temple for a few seconds before sinking his teeth into your ear lobe, “I know she’s been fucking—dreaming of me, wishing for me, fantasizing about me, getting so fuckin’ aroused at just the thought of me that- hah, locker rooms like these were a problem.”

Blinking the tears away from your eyes, “W-wait…”

“Or maybe that was just me.” Toji finishes off. Though he really didn’t have to for you to realize that he’d been talking about himself the entire time.

Toji had been craving you these past six months.

Desiring you.

Fucking his fist and his pillows at the thought that - perhaps one day - he’ll have you underneath him like this again.

And perhaps that’s why there was a strange reverence to everything he did. Something jittery at his fingertips, something that made him hold you a little tighter - as though to make sure that you were really real.

He’s looping both strong arms around your tremoring figure and gluing you to his toned front. There, you were being massaged after each rub n’ puuuuuull of his vein-decorated cock down your swallowing insides. Hand still reaching downwards.

Toji lets out the most lecherous slurps once he still manages to loop his hand between your sodden pussylips n’ toy with your clit. Finger pinching. Thumb rolling. Just by how sensitive you were - still getting re-used to the sultry sensation of someone else’s hand upon your nub - he knew that that damn Naoya wasn’t properly lovin’ on this part of you, either.

And it makes his blood boil just as it did on the rink today.

His fingers move on top of your clit at an almost frenzied pace- back arching, head throwing back. 

Naturally, your lips spread wide open to let out an echoing moan—but it’s too late. Toji’s already leaning in and replacing it with a dollop of his sweetened saliva, “Yeah…” He looks down at you as though you were a dream, “M-maybe that was just me- fuck, but I have one question, doll.”

“Yes—?” Sobbing out.

“Have you ever…” Almost as if it was a precious secret, meant to be between the two of you and the locker room, Toji leans down to whisper against your ear. “-imagined me while he was fucking you?”

Your jaw drops.

Your cunt twitches.

And Toji feels the flooding of your walls with arousal- it’s splashin’ either side of his cylindrical girth. One that was probing and pushing—and speckling every sweet spot inside you with his sap, Toji was fucking you as though he was furious with you.

Long, hard pummels of his hips.

Hard enough that the skin surrounding his pelvis area was reddened.

Long enough that your mind was already completely muddled - filled with only the probin’ pressure of his plump cockhead. Pointing against the cute button of your g-spot once more—“Yes.” You whisper.

And if there was anything - anything - that could make the Toji Zenin falter, then it would’ve been this. Because for two split-seconds you’re feeling the constant sloppy scouring of your innards pause- before it’s resuming harder than ever.

Before he’s fully bottomed-out now and slamming against the gooey depths of your womb.

Before you’re cumming from just that single thrust-

“Y-yes—?” Even Toji’s voice shatters on the repetition of your answer - and he’s looking down at you with his deep, probing eyes. “You- you thought about m-me fucking you when you were still with that bastard?”

You turn around at the amused disbelief in his voice, and nod. “Always thought about you, Toji.” You’re not blind to the way this particular sentence makes the other man flinch—“Every time. He must’ve thought that- ngh, he was the one making me feel good this whole time but it was- oh. It was you.”

“And it…felt good?”

“So good-”

Unsure what to say - unsure what to even do- Toji merely leans down and bites the tender side of your throat. Sure for anyone to see past your collar.

Claimed.

You squeal as you’re fucked through your second high of the night, “A-always you—Toji.” Though loooooong and rugged smooches of his tip, perfectly pointed to graze your ridges inside and ultimately end up on the g-spot. 

Tears bursting to your eyes. Hands slipping with sweat along the tiles.

Toji pulls you even deeper into his embrace - grabbing ahold of your neck with his free hand, the other reaching down to pinch your clit in short, staccato pulses. Matching the peaks of your high. He makes sure to wait just until your wracks of pleasure are at their highest, before plummeting his throbbing cock inside.

Maximizing the rub-a-dub of those prominent veins of his. Sending spurts of pleasure shivering all throughout your body at their massage.

Ridged shaft stretchin’ out those spots that feel the best, his sheer length splitting you up from the inside - you couldn’t possibly forget how well Toji’s cock filled you. Reaching into any deep crevice and orifice, markin’ himself out aaaaaall across your channel with the rounded bruises he left behind.

The captain of the ice hockey team was ruttin’ into you so hard that it was causing the heels of your feet to lift off the floor. 

His thick fingertips dig into your body, plastering you against him- “Always you, my girl.” His words come out sharp and exhaled, “Only you.”

“O-only—ngh.” He catches you from slipping down the vertical wall, scorched chuckles dusting down the crook of your neck. “Toji…”

“Hmmmm?”

Slight panic bleeding into your tone, “Th-there’s someone in the other l-locker room—fuck.”

“Fuckin’ what?” 

Still wracking with the waves of your high. “There’s someone in the other locker room-”

Growling, he’s bowing his powerful lower half towards you - where you were frantically gesturing and miming something at the other side of the wall. The locker rooms were positioned as such that they were side-by-side, sharing a single wall split down the middle of its vast cavern, from which they ignored the existence of the other out of courtesy.

And no matter what one might fear about rowdy ice hockey teams, it never did cause any issues. Yet.

Right now you could hear someone’s footsteps through the tiled wall, you could hear someone’s existence, you could hear someone muttering.

Seemingly not having the best of days - though after that loss, you couldn’t blame them - your mystery US player was banging on locker doors and hissing out swears. It’s only once he seemingly drops something on the floor by accident, letting out a string of expletives starting with ‘b’ that it’s clicking just exactly who this player is—

“Oh, look-” Toji’s the first to start, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “-your wittle boyfriend’s here, too, doll.”

“He’s not my-”

“Why don’t we give him a proper welcome, hm?” Toji’s crooning out meanly, “Why don’t we cheer him up? That little ah- incident on the ice must’ve really been a blow to his ego.”

You’re shivering at the implications, “D-don’t you fucking dare-”

“Whaaaaaat? M’not doing nothing.” Scarred lips quirking up into a grin- you’re noticing that Toji hasn’t slowed his hammerin’ down for a single second. In fact, he’s reeling his slick-glazed cock backwards and leaning the weight down upon your lower half, probin’ you at even deeper angles. The smooth, slippery tip of his shaft was swabbing away into those nice bundles of nerves- “I didn’t even say that you should do anything.”

Hiccuping at the feeling of him funneling you full - all the way to your throat. “Th-then—”

“I just need you to be a—mmm, good girl f’me and- hah, take it.” The constant smacking of his toned hips get even harder, louder. Ricocheting off your eardrums and off the walls- “Take aaaaaaall from tip to base.”

The utmost amount of squelches n’ slurps leaving you.

You wondered if Naoya could already hear you…

Shivering at the carnal feeling of him stretchin’ those tiniest orifices within you up. You loved the way his honed tip would ease in, only getting thicker and longer and thiiiicker and loooonger the more he’s fucking you. The more. 

“Take it aaaaaaall until this greedy pussy’s satiated-” He pinches your clit once more, lining down the spot of your nerves. “Take it all until this pussy remembers-”

There’s the sound of another locking being slammed from the other side of the wall.

And you’re shivering-

To which Toji grinds his hips in close - so close - that you’re unable to buck n’ swerve your hips away. Eagerly taking those deeply probing grinds of his, “Take it until this pussy remembers who’s always fucked her right.”

You’re mewling through your tears, “Y-you—”

And Toji grins before bunching up that red, red jersey of his in his free hand. Looking at the name that flashed upon your arched back, jostling with each thrust - “And who’s that? What’s the name on the back of this jersey?”

“But he has the same—fuck.” Moan echoing so fucking loud this time- you’re swearing you hear the other man pause whatever he was doing. Hear him listen. Hear him wait. “Zenin.”

Something drops to the floor on the other side of the wall, as if fallen in shock.

And Toji smirks.

“That’s right-” He pants out open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, “Can’t hear you- what’s the name?”

“Zenin-”

“Still can’t hear you-” Thrusts and bursts of pleasure steadily climbing up in intensity. Even though you’ve just cum, you could feel a twitching at the pit of your stomach. “What’s the name?”

“Zenin-”

“What’s the fuckin’ name?”

There was no way he couldn’t hear by now. The slapping. The clenching. The moans. “Zenin—”

He slaps your clit once. “And who’s last name is that?”

You knew you were going to fall apart soon. You knew that all it’s going to take was one final thrust- reeling his rounded, glossy tip back as far as it would go. It’s letting just a few tears cascade down your cheeks, and you’re looking back - “Y-yours, Toji?”

“No.” He grins—chiselled core pummeling into yours. He teases your clit with a cute lil’ heart drawn on top, “S’gonna be yours.”

“Oh—” With the loudest, most lecherous moan yet- you’re falling apart all over Toji Zenin’s cock. So sensitive that your orgasm rips through your stark and primal - nothing but a resurgence of bliss that leaves your limbs feeling all weak.

They’re shaking just a lil’ as you’re riding out your high on his vein-covered cock, the perfect number of strikes before your g-spot feels raw. 

The perfect number of strikes before your clouded mind gets even cloudier—and Toji’s throwing his head back with a sharp, busting orgasm. Toes curling. Abs clenching. Beading from the drooling divot of his shaft, he gushes out constant volumes of cum.

Letting it dribble all the way from your deepest depths to your sultry hole- and then spotting even the tiniest crevices inside of you with his pearly white juices. “Shit-” His crackling tone breaks out into the heady air, “Sh-shit, now she’s properly mine again- heh.”

As Toji fucks his wads of seed deeper inside you, they’re letting off the most lewd squelches.

“Now she’s shut up her yowling a bit- ngh, my girl’s been wanting this for so long, huh?”

“Yes.” You nod. 

“She’s been starvin’ for my cum?” He coaxes, “She’s been all empty without me?”

“So filthy…” You’re mumbling out. Uncaring anymore of what Naoya would think - you didn’t hear anything more from his side of the locker room—maybe he’d disappeared?

“Damn right.” Toji chuckles. Dark bangs covering most of his vision as he’s pumping his thickened tip inside, swervin’ aside your sopping wet walls to make even more room for his thick cum. “She’s now all full I think, hmmmm?”

And you certainly felt full. 

You could feel the splashin’ around of those gooey puddles of sap inside you, clinging onto the tiniest spots they could. He was only messing your insides even further with every single thrust—leaving a wet puddle of most of it seeping into the very back of your womb. “I th-think so-”

“What was that, Mrs. Zenin?” Toji goads, his voice ringing out loudly. “Think yer all full with my cum or do you want even- hah, more?”

You’re murmuring something unintelligible that he has to lean in to hear.

“What was that? Can’t hear you, doll, you’ve gotta speak up-” Suddenly, he leans away and addresses the other side of the wall. “Whaddaya think, Naoya? Think she deserves some more-”

“Toji, shut up—” Swatting behind at him.

Toji escapes with a burst of gruff laughter, “Of course, I wouldn’t ask that fucker-” He presses a somewhat chaste kiss onto your lips, “Tell me, doll, what do you want?”

“I w-want…” You’re repeating from before.

“Hmmmm?”

“Think I might want your baby, Toji.” Peering up at him with such pretty heart-eyes.

And that makes his breath hitch.

That makes him stall.

Toji’s green eyes widen just a fraction- before he’s pulling out and turning you around. Staring deep into your eyes, the captain urges you to jump - wrapping your legs around his toned waist, your hands on his shoulders, your body being easily hoisted by his own - so that he can lift you off the floor.

Probin’ that rock-hard tip of his inwards- 

“Guess there’ll be one more Zenin this time next year- heh. ”

.

.

.

Naoya Zenin was stunned. He was speechless.

Which is highly unusual, because Naoya Zenin is never shocked. Never speechless.

Except for when he saw the estranged Toji Zenin at the game…and when he got beat up by Toji Zenin at the game…and right now, as it’s slowly dawning upon him that Toji Zenin was fucking his girlfriend after the game-

Naoya didn’t think you were serious, alright?

Because how many fuckin’ times have you threatened to break up with him over stupid shit like that? This was just a little outing with the boys - to a few nighttime establishments with a few nighttime girls - that was being blown majorly out of proportion.

And sure, Naoya might have embarrassed himself thoroughly in front of you and a couple million spectators today.

But what couldn’t a 5000 yen bouquet fit?

He was planning on making up with you right after, telling you to stop being paranoid and perhaps this will only make your relationship stronger in the long run. And he’d just gotten back from the medic to get his shit back when…when the noises had started up.

It was a slightly damp noise at first, almost like water.

Then came the soft groans.

The impact of skin-on-skin.

The voices that made it undeniable—if only he couldn’t recognize them. And he almost couldn’t, to be quite honest, Naoya had never heard you making such noises when it was him in bed.

But he knew it was you.

Worst of all, with Toji fucking Zenin of all people.

And it was when Toji had loudly announced your engagement to him, the way you’d be taking his last name (Naoya had no clue the two of you had dated before, and he didn’t want to know) that’d been the last straw for him. He dumps his bangs and his uniforms behind, storming out from a locker room that was now thoroughly invaded by the sounds of your sex.

Muttering some unrepeatable phrases underneath his breath, Naoya’s so caught up in his wallowing that he nearly doesn’t notice the man he bulldozes over in his effort to get away.

“Oh, hey—” Shiu smiles sheepishly at the younger man, “I just wanted to check on y-”

“I’m fine-”

And with that he’s storming off. To where? He doesn’t know, he’ll probably have to come back and get his shit later but…

He takes it that you’ve now officially broken up with him.

Meanwhile, suit-clad, clipboard-holding Shiu is left utterly confused at what just happened. He’d expected a screaming match, maybe several lawsuits by the spoiled heir of the Zenin Industries at least.

Refusing to believe his luck, Shiu takes a peak inside the opposing team’s locker room just to make sure that everything was alright- and that’s when he hears it. “—think I might want your baby, Toji.”

Oh.

Oh.

It was coming from the other side of the large wall- their locker room. 

And he’s recognising the voice- wait, that’s your voice. Toji’s ex that he’d been moping over for these past six months, the one that triggered their captain to get in that fight today in the first place.

Though, he doesn’t blame you- with that fucker as a boyfriend? Shiu doesn’t think he’s biased for claiming that his best friend’s leagues better.

But, at the end of the day, Shiu was their coach above all.

And as their coach, he couldn’t allow his players to get into anything reckless or anything violating the code of the Olympics. They’d all be in such deep shit if you happened to be caught - so you must forgive Shiu for doing what he has to do.

For rounding the other side of the locker room entrances and stepping into his own team’s chamber. Heady with sweetness, with sex.

He’s here as a coach to warn the two of you- really. That’s just it.

That’s it.

Nothing else. Nothing else at all.

No ulterior motives.

His pants tighten, cock twitching traitorously at the barrage of noises leaking into every corner of the room.

Shiu raps on your stall door as a…coach.

A/N. Mwahahaha…come to me coach… ALSO TO MY PHILIPPINES BABYGIRLS WE MISS YOUUUU <33

The betrothal to Valarr had been settled for quite a few summers, long enough you‘ve lost count.

“You were born with me,” Aerion had told you back then, as if that alone would stake his claim on you. “You will not be given away like coin.”

And by dawn on the following day, the alliance was ash. 

When Aerion had taken your maidenhead, it wasn’t done in the secrecy of shame but rather the certainty of his claim. Whether he’d done it in passion, pride or malice remains a matter of dispute, but what is certain was that, once your virtue was called into question, Valarr couldn’t have proceeded with the match without a slight to his own name and honor.  

Your uncle Baelor had said little when the betrothal was broken, but that silence had traveled farther than any of your father’s shouts. 

So, you’ve wed Aerion instead, out of spite, and perhaps because you‘ve both shared the same belief from the very beginning: that you were meant to be, despite him showing his devotion towards you quite differently from other men at court. 

Comfort and endearment dulls men, it softens their edges, at least that’s what his mind believes – his body doesn’t.

Over the years, the outrage over your union has been dulled, but not the memory. 

The court no longer whispers when you two enter a room – having grown accustomed to the sight of you side by side – and the rift that had gaped between your uncle and your father has slowly narrowed as well. 

And in your marital chambers, the past holds no power over you anyways. 

Aerion lies on your shared bed, one arm draped behind his head with its fingers tapping together in a slow, absent rhythm. His breeches have been lazily undone at the front, and his tunic has been torn apart by him in the middle, his chiseled chest on full display. 

You sit astride him completely bare, his hard cock buried to the hilt inside of you. But you’re not allowed to move, at least not until he says so. It felt strange at first, having him inside of you without any movement being expected, until you’ve figured out his motives: he’s superior to you, in every way possible. 

What’s also the reason you find yourself in quite the precarious situation right now – push too hard, and you’re the one who gets burned. 

There’s a candle in your hand, burning as you slowly trickle some of its wax down onto his exposed chest. With every bead that pours down, your eyes flicker up to his face to gauge his reaction.

His eyes are glued to your every movement, watching you like a hawk. The expression on his face is schooled into some sort of detachment, seeming almost as if he’s bored, yet his breathing is everything but, subtly proving that he’s just mastering restraint. Although he tries to stop his chest from heaving too obviously, you notice the deep breaths he slowly sucks in.

Aerion adjusts his position on the bed briefly, the shifting and shuffling between your legs causing your cunt to squeeze him harshly. The sudden clenching around him forces a grunt past his set jaw, the first genuine reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far, safe for the slight, barely-there twitches of his muscles every time a drop of hot wax hits his skin.

“Is that all you’ve got, love?” he asks, perfectly timed. His other hand rests at your hip, his thumb brushing against your skin. The contact is possessive, making clear that he has you right where he wants, and one wrong move on your part won‘t make you happy for the remainder of the night. 

Despite his relaxed pose, you’re keenly aware that he only lets you do this because he allows it, because he somewhat feels generous tonight. You’ve seen the consequences of pushing him too far plenty of times before, so you ought not to test your luck. 

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought, coaxing goosebumps to follow in its wake. The tremble of your hand that follows prompts Aerion’s hand to squeeze your flesh tightly, reminding you of keeping your composure.

“Is it still not enough? You pretend it doesn’t affect you, but your body tells me otherwise,” you murmur.

Your fingers brush along the wax that hardens just above his navel, trailing its outlines slowly. 

“I have never said it doesn’t affect me,” he purrs, a lilt of dangerous amusement lingering beneath his words. He tilts his head slightly, watching the way the wax cools on his skin and leaves red marks, and then drags his gaze back to meet yours. “You mistake me for someone more delicate, it seems.”

Another bead of wax rolls down the slightly titled candle, this time too close to the sensitive flesh where you two are joined, gathering in the wispy, silver hair that trails from his navel down to the base of his cock. A hiss escapes him as it hits his skin, his smirk faltering before he quickly reigns it back in. His fingers tighten on your hip again, his grip harsh as his muscles tense. 

The candle in your hand trembles slightly as it hovers over his abdomen, and as a means to stop the tremors and your nerves from fluttering uncontrollably, you slant it once more, letting another ribbon of wax spill down. “Patience, my prince,” you purr. The way you use the familiar title is almost mocking – he’s never just your prince, and Aerion is quick to react. 

“You are being unusually brave this evening,” he comments lazily, the hint of a challenge woven into his words. “You would do best to mind your boldness.”

Swallowing the lump that threatens to form in your throat, you try to ignore the way your stomach coils at the sound of his voice. 

“Brave?” you repeat, “or am I only indulging my curiosity?” The rapid flutter of your heart betrays you as you feign innocence, pulling back from the fire and acting as though you’re completely unbothered by his threat. “Wasn’t it you who began this?”

You’ve always been the one who bends to his whim, often allowing you just enough freedom to grant you the illusion of control, but you both know who really wields the power. Always. 

His smirk widens slightly, and you know he’s enjoying your submissive act just as much as he enjoys the heat of the wax on his skin. 

He shifts once more, and his other hand comes forwards to rest on your hip as well, both hands now caging you in as though he’s afraid you’ll leave him. His grip is tight, bordering on becoming painful.

“Don’t try to place the blame on me,” he says. “We both know you couldn’t resist the idea. The thought of marking me appears to be quite tempting to you, even if it’s only temporarily.”

“Well, perhaps I like the image.” 

The fingers of one hand dance along your ripcage as you speak, following the swell of your breast to the small bud at its crest. It hardens beneath his touch, silently begging to be engulfed by his lips. 

You involuntarily clench down around him once more, and bite down on your lips to stifle a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he does to you. But your body betrays you just as quickly, arching into his touch as though it's seeking more. You hate that you respond to him like this, hate how he can turn your insides to ash simply by looking at you. 

“What image, mh?” he purrs. 

Trying to keep your composure, you briefly press your lips together. “You, marked by me… marked as mine.”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest at your words. He’s thoroughly enjoying this now, relishing in the way your words betray a hint of desire and possession, perhaps even jealousy – something so unusual for you. 

One of his hands wanders behind you, flattening against the space between your shoulders, and draws you closer until your chests are pressed flush against one another. The candle extinguishes with the movement, falling onto the ground next to your bed. 

“Yours?” he echoes, his voice mocking and his hot breath faking across your lips, the urge to kiss him more prominent than ever. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Branding me as yours for everyone to see.” His own words lead him astray as they cause his hard cock to twitch inside of you, making you terribly aware of what you’ve suppressed for a moment. 

His reaction feeds into your confidence, allowing the nervous flutter in your stomach to subside slightly. It’s always quite rare for him to let his guard down, to give you even a small portion of control, and now, to feel the effect your words have on him, the way he’s slowly starting to lose his composure, sends a jolt of arousal through you. 

With a slow and steady movement, you lean back up again. Your hands push aside the remnants of his tunic, brushing along the plane of his chest, before you lift yourself off of his cock just enough to hover above him with his tip still buried inside of you. He’s not given you the permission to move, but you do it anyway. Sinking back down on him, you take him just as deep as before. 

Aerion’s eyes flutter shut at that, his head tipping back against the bedding. “Don’t,” he growls, but his lips pressing together betray his failing restraint. “Don’t play games you can’t win.”

It seems he’s forced himself to endure this long enough, because his hands find your hips once more, gripping your flesh and finally encouraging you to move. But you pause instead, revelling in the slight bit of control you hold, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer. You can see his jaw setting with your refusal to obey him, a thrill running down your spine. 

He suddenly arches beneath you, moving just slightly as if he means to seek friction – but he’s quick to stop himself. If you know one thing about Aerion, it’s that pleasure alone won’t let him thrust up into you like some desperate stableboy. 

Instead, he raises his hand to your throat, clasping his fingers around it. He’s not yet choking you, but tightening it just enough to make you feel the pressure while he feels the rapid flutter of your heart beneath his palm. It seems as though he contemplates tightening his grip at the sensation, to savor the way it leaps beneath his skin, but he doesn’t. 

It‘s a sharp reminder that you‘re pushing your luck. 

“Move,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding instead of honeyed, “or I’ll move you.”

The threat in his voice prompts a warmth to spread low in your belly. You know you’ve teetered on the edge of his patience, and that one more breath might send him over, the warning in his eyes making it clear. 

With a smile on your lips and a slight nod of your head, you start to move. Slow at first, with a deliberate roll of your hips that draws a sharp inhale from him. Then smoother, sinking down fully to take him deeper, your lashes fluttering shut as he fills you to the brim. 

A whimper escapes you, strangled by his hand still around your throat – the sound a testament of your surrender to him.  

Your hands are braced against his chiseled chest, supporting your body as you move astride him with your fingers splayed over the wax on his skin. 

You ride him in earnest now, your hips rolling back and forth in fluid movements that are tinted with urgency. It’s Aerion who lets out a low groan, relishing in the way your cunt squeezes his hard cock. The rhythm you’ve found is maddening, the drag of his cock hitting the right spot within you expertly. 

Aerion’s hands wander over your body. One finds your breast, squeezing it over and over again, whereas the other settles right where you need it. It’s splayed out below your navel, positioned so that his thumb skillfully rubs your pearl, sending you closer towards your release. 

“Aerion,” you whimper, his name slipping past your lips like a prayer.

As your head lulls back from the pleasure, your hand clasps around his biceps, using it as an anchor through the pain and pleasure his touch causes to flood your veins. 

His thumb moves slowly but determined, knowing exactly how you always crave it, steering you towards your release. It’s measured, as if he’s demonstrating something rather than granting it. 

In your bliss, you hardly notice how carefully Aerion observes you and your reaction to his touch. He’s relishing in the way you slowly unravel on top of him, and how good he alone makes you feel, knowing no one else could ever compare. 

When you gaze down at him, you eventually spot his dark-blown gaze already lingering on you, watching your breasts bounce with every rock of your hips and your hand grabbing him tightly with your impending release. 

And suddenly, something in him gives in. 

It’s subtle. You’re hardly noticing his muscles tightening beneath the palm of your hand on his chest, or the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth – but it’s unmistakable when you feel him twitch and stutter inside of you. 

As his peak ripples through him, it does with a violence he doesn’t disguise. His fingers dig into your breast, his jaw tightens, and his breath grows ragged, and for a heartbeat, he’s a dragon in human form, making you terribly aware that he’s not at all ashamed of having reached his peak first. 

That realization alone proves to you that he’s chosen to do so, having calculated exactly how he can prove his dominance over you once more. 

Despite the confusion, you’re continuing to ride him, grinding your hips back and forth along his cock and milking him for every drop of his seed although his body becomes more and more sensitive. His thumb continues its ministries, and that is enough to take your mind off of what has just unravelled beneath you.

“So eager,” Aerion husks, a strain to his voice. He’s masking the obvious discomfort having peaked and still fucking brings him, and when the corners of his lips pull into a smirk, you know for certain that you’ve pushed him too far this time. “And you truly thought to master me.”

Just as your composure begins to fracture, desperately chasing your own release, his hand stills. 

The sudden loss of stimulation is immediate, making the denial that follows unbearable. It’s a thin line between pouting or becoming defiant, but you know the latter will bring you into even more trouble. So you just press your lips into a thin line and stop your movements, looking down at him with a rather dumbfounded expression. 

It invites him to continue speaking as he reclines back against the pillows and slings one arm leisurely behind his head, while the other hand traces your side to eventually rest at your hip. “If you crave your pleasure so desperately, then go on and satisfy yourself. Show me how little you require my guidance.”

His words set your body aflame – commanding, challenging and taunting you all at once. The way he’s lounging beneath you so casually, bidding you to pleasure yourself right in front of him, causes heat to crawl up your cheeks. It’s both embarrassing and exciting to know that he’s watching you so closely and putting you through this just to prove his point. 

With a shuddered breath, you begin to move, your eyes fixed on his face to watch it for any change in his expression. Smugness is written all over his features, knowing he has you exactly where he wants. You’re nervous again, uncertain what he’ll do if your movements aren’t to his liking. 

The sinuous rhythm you’ve set draws a low hum from Aerion, the slow rolls of your hips seemingly pleasing him. Another trail of goosebumps prickles over your sweat-slicked skin now, and you’re suddenly far too aware of him still being dressed while you’re completely bare. You now figure it has been another one of his antics, every move he makes deliberate and meant to display the power he holds over you. 

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and leaving crescent shaped marks as the pace you’ve set grows with urgency, chasing the heat that coils in your stomach again. 

His tip brushes the sweet spot inside of you over and over, making you greedy for more. The thoughts and embarrassment of having to satisfy yourself in front of him have left your mind as quickly as they came, completely clouded by pleasure. 

Your chambers are quiet safe for his heavy breathing, your moans and the squelching of your wet cunt dragging along his cock. You’re soaked, your arousal mixed with his spent dripping down his shaft and stones. If you’d look down, you’d see the glistening sheen of it on his skin, and the darkened linen of his breeches. 

You bring your hand to where it's desperately needed, two of your fingers teasing your sensitive pearl just like you’ve done plenty of times before in the secrecy of solitude. You’ve been enduring both bliss and agony since he’s ordered you to mount him, and ache for relief. 

The ministrations of your fingers grow frantic, and with your cunt clenching around Aerion’s cock in an almost bruising manner, you’re certain you’ve spotted him flinch beneath you briefly. 

Aerion’s gaze drops to where your hand ventures between your legs, darkening with a mix of desire and curiosity. His fingers flex at your hip, not tightening but feeling, as if he needs proof that your surrender is true. The sounds you make – desperate and high – ripple down his spine like fire. 

“There,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, the mask of indifference cracking slightly. “Now you’re learning.”

His hand drags down your thigh and back up again, and then serves a stinging slap at your hip. It’s not hard enough to leave a bruise in the morrow, but enough to make you gasp and clench around him. 

You ride him hard and fast now, chasing the pleasure only he ever gives you. Your hand still drags over the little bud at the apex of your thighs, your slicked and frantic fingers teasing your pearl until the taut string inside of you snaps with a moan. 

“Gods, Aerion–” you whine, throwing your head back, your chest heaving. The pleasure within you soars to the point your body twitches and trembles uncontrollably, struggling to bring yourself through your own peak. 

As your walls clamp down around him, Aerion can’t help but let out a groan, his body strained with how fiercely he’s endured the overstimulation. It’s your cry that ignites something in him, that has his control shattering, his name slipping past your lips like it’s the only word you know. 

When your body comes to a stop, utterly spent and exhausted, you slump forwards, but steady yourself with your hands on his chest. You’re bent over him, meeting his gaze as you try to calm your breathing. 

“You‘re always so loud," he rasps, voice thick with lust and triumph, “screaming my name like you’re afraid I’ll ever forget you belong to me.”

Your hands wander along his chest although the pleasure still hasn't subsided completely, his words making you pick at the wax that has hardened on his skin, and you carefully watch your own movements, not daring to meet his eyes. “But whenever I am gone from your side,” you ask quietly between deep breaths, “do you still think of me? Or is my absence enough to erase me from your thoughts?”

The words give him pause. It’s rare, and makes it clear they’ve been too soft and too close to something he refuses to name. 

Aerion flinches slightly as your fingers suddenly nibble on a larger piece of hardened wax, the rough patches of his skin beneath now tender and sensitive to the touch. But there’s no protest, no sharp reprimanding to stop you, it’s as if he enjoys the ache. 

When you meet his gaze again, he’s already staring at you, not having torn his eyes off of you once. “Absence doesn’t erase… it only feeds the hunger,” he mutters, almost reluctantly as if your question insults him. “Try disappearing, and see how quickly I burn down every part of the realm until you’re back by my side.”

The weight of his words settles deep in your bones – not a promise but a vow. 

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I never intend to leave,” you whisper, curling your lips into a barely-there smile. 

⤷ notes: PLEASE READ ALL TAGS + WARNINGS! I know I've been toeing the line lately but I think this one truly does dip into dddne. you're responsible for your own media consumption etc.! this isn't too much more wild than the stuff I've already been posting recently so feel free to give it a shot if you'd like, but remember to be safe, be kind, and be smart about your engagement with this work and any work you encounter online.

that said, the tags are pretty straightforward. I want to stress again that READER IS OVER 18!!!!!! let me know if I missed any and I'll be sure to add them! this is also my first time writing lee, so I hope it comes off at least somewhat true to character! it was supposed to be an hc list and I got halfway through and was like... this is getting WAY too long sjdgsjgf maybe I'll just write it out.

not proofread. enjoy! x

fun fact ! the title is a slang term combining 'volunteer' with 'told' meaning 'something that's referred to as being on a volunteer basis but is assumed to have consequences if not agreed to' which honestly just felt perfect for this sjfgjkdfgdj.

You know you shouldn’t have gone to the party. 

It was stupid, and impulsive, and only because, after four long, horrendous years of staring at him from across classrooms and crowded hallways, the guy you have feelings for had finally invited you out. Maybe it’s the fact that you wanted to do just one reckless thing before you leave this town for good. Maybe it’s the infectious energy buzzing through the neighborhood streets tonight after graduation, the simmer of possibility. 

Maybe, just for the night, you didn’t have to be the good girl who played teacher’s pet and let people copy her homework and was tucked in bed by ten o’clock on a school night. Tonight, you could’ve been anything. 

So you’d bid your parents goodnight, slipped into a dress you’d saved up to buy from the department store in town, done your hair and fixed your makeup a little darker than usual, then slipped out your window before you could talk yourself out of the million reasons not to. 

It figures, honestly, that things ended this way. 

You, shoved haphazardly into a coat closet in the abandoned old house on 10th, one shoe lost in your haste and a lone bottle of beer rolling on the hardwood at your feet that’d betrayed your hiding spot. 

And now the Sheriff’s looking down at you with a frown and furrowed brow from beneath the rim of his hat, looking every bit like he’s about to read you your rights and haul you off to the station. 

You throw up on his shoes before he can.

You’ve never felt more humbled than you do sitting in the front of the cruiser while Lee Bodecker saunters into the local diner to get you both milkshakes to go. 

You’re cold, but you’re too scared to touch anything to fiddle with the AC. The dress you felt pretty in earlier feels like overkill now, the material too tight and too itchy against your skin as you try to tug it further down your legs. You don’t even need to look in the rearview mirror to know that you’ve cried off all your makeup, dabbed at in a rush with a wad of tissues he’d handed you from the glove compartment. 

You appreciate the gesture nonetheless, and the fact that he’d given you water and gum to rinse the taste out of your mouth. The milkshakes had been the result of the fact that you couldn’t stop crying even after he told you you weren’t in trouble, the exasperated pinch of his brow as he sighed only making you more upset with yourself. 

It takes you several minutes alone in the car to catch your breath and dry up the rest of your tears, to try for a wobbly smile when Lee returns with two to-go cups and pushes one in your direction. 

“You gonna tell me what you were doing there if you weren’t planning on causing trouble?” 

The question comes belatedly and a little awkwardly a few minutes into you both sipping on your shakes, the silence sitting heavy in the middle seat in between intermittent crackles of his radio. The thick drink is noisy when you suck it up your straw, and heat rises to your face when you swallow with a calculated shrug. 

“I was just bored.” 

You very carefully eye the lid of your shake, chancing a look over at him when the quiet lingers pointedly for too long. One of Lee’s brows is raised, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’think I can’t tell when pretty things like you are lyin’ to me?” 

You’ve never been called that before, but you try not to let the casual compliment go to your head. It’s probably just something he says—you’ve heard about his reputation. 

“I wanted to impress someone,” you admit marginally more softly. Typically people tell you you’re wise beyond your years, but right now you’re feeling every bit as naive as most people your age are. 

Lee’s other brow raises. “By trespassing and gettin’ drunk?” 

“No,” you correct with a gentle huff, picking at the hem of your dress. “I just—I wanted to seem cool. You know how it is in high school. Or—I guess you do, anyway.” 

“I’m not that old,” he rolls his eyes. 

It’s a relief when he turns back to his drink, the weight of his attention heavier than you thought it’d be. At school you had so much to fall back on, so many accomplishments and accolades and awards that, in the low light of the Sheriffs cruiser, double your age and more mature than any of the other guys you’ve hung out with, seem to mean nothing at all. 

He sips his shake noisily. “So. Who was it.” 

“What?” 

His eyes skate to yours again. “You were tryin’ to impress someone. Who was it.” 

“Oh. Just—this guy,” you say dismissively. When you catch a flash of his teeth behind his straw, your stomach drops. “Are you laughing at me?” 

“Not—not at you, honey. Sorry. S’just, life’s too short to do that shit, y’know? You got a promising future. You shouldn’t change yourself just for some punk kid.” 

“He’s not a punk,” you argue halfheartedly. 

He scoffs. “Well. He obviously ain’t a gentleman.” 

The slight smile you’d been building up to fades again, your appetite disappearing with it. 

“I wouldn’t really know,” you tell him. “My dad left when I was young.” 

The cruiser plunges into awkward silence again, and you feel that people-pleasing part of you ready to well up and change the subject, make everything easy and digestible again. But the other part of you, the one that’d convinced you to sneak out in the first place, still feels like a fresh bruise. 

“Sometimes I wonder if he’d be proud of me,” you whisper. 

Lee says nothing, his face twisted up into a cross between concern and discomfort. Apparently, your feelings are too much even for a grown man to handle. 

You force a laugh, the smile on your face exceptionally fake as your eyes begin to water. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s just—he didn’t come to my graduation, and then everything with the party, I wanted—” your lip wobbles, voice cracking. “I just wanted to feel wanted, I guess.” 

“Hey, hey,” he sighs, setting his cup on the dashboard by his hat to reach across the back of the seats and touch your shoulder. “Thought we agreed no more tears, huh? I’m gonna run outta tissues.” 

You sniffle, wiping at your cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“C’mere,” he says after another moment, his stare heavy on the side of your face. 

He puts your shake up beside his and tosses an arm out, nodding his head to make you scoot across the seat. And you, not even able to remember the last time someone held you aside from quick one-armed congratulations, fall into him like a magnet. 

Your bare thighs unstick from the leather of his seat as you move, pressing the side of your body up against his. The weight of his arm settling around your shoulders feels good enough to make your eyes water, his warmth, even with the badges and belts and the scent of working all day long, is like a drug. 

You think you would trade whatever might’ve happened at that party a million times over just to feel this. 

He exhales above you, rubbing at your shoulder with his fingers as you wrap your arms around his middle. “Don’t you go tellin’ anyone I’ve gone soft now.” 

With a wet laugh, you nod, your soft cheek rough against the material of his shirt. “I won’t. Thanks, Sheriff.” 

You linger for a moment just to see if you’ll be allowed, soaking up the tenderness of it before you go home lonely again. You’ve been chasing this for a while, you think; always the first to try to impress your male teachers, a staunch rule follower around authority figures, posters of celebrity crushes on your walls that all have smile lines by their eyes and a little gray in their hair. 

None of those hug you, though. 

You feel it when Lee’s chest rises with an inhale, the tip of his nose pressed to the top of your head. His arm pulls you in a little more, breath hot on your forehead when he talks. 

“You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you,” he mutters to himself, fingers shifting on your shoulder. 

He rubs his thumb back and forth there for a minute, your own embarrassment overshadowed by your greed. You’ve never seen the local sheriff dole out praise a day in his life, but maybe, just this once, he’d see how good you’ve been for all these years, how hard you’ve tried, and he’d give it to you. 

But Lee doesn’t seem to want to keep talking about your feelings. His fingers dip off your shoulder and down your side, and with your arm outstretched over his abdomen, there’s nothing to stop his fingertips from grazing that sensitive, ticklish strip of skin covering your ribs. The fabric of your dress does little to dull it, and you shift when it sends sparks through you—the kind that are more hesitation than interest. 

“Um. I should—move back to my seat.” 

His grip tightens around your waist. “Thirsty?” 

You shake your head, but Lee’s already reaching for your shake sitting on the dash in front of you. He brings it in close, breath on your cheek as he lifts the straw toward your lips. 

Your instincts kick in and you take the straw onto your tongue, thinking maybe if you just get it over with he’ll let you go quicker. 

But you take a hesitant sip of your shake and nearly choke on it when Lee’s hand on your waist moves again, kneading at the fleshy skin underneath your dress. It drops to your hip, squeezes, slides back up again until his fingers are almost cupping the underside of one of your breasts. You hadn’t been able to wear a bra with this sort of top. Your arm snaps down on top of his digits, intended to stop him but trapping him there instead. 

“Good, hm?” he asks gruffly. 

You swallow the thick vanilla, nodding and pasting on a placid smile. “Yes. Thank you for getting it for me. I think I’m full now, though.” 

“Aw, come on. Just a little more. Be rude to waste it, right?” 

Again, without waiting for your answer, Lee sits your shake on the leather seat between his thighs and pops the lid off the top. His radio crackles from the dash and you hold your breath, hoping he’ll have a call to answer. But it’s just another officer with updates on something Lee obviously doesn’t care much about, unfettered as he sets the straw and lid up on the dash beside it. 

When you try to wriggle away in his distraction, his hold on you tightens enough to steal your breath a little. Your palms are sweating, eyes darting toward the door that’s been locked since the moment you got in. 

His fingers dip toward the half-full cup of vanilla milkshake. 

“Lee. What—what are you doing?” 

“Shh. You wanna be a good girl. Don’t you, honey?” he says, rubbing your side. “I’m just showin’ you how. That’s all.” 

You swallow, ears ringing. “I think I want to go home now, please.” 

Lee’s fingers pause abruptly where they’d been inching toward the shake. He eases in a sharp inhale, one brow raised and head tilted as he leans back. You breathe a sigh of relief at the freedom, already starting to shift back to the other side of the bench seat. 

“Not sure if I can do that,” he says casually, eyes on his lap. “Technically, y’know, you were the only one at the scene of the crime. Now, I should be takin’ you down to the station and gettin’ your fingerprints, callin’ your parents…” 

You pause at the mention of your parents. Your mom is one thing, but your dad not showing up to your graduation only to get a phone call that you’ve been arrested? 

You can taste the disappointment. 

“No,” you grab onto his arm before he can reach for his notepad. “Don’t do that. Please. I’ll—” you force your lip to stop trembling, taking a shaky breath. “I’ll stay.” 

“Lookie there,” he croons, immediately softening again as he turns to you with a smile. He pats the spot beside him again. “Smart girl.” 

Tentatively, your sweat-sticky thighs inch back across the bench. You’re much more rigid this time, shoulders by your ears, back straight, thighs pressed firmly together as you settle where you’d been only moment before. 

His attention returns to the open to-go cup in his lap, tracing a finger around the edge of the paper rim. His arm slips around your shoulder again, dragging you in. 

“We’re gonna play a game.” 

“Okay,” you whisper, trying not to flinch now at his closeness. 

He taps the shake. “It was real nice of me to buy you this to cheer y’up, right?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Usually I don’t allow food in here,” he says conspiratorially. “Well. Anyone else’s food in here. Don’t trust ‘em. This leather’s old, hard to clean, y’know?” 

“Sure,” you manage. 

“So. We’re not gonna waste any of this. Gotta make sure I get my money’s worth,” he pauses to glance down your body, “but we’re also not gonna make a mess. Any of this gets on my seats and I’ll have to take you back to the station. Got it?” 

You bite back a whimper, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying. Your body’s stuck in fight or flight, screaming to run one moment and aching for sweet, unfamiliar validation the next. Your eyes stray hopelessly toward where he pops the button on the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up to his elbows. 

You nod. “I understand.” 

He smiles. 

“Good girl.” 

His fingers finally delve past the rim of the shake without hesitation this time, two of them plunging into the white, foamy liquid to the first knuckle. Everything about it looks and feels wrong—so it makes no sense why your mouth is watering, nipples taut where they drag against the material of your dress with each full, nervous breath. 

He slides his thick digits out and turns them in the dim, distant light coming from the diner, letting the excess drip obscenely back into the cup. His ultimatum makes you focus on it more than you want to, desperate not to let any spill anywhere that could get you in trouble. 

Teasingly slow, Lee lifts them from the cup and toward your mouth, swiping them messily over the seam of your lips. It’s sickeningly sweet, more so than it’d been before, now layered with the musky undertaste of Lee’s fingers as they part your lips and slide in as easily as they’d conquered the drink too. 

You gasp, choking a little as he shoves them onto your tongue. There’s no time for hesitancy as he moves them in and out without rhythm or sophistication, the chaos of it causing you to have to chase his hand and take more into your mouth to avoid it spilling down your chin and onto your lap. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he urges, slowing a little when you start using your tongue, catching the risky drips. “See? You’re a natural.” 

Humiliated and so warm you feel like you have a fever, the suction of your lips gives way with a lewd pop when Lee’s fingers, now clean, slip out again. He reaches for the shake again and you whimper, shifting in your seat, only for him to shush you still for a second time. 

Your eyes squeeze shut when his fingers find their way back inside. He’s even more bold this time, forcing your head back against the seat while he shoves his digits in, tracing your gums, underneath your tongue, reaching back to your molars until not a single inch isn’t left sticky-sweet and claimed. 

On the third try, he’s deliberately messy. Careless with the flick of his wrist into the cup, not quick enough when he lifts it to your mouth. If you want to avoid your punishment you have to reach out and grab his wrist to bring it to your lips on your own, means you have to be the one to stick out your tongue and clean them off. 

Shame makes the edges of the memory blur, even as it’s actively happening around you. You move from one moment to the next in snapshots, and some of the missed details will cost you. 

“Uh-oh,” Lee tuts, twisting his wrist in front of you so that the light catches on two thick, pearly white beads of the shake quickly descending toward his elbow. “Looks like you missed a spot.” 

You dive for them, hands gripping his bicep and wrist, catching them with your tongue just moments before they would’ve dripped down onto the seat between your legs. The desperation of the movement makes you burn, muffling a whimper against his skin as you chase the sticky line back up to his wrist. 

When you reach his palm, he takes your face in his hand and squeezes. He uses the grip to press you back against the seat, leaning in like he might kiss you. 

Against all odds, no matter how much your body is saying no, your traitorous mind envisions what it’d be like to kiss him. 

You gasp when something cold and thick lands on your chest, having been so distracted thinking Lee might’ve kissed you to notice him tipping some of the milkshake over your cleavage. 

“Lee—!” you breathe, having to shove your chest forward, back arched just to keep it all from immediately spilling off of you. 

“Remember our deal,” he taunts, mischievous eyes flicking up to yours. 

“I—I can’t,” you whine, trying and failing to dip your own chin enough to clean it without your hands or napkins. A cold droplet of it delves past the neckline of your dress, sliding in between your breasts and making you shiver. 

Lee’s dark eyes trace it as it goes. “Better figure somethin’ out fast.” 

“Will you—?” you make yourself ask, knowing already that you’re playing into his hands but too desperate to try to come up with a loophole before you lose. 

“Will I what?” he asks. “Gotta show me, honey.” 

Pushing your pride far, far away, you lift your hand carefully to the back of his neck without moving your chest, slipping your fingers over the warm skin to pull him forward and down. 

It feels depraved—making someone put their face in between your breasts. But Lee only grins, the face of a man who knows he’s won, and pushes the barely full milkshake cup into your hand instead of his. 

“Hold this for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

And then he dives in, your cleavage water as if he’s dying of thirst. You can feel the barely-there prickle of a day’s old shave on his jaw as his tongue spreads flat and warm against your sternum, collecting a broad swath of the shake and sweat from your skin. 

Your head falls back against the seat, his hand splayed big and wide over your arched spine to pull you further into him as he laps up the mess, sucking and biting obscenely from one side to the other. Most of the spill was skillfully right above the cut of your dress, the hem wet but thick enough to stop some of it from going beneath. 

Lee doesn’t care about this either. 

You drop your jaw back down, mouth wrenched open as he yanks the neckline below your cleavage completely, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of his cruiser, nipples hard and poking into his cheek. 

He doesn’t even bother making an excuse for breaking his own ever shifting rules as he groans, mouth sliding over to suck one into his mouth. His cheeks hollow, the indention of his teeth against your soft skin, regrettably, making a shaky moan fall from your lips. Your fingers twitch where they’re still buried in the back of his hair, and the other one falters where you’re gripping the milkshake. 

Lee hisses when the cup tips a little too far, pulling off of you enough that you can both see the dark, dampening spot where you’d just accidentally spilled the rest of the shake on the inner thigh of his pants. 

Your eyes widen, panic seizing any of the brief flickers of pleasure you’d had, and you barely catch Lee’s filthy smirk as you dive toward his lap to catch it before it hits the seat. 

His legs have been spread indulgently wide all night, but he closes them a little purely to watch you struggle to reach far enough to catch it all. Your forehead presses against one thigh, your chin against the other, your tongue and lips stretched, pursed, trying every way you can to suck up the mess until it’s more damp with your spit than with the incriminating milkshake. 

You push up with the hand braced on the leather on the other side of his knee, but it buckles when Lee pushes you down by the back of your neck. You lose balance, closing the distance face first with your open mouth shoved against the hard bulge of his cock through his pants. 

The noise you make is high and muffled, mouth forced open against his shape, nose tucked under his belt, his scent and heat overwhelming any of your other senses. Your tears soak in inches above your spit as you squeeze your eyes shut, the material of his pants rough against your tongue as he groans and bucks up against your face. 

With his grip on your neck, he drags you further down his thigh, pinning you there while he curses and undoes his belt with his free hand. You blink blearily at it from inches away, moving in snapshots again as he unclips his utility belt, yanks the buckle free on the one on his pants underneath it, discards them both in the floorboard. He pops open the button and fly next, groaning loud enough to make you flinch when he gets a hand around himself. 

And then he’s bare in front of you; the first dick you’ve ever seen up close in real life. He’s shorter and thicker than some of the ones you’ve come across online, but proportional, probably, or the rest of him. The head pokes over his moving fist, spilling a dot of something that could be mistaken for the milkshake as it slides over his skin to meet his knuckles. 

And then, a snapshot later, it’s in your mouth. 

You struggle around him at first, your lips and throat spasming to adjust to the intrusion. He thrusts up against your face in short, shallow jabs, using a slick thumb to poke at your lip until you use it to cover up your teeth. 

“Open fucking wide,” he warns with a grunt. “Be a good girl. That’s it, that’s it. Fuck.” 

Between him holding your head down and his hips riding your mouth, you drift, your mind going someplace quieter to deal with the barrage of new feelings and sensations. There’s spit on your chin and cheek, snot in your nose from your tears, your makeup smudged and dress shoved down to your stomach. Even the leather underneath your knees feels distant. 

You come back to yourself when his hand descends down your back. 

He shushes you when you whimper, gentling his thrusts as he yanks the bottom of your dress up over your ass and hips. His fingers slip into the back of your underwear without preamble or permission, groaning when he finds you, humiliatingly and undeniably, wet. 

He adjusts a little, leaning and fucking into your mouth sideways while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and uses the other to rub roughly at your clit. 

“Tight mouth, wet pussy—those boys wouldn’t have any idea what to do with you,” he mutters, dragging wet fingers away from your cunt to grip your ass. He squeezes possessively, then traces back to your opening. “You didn’t let any of ‘em touch you here, did you, honey?” 

He pulls you by the hair off of his cock, just long enough for you to gasp out a, “No.” 

“That’s good,” he coos, pushing you back down. “That’s real good, sweetheart. Aren’t you glad I found you instead?” 

Whatever noise you make is lost in response as his dick fills your mouth again. It’d been so much at first, the scent, the stretch, the flavor—but now you can sort of pick out a rhythm to his movements. You breathe through your nose and try to anticipate his thrusts, relaxing your throat as much as you can so it won’t bruise the way it feels like it’s surely going to. 

You tense again when his fingers stop tracing and press in, testing the resistance of your cunt. He dips in and out, playing with you as he slowly begins to ease one thick digit where only yours have ever been before—and that was only ever the times you’d been feeling particularly adventurous. 

“Shh, shh. You just keep chokin’ on that cock. Be good. Let me in, c’mon.” 

Desperate to feel anything other than the burn of a stretch between your thighs, you try to focus more on your mouth like he’d suggested. Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes as you hesitantly try out a few of the things you’ve read in books or seen in porn, hoping maybe if you make him feel good enough he’ll leave you alone. 

But you sink lower onto him, swirl your tongue, try your best to swallow around the tip without gagging when it meets the back of your throat, and still his fingers persist. 

He moans appreciatively when one is buried inside of you, your legs shaking, cunt spasming around the intrusion. It moves in and out of you the same way it had your mouth earlier, searching, slow, indulgent; as if you were a possession he could take his time exploring and not a person feeling every movement. 

You try to pull off when a second finger tucks up against you and starts to push in alongside it, but Lee only shushes you and keeps you down with a hand on the back of your head. He shifts his hips and thrusts up into your throat while you rest on his thigh, and you suck helplessly on him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth as you try to soothe yourself. 

His fingers are thick and it takes some effort to work them inside of you, Lee huffing impatiently as he extends a thumb to rub your clit until you relax enough to let him in. It feels weird, bigger than anything you’ve had there before, and it’s still not as thick as his cock. 

You tremble at the thought of him trying to fuck you, and Lee takes it as encouragement. 

“Were you gonna fuck him?” he asks, thrusting them inside of you. 

You make a questioning noise between his legs. Him? 

“You get a cock in your mouth and your brain cells go with it?” he spits. “I said—would you’ve let him spread these bare fuckin’ legs,” his fingers plunge in deep, making you gasp and choke on his cock, “lift up this slutty little dress you picked out just for him,” he grunts, swirling them around until you moan, “and fuck you in front of all his friends?” 

You gulp in air when he lifts you off of his cock again, spit smeared on your chin while you heave. “No! I just wanted—we were just gonna play spin the bottle…” 

You trail off when he swirls his fingers again, confused by the sharp wave of pleasure that happens every few seconds when he hits a certain spot. Your eyes blink hazy and slow, fluttering against your cheeks the more he does it. 

He keeps talking. “You wanted a little kiss, is that it?” 

“Y-yeah,” you nod. 

“Hm.” His fingers leave your hair, sliding down your cheek to grip your jaw and bring your face right up close to his. “Did you really want that? Or did you want someone to bend you over and show you what it means to be useful?” 

The words are so unexpected, so unconsciously tuned to what you’ve been craving your entire life that you sob when they register, muffled when he yanks you forward and kisses you. 

You can feel it the moment you break. Your body sags into his, your mouth opening up for his tongue, your thoughts taking a turn into something gnarled and dark that you’d thought you were far past now. Things like doesn’t it feel good to surrender? and isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? and would it really be so bad to let him fuck you if it meant he could fix you? 

If he could make you enough to get someone to stay? 

“What did I say about no cryin’, huh? Maybe I should give you somethin’ to cry for,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you again and again while you nod. “Yeah? You like that?”  

His fingers slip out of you and you whimper, Lee chuckling as the band of your underwear snaps back into place. He pats your hip, nudging you toward him. 

“Gonna play another game with you. Think you’re gonna like this one.” 

A prickle of fear seeps back in, but you can’t cling to it as much as you should when he grabs your face again, pulling you onto his lap and smearing his mouth against yours. The new position lights up your nerves in a new way all over again, unused to feeling thick thighs between yours, broad shoulders beneath your palms, a big, warm body your very own center of gravity. 

He scoots over to the middle seat, where he can lean back and your spine doesn’t graze the steering wheel, hands spanning your hips to drag you forward against him in a lazy grind. You moan when his bare dick rubs against your clit through your soaked underwear, shivering on his lap and inadvertently rubbing your still naked breasts up against his shirt. 

“Here’s how the game goes,” he rasps, using one hand to adjust your hips while the other dives for his cock. He nudges up against you until your midsections are perfectly aligned, the length of his dick nestled intimately between the folds of your cunt. You gasp and rock forward, the thin cotton of your underwear drenched so much that it’s like there’s nothing between you at all. “Yeah, fuck. Just like that. You’re gettin’ it already.” 

The praise is vague and low hanging, but it hits you hard all the same. You moan, head falling to his shoulder as you start to shift your hips back and forth. 

The friction is nice but it’s light compared to the intensity of the rest of the night so far, and you find yourself growing more desperate with each rock of your cunt against him. You grind mindlessly, messily, circling and shifting and trying to find what feels the best while Lee tongues into your mouth in lazy, smoke and sweetness flavored drags. 

“Hey,” he pants, trapping your chin between his fingers. “You goin’ to college?” 

You make an exasperated noise, torn between this pleasant unawareness and the too-lucid tone of his voice. “Yeah, I’m—I’ve always wanted to go.” 

“Mm,” he hums distractedly, bouncing you a little on his lap. “I don’t think so.” 

“What does that mean?” you ask, slurred just a little at the edges. 

“It means that this pussy’s too good to give up,” he says, grabbing onto your hips and thrusting up against your clit until you moan. “Tight n’hot, gonna be all mine one of these days—you’re gonna save it for me, right? Not gonna let anybody else have it until I come and take it?” 

You whimper. “B-but I wanted—” 

“You want to make me happy, I know,” he interrupts, kissing you deeply. “That’s so sweet, honey. That is what you were gonna say, right? ‘Cause I can always put a pair of cuffs on these wrists if I have to. Whole town’d want you gone after they hear about all the things you’ve gotten up to tonight…” 

He grabs your wrists and holds them behind your back as if to prove his point, and you soak his collar with tears, too overwhelmed to focus on the conversation and what’s happening in between your legs. You’re pretty sure, distantly, that that’d been the goal. 

Your grinding has devolved into sharp back-and-forths of your hips, greedy movements aimed at chasing the high you get each time the thick, bulbous head of his cock bumps against your nerves. It’s gotten your underwear all twisted up, wet and rough between you, the friction sometimes too much and sometimes not enough. 

“Maybe I’ll just knock you up,” Lee says thoughtfully. 

You mean to struggle, but the way you tense and try to get off of him only drives you further into his embrace. 

“Don’t even need to be inside you to come inside you,” he goes on. “Shit. Bet you’d be even fuckin’ sweeter carryin’ my kid. Make these tits of yours a little bigger, right? Stretch out these hips? Little insurance policy—make sure you stay mine.” 

His big hands touch everything he’s talking about, groping freely at your chest and your waist around the bunched up material of the dress at your middle. 

The noise you make is ambiguous and needy, and even you aren’t quite sure if it’s an affirmative or a denial. 

“Tell you what,” he whispers, hot against your ear while you rock against him, “if you stick around, be my pretty little secret for the next few years—shh, shh, sweetheart—then, when you’re older, I’ll put a ring on your finger and do it proper, hm? Gotta wait ‘til it’s not so taboo, y’know. Don’t want people to talk.” 

His fingers slip in between you, playing with the hem of your underwear. You nod frantically at him, hoping he’ll untangle them and fix it so you can get him right up close to you again, but Lee only seems to register it as confirmation of his own fantasy. 

“Be so sweet t’you when y’got my last name, a couple of my kids on your hips. Wouldn’t that be nice? Everybody knowin’ how useful I made you?” His fingers slip down past the band, rubbing your clit roughly. “Wouldn’t ever leave you, honey. You’d be stuck with me forever.” 

Your body clenches hard as you cry out, but the sensation is still too much too soon, not enough to tip you over the edge. Your teeth sink into his neck to muffle your pleas, limbs shivering while he holds your wrists in one hand behind your back. 

It calls out to something inside of you, no matter how much you wish that it didn’t—the alluring promise of forever, even if it’s something you’re trapped into. 

His mouth drags from your ear, down your jaw to your chest. 

“Won’t ever need to run out for milk when I can get it right here, huh?” 

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth again, and when he pulls his hand away from your underwear, it jostles them just enough that his cock slides inside the fabric, tucked right up and thrusting along the sticky, hot grip of your folds. 

You both moan, your wrists falling from his grip as his hands move to your hips, yours circling around his shoulders. Need burns hot inside your stomach, between your thighs, everywhere you’re touching as your rhythm doubles. 

He feels scorching against you, the real, throbbing length of him so close to your cunt that’s still fluttering from the stretch of his fingers. Something half thrill, half fear swirls inside of you, the sharper edge of it driving you that much closer to the most unexpected, most intense orgasm of your life. 

Even though he’d been keeping relatively still earlier, now Lee seems like he can’t help from thrusting up against you with each roll or bounce of your hips. He keeps groaning, rambling against your ear, holding you so close to his chest that he can look down your back and watch your ass while you move on him. 

You don’t try to stop him when he reaches down to yank the fabric of your underwear as far out of the way as possible on purpose this time, both of you transfixed by the lewd sounds and sight of his cock disappearing between your legs. 

If you tilt your head just right, you can imagine what it’d be like if he were really fucking you, his cock dipping just a little further, a little up until—

“Lee, fuck!” 

You grip his shoulders as your hips come to an abrupt stop, your mouth wrenched open around the unfamiliar press of the head of his cock slipping inside of you. 

With his head tossed back and jaw clenched hard, Lee takes a breath and then looks at you, sliding a hand down your face. He leans up to kiss you, your own mouth slack against his. You have to remind yourself to breathe, whimpering with every accidental twitch that draws him deeper. 

“S’okay, sweetheart, it’s okay—s’just the tip. Doesn’t count.” 

You blink wet eyes, lip extended into a wobbly frown. “Really?” 

“Really,” he nods. His hand slips around the back of your neck. “Would I lie to you?” 

His other fingers tighten on your hip, guiding you in a slow back and forth again. You gasp when his dick falls out of you again, both of you hissing at the contrast. 

Slowly your confidence builds again, grinding carefully at first and then more recklessly when you get curious, eager to feel that little bit of forbiddenness again. It’s still a lot but in a different way this time, the combination of his hot length against your clit and the head of his cock poking at your opening a tantalizing aphrodisiac. Each time he accidentally slips inside because of how wet you are you clench hard, the rhythmic pulse of your muscles pushing you closer. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he rumbles, watching you. “Just imagine what it’ll be like when I—fuck!” 

Both of you freeze, but it’s too late. 

He’d bucked up just as you ground forward, and the combination made the head of his cock slip inside—and in and in and in until he was shoved up to the hilt, not an inch of space left between your hips. 

Your virginity, gone between one breath and the next. 

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, grin filthy and reverent as he grabs you around the neck. “Now I’m never fucking letting you go.” 

“Lee,” you whimper, shock coursing through you as you helplessly twitch and pulse around him. 

His tongue catches the salt on your cheek, sucks like he’s trying to leave a mark. “Shh, you can take it.” 

“S’too much,” you sob. 

“You’ll get used to it,” he says. It’s gentle with a hint of something darker when he grounds out, “Only shape this pussy’s ever gonna know is mine.” 

It’s punctuated by an upwards thrust that makes you cry out, but it’s the only one you get before he pulls you up and off of him. 

You cling, suddenly lost, and he has to guide your shaky grip toward the leather seat as he crawls over you from behind. 

“Hands and knees. Go on.” 

There’s rustling and rattling as Lee shoves his pants down further, the press of heat against the backs of your thighs again as he pushes your head down onto the seat and yanks your hips up and back against his lap. 

He’s muttering something to himself but you’re somewhere else, too far gone to hear it. It’s the press of his cock back at your entrance that draws a broken noise from your throat, the slick slide of him taking your cunt again that makes you scream. 

Lee groans, encouraging your noises as he fucks you proper, hands on your hips and pace quick. You can feel the bottom of his shirt brushing against the top of your ass over his thick gut, the coarse hair at the base of his cock where it brushes your cunt every time he shoves in deep. His cologne swirls in the air as the windows begin to fog above your head, with whisps of cigarette smoke, your own perfume, and the forgotten milkshakes. 

One of his hands lands beside your mouth when he leans over you, larger body folded over so he can fit in the confines of the cruiser. Your own hand, lying limp beside you on the seat, twitches to life to wrap loosely around his wrist. Lee chuckles again, and this time, whether he’d meant it warmly or ruthlessly, your body heats with something sweet nonetheless. 

The radio crackles again from his discarded utility belt in the floorboard, and both of you seem primed to ignore it as Lee’s hips keep up their pace undeterred. But it goes static for a moment and then crackles again, and a second later, a grainy voice comes through the line. 

“Chief?” 

Lee’s thrusts slow and then stop behind you, pressing in deep and stilling as he curses. He bends over you completely, his chest against your back as he fumbles for the radio beneath you. 

You just like the fact that, if you block everything else out, this still sort of counts as a hug. You turn your cheek just enough to drag a kiss to his fingers. 

“What’s up,” Lee holds down the button and grits into the speaker, voice loud right over your shoulder. 

“Got a situation out here by the creek,” the officer crackles. “Looks like a buncha kids from that party you busted on 10th. Think they moved the celebration here when they scattered.” 

Lee takes a measured breath. 

“I want every one of ‘em brought into the station. Especially—” he takes his finger off the button, turns to you. “What was his name?” 

You frown. “Huh?” 

He thrusts into you once, pointed and harsh, and then starts fucking you steady again. You scramble to grab onto his arms. 

“Tell me that punk’s name,” he says, “so I can make sure he never fucking gets the chance to come anywhere near my pussy.” 

“He doesn’t want me,” you remind him, moaning with each rock of his hips. 

“Bodecker? You there?” 

A hand settles on your throat. Squeezes. 

“Tell me. Now.” 

You gasp, rushing out the name of your crush. He repeats it into the speaker, denies going to help them, but he’s still clutching the radio in his fist when it lands beside your head again for leverage to keep fucking you while he waits for confirmation from his officers. 

You cry out when he hits a particularly good angle, and his hand slips around you to cover your mouth. In the corner of your eye, his thumb hovers near the speaker button. 

“Gotta—fuck—gotta keep quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want the whole city knowin’ you let me pop your cherry in my front seat,” he murmurs, low and crude. “Can’t let ‘em hear how wet this tight, virgin pussy gets for my cock.” 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Lee, I need—” 

“You still over by the diner?” the radio crackles beside your head. Lee’s hand tightens over your mouth. “You think we need to send anyone out that way?” 

“No,” Lee snaps quickly. “Everything is—really good here.” 

You only narrowly manage to not make a noise at the praise, muffling it into his palm as you push yourself back against his thrusts. 

“If you’re sure. We’ll get these kids back to the station, keep ‘em in holding for the night. Call in if you see anything else we should be keepin’ an eye on.” 

Lee grunts. “Will do.” 

“Over n’out, Chief.” 

The radio clatters to the floorboard a second later, Lee curving over you again, tight enough that his hot, panting breath stains your cheek. 

“Where were we,” he rasps. “Pretty sure you were beggin’.” 

“Yes,” you nod eagerly, trying to pull on his wrist. “Touch me, Lee, please.” 

“Think you’ve been a good girl?” he asks. “Think you’ve earned it?” 

A sob catches in your throat, practically vibrating in the tension that’s been building since the moment you left your house. 

“Tell me how. I’ll—I’ll be good, Lee, I promise.” 

“You will, won’t you?” he purrs. “Be a good girl for your Sheriff?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant with his thrusts, eyes rolling backward. The pain has finally burned into white hot pleasure, each shove of his hips like an embrace. 

“Gonna let me keep you?” he grunts. 

“Yes!” 

“Gonna let me make y’my pretty little housewife? Put a ring on your finger?” he asks. “Keep you tied down and knocked up the rest of your life so I can always come home to this face and this pussy greetin’ me?” 

You nod frantically, head knocking back into his shoulder. “Please.” 

“Fuck. Good girl. Only taken cock once and you’re already such a perfect little whore for me.” 

The words jumble in your brain, the dichotomy of praise and filth combining to make you even more dizzy, wanting. Lee’s hand slips down the seat, grazes your breast, your ribs, ends up between your thighs, fingers rubbing fast over your clit. 

“Doesn’t matter if your daddy left,” he all but growls against your cheek, pushing into you in a daze of hungry, claiming thrusts. “All he did was make it nice n’easy for men like me to come in and make you a woman, huh?” 

Your back bows, mouth falling open as you back and shake underneath him, crying out your release. Everything else becomes background noise, the sweat on your bodies, the foggy windows, how you got here in the first place, nothing in the world existing but Lee’s cock and the promise of something sweet and sinister; something you never thought you’d get to have at all. 

You’re still coming down from it when Lee pulls out and rolls you over, laid out and loose limbed on your back, skin sticking to the leather. He’s one big blur above you as he strips his cock with his fist, and he should look imposing with his button up and his badges and the nametag pinned to his pocket that you’ve heard campfire stories about for years. A man that uses power like a toy, playing with it how he pleases, getting whatever he wants, even if he doesn’t deserve it. 

But he wants you. He’d seen you at your worst tonight, vulnerable and trying too hard and needy, and instead of all those guys that looked at you like you were too much, Lee had bullied himself inside and promised to stay. 

You could cry with relief. 

“Oh, fuck,” Lee curses above you, eyes pinched shut and brow furrowed as he starts to come. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, sweetheart—” 

With your last dredges of awareness and energy, you lift your head off the seat and wrap your lips around his cock where he’s kneeling over your chest. He jerks and groans, his hand falling to the back of your head to hold it for you while he fucks your mouth through his release. 

It lands harshly on your tongue, strong and salty and washing away the sweetness of the milkshake when it makes its way down your throat. When you swallow next, all you taste is him. 

You can feel hands on your face as your eyes close, lips smearing against your mouth, your jaw, one slipping between your legs to lazily prod at your freshly fucked cunt. You suck automatically when fingers press down on your tongue. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lee mutters tiredly, distant. “You’re perfect.” 

You grin as wide as you can manage around the digits in your mouth, swearing to yourself then and there that you’ll spend the rest of your life saying thank you.

[...]

Lee’s hand is big and warm on your lower back, the swell of your stomach large enough now that it rests there more often than not to balance you when you walk. 

The graveyard is nearly empty despite the grim festivities, your father’s picture printed on a styrofoam display board a little further down the lawn. Part of you wishes you could’ve seen him again before he passed. Another part of you insists that no reaction would ever have been the right one; that even if he turned out to be pleased with how your life has turned out, you aren’t sure you want to waste time trying to earn praise from those who never appreciated you in the first place anymore. 

It was your mother who’d gotten the call first when it happened, and then she’d called you. You remember those days clearly—it was the ones you spent in a summer rental with Lee on a rare week off, both of you free to be as openly affectionate with each other as you wanted to be away from the small town where everyone knew everyone. 

You’re pretty sure it was the week he’d gotten you pregnant. 

It was also the week you finally told him the extent to which your father’s ignorance, greed, anger, and eventual absence had affected your life. 

By the end of the next one, your father was dead. You’ve learned not to ask questions. 

Most people are gone now, of the few who’d even attended. You’d helped your mother to her car nearly an hour ago, lingering behind with Lee after you’d hugged her goodbye and promised to see her soon. You’re even closer with her these days, especially since asking her to be the one to walk you down the aisle. 

“Ready to go home?” Lee murmurs from behind you, chin on your shoulder and palm grazing the side of your stomach. Your wedding band glints in the sun, your mind flashing back to how many people had called you by his last name today—not your father’s. Not anymore. 

You nod. “I think I am now.” 

You walk back to the cruiser, Lee’s jacket over your shoulders and his hand in yours. You need to get a minivan or something soon, probably, when he eventually retires from the force, but he’s partial to it—both the power that comes with the job, and the private smile that tugs at his lips each time you’re both in the front seat. 

Lowering yourself into the front seat, you let Lee help you with the belt and close the door, your ankles aching from being on your feet all day. He’s been quiet all day but he’s loud in the ways you need, the ways you’ve come to love these last few years, his knuckles grazing your cheek as he reaches across the bench to hold the back of your neck. 

“M’proud of you,” he says. 

Your body melts, soaking up the sweetness despite the fact that you hear it often now. Chest warm and a smile tugging at your lips despite the events of the day, you reach for his free hand as he starts up the cruiser and begins to pull out, gravel crunching underneath the tires. 

“Lee,” you hum. 

“Yeah, honey?” 

You glance out at the open road in front of you that heads back to town; only your future now, your past disappearing in the rearview. 

“Can we get milkshakes?”