Because in his current one he was experiencing a level of torture that he thought nobody was possible of inflicting on another person “you are going to get me killed.” Beau grumbled against your mouth as his hands rested on your waist. 

It made you grin “I’m just a girl chilling on her bed.” You played defensively as you gasped feeling his hips grind against you. 

The boy laughed “you say that like you aren’t in my shirt.” Beau pointed out as he looked down at the football training shirt. 

The grey fabric practically drowned you, reminding him out that day you were in his jersey “hey finders keepers losers weepers.” You stuck your tongue out at him earning an immediate laugh. 

Beau tucked your hair behind your ear “you’re lucky that it looks better on you anyways.” He murmured leaning in to kiss your neck.  

You shook your head as you let your hands cup his cheeks before you pulled his attentions back to your eyes “you know what looks better on me?” You batted your eyelashes at the boy who swore he melted into your bed at that moment. 

You had this way of looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered. Sure he looked at you like that too. 

It was funny how time had a way of stopping when you shut your bedroom door. The apartment had become your safe haven once the girls found out about you two, it became a place where you didn’t have to hide “what does baby?” Beau asked as he cocked his head. 

You ran your tongue along your teeth “if it’s off of me.” Your words were met with an immediate groan as his head fell onto your shoulder. 

It made you laugh which was only made louder when the door burst open “absolutely not!” Allie shook her head. 

She was stood with Hannah who grinned when you looked past the boy on top of you “you need to get ready.” Allie pointed her finger in your direction “and you need to go finish helping set up your stupid house for this.” She moved her attention to Beau. 

It made the boy groan “I hate your roommates.” He grumbled when he finally sat up. 

You mocked him with a pout “they’re my roommates.” You reminded him as you giggled “and we’re also the ones who keep your asses safe.” Hannah reminded you of remembering when Garrett had an impromptu drop in and Beau was left being forced into your room. 

In a way it was almost ironic that Beau dropped in on girls night, just for Garrett to do the same thing thirty minutes later. That’s how you ended up being forced to fake a cold for a week after you had to hide in your bedroom too. 

Beau sighed as he knew that the girls were right “what is it that you want from us?” He asked as he let his hand snake around your waist once more. 

Allie rolled her eyes “for you to go away so that we can get her dressed.” Beau looked down to what you were in. 

What was just his t-shirt “well I think she looks perfect.” He confessed making both girls pretend to gag “nice try.” Allie crossed her arms. 

Beau grinned “now go away.” She added making the boy frown. 

He reached for your hand “no don’t look at her she can’t help you.” Hannah stopped him making you laugh. 

The boy looked at you like you had just gone to the dark side “I will see you later.” He went to kiss you but your roommates remained strong “go!” 

You toyed with your necklace as you laughed seeing them shove him out “you know your boyfriend is obsessed with you right?” Allie shook her head and you couldn’t even argue. 

Because the feeling was right, and listening to people still calling him your boyfriend made your stomach feel funny. 

It came when the rain was pouring outside. 

Beau came over after he finished a late class and practically slipped into your bed with you the moment he got a chance as you had complained that you were too cold to practically do anything. 

That’s how the two of you ended up watching Mamma Mia on your laptop together “so just so we’re clear Sam’s the dad right?” His words made you pause your laptop, leaning up from his chest. 

You turned to Beau and let out the harshest sigh you possibly could have “it’s a good thing you’re pretty cause you my friend are wrong.” You shook your head as you felt his hand on your back. 

Beau cocked his head “it’s so clearly Bill!” You whined not realising that the boy in front of you had gone strangely quiet. 

His fingers brushed up your arm absentmindedly. His fingers were slower as if his mind had drifted somewhere else entirely “you’re staring.” Your voice was soft as it pulled him back to you. 

He smiled when his eyes flicked back to yours “no I’m not.” 

“Oh yes you are.” 

And then he paused as he let out a hard exhale “I’m just thinking.” He shrugged as he leaned on his arm “that’s dangerous.” You grinned as your eyes shone this glimmer of mischief. 

He rolled his eyes as he huffed out a laugh “do you ever think about how this started?” He asked quietly as his arm tightened around your waist. 

You blinked as you cocked your head “how you’re wrong about a piece of cultural history?” You spoke so simply that it almost made him laugh. 

Beau shook his head “I mean us.” You turned to be fully in his arms “I think about it all the time.” 

It made you smile “what about us?” You furrowed your brows. 

His thumb brushed against your waist, almost nervous in a way you weren’t really used to seeing him in “I don’t want to just be your friend.” His words made you grow confused. 

“I’m not tracking with you Maxwell.”

He frowned, trying to figure out how he was meant to say it “what are we?” His hand reached up to cup your cheek. 

You chewed at the inside of your lip “I mean.” You couldn’t find the words to articulate it “we’re serious.” You remembered that night when the girls found out about him when you confessed that. 

Beau nodded “they called me your boyfriend.” He reminded you as if it wasn’t something that you were already thinking about. 

You licked your lips “I liked it when they did that.” His confession made you melt as he sat up talk as if it was about to make what he said more proper than when he was laying down “I want you like that.” 

He ran his fingers through his hair “you do have me like that Beau.” You nodded as he shook his head “not officially.” 

That made you nervous “what about Dean-” his hands cupped your cheeks “I know I can’t have you in public.” 

It should have stung. It should have made your heart break “but I want you in all the ways that matter to us.” Beau forced his lips into a smile when you grinned “who would have thought I’d get Beau Maxwell getting all cute?” 

He pecked your lips “your boyfriend Beau Maxwell actually.” 

It lingered in your mind as you walked into the house “Dean might kill me in this.” You shook your head at the two girls who laughed “well then aren’t we glad that you dressed up for your boyfriend.” Allie took a cup one of the guys who smiled at her before she gave it to you. 

You downed it without thinking twice as you nodded “remember if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Hannah patted your lower back when you guys finally spotted Beau. 

He was stood in some black shirt and a backwards hat that made him look dangerously good “I-I,” You cut yourself off as your throat felt dry. 

Now you were learning how the world felt as it was so unfair. 

And then he looked up and finally saw you.

Before he completely stopped moving.

It was almost funny how obvious he was when he wasn’t meant to. 

But somehow it felt like something only you guys were meant to know.

Like his body forgot how to function for a second every time you walked into a room “oh my god,” Allie whispered beside you, delighted “look at his face.”

Hannah snorted looking at the boy “he’s gone.” Beau really was, his drink lowered slowly in his hand as his eyes dragged down your body.

The dress.

Your legs.

The way the black fabric hugged you in all the places he already knew too well.

It was something that Allie found in her closet, and she knew the moment you put it on that it was practically made for you. 

And Beau knew it by the way his eyes looked back up at yours.

And the look on his face made heat crawl up your neck instantly.

Because that wasn’t secretive.

That wasn’t subtle.

That was him reminding you that he was yours.

You swallowed as Allie grinned wickedly, “mission accomplished.” Across the room, Garrett said something to Beau that clearly went unheard.

Beau forced himself to nod as you smiled “think your man is thinking the same thing.” You winked at Hannah, who turned the same colour of red you swore your cheeks were. 

Beau was the first one to make his way over “I’ll meet him there.” Hannah squeezed your hand as she walked to Garrett before he had the chance to unintentionally cockblock you. 

Allie squeezed your arm “oh that boy looks sick!” She giggled like a kid in a candy store “try keep him breathing after midnight.” She teased as she gave you one last twirl.

You barely got a chance to respond before he was stood right in front of you. The boy made sure that there was enough space for it not to be overwhelmingly noticable, but he was close enough that you could still smell his cologne.

His eyes dropped again, straight to the dress. Then your legs. 

And to round off the trip they went back to your eyes, and the look that he gave you was enough to make your stomach flip “hi there, handsome.” You smiled sweetly. 

Beau exhaled through his nose as his eyes sharpened “you are doing this on purpose.” His words were directed at Allie but his eyes never left you. 

He let out a low whistle “c’mon baby I mean.” He reached out to put his hands on your waist but he quickly stopped himself. 

It was the part that you hated, the fact that he couldn’t just reach out and touch you, it almost made you feel jealous of Hannah and Garrett behind you, who got to be real in front of everyone when Hannah was still crushing on Justin two weeks ago, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that she was still crushing on the singer. 

Sure you knew it was wrong to not be 100% happy for your friend, but you craved the publicity that her relationship got, “you look like trouble.” Beau finally found the words as he made you smile. 

Of course, he’d notice when his compliments made your heart soar, but you’d do everything in your power to hide the effect they had on you “that’s not very nice.” You lightly teased him as he shook his head. 

Beau decided to step forward again, this time allowing his mouth to drop to your ear “last time I checked, I wasn’t trying to be fucking nice.” He grumbled as he let his hand run along your waist. 

Honestly, that moment had done more to you than anything else. The thought of him peeling you out of your dress was something that seemed to be on both of your minds. 

Which was a dangerous look to have on a man in a room full of people “you are going to be the death of me.” He mumbled as he leaned back to take a look at you in full again. 

His jaw flexed as his eyes darkened. Beau was really weighing up the consequences of throwing you over his shoulder and bringing you upstairs

But then it happened, “Beau!” Dean’s voice called out, making your boyfriend step back. 

The boy groaned while you instead laughed “hey Deano.” You smiled seeing your very drunk and very oblivious brother sling his arm around Beau’s shoulders. 

Dean let his eyes linger over your body “you clean up nicely.” He announced as you tried your best not to look nervous. 

“Thanks?”

Your brother ignored you as he saw how Beau smiled at you “see this is why I have rules.” Dean slurred as he pointed his finger accusingly at his best friend. 

It made Beau’s eyes widen, “what rules?” He asked as he tried his hardest to act like you weren’t there and you tried the same thing with him. 

Dean continued, “you can’t hook up with any of my friends.” You had to force a laugh out of your lips “oh please, I’d never.” You scratched your arm nervously as if your brother knew everything. 

Thankfully he stumbled shortly after, making Beau practically catch him you are drunk.” Dean shook his head “I am having a better time than the two of you it seems.” He corrected his friend as you smiled. 

It was nice seeing the boys together, you had to admit it “c’mon lets get you some water.” Beau’s suggestion fell onto deaf ears “we are doing shots.” 

Dean looked at you “without her.” That was what your brother was always like so you really weren’t annoyed. 

Beau frowned as he really didn’t want to leave you “have fun boys.” You sent Beau a salute as he got pulled back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of people.

Before you knew it, the party had gotten louder. 

Hotter and somehow more crowded even. 

Allie disappeared outside to answer a call from Shawn while Hannah was talking to Justin in some corner as Garrett was in the bathroom. 

Which left you alone as you got a drink in the kitchen “you’re Dean’s sister right?” You looked up to see a guy that you vaugly remembered as one of the lowerclassmen on the football team. 

You nodded as you watched him smile too widely “that’s sick.” He reeked of alcohol, and it made your nose scrunch in disgust. 

The boy didn’t leave “you got a boyfriend?” He stepped closer to you instead.

Your heart skipped “why?” You knew you should have just said yes but you stopped yourself from having to explain this to Dean “because I think we should fix that.” 

He reached for your hand as you shook your head, “I’m good,” the boy didn’t stop “c’mon don’t shut me down that fast.” He made you cringe when you stepped back realising that you were now against the counter. 

Before you even had the chance to panic you heard him “pretty sure she’s good.” Beau clenched his fists as he stood behind you both. 

“Can’t you take a hint?” 

It made the other boy laugh “we are just taking.” You took the chance to wriggle out of his space. 

Opting to slot into Beau’s side instead “no she was trying to get away from you.” Beau wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

He squeezed his arm making the other guy snarl, “why do you care?” Beau tensed against you “because she isn’t up for the taking.” 

Beau spoke so simply, unaware of the fact that you were just about ready to make out with your boyfriend in the middle of party, without caring who saw you “whatever.” The boy raised his hands in surrender as he walked off. 

The brunette turned his attention to you “you okay?” His expression softened as he made you smile. 

You softly laughed “a lot better now that you’re here.” Your words made him almost melt. 

His hand cupped your cheek as his eyes stared at your lips “fuck you’re gorgeous.” He murmured doing everything in his power to not kiss you. 

His words were sweet as you nodded “you’re not too bad yourself pretty boy.” You shook your head, as you leaned closer to him. Your lips mere inches away from him. 

And just like last time the moment was cut before it had a chance to begin “Beau c’mon someone is sick on our couch!” One of his roommates groaned making you sigh.

Beau was ready to stay with you and leave the mess for someone else to deal with “no talking to strange men.” Beau grumbled as it made you let out a low laugh “is that your takeaway from this?”

He wanted to plant his feet in the ground and never leave you “I’ll behave.” He didn’t believe that you would, but still he couldn’t stay.

Not when he was literally being pulled away “I’m serious!” Was the last thing that he said as he got pulled back into the crowd. 

Allie appeared beside you as you grinned “y’know he was ready to like actually fight that guy.” She squeezed your hand, making your cheeks turn red. 

You licked your lips “that guy was weird.” It sent a shiver down your spine. 

She gasped dramatically “no way, your secret boyfriend who is obsessed with you, got jealous?” She teased you as she let out a laugh when you rolled your eyes. 

The girl looped her arm into yours, leaning her head against your shoulder “I am literally living for this.” You snorted as you shook your head “you are enjoying this way too much.” 

Allie nodded as if it was the most honest thing that you could have said “because it took you two so damn long to let us in!”

She remembered how awkward you and Beau were when you first started sneaking around “y’know he used to look at you like a lost puppy.” Hannah reappeared next to you as you shook your head. “No he didn’t.”

Your defensiveness made them laugh “you love him.” Hannah elbowed your side as she slipped her arm into yours. 

You chewed at the inside of your cheek “yeah I do.” You nodded as you realised that you really meant it. 

Both girls squealed as they jumped up and down, seeing your eyes land on Beau’s. You did always managed to find him in the crowd. 

And like always, Beau was looking at you too. 

Allie stood in front of you as she grabbed your face “this is like the best day of my life.” Her words made you groan.

You shook your head “Allie!” You whined as you hated how well the girls could read you.

Hannah watched as you scrunched your nose “I hate you both.” You grumbled making her stick her tongue out at you.

Allie grinned as she let out a laugh “but we are still the ones helping you two sneak around.” She poked your nose as Hannah giggled.

And they were right.

Because when you couldn’t find Beau anymore. Rather than going home with the girls, you opted to slip up to his room to get some quiet and hopeful company “was wondering how long it would take you to come here.” Beau smiled as he toyed with his watch. 

The door shut behind you “I was waiting for you to come and get me.” You smirked as the boy stood up from his bed.

His steps towards you were painfully slow “was trying to do that most of the night.” His hand reached for yours as he smiled. 

His calloused fingers were rough against your skin “seemed like you didn’t do a very good job.” You let out a breathy laugh when he walked you back into the door. 

Beau licked his lips “you enjoy breaking the rules?” Your lips hovered over his as you smiled. 

He grinned “last I checked Dean said his friends couldn’t hook up with you.” He recounted the conversation as if you weren’t there when it happened. 

You finally scoffed as you sent him a confused look “and what are we doing?”

Beau brushed his nose against yours “I am dating you.” His lips engulfed yours when you started walking him backwards against his bed. 

The boy grunted when he pulled you down with him “do you enjoy wearing something trying to kill me?” Beau asked as his thigh drew these tiny circles against your inner thigh. 

You smiled sweetly, “you look pretty alive to me.” You batted your eyelashes, almost making the boy’s heart stop. 

Beau nodded “that’s cause I have been planning on getting you out of this from the moment you got here.” Your body squirmed as you clenched your thighs against him. 

“So what are we waiting for?”

The rink smelled like cold air, sweat, and freshly resurfaced ice, the familiar combination settling heavily into your lungs every time you pushed off the bench and stepped back onto the surface.

Your legs already ached.

The game had turned aggressive halfway through the second period after one shitty call spiraled into another, and now every shift felt sharper around the edges. Faster. Meaner. The kind of game where players stopped caring about penalties and started caring about pride instead.

You preferred games like that, if you had to be honest.

Your ponytail stuck damply to the back of your neck beneath your helmet while you skated toward center ice, adjusting your grip against your stick as the referee dropped the puck between you and the opposing center.

The collision happened almost immediately after that.

Sticks clashed. Skates carved violently against the ice. Somebody shouted from the bench behind you while bodies slammed together hard enough to rattle the boards, but your focus narrowed the way it always did during games until the rest of the rink became background noise.

You stole the puck cleanly and pushed forward.

A defender cut toward you from the left.

You dipped your shoulder, trying to slip around her.

Instead, she drove straight into your side.

The impact sent you hard against the glass with a crack loud enough to echo through the arena, pain blooming sharply along your ribs as the boards shook beneath you.

The crowd reacted instantly, and so did your teammates.

But you barely had time to register any of it before irritation outweighed the pain completely.

You shoved off the glass immediately, stealing the puck back before the defender could recover properly, and skated straight down the ice with enough force behind your strides to make your thighs burn.

Somewhere behind the opposing bench, somebody yelled, “Holy shit.”

The puck left your stick seconds later, and the goal light flashed red.

You barely had time to breathe before gloves slammed against your helmet and arms wrapped around your shoulders, the team crowding around you near the bench while the arena noise swelled louder overhead.

“You’re insane,” your captain laughed breathlessly against the side of your helmet.

You grinned despite yourself, adrenaline still racing violently through your system.

The celebration around you lasted only a few seconds before the line changed again and everybody scattered back into position, skates carving sharply across the ice while the energy in the rink climbed even higher after the goal.

You pushed a hand briefly against your ribs while skating backward toward center, testing the ache already beginning to settle beneath your padding.

It hurt.. not enough to matter, yet.

Across the arena, Logan still had not looked away from you.

He sat forward in his seat slowly, forearms resting against his knees while the rest of the crowd blurred into noise around him. The game continued moving at full speed beneath the arena lights, players shouting over one another while the referees reset the faceoff, but his attention stayed fixed entirely on you.

Dean noticed first, because of course he did.

“You good, bro?” he asked, glancing sideways from his seat beside him.

Logan barely blinked. “Who is that?”

Dean followed his line of sight toward the ice where you were circling near center.

“The defenseman?”

“The one that just got launched into the glass.”

Tucker snorted from Logan’s other side. “That doesn't narrow it down at all. They've been nasty tonight.”

Logan ignored him completely.

You pushed your helmet back slightly while talking to one of your teammates, visibly unfazed by the hit you had taken less than a minute earlier, and something about that seemed to irritate Logan further.

He wasn't irritated with you.

At the fact that nobody else on the ice appeared nearly as bothered by it as he was.

“She’s fine,” Dean said casually, mid bite of his overpriced arena pretzel. “Women’s team plays mean as hell.”

“That wasn’t a casual hit.”

Dean shrugged. “She got back up.”

“Not the point.” Logan groaned, leaning back in his seat and letting his legs spread a bit.

Tucker looked over slowly then, eyebrows lifting slightly as realization started creeping into his expression.

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “You’re obsessed with her.”

Logan finally tore his eyes away from the ice long enough to glare at him.

“I’m not obsessed.”

“You looked ready to fight somebody for checking her.”

“She hit the glass hard.”

“She also scored immediately after.” Dean piped up with a shrug and a wink.

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly.

The game resumed again before Dean could say anything else, but Logan’s attention kept drifting back toward you no matter how hard he tried to focus elsewhere. Every shift you played seemed sharper than everyone else’s. Faster. More aggressive.

You didn’t hesitate.

Most players slowed right before impact without even realizing they were doing it, bodies instinctively bracing against pain before collisions happened.

You didn’t.

You kept driving forward like fear genuinely never occurred to you.

Halfway through the third period, you slammed another player into the boards hard enough that Tucker actually winced.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed. “She’s terrifying.”

Logan said nothing.

Your helmet turned slightly while backing away from the boards afterward, and for a brief second the arena lights caught the side of your jersey clearly enough for him to see the number stretched across your back.

Twelve.

Before he could make out the name above it, you skated off toward the bench again.

Logan leaned forward immediately.

“Twelve,” he repeated.

Dean stared at him. “What?”

“Her number.”

Dean burst out laughing. “You’re actually trying to identify her right now?”

Logan reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled his phone out without answering.

“Oh, this is bad,” Tucker said, grinning openly now. “He’s gone.”

Dean leaned over slightly while Logan opened the Briar women’s hockey roster, scrolling quickly with his thumb while the game continued in the background.

“Twelve,” Logan muttered quietly to himself.

The roster loaded slowly.

Tucker watched him with open amusement. “You don’t even know this girl.”

Logan’s eyes stayed fixed on his phone. “Working on it.”

Dean laughed under his breath. “You got all this from one hit into the boards?”

Logan finally looked back toward the ice.

You were standing near the bench listening to your coach, one glove hanging loosely from your hand while you nodded along absently, cheeks flushed from exertion and baby hairs sticking damply to your forehead beneath your helmet.

Then you smiled at something one of your teammates said.

Five minutes ago you had looked vicious enough to start a fight in the middle of the rink. Now you looked warm and relaxed. The contrast was something that Logan understood and admired.. something that was also making him constantly reconnect his wifi in the hopes that it would load faster.

Logan looked back down at the roster immediately.

“There,” Dean pointed suddenly, leaning closer. “Number twelve.”

Logan’s thumb stopped scrolling.

Your name sat there on the screen beneath your player photo.

Defense. Junior. The same number stitched across your jersey.

For some reason, finally knowing your name only made the strange tight feeling in his chest worse.

Tucker looked between Logan and the phone before laughing again.

“You’re done for, bro.”

Logan barely heard him.

Down on the ice, you stepped back into play again, completely unaware that a man several rows above the rink had just memorized your name like it was something important.

By the final stretch of the third period, Boston College had stopped looking organized and started looking frustrated.

Every pass they attempted felt rushed, every hit carried just a little too much irritation behind it, and Briar only seemed to feed off the shift in energy. The game had become brutal in the way rivalry games always did once pride got involved, fast and physical and loud enough that the sound of skates carving into the ice blended together with the roar of the crowd overhead.

Your lungs burned every time you pushed off into another sprint, exhaustion settling heavily into your legs beneath the adrenaline, but it barely registered anymore. The ache in your ribs from earlier pulsed every time you twisted too sharply, yet even that felt distant compared to the rush of momentum building around your team.

The scoreboard hanging above the rink read 5–1.

Boston looked furious about it.

You stole another pass near center ice before one of their forwards could recover properly, intercepting it so cleanly that she nearly lost her footing trying to turn around after you. The crowd reacted immediately, noise erupting through the arena while you accelerated down the ice with one of your teammates racing alongside you.

A defender moved toward you.

You waited until the very last second before sliding the puck across the ice.

Your teammate buried it immediately.

The red goal light flashed, and before you fully registered it, the arena exploded.

By the time you reached the boards again, your teammates were already swarming you, gloves smacking against your helmet and shoulders while somebody nearly crashed hard enough into your back to knock you forward.

You were laughing before you realized it, adrenaline making everything feel sharp and electric beneath your skin while the Boston goalie snapped her stick against the post in frustration somewhere behind you.

Several rows above the glass, Tucker stood abruptly from his seat with the kind of dramatic excitement only hockey players seemed capable of.

His hands coming together with immense force as his claps echoed alongside the rest of the cheers in the arena.

Dean laughed immediately beside him, though his attention shifted toward Logan a second later once he realized there had been absolutely no reaction.

Logan had not looked away from the ice.

Not once.

His forearms rested against his knees while his eyes tracked you, a small grin tugging at his lips despite the intent behind his eyes.

Dean noticed it first.

Or maybe he had noticed earlier and only now found it entertaining enough to comment on.

“Y'know,” he said slowly, “most people blink occasionally.”

Logan barely reacted.

“You’re staring at her like you’re scouting for the NHL,” Tucker added, dropping back into his seat.

“She’s good,” Logan answered simply.

It came out quieter than either of them expected.

Not dismissive. Not casual. He was just certain.

Dean glanced sideways at him then before looking back toward the ice again where you were circling near the bench waiting for the next line change.

“That is not a normal amount of interest for someone you’ve watched exactly one game of.”

Logan didn’t answer immediately.

The truth was he had stopped paying attention to the rest of the game almost twenty minutes ago. Every time you stepped onto the ice, his focus shifted toward you without thinking. The speed, the aggression, the complete lack of hesitation every time another player came near you. You played like somebody who trusted herself completely, and there was something about that confidence that had rooted itself beneath his skin almost instantly.

The final buzzer sounded not long after.

Briar won 7–1.

The entire team spilled onto the ice immediately afterward while music blasted through the arena speakers and students crowded harder against the glass cheering. Your helmet disappeared during the celebration at some point, leaving your hair flattened messily around your face while one of your teammates jumped against your side hard enough to throw both of you off balance.

You caught her automatically, laughing hard enough that Logan could see it even from the stands.

Dean leaned back in his seat slowly.

“Oh, you are fucked,” he muttered.

Logan finally dragged his attention away from the rink long enough to frown at him slightly. “Fuck off." He shoved Dean's shoulder while the two of them laughed as Logan's eyes wandered back to the ice.

You were standing near the bench now talking to your coach, your gloves tucked beneath one arm while you nodded along absently. The arena lights reflected faintly against the sweat still shining along your forehead, and even exhausted, you still looked completely awake somehow. Alive in a way that made it difficult to stop looking at you once he started.

After a short victory lap, the team slowly started disappearing through the tunnel beneath the stands while the energy in the arena softened into postgame noise. You lingered near the ice longer than most of your teammates, still talking to someone through the glass while tossing a puck over for a kid with a little Briar hockey jersey on.

Then your head turned slightly toward the stands.

Toward him.

Logan went still.

Even from this far away, he could see the brief flicker of awareness cross your expression as your eyes passed over the crowd and paused for half a second too long in his direction.

It wasn't recognition, despite the fact that he wanted it to be. It was really just awareness.. like you had felt someone watching you.

Before either of you could hold the moment long enough for it to become anything real, one of your teammates grabbed your arm and dragged your attention away again, pulling you toward the tunnel with the rest of the team.

Logan kept looking toward the empty space you had left behind long after you disappeared from sight.

The next morning felt painfully slow after the energy of the game the night before.

Campus had settled back into its usual rhythm by the time Logan crossed the quad toward his lecture hall, students moving in uneven streams through the cold while coffee cups steamed between gloved hands and backpacks bumped against shoulders in crowded walkways.

He barely noticed any of it, all he could think about was crawling back into his bed after his classes wrapped up.

Not because anything was wrong, which honestly only irritated him more, but because every time he closed his eyes he kept replaying flashes from the game in frustratingly vivid detail. The sound of skates against the ice. Your laugh during the postgame celebration. The way you kept getting back up after every hit like it genuinely offended you to stay down.

Dean had called him pathetic three separate times already that morning.

Logan still wasn’t entirely convinced he was wrong.

He pushed open the door to the lecture hall a few minutes before class started, stepping into the familiar low buzz of conversation and keyboards tapping. The room smelled faintly like coffee and winter air dragged in from outside, students already settling into seats while the projector glowed dimly against the front wall.

Logan started down the steps automatically, his hands settled in his pockets while he made his way towards the usual row he sat in.

Then, his steps came to a screeching halt.

Three rows from the front sat a navy blue Briar athlete backpack slouched beside one of the seats.

Women’s hockey was embroidered, and small along the top of the front pocket.

His eyes caught on the small keychain hanging from the zipper almost instantly.

#12.

For a second, he just stared at it. Then his gaze lifted higher.

You sat half turned in your seat talking quietly to the girl beside you, one sleeve pulled over your hand while you absentmindedly highlighted something in your notebook with the other. Your hair was perfect, and despite being beneath a helmet earlier that morning for practice, he was sure it smelled like vanilla.

Without all the gear and arena lights around you, you looked softer somehow. Still pretty enough to make his chest tighten annoyingly hard. Just… real now. Close enough to touch.

Logan stood there long enough that somebody behind him had to awkwardly step around him to get down the stairs.

He moved automatically after that, though his attention stayed fixed on you the entire way down the aisle.

You still had not noticed him.

Part of him almost preferred it that way, because now that he was actually standing in the same room as you instead of watching from the stands, he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.

Which was new.

Logan was not usually nervous around women. Confident, relaxed, occasionally arrogant if Dean was being honest, but never nervous.

Yet suddenly he was hyperaware of everything. The sound of his shoes against the lecture hall floor. The fact that his heartbeat felt stupidly loud. The way your fingers tapped absently against your pen while reading over your notes.

He passed your row. Kept walking. Then, immediately regretted it and pretended to take a phone call to abort back up a few rows.

By the time he dropped into a seat a few rows higher, Dean — who had walked in behind him at some point — looked close to losing his mind laughing.

“Holy shit,” he whispered while sitting beside him. “You panicked.”

“I didn’t fucking panic.”

“You literally walked past her like a Victorian dude seeing an ankle.”

Logan stared straight ahead. “Shut up.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, visibly delighted. “You’re down horrendous.”

Logan ignored him, though not very successfully considering his attention had already drifted back toward you again.

You were still focused on your notebook completely unaware of the crisis currently happening several rows behind you.

Then, as if sensing it somehow, you glanced over your shoulder.

Your eyes landed on him immediately with a flicker of recognition swiping across your face almost instantly.

Logan watched the exact second you noticed him noticing you. You looked away first, and that was enough to make warmth crawl unexpectedly up the back of his neck.

Dean saw the entire interaction and looked ready to combust.

“You made eye contact,” he whispered dramatically, his eyelashes batting in a playful fashion.

“Please be quiet.”

“Are you in love?”

Logan rubbed a hand slowly over his face.

Class started before Dean could keep talking, though that honestly did not help much, considering Logan spent the first twenty minutes hearing absolutely none of the lecture.

His focus kept drifting. He noticed how you chewed lightly on the end of your pen while reading. The way you fidgeted with your necklace while listening to the professor. You wrote quickly, confidently, barely ever crossing things out or hesitating before moving onto the next line.

At one point, you stretched slightly in your seat and winced.

Subtle and quick. But Logan noticed immediately, of course he did, he was noticing everything you had done for the past 30 minutes.

Your ribs.

The hit from yesterday had clearly bruised you worse than you’d acted like it did. The thought of that was enough to bother him for the rest of class.

When the lecture finally ended, students started gathering their things immediately, backpacks zipping loudly while conversations picked up around the room.

Logan watched you zip your backpack shut carefully before standing. Then he watched two different guys notice you at exactly the same time.

One of them moved before he was able to finish fumbling to put his laptop away.

Of course he did.

Tall, confident-looking business major type. The kind of guy that was probably in a frat with a snap score of at least 2 million.

Logan felt irritation spark instantly.

The guy smiled at you while adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Hey, you’re on the hockey team, right? You played last night?”

You looked up politely. “Oh-.. uh, Yeah.”

“You were really good.”

Logan hated how genuine the compliment sounded, he was expecting this douche to be superficial and just ask for your snap to add to his roster.

You smiled softly anyway. “Thank you.”

The guy opened his mouth again, clearly gearing up to continue the conversation.

Then Logan stood.

Dean looked up immediately with the kind of excitement usually reserved for live sporting events.

“Ho-ly shit,” he muttered.

Logan ignored him completely before heading down the stairs.

He wasn’t entirely sure what his plan was, only that the idea of walking out of this room without talking to you suddenly felt impossible.

The guy was still talking by the time Logan reached the bottom of the stairs.

Something about study groups, or maybe coffee. Logan honestly was not listening closely enough to tell the difference.

Your attention stayed politely fixed on him while you adjusted the strap of your backpack higher onto your shoulder, though there was something slightly distracted about your expression, like your mind was already somewhere else entirely. Exhaustion lingered faintly beneath your eyes from the game the night before, softened only slightly by the fact that you still looked unfairly pretty standing there in your Briar hockey sweatshirt and sweatpants.

The small keychain hanging from your backpack zipper knocked lightly against the fabric every time you moved.

#12.

Logan’s eyes caught on it again before he could stop himself.

“You play unbelievable, by the way,” the guy continued. “That goal in the third period was insane.”

You smiled politely, surprised that this guy actually had gone to the game, and wasn't just using it as an excuse to hit on you. “Thanks, Boston's never an easy opponent.”

The conversation should have ended there.

You clearly wanted to end it there.

But the guy kept standing in front of you anyway, lingering just enough that Logan recognized the strategy immediately. Stretch the interaction out long enough and eventually it becomes something else.

Normally he wouldn’t have cared.

Except now he did, annoyingly so, at that.

Before he could overthink it, he stepped closer.

“You should probably ice your ribs.” The words came out naturally, low and calm, though the moment they left his mouth, you turned toward him immediately.

Recognition crossed your face faster, and it wasn't just vague familiarity, but rather memory this time.

You had seen him in the stands last night, and Logan got to watch the exact second it clicked for you.

“The guy from the game,” you smiled before seeming to realize you had spoken out loud.

Your voice sounded rougher than he expected, slightly worn at the edges from yelling over rink noise the night before.

Something about it settled heavily in his chest.

“Yeah,” Logan answered quietly.

For a brief second, the other guy still standing beside you looked deeply confused by the interaction happening in front of him.

“You know each other?” he asked.

“No,” both of you answered at the exact same time.

That seemed to catch you off guard a little because your mouth twitched faintly afterward, like you were trying not to laugh.

Logan felt warmth spread unexpectedly through his chest at the sight of it.

The other guy looked between the two of you again before apparently deciding he was suddenly no longer part of the conversation.

“Well,” he said awkwardly, adjusting his backpack strap, “I’ll see you around.”

You smiled politely again. “See you.”

The second he disappeared into the crowd of students leaving the lecture hall, silence settled briefly between you and Logan.

Up close, he noticed details he hadn’t been able to see clearly from the stands. A faint bruise near your jaw partially hidden beneath your hair. The exhaustion lingering beneath your eyes. The slight stiffness in your posture every time you shifted your weight too quickly.

You were definitely hurting more than you wanted people to notice.

“You really should ice those ribs,” he repeated more quietly this time.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “You could tell?”

“You flinched during class.” The answer seemed to surprise you, no one besides your roommate paid enough attention to notice when you had an injury you were insistent on downplaying.

Heat crawled faintly into your expression before you looked away for half a second, adjusting the sleeve pulled over your hand.

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “Just bruised, at least nothing's broken. ”

Logan frowned slightly. “That hit looked bad.”

“It was bad.”

“Yet, you got right back up. Scoring after nearly breaking the glass is some insane shit.”

Something softer flickered briefly across your face then.

“Kind of have to in hockey.” You shrugged in amusement, a smile tugging at your lips that was much more genuine than with the frat guy from a few moments ago.

And Logan was taking that as a win.

Students continued filtering loudly around the two of you while the lecture hall slowly emptied, but Logan barely registered any of it anymore. His attention stayed fixed entirely on you, on the way you shifted your backpack higher against your shoulder or how your fingers tapped absently against the strap while thinking.

“So, you came to the game? There was more turnout than usual for our game's last night, it was fun.” you asked after a second.

The question sounded casual, though curiosity lingered beneath it.

Logan nodded once. “Yeah, I went with some of my roommates, we decided last minute because one of them wanted a fucking pretzel.”

“And now you’re giving medical advice to strangers?”

A smile tugged unexpectedly at his mouth. “You don’t really feel like a stranger.” The sentence slipped out before he could stop it, and immediately his eyes squinted a bit in regret, and his brows furrowed.

Your eyes lifted back to his immediately.

For one horrible second, Logan considered the possibility that he had just sounded insane, but your expression softened instead in a very subtle way.

“Well,” you hummed quietly, “you still don’t know me.”

“I know your name.”

The moment he said it, your eyebrows lifted again.

“I-... uh, looked up the roster.” Logan had the decency to look slightly guilty as the words left his mouth.

You stared at him for half a second longer before laughing softly under your breath, and the sound hit him with the same force it had the night before in the arena.

It was soft and warm, to anyone else it would be like music to their ears, but to Logan? It was dangerous.

“That’s a little insane,” you told him, playfully putting on a disapproving face that quickly dissolved into a smile.

“Yeah, no, for sure.”

The honesty of the answer seemed to catch you off guard enough that you laughed again, shaking your head while starting toward the aisle leading out of the lecture hall.

Logan naturally fell into step beside you without thinking about it. From across the aisle, Dean held up two thumbs-ups and mouthed 'Fuck yeah,' which Logan was happy to drown out with the conversation that was slowly building between the two of you.

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Which honestly made sense considering the entire thing was one giant mistake. 

But the frat party was a mistake before Beau got involved. 

You hadn’t even wanted to go originally, but Hannah helped do your hair while Allie dug through her closet for something that was ‘slutty but classy’ which directly translated into tight jeans and some white top that now clung to your skin after some drunk idiot slammed directly into you with a cup full of whatever he had too much of “yo sorry girl!” He called out as he continued walking. 

But you stood there staring in horror. Because that once white fabric was see-through now, and that meant that your red bra had to be on full display for everyone to see “shit.” Hannah’s eyes went wide as you let out a huff “I need a drink if I’m meant to deal with this.” You grumbled as both girls followed you. 

They swore you would have gone home right when that happened, but instead you opted to fill your cup up again.

Then again. 

And again. 

Which is how you ended up upstairs half an hour later, annoyed, tipsy and actively trying to find a quieter space after you disappeared from the girls. 

You weren’t thinking when you opened the door to the first semi-empty room that you saw. Until you realised it wasn’t empty. 

Beau was stood there, leaning against his dresser as he looked for a new shirt for himself to wear, as he too was covered in someone’s drink. 

If you had to put your money on it, it was probably your brother’s doing.

His eyes flicked to you immediately, then dropped before they snapped right back up “you okay?” His voice was soft, like it always was when he spoke to you. 

You let out a dry laugh “do I look okay?” You asked as you shook your head. 

Beau’s jaw tightened slightly. Because he was looking again. 

Too long.

Too obvious. 

You crossed your arms out of reflex and that almost made it worse pushing your boobs up. So the boy looked away as if it would quickly reset his mind “what happened?” He asked as he scratched the side of his arm. 

“Some guy happened.” 

His expression immediately darkened “relax.” You saod even though your stomach still felt irritated, “he just spilled his drink on me.” You ran your fingers through your hair. 

Beau’s eyes flicked to your shirt again, the fabric clinging and the outline too visible. His throat moved as he swallowed “I can see that.” His voice was rougher; something about it made your stomach flip. 

Without thinking, you stepped further into his room. Which was a bad idea, as you were now closer to him.

Close enough to smell him properly, beer, laundry detergent and something sharp yet masculine underneath it all. 

Beau shifted slightly as he was suddenly aware of every inch between the two of you “here.” He reached for the Nike hoodie that was behind you “you should probably get out of that shirt so guys don’t look.” His words made your ears turn pink. 

Because not once had you ever thought that Beau cared about what other guys did when it came to you.

You stared at him for a second too long “why?” You asked quietly as Beau blinked, “why what?”

“Why do you care?” 

Silence. 

The music downstairs thumped faintly through the walls. Someone laughed too loudly in the hallway. 

Beau’s grip tightened on the hoodie “I just-” He stopped himself as he licked his lips “it’s just annoying, that’s all.” He said it like it was an answer that made so much sense.

You tilted your head as neither one of you moved, the hoodie was between you and Beau already regretted every second of this conversation “you’re drunk.” He gave you this look, as if it explained everything.

You shot back “so are you.“ And that got him.

A faint helpless nod came from the boy before a pause. It was longer this time.

The tension in the room shifted, never disappeared, just changed shape as if it was keeping up with the times.

You stepped closer without thinking.

Beau didn’t move away. 

That was the problem. 

He never moved away from you “you’re staring again.” You pointed out softly 

The boy dropped his hands “you’re in my room in a see-through shirt. What do you want from me?” His question made you quietly laugh. 

Because he was right, “fair,” but then you went quieter, “is it bothering you?” 

Beau looked at you properly this time, no pretending, “yes he said immediately. 

Your breath caught slightly “because of the shirt?” You teased, voice no longer as steady as you wished it was. 

He shook his head once “no.” That word changed everything as your stomach dropped “oh.” 

Beau stepped forward without warning, it was just one step but ut closed the gap between the two of you.

His voice dropped, “you shouldn’t look at me like that.” His eyes hovered dangerously over your lips. 

Your voice was barely a whisper, “like what?” You always thought he was cute, but you knew your brother would kill you if you ever vocalised it.

“Like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Your heartbeat skipped. 

That was it. The moment that everything snapped. The floodgates of emotion and desire flew open and everything was about to come tumbling out. 

You didn’t think. You just grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down slightly. Beau froze for like half a second like he needed to reboot.

Then he kissed you. It was powerful.

Like he had been holding it back since he knew you and stopped pretending he could win.

His hand came to your waist, firm as it pulled you closer, making your back hit the dresser behind you. 

You moaned against his mouth, and that only made him kiss you harder. 

It was warm, dizzy, and completely unfair.

You didn’t even notice when he dropped the hoodie, or when your arms slid around his neck. All you knew was that Beau kissed you like he’d wanted it for longer than either of you was willing to admit. 

When he finally pulled back, it was so he could take in the sight of you, how your lips were now swollen “this is such a bad idea.” He muttered, making you smile, “yeah it is.” Neither of you pulled away. 

So when Beau kissed you again, he brought your legs around his waist before he used his foot to shut his bedroom door.

Because this was definitely going to be a cause of night one and not one night.

The two of you had been sneaking around for a while now, and you made it through the summer, sneaking around the house in Cape Cod. You made it through sneaking into each other’s rooms as if Dean wasn’t feet away. And honestly, you were both feeling like you were on top of the world. 

Because it was getting too easy, which meant soon that you’d both start playing recklessly.

That’s how you ended up in his car at 2 am after a late-night snack run that you practically had to beg the boy to go on. 

You were sat in the passenger seat, one of his hoodies swallowing you whole. Beau was in the drivers seat, turned slightly towards you with his forearm resting on the steering wheel like he needed something to anchor himself to. 

The windows were fogging up a little and neither of you acknowledged it “we need rules.” You announced as you sat up straight. 

Beau quietly laughed “rules?” He cocked his head as you nodded. 

Dean had asked you if you wanted to hang out with him tonight and you didn’t know what you were meant to say when you turned him down “because this is going to get messy.” You insisted even though your voice didn’t sound sure of it. 

Beau’s eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up “it’s already messy.” He pointed out as the only thing going through his mind was how he really wanted to kiss you in that moment.

You sighed as you fiddled with your rings “okay what are you thinking?” Beau shifted in his seat to give you his full attention. 

You nodded like you were in control of your entire life and not currently sat in his car after sneaking out of your dorm.

One rule should have been obvious: Don’t do this.

But neither of you said it, instead opting for “no public stuff.” You said it carefully as if you were testing the waters. 

Beau nodded in agreement and your heart did something stupid because he didn’t even hesitate, “no kissing at parties or touching were people can see.” You continued knowing that it would be the first thing to blow the two of you up if it happened.

Beau’s jaw tightened at the second one but he nodded again “no Dean.” He added, making you laugh.

It earned a smile from him “yeah none of him.” He was the one you were trying to hide this from after all.

The first two felt manageable, the third was where things were going to get tricky ‘no telling anyone.” You knew that this was something he’d tell Joanna, and before you knew it, everyone would know. 

Beau didn’t respond and that made you look at him properly.

His expression had shifted to something less joking and more serious, like he was actually thinking about the weight of it all “yeah,” he said eventually, “no telling anyone.” Your stomach dipped as you nodded.

Because telling nobody meant hidden, and hidden meant fragile.

Beau seemed to notice your face changed, his voice softened a little “we’re not doing this because we’re ashamed.” His words lingered in the air. 

You licked your lips slightly “then why are we doing it?” Silence filled the car for too long. 

Beau’s hand left the steering wheel and rested on your thigh like he was forcing himself not to reach for your hand “because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He said those words so simply. 

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rehearsed and it wasn’t said as if it just made your stomach do flips.

You swallowed “that’s not a rule.” You pointed it out as your brows furrowed.

“No,” he agreed quietly “that’s the problem.”

The air between you both changed. It was thicker now; it was less about the rules you set to make.

More about everything you were trying not to say out loud. You shifted in your seat slightly, facing him fully, “Beau…” You trailed off as he looked a you immediately.

Always immediate. Always like you were the only thing in the room (or in this case, car) that mattered “are we okay with this?” You asked softly “like actually okay or are we just-“

“Already in it?” The boy finished your sentence as if he had been thinking the same thing. 

You nodded, Beau exhaled through his nose, almost like he was annoyed at how true the statement was. 

Then he leaned over the centre console, not fast, not rushed, just inevitable. 

Your breath stuttered before he even touched you “yeah.” He said quietly as his eyes flickered between yours, “we’re in it.” That was all the warning you got before he kissed you.

Slower this time. Less frantic than before. But deeper in a way that made your entire body go warm instantly, like it had been waiting for him to do exactly that.

Your hand slid into his shirt without thinking, pulling him closer as his hand came up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he still couldn’t believe that you were real. 

The console dug into your thigh as your seatbelt clicked when you shifted. 

None of it mattered. 

Because Beau Mazwell kissed you like he meant it every time. 

When he finally pulled back it was only slightly, resting his forehead against yours like he needed a break “rule four.” You whispered.

It made him laugh against your mouth, “theres more?” He asked as you nodded, “just one.” 

He hummed against your lips “go on.”

You looked at him properly, your fingers still hooked into his shirt, “if this goes bad ever.” You said, trying to sound casual and failing completely, “we don’t ever talk about it.” Beau’s expression softened instantly.

He paused, “but it’s not going to go bad.” You gave him a look “you don’t know that.”

Beau smiled “I do.” That made your stomach flip again.

You held your pinky out and Beau stared at it for half a second before he laughed and did the same thing “taking this to the grave.” You said. 

Beau squeezed your hand gently “to the grave.” He nodded. 

You should’ve let go after that.

You really should’ve. But instead, you pulled him back by his shirt.

And Beau met you halfway, like he always would. Like there was never really going to be a rule strong enough to stop him.

But it was funny how that last rule really didn’t last long. 

Because the girls were the ones who found out by accident.

Mainly because Beau was a football player and that meant that stealth didn’t come to him naturally.

It was nearly one in the morning when he showed up at your dorm wearing a dark hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low, “okay Stevie Wonder.” You let out a snort, seeing his sunglasses on him too. 

He rolled his eyes “if you didn’t take so long to come get me I wouldn’t need a disguise.” He grumbled pecking your lips. 

You grinned as you curled the string of his hoodie between your fingers “hey now I could leave you out here.” You taunted him, licking your lips in the process. 

He let out a low whistle “now where would the fun be in making me go home?” His hands rested on your waist as your cheeks turned red “you’re lucky you’re cute.” You grumbled as you grabbed his hand. 

It made him grin, “you think I’m cute.” He looked as if he had just been told he was the best looking man in the world “yeah so lets not let that change.” 

You got to your floor as you looked around “c’mon be quiet.” You brought your finger to your lips as you had snuck him past the security desk for what felt like the tenth time that week. 

Beau rolled his eyes “I know how sneaking works.” He snorted softly right before he walked into one of the random tables that were out.

It made this loud echo “do you now?” You crossed your arms as he grabbed your waist, shoving the two of you behind some corner before the RA had a chance to appear. 

You bubbled into this silent laughter as you grinned, “you’re enjoying this too much.” Beau muttered as he shook his head “didn’t think you would be this bad at sneaking.” 

“Usually I don’t need to.” 

You were still laughing by the time the two of you got to your dorm suite. 

Where you froze immediately.

Because the once empty living room now had both Hannah and Allie sit on the couch eating cereal. 

With a perfect view of you and the man you were holding hands with “I knew it.” Hannah lowered her spoon as her mouth fell open. 

Your eyes closed “Hannah-” Beau squeezed your hand, reminding him he was there with you. 

“I knew it!” She shrieked louder as Allie clapped her hands, looking genuinely delighted, “oh my god, its Beau!”

Beau looked like he’d rather be taking a tackling drill to the face in that moment “that’s why Garrett said Dean was going on about you having some mystery girlfriend!” Hannah remembered how the hockey captain pointed it out as you were running to a lecture one day as the two studied in your living room. 

Your head snapped “he what now?” Your eyes went wide as Beau groaned from next to you. 

Allie gasped as her hand went over her mouth “you’re the one that give her the hickies!” It was after a party where you were in a low-cut shirt and Beau got a little annoyed seeing all the guys look at you. 

So he made sure you were left forced to wear borderline turtlenecks in the middle of August “this is humiliating.” You groaned as you leaned into Beau. 

Allie scoffed “correction, this is the cutest thing in the world.” She spoke in a duh tone as she placed her bowl on the table. 

Beau slid his arm around your waist as your head buried into his chest, refusing to look at anyone. 

And the girls noticed that immediately. And the worst part? So did you. 

Because the tiny movement said more than either of you had yet “wait are you guys serious?” Her eyes darted between you. 

You finally looked up from the boy’s chest to see his eyes looking right at yours, “yeah.” He nodded making your stomach flip. 

Allie clapped her hands together as she squealed, “you’re dating Beau Maxwell.” It was a massive jump from when you swore you were off of guys last year after another failed hook-up.

You laughed despite yourself, “don’t make it weird.” You groaned, making the girls laugh. 

Hannah shook her head “trust me it’s already weird.” She informed you “your brother literally thinks Beau is in love with some random girl while you’re literally sneaking him into our door.” She pointed out making you look up at Beau who sighed. 

He knew what he was getting into when he started sneaking around with you “Dean’s gonna kill me.” Beau chewed at the inside of his lip. 

Allie shook her head “while you’re probably not wrong.” She trailed off, looking at Hannah, who gasped. 

“Oh my god, we can help keep them a secret!” 

While the girls offer wasn’t something either of you needed to take just yet, it felt like as the weeks continued, something was changing between the two of you.

Somewhere along the way, the sneaking and fun around turned into something serious. 

Beau had texted you all about how he had a bad practice, and that was how you ended up in his room without a second thought. 

He was in his ensuite showering, blissfully unaware of what was sitting on his bed waiting for him. 

You found his jersey and had kicked your jeans off, leaving you in your underwear and his shirt, “holy shit.” His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of you. 

The first went down to your thighs leaving you looking as if you were about to be swallowed whole “hi handsome.” You grinned as you pushed yourself off of his bed. 

Beau felt his brain short-circuit as he dropped his towel to the floor, forgetting what to do with himself “couldn’t you have waited until I got dressed?” He asked quietly as he reached for his boxers from his open drawer. 

You swore you hadn’t seen him get dressed faster in his life “would that have been more polite?” You tilted your head, watching your boyfriend turn back to face you again. 

He was quick to shake his head, “it would have been a whole lot less distracting.” He countered, making you laugh softly. 

Beau reached you as one hand automatically wrapped your leg around him. It was a move that made your pulse jump. 

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against bare skin while he looked at you like he didn’t know where to focus first “you wore this on purpose.” He mumbled as he licked at his lips, “maybe I missed you.” 

It made his expression soften. Every single time it happened. No matter how teasing the moment started, the second you said something genuine, Beau looked at you like you knocked the air out of him. 

“I saw you this morning.” 

You rolled your eyes, remembering how good he looked in your bed “long time.” Your words made him huff out a laugh before he lay you onto his bed. 

The sight always made you squirm as his chain rested on your chin before he kissed you. 

The kiss always started slow with Beau first. As he enjoyed the build-up far too much to rush anything. 

His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, while your fingers curled into damp hair at the back of his neck. 

He tasted like mint and Gatorade.  

And god you swore you could feel the smile against your mouth when you tugged at his hair “you’re trouble.” He murmured as he looked away to look at you. 

You grinned, “you like it.” He nodded as he caught your lower lip between his teeth “I’m obsessed with it.” Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard at that. 

But Beau kissed you again before you could recover, this time going deeper. One hand pressed into the mattress under you while the other slipped under your shirt letting his palm spread against your bare waist. 

You made this tiny sound into his mouth that made him shudder, “don’t do that.” He grumbled as his knee dipped into the mattress.

You cocked your head feeling a little confused, “don’t make noises like that unless you want me acting insane.” His warning sound have made you squirm but instead you smirked. 

“Maybe I do?” 

That line got the boy as he groaned before he kissed you harder again. 

His body settled on top of you as his fingers traced up your ribs underneath the jersey, making your breath catch in your throat. 

“Beau-“

A loud knock slammed against the door as you both froze “Maxwell!” Dean whined from the other side of the door, making your eyes widen in horror. 

Beau dropped his forehead onto your shoulder “you’ve gotta be kidding me.” He groaned as he wanted to hit your brother in that moment.

Another knock came “c’mon Tucker is downstairs waiting for us!” And just like that you remembered why you weren’t meant to be seeing Beau until tonight. 

He was seeing Dean and Tucker after practice “hide!” Beau whisper hissed as he motioned you to slide under his bed “not your bathroom?” You scoffed, matching his tone. 

The boy panicked, “no time.” He pressed a kiss on your lips before you begrudgingly listened making sure that you hid behind where his practice bag was dropped “why aren’t you dressed?” Dean asked immediately, seeing the lack of clothing that his friend had on. 

Beau looked down as he ran his fingers through his hair “sorry bro, the shower ran long.” It was a stupid excuse, but the first one that he could come up with. 

Dean nodded as he crossed his arms “well just hurry up.” The blonde let out a dramatic huff that almost made you laugh.

Your brother looked at the bed, hearing your hand slap over your mouth “did your bed just make a noise?” He asked, making Beau’s eyes grow wide.

Dean shook his head as he sighed, “ignoring that are you gonna come out with us tonight?” Your brother asked but quickly groaned seeing Beau remain quiet “c’mon man mystery girl can’t be that special.” That was the nickname the boys gave you. The reason why Beau smiled at his phone, left parties early, didn’t attend poker nights if the puck bunnies were coming along, and most importantly, stopped flirting with other girls. For weeks now, Dean had been trying to figure out who was the reason his best friend went soft, blissfully unaware that it was the very sister whom he spent mornings ransacking her snack drawer. 

Everyone was trying to guess who you were and beyond for you, Beau, Hannah and Allie, nobody was going to be successful for as long as you all could help it. 

Beau gripped his hand at his door “look dude I can’t do tonight but give me a sec to get dressed and I’ll be down for Tucker.” He didn’t wait for Dean to answer as he shut his door, making sure he locked it. 

His head dropped as he helped you out from under his bed “next time I’m hiding you under my bed.” You grumbled as Beau sighed. 

The boy pressed a kiss against your lips “sorry princess your brother would have killed me.” He sighed as his hands rested on your hips “wait for me to come back?” He didn’t want to leave you, he really, really didn’t want to leave you in his jersey looking like that. 

But if you both wanted to make it through the night, you really had no other choice in the matter, “you know I will.” You leaned onto your tippy toes to kiss him again. 

“Don’t make me come back up there, Beau!”

At this, the pink-haired man is letting out a loooow whistle- one of his pink brows raise as he looks between his opponent and you in the stands. 

Oh—how fuckin’ pretty you were. 

Just engulfed in an ice-blue jersey with the Tokyo Free Blades logo on the front - they sold those things for far more than they were worth, but Sukuna’s sure this must’ve been one of Gojo’s own. It was big enough and looked softer than the merchandise- or maybe that was just the slight blur around your figure…were the lights too harsh or was Sukuna hallucinating? It’s slipping down to your wrists, where you were holding a big banner that had your boyfriend’s name on it—‘Go Go Gojo The Strongest Satoru!’ Eyes sparkling. Lips slightly swollen from your nervous gnawing. Jumpin’ up and down excitedly as you catch his eye. How cute…

And while Sukuna’s wondering just how damn lucky the bastard opposite him was- Gojo can’t help but muse about just how awfully the other’s hair color clashed with his uniform.

Blood-red just like his eyes.

Locked and narrowed on you—

Gojo’s knocking his hockey stick against Sukuna’s, making the other man finally tear his eyes away. He gruffs out finally, “Never said she wasn’t.”

He pushes against his opponent’s wooden blade harder, “Then why’ve you got her name in your fucking mouth?”

“What- scared she’s gonna like it better in my mouth, heh?” Only for the other to push back with a leer.

“The mouth I punched back in the New York playoffs?” Gojo scoffs. They’d played against each other a few times before - it was impossible to avoid anyone in the big leagues. And each time had ended up with one or both in the infirmary and headlines for days. “Or the mouth that got himself suspended for two games a few months ago?”

He sweeps a look towards you in the stands, you were on your feet and looking over them in concern now. And listen—listen, Gojo was well-aware he’s lucky to have you - and proud of it. But having you be stared at by this son of a-

Sukuna leans in with a whisper, “The mouth tha’s gonna make your girl cum harder than she has in her entire life.”

“See, the difference between you and I…” And Gojo should be rageful- he was. Despite that strange throb in his shorts, he promises he was. But more than that he couldn’t stop from leaning in himself, letting his breath cloud out within the cold stadium. Against Sukuna’s ear shell, “-is that you can only dream…while I have my mouth on her every fucking night.”

Sukuna jerks away, “You little-”

“Oh, and the title as well.” Gojo smirks, that little dimple popping out by the edge of his lips. He can hear his numerous fan clubs scream even louder - Gojo Satoru had splashed onto the ice hockey world and shot straight to the top without looking back. 

They couldn’t get enough of the Prince of the Ice. 

His looks. His winks. His plays. “Perhaps you haven’t realized it yet, Ryomen Sukuna, but the only reason you were the greatest center in history was simply because…I wasn’t playing yet~”

The other man straightens silently. He was a few inches taller than Gojo, standing at an impressive 6’6 to Gojo’s 6’4. It was easy to realize why the media seemed to love him as a ‘bad boy’ - the troublesome one. Despite them being similar ages, he was the more experienced one. Buffer. Nastier. Tattooed and towering. 

They called him the King of the Rink for a reason. And the King looked down on them all—especially new captains with blue eyes and too many fan clubs. But that wasn’t saying he didn’t have many of his own - but at least he deserved his. “And what took ya so long to reach my level, Gojo Satoru?”

Gojo looks at Sukuna.

Gojo looks at you.

Then back at the other player- “Was too busy fucking my girl.”

And Sukuna’s ready to spit out something that wouldn’t be able to air on sports channels- before the referee skates over just then.

His deadpan voice cutting through the chaos, “Alright alright, break it up you two.” The older man - Masamichi Yaga, a legendary player in his own time, one of Gojo’s own junior coaches - looks between the two. “Keep it clean.”

Sukuna grumbles but ultimately glides a few inches backwards, hockey stick at the ready. Gojo follows with a smirk.

The commentator announces- “Two players who’ve made the headlines for their explosive rivalry- Ryomen Sukuna, the strongest center in history, and Gojo Satoru, the hotshot who stole that title from straight under his nose—hah! I can hear the fan clubs already. Though, that’s not to say our King of the Rink will be giving it up that easily. We’re in for a reeeeal treat tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”

“Okay- King, welcome back for another season.” Yaga then turns to the white-haired man. “Gojo, welcome to the NHL. Set.”

Gojo smiles, he hopes you’re watching this. Nothing matters if you’re not watching.

“Oh—our Prince of the Ice is smiling. Can it be that he’s confident in his win already?”

“Yeah- welcome, bastard.” Sukuna bites out, his stick blade digging into the designated area on the spot. “Enjoy yer first game here- and your last. By the end of it yer gonna be crying in your gal’s arms.”

“But Ryomen Sukuna is one of the most feared players in the league for a reason- just look at those muscles!”

One white brow raises, “You think I’d lose against you?” Eyes locked on Yaga once he presents the puck and readies himself.

“This is a moment in NHL history, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I know it.”

“Gojo and Sukuna-”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“-who to choose?!”

The Prince and the King.

Both prodigies.

The puck is dropped and it’s a mad dash—the clap of hockey sticks like a most satisfying lightning strike, and that circular slab of black is being swung past the neutral zone and into Gojo’s side.

“Sukuna gets the puck! Such a tight turn and attack straight to the net- the Tokyo Free Blades aren’t letting him get far—oh, what a steal.”

Gojo’s speeding past to let his first defense line sweep him back the puck- Sukuna’s racing past to take it back from him.

And the game commences. 

“This is going to be a tight game, ladies and gentleman”

In the first twenty minutes, it’s one point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

Considering the intensity of each team’s defense, you weren’t surprised that it was off to a fierce yet slow start. Gojo was holding back, testing out the playing field, and Sukuna was a lot more used to this stadium. This league. It was making the other captain sweat.

But with your cheers, you could see a faint smile on Gojo’s face as he started the second twenty minutes.

Your boyfriend was using his famous body fake technique to gain two more points-

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

Everyone was on their feet. Whether out of exhilaration or out of desperation for their team—and you were one of them. During the second break Gojo, of course, skidded down the side of the rink during his break to spend it blowing kisses at you through the plexiglass - before his coach arrived to drag him away.

And so caught up in your embarrassment at his display, you didn’t see the way he shot a smug look at Sukuna. The other man glowering from his own side of the bench.

He was never one to be left behind.

The final twenty minutes started off with the pink-haired tyrant using his signature aggressive playstyle to get nothing more than three more points back-to-back. Making the commentator cry out at the hat trick and the audience get onto their feet now.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

The score was quickly five to five - one of the greatest plays that the NHL had recently seen. And Sukuna was basking in it.

Basking.

He was skating down the sides of the stands at a rapid pace, showing off for the audience- showing off for you—Sukuna reaches where you were seated and bangs the shaft of his hockey stick against the plexiglass. THUD-THUD-THUD—! You startle while the fans around you jump up and cheer-

And he’s looking right down at you. Smirking through the cage of his helmet…

Until Gojo’s skating by him and rams Sukuna against the plexiglass with his own body. The two of their muscular figures colliding. Sukuna’s turning to Gojo with a snarl. Gojo’s raising his fist up high and aimed.

It’s a fight that Yaga has to break up.

The timer rings.

.

.

.

“—can’t believe I had to take the win with a fucking shootout.” Gojo speaks in his aggravated tone, hissing once you press the ice-pack to the cut above his eyebrow.

This wouldn’t have been considered worse for wear had it been any other player, but this was the Prince of the Ice. You could already envision the headlines that would flood your timeline tomorrow. The hat trick. The smile. The fist fight. 

“But you won, Toru.” Once the game had ended in a tie, there was no choice but to start an overtime period. A fight to the death, more like. It lasted less than five minutes and ended up with Gojo scoring first out of pure fury and adrenaline.

Though that in itself was a tight match, the game had finally ended: 6—5.

The Tokyo Free Blades had won. 

Barely. And if you asked Gojo Satoru, a bare win was worse than a fair loss.

Which is why you were cooped up with him in the team’s locker room even after the rest of the players had filtered out. The coaches knew you well enough by this point that you’d gained access easily, and you knew Gojo well enough to know that he was taking this match to heat. Especially as captain.

And here you were pressing an ice-pack to the numerous cuts and bruises he’d acquired during his tussle with Sukuna. “I thought you did really well, baby.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. But-”

“Oh, come on—”

“But having you with me during an NHL game and I it ends up like this-”

“Toru, you’re the hardest on yourself.” Huffing, you push back on his damp white bangs. “I loved your playing today and I know everyone else did, too.”

“Yes, but I made the team go into overtime-” Gojo cries out once more.

“Which happens fairly often!”

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, “Yes, but that damned Ryomen Sukuna- fuck! How I wish I could have used more backhands against him- or body checks- or cycling- or even just slammed my hockey stick into his ugly fucking-”

“Satoru.” You interrupt him, and your boyfriend looks up at you immediately.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Underneath the glowy white light of the locker room, you can’t help but think that Gojo looks so pretty like this. 

There was a reason that he was the hockey player with the most fanfiction written of him (you knew, you’d checked). He was still in his deeeep blue uniform from earlier, not having had the heart to take them off just yet. It was slightly loose as it should be, but did nothing to hide Gojo’s firm shoulders, his broad chest, his strong arms. Matching the shade of his teary eyes, slightly reddened around the edges in a way that made him look so delicate. He flutters his long lashes up at you and subconsciously pouts. You’re noticing just then that he had a fresh bruise on his lower lip, making them look even more plump. 

Gojo looked almost ethereal. 

Head slightly sweaty. Body slightly blushing. His fingers still jittery with adrenaline. 

Pouting. Pretty. 

Though it didn’t matter because to him—you would always be the most beautiful. 

Gojo whimpers at the slight sting of pain once you kiss his poor, injured lips. “Fuh-fuck, sweetheart…mm.” And it was almost impressive how you had a 6’4 mountain of muscle and power as nothing but putty in your hands.

He melts.

“My girl?”

“Mhm, Toru?” You’re cooing down at him- chuckling at the way he chases your lips once you slightly pull away. It doesn’t matter if it hurts…he just needed you.

“Can you make me feel better?”

“Of course, Toru.”

In mere moments you’re being slammed up against the locker with your cunt against the smooth metal and Gojo’s hot erection inside your cunt. His fat cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and pushing against every tiny nook and cranny.

Just so thiiiiick and flared wide open that it makes your mouth water. Your legs limp.

You fucking loved when Gojo got like this - just after one of his games when he’s so high on the adrenaline that his furious erection just won’t seem to go down.

And of course - of fucking course - the only possible solution to that would be to shove you against the nearest flat surface he can find. To press you down with his hefty weight so that you can’t squirm your hips away. To hold you against this still-sweaty body as he pummels his thick inches inside you. To fuck you so hard and needy that even the lockers echo out their sounds in sultry synchronization with you.

Slam-slam-slam— 

In and out, in and out, in and out—

“F—ngh, fuck.” He whispers, all hot and breathy against the back of your neck. It makes you slightly flinch at the sensation and Gojo’s pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your nape- then digging his teeth in to almost draaaag you back to him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- m’feeling better already, sweetheart.”

“Thank goodness, because you’re making me feel all- oh.” Just then his mushroomy tip swabs against your g-spot and you can’t stop your moan. “Shit, right there, Toru.”

Gojo’s panted chuckle breezes down your spine, “You could say I really, mm, hit the goal- hm?”

“Sh-shut up.” 

Before you’re arching right at Gojo’s sculptured core - he still had his blue ice hockey jersey on, and so did you. One of his that he’d given you, in fact.

Though he was holding his jersey up with one hand so that your restless body could sliiiiide down each sensual curve and ridge of his abs. He knew how much you liked that.

He could feel just how much wetter you got whenever you felt Gojo’s white happy trail scrape up against your cunt. Your outer pussy was just rubbed raw on the slammin’ of his base and now there was this—he pulls the hemline of his jersey up to his mouth and bites down on it. Keeping it permanently held up as the captain ruts and ruts against you even harder now.

Deeeeeeep, plunging strokes that leave wet thwacks! against the back of your cunt.

The hockey player’s reddish globular tip pushes against your sweetest spots a few more times, and each time he’s counting- “That’s one.”

“Wh-what do you…”

Hitting that exact spot once more like a target- wetness seeps from your cunt and sticks your thighs together with a wet sheen. Shit, it was just too cute how he had that mind of yours muddled with only a few strokes. “Two- three—” Each one accompanied by the most vicious mwah against your throbbin’ bundles of nerves.

“Why are you- hck! counting, baby?” You sniffle out.

So damn gone on his thickened, veiny length that he’s forced to (well, more like glad to) hook two rugged palms underneath your thighs and lift you up. He’s supporting your body a proper inch off of the tiled floor, jerking you up even higher every time his aching hot cock was swabbin’ away into you- “Three. That’s a hat trick.”

You blink tearily over your shoulder, not quite sure you heard him right. “A…a what?”

“A hat trick.” All three of those words were followed by three more pushing probes against your g-spot- “And look at thaaaat- that’s another hat trick.” Cutely peckin’ away his swollen cockhead again. And again. And again and- “That’s four. Five. Six. Seven-”

“Pleeeeeease—”  The only thing you can do is grab onto the jutted handles of the lockers for dear life. Back arched. Toes curling.

Those bulbous wet tears welling up by the sides of your eyes are so damn cute that all he wants to do is kiss them away. “Not ‘please’, heh- what you mean to say is thank you.”

“Th-thank you.” Babbling out with no difficulty.

And that makes even Gojo raise one pale brow, his rosy lips curling at the edges. “Fucked dumb already? Mmm, you really liked today’s game, huh? So good f’me.” With a raspy titter he slides a hand down the middle of your spine and gives your right ass cheek a goooood spank. “Then can you say thank you very muuuuuch, Toru—?”

“Thank you very- hck! much-” Mouth moving before your mind, he’s planting down yet another smack before you can finish your sentence. “-Toru!”

The focused captain nearly doesn’t wait until bossing you around again. “Theeeeen, how about can you say that Gojo Satoru, my handsome- ngh, boyfriend, is the best ice hockey player in history?”

Your mind was almost dizzy at the length of that sentence- “Satoru- ngh, fuck.”

“Nuh-uhhhh—” His needy pitch echoes out, planting a few more mean thrashes against your g-spot to leave you even more stupid. Hat trick. So slick with your glazy syrup that it’s easy to follow that route to reach your delicate spots. “It’s- Gojo Satoru, my handsome boyfriend, is the best-”

“Begging yer girl to say that shit because you know it’s not true?”

A voice that decidedly didn’t sound like either yours or your boyfriend’s.

It was too gruff, too mocking, too…predatory. Something in it that makes goosebumps erupt down the line of your spine and for you to snap your head immediately to the side- despite no one being in the locker room, you two had still chosen a slightly private corner of the mazing lockers. Somewhere no one would be able to see.

You just didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna of all people would come looking for you.

He stood inside the sex-saturated room with his arms crossed, beefy biceps bulging through his red jersey. Head cocked. Expression smug. Tall enough that the tips of his pink hair touched the ceiling. Like Gojo, Sukuna hadn’t changed much out of his uniform- he was still sporting his red jersey and a slightly bloody nose to match.

Something you didn’t realize could be so attractive-

Dried around where his lips curled up into a smirk so smug. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find Ryomen Sukuna attractive - anyone with able vision or ears would be able to. He was strong. He was cocky. He was the type to glide through the rink as if he owned it- and just today he’d stopped and signalled at you—

And then there was the matter of his tattoos.

Thick inky rings at his wrists and his biceps, some more peeking out of his uniform. They always did give him an aura of authority. 

Even now, he stood inside the traitorous room as though he owned it. 

Stealthily, he’d opened up the door and crept inside the rival team’s locker room- or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been deafeningly loud and you two just hadn’t noticed.

Being so caught up-

Sukuna’s crimson gaze glides down the curvature of your spine and to where your pussy was just drippin’ all over the other man. Creating a slimy sheen down Gojo’s pistoning cock and all the way down his muscular thighs.

It smacks n’ splatters all over the globes of your ass because the white-haired man just wouldn’t stop-

“Why the fuck are you here? Spying on us because you can’t get any?” Gojo scoffs, not even slowing down- in fact, by the way you could feel his thick throbbing tip at your throat, you think he might just be speeding up—

“Fuuuuuck, Toru-”

“Shhhh shh shh, sweetheart.” One of Gojo’s hands lifts from your thighs and ends up clapping over your mouth. He feels your gaped maw splosh out in saliva and presses against your face even harder- “Wouldn’t wanna let that mean ol’ pervert hear any of your pretty noises, right?”

“Who the fuck are ya calling old-” Sukuna growls.

“I-I…” And you’re torn between looking behind at your boyfriend, and sideways at the pink-haired intruder. Both just making your cunt throb even harder.

“Hear that?” Sukuna snickers out of his toned chest, “Heh- yer pretty girlfriend doesn’t even know where to look.”

“Probably wanting to look anywhere but at your ugly ass-”

“Probably looking for an escape.” The taller man looms even closer, casting a shadow over your sweaty connected bodies. Your cunt quivers and he eyes you greedily as though he knew- “Rutting into her like that? Honestly- if ya won a match then fuck her like it.”

Gojo opens his mouth, “I won’t take advice from a sore loser.”

“Then take advice from me as a man.” Before Sukuna’s diverting his gaze down to where you were looking up at him with widened eyes. He softens his tone just for you, he leans down to speak just to you—grinning. “Your pussy wants me bad, doesn’t she, mama?”

“Don’t you fucking talk to her-”

Gojo tightens his palm atop your loosened mouth- and the only thing that does is smear the wads of saliva leaking out of you. Because you’re clenching your gummy walls so hard that he can’t help but give an animalistic jolt-

“She jus’ squeezed that pussy tight, didn’t she?” The hockey captain asks, and he doesn’t need to wait for the answer - he could already see it in Gojo’s dazed eyes. His parted lips. His aching cock. Sukuna’s own aching erection that he reaches a hand down to palm over his shorts, “Mmm, I can already imagine- fuck…what a shame she’s wasted on a bastard like you.”

Any and all haziness leaves Gojo’s peripherals instantly as he whips them over at the other man. “Uh-huh? And you really think you’re any better?” He’s inadvertently jostling the two of you even closer to him. 

“Fucker, I know I’m better.” Sukuna steps closer.

And you’re not sure how but you find yourself practically sandwiched between them - Gojo’s pecs pushing up against you from behind, his lengthy shaft drilling into you like a madman. Sukuna’s against your front - pressing against you with his muscular core, and his erection throbbing obviously between his legs. You were pulled away from the locker that was your lifeline and could barely even breathe like this-

Gojo humps his roverin’ tip into you from behind and scowls, “I’d say prove it but my girl doesn’t deserve to be put through that.”

“You’d say prove it but you’re scared I’d steal your girl.” Sukuna was cornering you both now. The positions had somehow flipped so that Gojo was starting to have his back against the locker now, Sukuna looming in. You between them. Being compressed. Being fucked stupid still-

He hisses at the frigidness of the metal, “In your dreams-” 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna seethes, “Watch me.”

And then Sukuna’s snaggin’ away your panties- yes, you still had your panties on. Light blue just like your boyfriend’s eyes because you knew how ruined he was for that - and as soon as Sukuna’s registering the fact, he’s grazing his nail against the cloth and riiiiiiipping it straight off of your wet cunt. 

Nose crinkling in amusement as he throws it to the side-

“Oi-” Gojo snaps from behind, “I bought those limited edition for her, y’know-”

“And next time I’ll buy her ones in red.”

“You wish you could afford that shit-”

And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before Sukuna’s pressing one of his thickened fingertips right between your pussylips. His roughened crown pries apart your folds—sluuuurp, and you were just so damn damp that it trickles down his tattooed wrist.

Glistening against the ring of ink on his skin- Sukuna’s openin’ you up like some cute birthday present. Spreading apart your thick pussylips. Probin’ just the knobbled edges of his digits against your entrance—maybe because of his rumored rough training, but Ryomen Sukuna’s hands were much more calloused than Gojo’s. Much thicker. Much meaner.

He takes a goooood look down at your hole and chuckles- “Pull out and pull her legs up.”

At that, Gojo falters his sloppy pace. “Wh-what?” You could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Rolling his crimson eyes, the man sighs. How troublesome. “I said- pull out and pull her legs up. Lemme get a taste of that pussy.”

“Over my dead body.”

Sukuna looks over at you with a smirk, “Cover your eyes, mama- there’s about to be a murder.”

The only thing you can do is let your eyes follow their argument like a tennis match- or a hockey match. Mouth babbling uncontrollably by this point, “Please-”

Your boyfriend’s cooing down at you immediately, “Yeeees, my sweetheart?”

“Yeeeeeees, my sweetheart~?” Sukuna mocks.

“Jealous?”

“Over my dead body.”

Jealousy, surely. And Gojo knows it, too- which is why he’s kissing your throat in front of the man. Lips spreading across your skin in such a sultry way. “Then what do you say, my girl? Wanna- mmm, let this ol’ pervert have a taste of you? After I’ve been inside you?”

“Wanna feel-” You’re gurgling out, “Wanna feel you both-”

“Hmm, fine.” Gojo answers, “But this pussy’s too nice.”

The white-haired man echoes out in a scorching breath, slight possessiveness seeping into the way he gives your gooey cervix a final ram before pulling out—no, wait. He’s not going to make it that easy on his rival.

Without a single warning, Gojo’s coating your dewy walls in a thick layer of his seed.

Gojo’s cumming.

Almost timed, almost perfectly on schedule, almost making the other man’s knees buckle as he sees the frothy white residue seeping out of your hole. There’s so much of it, and he can feel his balls emptying out even more with each pump. Fucking the clingy wads back in a few times- really messing up the slick surface of your channel with his cum. Cumming harder than he thinks he has in his entire life-

And you’re throwing your head back against his collarbone with a moan, “O-oh my god, Toru. It feels so good.”

“Hear that?” He chuckles at Sukuna, who couldn’t take his eyes off of the way Gojo’s slick shaft kept slippin’ in and out of your cunt. Glistening n’ glossy with so many layers.

He gulps.

Seeing the state the pink-haired captain was in, Gojo leans down and whispers something in your ear—

“O-on your knees, Kuna.” You’re repeating with a slight whimper, still slightly dizzy at the flood of ivory sap being poured inside you. And he didn’t tell you to add on that little nickname but ah well- it was worth it to see Ryomen Sukuna, King of the Rink, fall to his very knees before you.

To have Gojo Satoru pull his massive cock out of you with the loudest, most lecherous sluuuuurp!

You’re twitching at the sheer sensitivity- feeling the spray of cum gush out of you so intensely that you almost want to close your legs. But your boyfriend holds them wiiiiide open with two arms being hooked underneath your knees. 

He lifts you cleanly off of the ground- 

Your knees up to your tits. Your ass being smacked by his toned v-line.

A standing full nelson.

There’s a ribbony wire of cum that slips out of your hole and ends up slide-slide-sliding all over your pussy. Gojo’s cock still hot and red between your legs. He snickers down at the kneeling man, “Eat that.”

Sukuna doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He doesn’t care that your pussy’s all covered in him—he doesn’t care that you’re just so stimulated and gone after this round that all you need is his flattened tastebuds on you to shatter into your orgasm.

Sukuna’s mouth guffawing out darkly as he feels you clench ‘round  and ‘round his tongue- “Heh, would ya look at thaaaat?” Looking up at the two of you through his pink lashes, “Cummin’ on my tongue the moment I put it on her- this pussy reeeally likes me, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“Sure thing, two-pump chump.”

And whatever Gojo’s saying next - you don’t hear. Because just then he’s movin’ apart your folds with his mouth and shovelling the entirety of his tongue inside.

Push after push.

Probe after probe,

Pointed chin slapping your cunt. His honed canines grazing your folds. Drilling into you like a man starved throughout your orgasm- he’s pressing both palms up against your thighs and pushing them even higher to get to your sweetened core. Smacking at the miry ribbons of white that were webbing up your insides.

And you don’t know whether it’s the sheer stretch or the intensity of your bliss, but you find yourself sobbing maddeningly. “Oh- oh my god.” Bucking. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to.” He chuckles wetly, a line of cum dribbling down his mouth. The slashes of his tongue somehow precisely pinpointing each peak of your high. Elongating that feeling inside of you until it felt like your veins were bubbling up- “Because she’s my pussy now, huh?”

You gasp, “I-I mean-”

“Says who?” Gojo growls out from above.

Pressing his rock-hard erection back between your pussylips as if to remind you just who was holding you up. And the audacity of Ryomen Sukuna—he’s merely leaning down and spitting a glittery wad across your slit. 

It ends up dolloping straight down onto Gojo’s cock, as well.  

The white-haired man shivers-

“Says me.”

Before Sukuna’s back to pressing one hot kiss on top of your cunt, two hot kisses, three. They were all open-mouthed and lavish—slidin’ his tongue furiously in and out of your hole. In and out. In and out. “Fuckin’ her all this time and you couldn’t even make ‘er cum.”The vibrations of Sukuna’s deep baritone sends jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Fuckin’ her all this time and I bet you’ve never made her feel this good-”

Gojo reaches up to grab at your throat with one hand, still holding you up. “S’that true, sweetheart?”

“I-I like bo—fuck.”

But then both men are rendering you speechless - Sukuna with his tongue slappin’ into the tender ridges of your walls, Gojo craning his long fingers down to press on your clit. Anything so that neither of them would have to hear how you wanted them both.

Pick one but not both.

And they’re both trying to be that one- Gojo flicking your throbbing clit with ease, Sukuna shoved between your legs and lappin’ at your every treacly dewdrop with his tongue. 

It was so different from the way your boyfriend would eat you out - while Gojo was slow and sensual and loving—handing you anything and everything you could ever want with his tongue - Sukuna was the complete opposite. He was rough. He was teasing.

He was grippin’ onto both of your thighs and draaaagging you back once you attempted to bounce your hips away. With his nails digging into the sides of your flesh, he was eating you out until you couldn’t breathe-

Just sharp, rapid pumps inside your hole with his slicked tastebuds. Draggin’ his teeth on your folds. Slurping up the pearly white dewdrops of sap. And whenever you clenched like it just felt so good- he’d reel his sloppy tongue back and slap it over your clit instead. 

Never letting you feel too good, never growing tired of those cutely disappointed huffs n’ puffs you’d let out.

“Oi oi-” Sukuna’s tongue slides over Gojo’s fingers, both tugging and grinding on top of your clit. “Yer in my zone, Gojo Satoru.”

“You’re in my girl’s pussy, Ryomen Sukuna.” He’s biting back. Jaw dropping slightly open at the sheer pace at which Sukuna would thrust into your sopping wet hole- uncaring whether you were stretched out enough to take his sheer circumference because Sukuna was going to make you take it either way. 

“Haaaah? Thought we went over this shit already- this is my girl’s pussy from now on. My pussy.” 

“You call her that when I’m the one that’s cum inside her?”

“Yeah, but who made her cum?”

You hitch out, “You’re both so s-stupid-”

And the bickering is starting up one more - though unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for you, the more they argue, the harder they’re going on your cunt. Rubbin’ their lips and fingers raw—“Got a problem with that?”

Gojo pipes up, “She never answered the-”

“Aht aht-” Sukuna interrupts the blue-eyed man, just too fun to watch him fume like this. And instead of paying him any attention, the King stares right down at your pussy. “Got a problem with that?”

He wasn’t talking to Gojo. He wasn’t even talking to you-

He was talking to your greedy pussy and waitin’ until she answered- opening his mouth to let his tongue spread your lips wide open and draaaaag down your velvety walls. 

Inevitably, you’re just so wet by this point that you can’t help but splash out in your juices- and it creates the filthiest squelching noise that Sukuna grins at. “See? She doesn’t mind.”

“You fucking-”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” Before the sultriest, most mind-numbing stretch opens up your pussy. And you snap your head down on carnal instinct to find that Sukuna was kneeled between your legs and fingering your pussy open. 

Ruthlessly with not one, not two, but three of his thick fingers- they were just so large that it took him a few half-thrusts to even fit the first few inches inside. Those roughened crowns of his mazing like spotlights searching for your every sweet spot, “Oh my god, it feels so good, Kuna-”

“Oh yeah? What a coincidence, yer- I mean my pussy’s saying the same thing, mama.” He then looks up at your boyfriend as if to say—your move.

Gojo Satoru rolls his eyes.

And he’s then pushing Sukuna’s head back to fully take over your clit for himself.

“Fuck off.”

Sukuna’s pink brows furrow and he grimaces. “Watch it, fucker. I have a Calvin Klein ambassadorship-”

“He talks big but he doesn’t know this pussy as well as I do, huh?” Though Gojo doesn’t listen to a word he says - doesn’t have to. He’s rolling the edge of his thumb along your clit in quick clockwise circles, and then stopping every then and now to repeat the motion anti-clockwise. “All that chit-chat, but really…she’s still my pussy, isn’t she?”

You hiccup, “I-I just don’t understand why she can’t be both-”

“No.”

“Nuh-uh.” Gojo affirms along with Sukuna. Breathy laughter echoing against your right ear in a way that almost felt crazed—“Guess I hafta remind it to you then, huh, my girl?”

“Ohhhh, he’s slurring, mama.” Sukuna titters.

“I’m realizing…” You breathe out.

Maybe the two of you had broken Gojo Satoru. 

Maybe the two of you had made Gojo Satoru snap-

In no time he’s jerking you further up in this position and absolutely shattering you with the movements of his nimble fingertips. Gojo always did have the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen, the prettiest palms, the prettiest digits that had countless edits dedicated to them on social media. 

And they were just so looooong and flexible- tuggin’ on your throbbing knob a few times before drawing patterns. Not just any patterns - but something swirling and swipin’ that makes your eyes roll all the way to the back of your skull.

He was curving the soft crown of his fingerpad against your clit- making a curving shape that makes you buck. 

“And what does that say?”

“Wh-what?” You gasp out stupidly to the man above you, his voice eerily calm.

“I said…” A few more twists n’ turns of his fingers on top of your clit that make you tremble with pleasure. “-what does that say, sweetheart?”

Hell, even Sukuna has to look up at the tone of Gojo’s voice. Something about it so…either way it’s making the pink-haired man flicker his gaze up n’ down your cunt and chuckle. “Not bad, you sick fuck. Not bad.”

And you’ve never been more confused- “I don’t know what you mean-”

“I said-” It’s only then that you’re feeling it, feeling the sensation of Gojo’s doughy fingertips pinch your swollen clit. Letting the sting seep into your nerves for just a bit before he’s resuming that same swipin’ motion. “-what does it say on this pussy?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing he’s spelling something out on your cunt.

“Man, she’s too fucked stupid on my tongue to realize-”

“In your dreams.”

“Shit, is it…” Your dazed pupils seem to be following in the same motion, being held to him with absolutely no mercy. And, somehow, you manage to be mapping out the swivelling of his fingers. “Is it an ‘S’—?”

“‘S’ for Sukuna.” The pink-haired captain titters out.

Before Gojo’s immediately spanking down on your pussy for no reason- “And this one? What about this one, my girl?”

“Shit, shit shit, shiiiit—” You could feel the oncoming tidal wave of your high - already so close with both men stimulating you so much that it almost hurt. “Is that one- hck!” If you weren’t mistaken, this current one was something…pointier than the last curving letter. “Is it an ‘A’?”

“Good girl.”

“Aw, shit-” Sukuna gruffs out between your pussylips, “I can’t let my pussy go that easily, can I?”

Increasing the incredible zaps of electricity that were running straight from your core, Sukuna had another swivellin’ fingertip of his pressing inside. Four—and they were just so big that you swear you could feel your mind start blanking out.

Pushing and pushing.

Shovelling his hot tips against the sweetest of your spots, it’s almost as if he was providin’ his fingers inside with the aim to bruise-

“And how many fingers s’that?” Sukuna leers up at both you and Gojo, a challenging smile upon his handsome face. “Count f’me, girlie.”

“Be original.” Gojo scoffs.

“Be better.”

“Not when you’ve got my cum on your face.”

Sukuna isn’t even sure what to say to that, merely stuffin’ his face into the froth of white and transparent juices pourin’ out of you.

“Fuh-four.” Almost feeling embarrassed by how much your words were tangling n’ mingling into one- but that’s if you were in any better state of mind. Right now it felt like you could barely even string a coherent thought together let alone a sentence. “Four fingers?”

Sukuna smiles against your tender folds, “Aaaaatta girl.” Pulling back and this time pushing in a different number of digits. “And how many now?”

“Three?” You cry out.

“We’re not done here, sweetheart.” Thrown by the way that Gojo was rasping into your ear, “Don’t let has-beens distract you- what letter?”

“It’s a ‘T’—?”

“What number, mama?”

“Two.”

“Letter?”

“Oh—” Feeling your legs start to twitch the way they did whenever you were close, “It’s ‘O’-”

“Number-”

You’re arching against them, “Four-”

“Letter-”

Bucking your body, “‘R’—”

“Lett-”

“Number-”

“Letter.”

“Fuck- number.”

“Fuck off- letter.”

“S’my pussy and I want to ask-”

“No, it’s my pussy and-”

But only you could cut through one of their infamous arguments with ease- “Satoru.” Bringing back both men’s attention onto you and you entirely. Your back arches against Gojo’s front until his smooth pectorals were providing you with cushioning for his rough fingers. “Y-your letters are spelling out- ngh, ‘Satoru’ on my pussy.” And then you’re staring down at the pink-haired man, “And Sukuna- you’ve now got four fingers inside me.”

He smirks, “Atta girl- correct.”

“You did well, sweetheart.”

And their sweet whispers are all you hear before you’re shattering into your second- third- perhaps even fourth orgasm of the night. Something that lasts so loooooong and blissful that it leaves your body utterly limp in Gojo’s arms.

Sukuna plops his fingers and mouth down on your cunt and fucks you through each incredible high, the mountains of it unfurling over you. His globular fingertips pressin’ into the tiniest crevices inside and marking himself out. Meanwhile Gojo was spelling his name again and again and agaaaain on top of your swollen pussy. 

Until it was a pattern that you think might have permanently embedded into your very veins with how frenzied your boyfriend was marking it out. Gojo crushes you to his toned front and whispers- “Cum f’me, my girl.” Scalding hot pants against your ear, “Yes- yes, cum f’me.”

He ruts his aching cock against your behind and you whine-

“Cum f’me so good.”

And Sukuna himself looks as though he wanted to say something as he dragged out the tremors across your body- but he was far too busy with his lips glued to your pussylips. Lappin’ up every ounce of slick and cum- “Mmm, just you wait, mama.”

They don’t stop until your massive wave of bliss has well and fully bated - until it’s nothing more than a few tingles that shoot sparks up your spine.

But then…they don’t stop even then.

Sukuna has his lips plastered to your clit by now, his fingers smeared down your walls—and he didn’t give a fuck what the other man had to say about it. Because Gojo himself had his arms around you tightly, hips just lightly pushing and pulling. Reeling and rutting.

Gojo’s plush cockhead was swervin’ between your legs and sliiiiiding up the slit of your pussy-

“Oi-” Sukuna’s grunting as the other man’s smooth velvety length grazes his lips, “Watch it. M’trying to eat out my girl’s pussy.”

“Then shut up and move.” Gojo gruffs out, teeth grit. He hits his hips against you with a smack! “Or don’t- I don’t fucking care.”

“That’s gay as hell.”

“Bi.”

“Bye to you, too.” Sukuna’s rolling his rouge eyes. He’s just about to open his mouth once more with something snarky, when he realizes that oh…Gojo was actually fucking serious.

He was actually attempting desperately to pummel his hips into you. He was actually holding you up with only one of his beefy arms for a brief moment, guiding his thickened tip to smooch up against your hole and puuuushing—

Cumming.

Pouring out hot loads of seed in a gloss.

“And who said you could fuck my girl’s pussy?” Immediately, he’s on his two feet and shrugging down his shorts- dampened with precum by now. Thoroughly. It’s then that you’re getting the first proper look at the Ryomen Sukuna’s cock.

Where Gojo was longer and prettier- Sukuna was just thiiiick and covered in so many veins that it made you already anticipate him being inside you. It was almost dizzying the sheer amount there was. Unruly pink happy trail. Heavily tightened balls. He was the most sensual tannish pink at the very top of his shaft, graduating down to a darker shade at his base. And his base—oh.

“You seriously got tattooed there?” Gojo’s the first to voice his thoughts out loud. One of his pale brows raising at the ring of inky black ‘round Sukuna’s hilt. “Sick fuck.”

You yourself gulp at the sight, “Did that hurt, Kuna?”

“Who cares if it-”

“Nah.” Sukuna replies, “No pain, no gain- right, mama?”

“I-I suppose…” Nodding was all that you could do - Gojo was furiously smearin’ apart your pussylips and trying to rut inside.

“And what exactly would my girl be gaining, huh?” The white-haired captain is the one to ask.

“Isn’t that obvious?” His tone certainly made it out to be, and the King was looming even closer with his throbbing erection. Just like Gojo, he looked so hard that it almost looked painful- almost looked as though he was begging n’ bursting to be inside your tight hole. Sukuna’s caging the two of you against the lockers, “She’s gaining both of us.”

Your eyes widen, “Both-”

“Inside.”

Gojo perks up, “At once.”

Both. Inside. At once. 

You weren’t walking out of this locker room.

At all.

Sukuna inches ever-so-slightly closer. One hand placed outright against the locker room- and you honestly have to stop yourself from ogling his bulging biceps. The other wrapped around his meaty hilt and pressin’ up against your hole- 

“If s’both at once then you better put them in at the- mm, same time.” Gojo mutters.

“Tch-” But Sukuna doesn’t deny him - and before you know it, he has his rugged hand wrapped around both their cocks. Gojo’s face wincing with a hiss at the slight sensation, he dribbles out in even more cum that gets smeaaaared down your wet crevice. “And that last round- we didn’t end up deciding whose pussy this was, huh?”

“No…” Gojo’s clenching his teeth, straining his head to look down at the heavenly sight below. Sukuna was teasin’ your flooded orifice, getting you used to the feeling of them both.

“Then how about…”

“-we let this pussy decide.”

“Mmm, heh-” Sukuna smirks, “-time for the overtime.”

And they might have been the fiercest of rivals on the ice—but here? Gojo and Sukuna were in perfect synchronization when they’re tuggin’ their cocks to your cunt and emptying out.

Fucking you at the same time.

“Eeeeeasy now, mama- s’gonna be a snug fit.” Sukuna’s forehead starts to bead with sweat, “You should know that they say my cock’s so big it’s as if they were- hah, two.”

“Two inches, maybe.”

“What were you saying, two-pump chump?”

It was such a tight fit.

“Ngh—fuck.” Sukuna spits out through his pearly white canines, nose crinkling at the sensation of your walls rubbing against him and him rubbing against Gojo. “You’ve got me, mama.”

“Fuh-fuuuuuck, sweetheart-” Meanwhile Gojo was damn near drooling- he was trembling, he was spurtin’ out his precum. He was holding onto you for what felt like dear life as he’s rutting- “It feels so good, what the fuck- what the fuuuck.”

“Yer welcome.” Sukuna chuckles, though you could see the burning blush formulating on his ears.

“Not you-”

He throbs, “Nah, tha’s definitely me.”

And you can’t help but cling onto both of them- “Toru—Kuna- you’re both inside- fuck.” One of your hands grabbing into Sukuna’s toned deltoids, while the other was scrambling to grab onto Gojo’s pure white hair. Honestly, you didn’t even need the balance at this point - they were the ones holding you up. Gojo’s strong arms holding you up in a full nelson, Sukuna’s ones latched onto either side of your hips to keep from running. “And you’re both just so big- I don’t know if it’ll even f-”

“Don’t say that it won’t fit, sweetheart.”

You’re turning back to Gojo, “Why- oh.”

Because your boyfriend’s voice sounded octaves higher than usual. It sounded breathier. It sounded more unsteady.

You don’t think you’ve heard him sound like this in your entire life.

And you’re just looking behind to check up on him and- fuck. Gojo Satoru was already pussydrunk - you could tell by the bleary look in his eyes. He was shivering. He was letting his pinkish lips fall further and further open every time he’s plunging in a solid few pumps-

“Oi oi-” Sukuna gnaws down on the insides of his cheek to keep from any strange noises like…whimpers from seeping into his tone. “-I thought we were fuckin’ her together?”

“Oh—huh?” Blue eyes looking between the two of you- did he seriously forget that? Was he seriously that gone? And you’re getting your answer the moment that your gluey walls clench—and Gojo’s breath hitches. Body moving before his mind as he ruts-

His eyes blow wide open as if he didn’t even realized what he just did.

He holds into you so tight that neat crescent marks embed into your skin. “Don’t say it won’t fit- please.” Breathy whispers plastering in scorching breezes against the side of your neck, “Don’t say it won’t fit because I need it to- have to.”

“Why’s that, Toru?”

“Yeah-” Sukuna raises his pinkish brows, “Why’s that, Toru?”

“B-because…” Gojo’s handsome cheeks give a slight blush, and he’s averting eye contact with both you and the cocky man that also had his cock stuffed inside you. “-how will make this pussy really mine if I can’t even hit her- ngh, womb?”

Your jaw drops- but Sukuna only lets out a light whistle. “So thaaaat is the master plan, huh?” The other captain himself giving you a solid, aaaaaching thrust- “Hasn’t yer coach ever taught you not to tell yer master plan to the rival team?”

“Why does it matter?” Poor, pussydrunk Gojo Satoru cocks his head. And you almost start to feel sympathy for the way that Sukuna was starting to take your boyfriend as a joke- “You won’t win anyways”

Nevermind.

It doesn’t take long for them to funnels their cocks upwards like fucking animals-

Claiming every single spot inside you. Slidin’ past one another for space- they feel the sensitive spots on their cock press against the other’s and that makes them buck. Molding and massaging and making you sob out on the feeling of two entire cylindrical intrusions keeping you wide open.

Gojo was impatient with his tempo, slashing the most delicate parts of your insides with his lengthy cock. And it certainly didn’t help that the globular end of his shaft was covered in slick and hooooned to reach your deepest depths. Even deeper.

Even deeper than Sukuna, who was spending more time training your entrance to gape out into a pretty lil’ oh—the same way your mouth was. “Just like that, mama.” And listen…he can’t help himself when he leans down and spits straight between your puffy lips. Sticking a thumb between your legs and pryin’ your folds apart. “Would ya look at that…she’s actually starting to take me- I dunno about that other motherfucker-”

“She’s taking me, too.” Gojo scoffs.

“-but I just know this pussy’s gonna love my cock.” Sukuna hums, his great chest rumbling with satisfaction. “She’s gonna have me stuffed all the way against her womb and then beg to be called mine.”

Making you shiver with the drag-drag of the calloused digits holding his base, “Sh-shit-”

Sukuna grins, jerking his hips up. Rapid and ravenous. “And she’s begging to take it all the way until that tattoo at my base-”

“In your dreaaaaams~” The other man’s answer comes before yours, and so does a thorough bang right near your g-spot occur. “She’s all mine. So if you w-want any then come and get it now, Sukuna—oh wait.” Leaning down theatrically, Gojo pretends as though he was hearing something emanating from your pussy. Something riveting. The squelches. “You can’t- because the only one she’s begging for is me.”

“Face-off.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can you two just shut up and fuck me—ngh.” Your tastebuds sizzle in the drenched layer of your own saliva, taking over your mouth in an instant once one of them finally bottoms out.

One of them.

And the problem was that you couldn’t register which one was which- before a second loud wallop tremors at the bottom of your pussy and the other man is bottoming out. Both of them. 

Mere split-seconds apart from each other. 

Their rotund tips curving against your cervix juuust right until your eyes roll back, hands latching onto their muscular bodies. Toes curling. Teary lashes fluttering. Gojo and Sukuna had you pressed tightly between them as they funnelled all their swollen, greeeeedy inches inside of you.

“So?”

It’s Sukuna who’s speaking- and you can just barely manage to extract yourself from the valley of his pecs. Sometime during their furious cadence, you’d wound up salivating between his toned chest. “S-so?”

Gojo hums, “So what’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

“Verdict?”

Sukuna tuts with one of his usual eye-rolls. “So- who’s first, mama? Who did that slutty pussy of yours want more?”

“O-oh…” Your mouth drops agape, “It was…”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Blinking back the tears in your eyes- “It was…”

“Take your time, my girl.”

“It was-” It’s then and there - mid-moan to one of Gojo’s impatient thrusts - that you decide to come clean to the two men. Sadly looking down—if you were in any clearer a state of mind then maybe you’d have noticed the way both their plummy tips throb even harder when you pout. “I don’t…know…”

“Well…” Gojo looks at Sukuna, and Sukuna looks back.

“Well.”

And there seems to be a silent conversation there that you weren’t privy to.

“We can always fuck her pussy and then ask her.”

“Y’know- sometimes I love the way you think.”

You’re not quite sure which one of the two suggested it, and which one of the two simply agreed - Gojo or Sukuna. Because they’d finally fit inside and now Gojo and Sukuna were pistoning their hips up into you like they were trying to make you forget the other.

Trying to make your mind nothing but a blur.

The pinkish lengths disappearing in and out of you nothing but a blur.

Both of their split-ended cockheads dig into the deepest grooves of your pussy, finding each of your favorite spots as if they were almost magnetized to them. It just felt so good to have them slide across your walls and slide across each other- those veiny lines on their cocks being pressed against the other’s shaft. Bulging out your tight channel like you never could have imagined before. Expectedly, knowing your body for a longer time, Gojo is the first to find your g-spot and preeeeess his flared tip against it.

He smirks down at Sukuna- who didn’t take more than a few more vicious strokes to find it himself. Though he can’t lie the blow it did to his ego— “What was that? Your cute lil’ womb feeling lonely, girlie?” Sukuna’s speaking down at your slurping cunt, “Awww don’t worry, I’ll help you-”

“Tch…” To which the other man was also concentrating a bit more on the route that his length was taking inside your channel. Gojo was hard and sloppy- the cap of dribblin’ pre on his shaft making it so that sometimes he’d barely even graze his tip against your channel until he’s doing it all over again. “Upset you can’t find the g-spot?”

“M’surprised a man like you could even find the clit.” Sukuna’s snarling back, purposefully dipping his thumb up to roll over that sweet nub.

“M’surprised a man like you was even given the chance to fuck her.” Gojo chuckles haughtily.

“Why were you surprised when a man like you was given the chance?”

“At least I won the match-”

“At least I won the girl—my girl.”

Gojo bristles, “You seriously think you won my girl over?”

“If the shoe fits-”

Gojo scoffs- and thankfully it’s the only thing he does. Thankfully he’s ignoring the vengeful temptation within him that’s telling him to just deck Ryomen Sukuna in the face one and for all.

Instead, he’s taking his anger out simply on your cunt. Both ice hockey captains swipin’ their rotund crowns inwards and attempting to fuck the decision out of you.

Faster.

Harder. 

Choose me. Choose me. Choose me.

“Sh-shit, how am I ever meant to choose—” You’re gasping through your cascade of tears, legs twitching- and you’re taking it as a sign to mean that your high was nearby. Though how you were expected to orgasm once more with the sheer amount of overstimulation that your body was wracking from, you had absolutely no idea.

And Gojo and Sukuna were fucking you like they didn’t even care about that in the first place.

They had their hands gripping onto your body- almost teamwork. “Don’t tell me that we’re gonna go this long without you even choosing, sweetheart…” Gojo purrs. He was the one holding you open, and Sukuna was the one taking advantage of that to twiddle n’ tug at your clit. 

“Yeah- don’t think yer getting out of this any time soon.” Sukuna agrees - agrees with Gojo Satoru for what was likely the first and last time ever in his entire life. You squirm your hips and he’s pinning you down to keep you from moving a single inch—“If ya don’t choose now then we’re gonna have another- hah, round.”

Eyes damn near bulging out of your skull, “A-another round?”

“Another round.” Gojo affirms. His head falling into the crook of your neck, “And another round- and another round- and another round and another round and another-”

“Aaaaaall the way until you finally choose, girlie.” Sukuna chuckles darkly—“Me or him.”

“Me or him.”

“I…I choose—” You start off- and you can feel the way that both Gojo and Sukuna lean in even closer to hear your ultimate decision. Who’s pussy was this? Whose girl were you? They’re slammin’ their hips into yours so hard that the skin of their pelvis grows bright red. “I choose-”

“Yes?” Gojo shoves his cockhead against a particularly sweet spot inside you.

“Mhm?” Sukuna was pressing down haaaard on your clit like the cutest button.

And it’s with great difficulty - and a few more rabid strokes - until you can speak. “I choose…that you both fuck me again.”

Such filthy, filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth- 

It’s enough to make both you and Gojo cum again- and for Sukuna to take one lingering look at you two before he himself starts to throb with his high. “Fuh-fucking hell.” Never stuttered in years since his first team tryouts. Never felt so overcome with his orgasm since he first discovered what the hell that was. 

They’re both pumping out looong luxurious stripes of their seed.

Your own high was nothing but a mere few trembles by this point—or so you think. That is, until those faint tingles burst into something so intense and white-hot that you see your vision blacken for a few seconds. A strange wetness seeping between your legs.

You wonder just what might have happened- until Sukuna’s low whistle sounds. “Squirting, huh?”

“All because of me-”

“Actually-”

You have to open your eyes and see for yourself- and it’s making you gape at the splashes of squirting sap that escape you. So much so that you start to wonder just where so much of it must’ve fit, so hard that it makes every single double thrust push you through your constant high. “Sh-shit, I did this…”

Again and again.

Only once the most of it has bated and left you unclenching can you focus on taking every single wad that they’re planting inside you. Emptying out their heavy balls. Using both globular cockheads to swipe the dewy droplets inwards. 

“Inside, motherfucker.” Sukuna spits out at the other man, guiding his ruby-red tip to swivel inside. 

“I already know, you fool.”

“Sh-shit, there’s so much of it.” The mess of it glazes your insides and creates a sort of second skin. Only temporary, however, because every time you were fucked- that sheen would splosh all over again. “I feel so…ngh.”

“Mmm, filled up to the brim?” Sukuna swipes his thick fingertip down your slit and collects the excess of ivory cum dribbling out of you.

Gojo helpfully supplies as well, “Properly stuffed full?”

Sukuna smirks, “Wet like a waterpark?”

“The sweetest treat with a creamy middle?” Gojo was ruttin’ his hips up furiously, properly fucking all three of you throughout your orgasm. Toes curling. Back arching. Even when his own high was starting to peter out now and he was only pumping you full—

“Like yer gonna explode?”

“Heh, like yer gonna end up pregnant-”

You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, clawing onto their muscular bodies- “Please-” Just fucked stupid until both their waves of bliss are fading out. Pouring pumps of wadded cum every time they underwent a peak of bliss, “F-fuck, please-”

“Please?” Sukuna raises one brow down at the way you sob, “Whaddaya mean ‘please’? I distinctly remember a certain indecisive pussy- and you, wanting to go another round n’ really decide? Right, Satoru?”

“Most certainly, Ryomen.” Your boyfriend - that traitor - is fucking agreeing with his rival for one.

When did that even happen—?

But you don’t have the time to think too deeply about it- because in almost no time, they’re pulling out. In the next blink you find your limp body laid flat across one of the large wooden benches in the locker room.

Gojo and Sukuna kneeled between your legs and looking absolutely famished. You could feel their cum pouring out of you triple-fold like this, a slow n’ slick ooze.

“Shit- look at the way she’s leaking.” Gojo nudges Sukuna.

Sukuna smirks back, “Mostly because of me, heh?”

“You fuck-”

“Ahem.” They’re snapping their eyes to you instantly, just so pretty when they kneeled before you like this—they should do it more often. Still twitching from the aftershocks of your high, “And you- ngh, want me here because…?”

“To eat that pretty pussy out, mama- duh.” Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Because no matter what, we belong to you.”

Gojo pipes up, “Just trying to figure out the logistics- I want to taste my girl first, you’ve already had your turn-”

“Eh? Fuck off, I’m eating her out first-”

“You already-”

“Why not both?” It’s become your mantra, of sorts. And you’re leaning back on your elbows against the bench, leads spreadin’ just a bit wider.

The two hockey look players between you and your pussy with widened eyes.

Before you’re reaching out and bringing their heads together to kiss your puckered cunt. Their lips meeting your pussylips. Their lips meeting each others—

A hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Gojo moans.

Sukuna can’t keep the blush off of his ears once his and Gojo’s tongue slide against each other and fight for purchase of your cream-covered cunt-

“Help me decide, boys.”

.

.

.

“Aaaaand we have Gojo Satoru and Ryomen Sukuna coming up to the center to take the opening face-off, ladies and gentlemen.” Different game. Same commentator. “This might just be the most anticipated moment in our play-offs: Tokyo Free Blades vs. Heian Hawks. Gojo Satoru vs. Ryomen Sukuna. The strongest center now vs. the strongest center in history—and which one of them will take the Stanley Cup?”

Gojo and Sukuna were skating up to the face-off circle, their hockey sticks at the ready and their eyes locked on one another.

It had only been a month or two of fooling around until yet another NHL play-off, this time in Shinjuku, had the two men facing each other. And they were ready for it- in fact, they almost seemed excited for it.

Your two boyfriends are lowering into position as the referee arrives to give them a concise speech, and you can’t help but jump up and down with your cheers. Still slightly sore from how hard they went on you. Still covered in marks down your neck and your thighs from both of them. You were in the fan section for the Heian Hawks, despite the Tokyo Free Blade jersey you wore - but at least the banner in your hand announced—Shinjuku Showdown! Go Go Toru and Kuna!

And yet, even then you knew that one of them would find something to whine n’ huff about until you gave them extra coddling. You hope you didn’t write one of their names bigger than the other…

It drew a few stares, predictably.

From fans around you that beamed or from the particularly fervent fan that couldn’t comprehend this betrayal. You just never would have expected that it would draw the attention of the game commentator itself-

“And what’s that? Isn’t that Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend?” To your acute horror and amusement, you’re suddenly seeing yourself splashed across the big screen. “Look here, ladies and gentlemen- Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend with her support for the Heian Hawks as well—raise that banner higher, my dear.”

With a cheer, you do as you’re told. You know this is about to take over your entire timeline very, very soon.

“Well well well, who could’ve imagined? Maybe the Prince of the Ice has some competition, eh?” Panning over the visuals to a smirking Sukuna and Gojo who was rolling his eyes- fondly, however. “Isn’t this the same lass that caused a fight between the two players during their last match together?”

Though you’re shaking your head with a laugh, Sukuna raises a thumbs up.

“Who’d have thought…maybe a friendship between two heated rivals really is possible after all?” The commentator muses out loud, and you’re dodging the phone cameras that are being shoved your way now. Being Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend always did come with a bit of publicity that you never did expect, but being the girlfriend of both of them…“Or maybe even…something more?”

Gojo and Sukuna look at each other.

They flip each other off.

“Or maybe not—” The man declares to roaring laughs, and Yaga is smoothly lifting his hand in a signal of dropping soon. “Let’s have a good game Gojo and Sukuna fans. Clean. Fair. For that Stanley cup. No one gets injured too badly and most important of all—rock me!”

The puck drops.

The game starts.

A/N. Shinjuku showdown? More like Shinjuku PLOUGH-down *throws tomatoes* Also fun fact: some of the commentary in here were taken from actual games!

Then it pings again.

satoru: hellooo?

Fuck.

Was it too late to change your number and move to a different country?

You sigh, finally typing a message you actually send.

y/n: how long have you been watching the screen

Three dots.

satoru: like 10 minutes

You let out a silent scream, heart hammering in your chest.

This is the worst possible scenario – time to deflect.

y/n: why the hell did you have my chat open anyway

Three dots again…

satoru: princess I've been waiting for this moment for months

Your cheeks heat up with something other than embarrassment this time.

y/n: you're an idiot

You know he’d practically be able to hear your pout through that text. But then–

satoru: that guy you were dating finally fuck up?

You let out a small chuckle at his honesty. And yeah, fuck up was putting it lightly, but you didn't exactly want to get into how every man since Satoru had been a complete disappointment.

You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to try and force back the smile that tried to form on your lips.

y/n: guess you could say that

Satoru was typing again, three dots appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was the one deleting the messages on the other side now.

You could almost picture him – that wide cheese eating grin, celebrating his prophecy coming true. You hated how right he was about the fact you wouldn't find anyone better than him.

The overly confident bastard he was.

But the message you received wasn't smug at all. If anything, it made your heart ache with that familiar comfort no one but him seemed able to give you.

satoru: did he hurt you?

You felt a tightness in your throat as you typed out a yes. It's not like you were ever in love with the guy – you hadn't really been in love with anyone since, well… since the man you were texting right now.

White haired, blue eyed, handsome Satoru Gojo, shining so bright he overshadowed everyone in his wake, including you.

But how could anyone else even compare?

satoru: are you ok?

You bite your lower lip, reading and rereading his text. Yes that guy proved to be an asshole, but what was really making your chest hurt wasn't that short lived situationship – it was how much you missed Satoru.

Missed his stupid jokes. Missed the way he'd easily pick you up and place kisses all over your face. Missed cuddling on cold nights, laughing at the dumb movie he chose, baking cookies for lunch when his adorable pout convinced you it was healthy.

What was the use of lying, anyway?

y/n: i just really miss you

There. You finally admitted the truth you had been trying to conceal for months now.

And his response came so fast you wondered how his thumbs could type so quickly.

satoru: ill be there in 10

You laugh – Satoru easily lives a half an hour away, but you fully believe him.

How did you ever think you’d get over Satoru Gojo?

(important) DO NOT MESSAGE YOUR EX – unless he is satoru gojo, of course

permatags @madamechrissy @mercipourleveninx @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋.ᐟ𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 , who finds himself taking a step forward without realising. eyes burning into the back of your head, as if holding you in place. or maybe it’s just you— pulling him in like his own damned demise, one that neither of you had seen coming.

“you,” he says. softly. quietly.

and yet, enough to make you shiver.

“h—huh?” you blink, blinking quickly to adjust to bass boosted halo of light that somehow seems to emanate from this odd man. “can i . . can i help you?”

“stop shaking,” a hand reaches out to you— two fingers pressing against the very centre of your brows. stars burst behind your head as soon as his skin touches yours— distant, sweet stars, like little butterflies frolicking about the very ruins that is your mind.

like something soothing.

something that’s salvation.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋.ᐟ𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 , who watches, as you remain in a haze like state, even after he retreats his hand— dazed eyes jarringly out of place in the chaos of the city surrounding you two. it’s as if you’re still struggling to accept the serenity that his touch brought you— like something too divine is injected into your poor, oh so humane body.

he clears his throat.

“anyhow, i was saying that— you should be a little more caref—”

“sorry! i should be more careful, i—i know that— sorry, i just—”

ah, there you go again.

ripping apart the (momentary) saintly peace to burst into a cacophony of poorly constructed apologies once again.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋.ᐟ𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 , who scowls at you. eyes narrowing, the heavenly scriptures blazing behind the pupils— but he doesn’t reach out to correct just yet. not yet.

this time, he just lingers.

“stop apologising,” he says, dryly. “you have not wronged me in any way.”

“. . . yeah,” you murmur, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “sorry about that.”

(oh, lord.)

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋.ᐟ𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 , who starts to stay. he melts with the dimmed sunlight, matching your footsteps with his own. his feet trace the trail your boots leave behind, eyes still locked onto the back of your head. watching. not correcting, just. . . lingering.

(guarding.)

“mister. .” you say, when the hours melt into one and a day comes forth. “. . why do you. . why do you keep following me?”

(a pause.)

“your loser demeanour and big wet eyes have captivated me,” he says, blankly.

✦ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⨾ @satorus-princess / @mimuju / @besidesjustmyamour / @naf3211 / @jelxqa / @helloxkittylo / @nimbusonik / @sugurusladyknightt / @maybemethebeloved / @mikaari0 / @gravecyte / @gojoswaterbottle / @lawverrmango / @kurtcokeaine / @mayyhaps / @descargueestoporgojosatoru / @oporotheca / @hyacinthl8l / @yuiisinherworld / @pjselee .