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pboogerswbb · 2 months ago

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IN THE MORNING

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige is high off a great game and wants to celebrate by fucking you in her jersey. Warnings: sexual content (SMUT, FILTHY FR BEWARNED), strap, slight humiliation, breeding kink, language, etc etc Wordcount: 4K A/C: this is my 1K followers surprise for y'all! YOU FINALLY GET STRAP ik you guys been begging for it (freaks). anyway thank you so much for all of you for supporting me and reading what i write, i appreciate it a lot more than you guys even know. never thought i'd have 1k followers on here so tysm, ily all <3 now go have some fun reading (ok especially to my moots ilysm, i am so fucking happy i met all of you i love each and every single one of you so bad and i always always always got your back, ty for being the best people in the world)

“And it’s good, another three for Bueckers.”

“She's on fire. Been hitting those all night and making it look effortless too.”

“Seventh three of the night wow.”

The entire evening Paige had been like a sniper, shots going in with even more ease than normal. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her blonde ponytail, the wide shoulders nearly too big for the navy Uconn jersey, glistening with sweat as the fourth quarter comes to an end. 31 points. You couldn’t be prouder to call her your girlfriend.

The crowd stands up, you jumping up and down and clapping with them, the white jersey tucked into your bra to crop it, proudly carrying your girl’s name on your back. Another victory for Uconn, as your girlfriend allows herself a small smile after the extraordinary game she just played. You wait patiently. What feels like close to an hour of the blonde shaking hands, signing jerseys and giving out interviews she finally meets your eyes from the opposite side of the court, jogging towards you.

“Babyyy!” You gleam as she wraps her strong, sticky arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Seven threes is crazy,” you praise your girlfriend.

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a smug grin on her face as she pulls back and looks at you. “Missed two cause my girl look so fine.”

An involuntary blush spreads to your face as the girl’s blue eyes scam your body up and down.

“You like?” You ask with a sly smile, twirling for her. Paige lets out a low whistle, hand coming to hold your waist.

“Fuck you look hot in that jersey,” she murmurs, eyeing the way it sits on your body. You can see it in your girlfriend’s eyes - the way they were darkening in the way they always did when she needed you.

Feeling flustered, you decide to change the topic, knowing she shouldn’t be eyefucking you in front of these cameras and fans. “So are we still going out with the team tonight? We should celebrate your big win baby.”

Paige laughs hoarsely, in that fuckboy way she does. “We ain’t going out mama, we going straight home.”

You know exactly what she means. Exactly what would happen when you get home. The idea is already making your stomach flip.

“Paige… It was a big night for you, we sh-”

“No disrespect but you need to shut up,” she sternly silences you. “You really think you’re gon’ look like this and not be folded in half in about an hour? Baby, c’mon.”

“Paige stop!” You giggle, her hands holding your waist underneath the jersey, fingertips against your bare skin squeezing as she kisses your neck hungrily. Your hands are fumbling with the key, attempting to open the door to your apartment. Something you were finding extremely hard as the blonde behind you presses her hips into yours, sucking a dark red mark on your neck.

“Open the door,” Paige pants, her voice breathy and hoarse. It’s more a command than a request. Finally, you turn the key and the girl pushes you in with urgency, closing the door behind you.

Before you can say a word, the blonde is throwing you over her shoulder, making you squeal and giggle.

“Put me down!”

“No ma’am,” she laughs, long strides heading towards the bedroom fast. With a grunt your girlfriend lowers you onto the bed, landing you on the soft mattress. Both of you are giggling as she eyes you on the bed, licking her lower lip.

“Wait here baby,” she coos, disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe. Once she returns, there’s an apparent bulge underneath the grey basketball shorts. Your imagination begins to go wild, heat growing between your thighs at the idea of what she had strapped on underneath. Paige had done it before, coming up behind you, the strap poking into your ass under her sweats to let you know what she was in the mood for. It drove you completely wild each time.

“Take your clothes off,” the blonde commands from the doorway, pulling her hoodie off and throwing it on the floor. You know what happens when Paige wants something and doesn’t get it, so you kick off the boots and denim skirt you’re wearing. Your girlfriend follows every move with watchful eyes, tutting once your fingers begin to tuck the jersey off.

“Leave that shit on,” Paige says, walking over to you on the bed. You lie on your back, watching up at her in the sheer white panties and white jersey and an unbearable ache between your thighs.

Paige’s shoulders look broad and filled out in the black sports bra she’s wearing, lower lip trapped between her teeth as her fingertips brush against the soft skin of your thigh.

“Look so fucking sexy,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy. You needed her, badly. So you bring your hand to her core and just as you expected, feel the thick, purple strap underneath the fabric. Wrapping your fingers around the bulge, you rub it as if it’s her actual dick, just like the blonde liked to imagine.

Paige lets out a low groan, squeezing the skin on your thigh.

“You want it?” She asks. It’s not a genuine question, she knows the answer. She can tell by the way you’re squirming, rubbing your thighs together. The way your brows are furrowed in desperation.

“I do,” you whimper, biting your lip and blinking up at the girl with round eyes in the way that drove her crazy. Works every time, and this is no exception, your girlfriend letting out a breathy sigh and throwing her head back.

“Yeah? How bad ma?” She asks, hand slowly inching closer to the edge of your panties, fingertips nearly sliding underneath.

“So bad baby,” you whine, arching your back, hand still working the strap through her shorts. “Just feel,” with a whimper, you grab the blonde’s hand teasing you and slide it inside your panties.

Both of you moan, your wetness covering her fingers the second she feels you.

“Fuck, you this wet just for me?”

“All for you baby,” you whimper. “Love watching you play.”

Paige grins, rubbing gentle circles on your clit already growing puffy and sensitive from how bad your body aches for her, the idea of her strap buried deep inside you making you eager, the wait nearly unbearable.

A sigh spills from your lips as the blonde pulls her hand away, her fingers coming to your mouth and slipping past your lips making you taste yourself. Your eyes flutter shut, lips wrapping around her long digits. Paige hisses, watching closely.

“That shit ain’t fair, I need to taste you too.”

With that, Paige is pulling you to the edge of the bed by your legs, kneeling on the floor face to face with your core. With a swift movement, the blonde’s fingers hook onto your panties and pulls them down.

“Holy shit baby I ain’t even fuck you yet, why you this wet?” Paige groans at the way your cunt glistens in the light, her arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you still for her. You could feel just how wet you were, your slick spilling out of you right under your girlfriend’s gaze.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whimper, attempting to buck your hips but for nothing. You weren’t going to be touched until Paige decided so.

“Yeah couldn’t help it cause you’re such a slut huh?”

The blonde’s lips roam your inner thighs, nibbling and sucking on the skin leaving behind little red marks as a reminder of the night for later.

“Answer me,” she demands, but it barely registers, her hot breath on your core forcing goosebumps to form all over your skin. It’s driving you wild, every inch of your body on fire for her.

Suddenly a hand reaches to your jaw and firmly grabs it, Paige tilting your face towards her.

“Answer me.”

Suddenly even more flustered, your face turns red, needing her even more. “Only for you Paige.”

“Good girl, now lie down.”

The girl lets go of your jaw and suddenly her mouth is on you, tongue everywhere in your folds, licking you up like she’s been starved for life. A loud moan escapes your mouth, hands immediately flying to the blonde, soft hair of your girlfriend.

She’s hungry for it, the victorious game leaving her starving. Her lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, making you gasp and yank on her hair. But she won’t quit, hands coming to spread you further apart, trying to find a way to get closer in a moment of desperation.

“Oh… fuck baby,” you whimper, legs already shaking as she eats you, tongue swirling in your folds, moving from side to side. Paige hums against you, the sound vibrating against your cunt. She has you leaking like a faucet, not wasting a single drop as she kisses her way down, circling your entrance before her tongue slides in.

“P-paige,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the pace she was moving at, not giving your body time to adjust, leaving you breathless. But she couldn’t care less about your protest, eyes rolling back as she presses closer to you, the bridge of her nose pressing against your clit.

You’re squirming, legs shaking and eyes rolling back as you tug on her hair, whimpers quickly turning more high pitched.

“Perfect pussy,” she groans, practically just to herself. Her tongue presses flat against you in long licks along your slit. Biting your lower lip you look down at the blonde girl kneeled on the floor between your legs and for a moment your eyes meet hers.

With an arrogant smirk Paige brings her tongue flat onto your clit and shakes her head back and forth skillfully, knowing it drives you crazy each time. The glimmer in her eye doesn’t help, making your back arch and head tilt back against the mattress.

“Gonna fuck this pussy,” the girl murmurs against you, the tip of her tongue speeding up on your clit, flicking it back and forth. She’s determined to make you cum. And when Paige was determined, there was nothing that could stop her.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes and your entire body’s writhing under Paige’s mercy. She’s desperately eating you up, taking turns working you with her tongue and mouth, sucking and licking everywhere. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as her tongue circles your clit.

“You gonna cum ma?”

“Yes, yes, fuck baby.”

Your hands are tugging on her hair hard, but the blonde doesn’t mind. The moans spilling from her mouth reveal quite the opposite. The familiar pit somewhere deep in your gut begins to burn, forcing your back to arch off the bed. The jersey on your body hikes up, Paige’s hand scratching on your lower stomach as she keeps working tirelessly, like the strain in her jaw wasn’t there.

“Paige I’m go-”

“Cum for me mama.”

And that’s enough, the coil in your stomach snapping the moment her words register in your hazy mind. The heat from your core spreads all over your body, waves of pleasure washing over you. The room is filled with the sounds of your high pitched moans, and the satisfied hums of the blonde between your legs sucking on your clit. Sweat drips down the back of her neck but it doesn’t matter. She’s not even close to done.

Paige stands up from the floor, leaving you trembling before her, still getting over your orgasm.

“Cmere,” Paige says, licking her lips hungrily and sliding her hand into her shorts to stroke the strap as if an extension of herself. Body still recovering, you do as you’re told knowing the blonde didn’t like waiting. Kneeling on the bed, your eyes flicker from the bulge under the fabric to her blue eyes looking down at you. They’re heavy and dark, her jaw prominent and chest heaving with need.

“Take em off,” she demands, your hands wasting no time finding the band of her shorts and pulling them to her ankles, revealing the purple strap underneath. Paige’s hands wrap around it and stroke, tapping the tip all over your face. Without much thought your mouth parts, eyes locked onto your girlfriend’s.

“Push your tongue out, be a good girl,” Paige groans, brows in a deep frown as she tries to catch her breath but it seems impossible with the way your big eyes stare up at her with your mouth open. She’s dizzy with want.

The moment your tongue slips out of your mouth, Paige is slapping the tip on it and moaning as if she could feel it herself - your warm mouth wrapping around her cock.

“That’s it, fuck ma,” Paige hisses, watching your tongue circling the length of the strap. “Get it wet for me.”

Bopping your head forward carefully, you take more of the strap into your mouth, saliva quickly building up and dripping down the corners of your mouth.

“Look so pretty baby,” the blonde coos, gathering your hair into her fist and holding it back for you. “You like sucking my cock?”

With a slight smile you nod with the strap still filling your mouth. The sight is enough to make your girlfriend moan, and her grip in your hair tightens as she forces the strap down your throat, making every inch disappear into your mouth.

“Mmph,” you whine, tears quickly welling up in your eyes. The sound of you gagging mingle with Paige’s low grunts, your nails digging into her muscular thighs. Paige can’t look away, you look too pretty to look away. Finally pulling on your hair, she allows you a second to gasp for air before returning and guiding your mouth on her cock, never breaking eye contact until your eyes roll back. Surely the strap was wet enough already, spit spilling from your mouth all over its length. But Paige is enjoying this too much to stop.

“You wanna get that pussy fucked huh?” The blonde grunts, pulling your head back with a string of saliva dripping down onto your chest.

“Please,” you whimper, your cunt throbbing, begging to feel the plastic inside you.

“Think you deserve it? Think you deserve my cock?”

“Baby need it,” you cry out, letting Paige rub the soaked tip against your lips and face, messing up your makeup. She always thought this was the best you looked, desperate, eyes red and glossy, mascara flaking underneath your eyes and begging for her. She couldn’t resist any longer.

“Turn around,” she murmurs and you do as she says, facing the other way on your hands and knees.

“Should I take the jersey off?”

“Keep that shit on ma,” Paige says sternly, hissing as she rubs the tip of the purple strap against your soaked folds. Already whimpering, you grip the soft sheets tightly, feeling the blonde’s hands caressing your ass and waist, lifting the jersey just enough to see your lower back. “Fuuuckkk baby,” she praises, watching as the strap begins to glisten just from the sheer wetness spilling out of you. “She crying for me huh?”

“Yes,” is all you can muster to say, stomach flipping as the tip teases your entrance, everything you wanted so close yet so far. Your slick is already dripping on the plastic, Paige letting out a shaky moan behind you at the sight.

“Shit, this pussy loves me,” she groans, gripping your hips and at last sliding the length inside you. A loud gasp escapes your body, the stretch so intense and powerful.

“Oh shiiiit,” Paige hisses, watching the way your cunt stretches around the strap, swallowing her up. The trembling of your body is immediate, the blonde leaning down and kissing over your shoulders and neck. “Feel good mama?”

“Y-yeah baby,” you’re still breathless, body slowly adjusting to the size.

“You tryna get fucked?”

“Mhm,” you hum, needy for your girlfriend to begin moving behind you. But she remains still.

Her big hand grips your ass harshly, slapping the skin leaving you with a slight burn. “Work for it mama, show me how bad you want it.”

You immediately know what she wants, craving to have you whimpering and pleading before she’ll give you what you crave. Paige always had to tease you just a little further than you could handle.

So you begin to move forward and back again, slowly pressing your ass against her. The strap slips in and out easily, but the size keeps you overwhelmed, slick dripping onto the sheets as you throw it back for your girlfriend, arching your back just right.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, legs already feeling weak, hands balled into fists as your girlfriend’s hand slaps your ass again, the sound echoing around the room.

“Look at that,” she praises, letting out a shaky low moan as the vibrator against her clit buzzes. But you can barely hear, mind spinning and not a single coherent thought in your head anymore. “Such a fuckin’ slut.”

The nickname makes you whine, craning your neck to see the blonde behind you, eyes locked onto where your body is swallowing her strap up. Her mouth is wide open and cheeks burning red, she wants it just as bad as you do.

Her blue eyes travel up your spine to the jersey, grabbing a handful of your hair to hold up. To allow her to admire the way the jersey fits your body. Her name, her number on you as she fucks you. It’s enough to get her bewildered.

Meeting your eyes the blonde smirks, chest heaving with need. “You like that? When I call you that?”

You nod, maintaining eye contact as you grind your hips back into her.

Paige shakes her head in disbelief, hissing again as the vibrator angles against her just right.

“Course you do, fuckin’ slut.”

Your upper body crashes against the bed, too tired to hold it up, ass remaining in the air.

“Paigeee,” you whine, begging for her to take control, legs too shaky to continue.

“What’s wrong mama?”

It’s almost sadistic, her tone. She knows exactly what’s wrong. But it wasn’t enough, Paige had to hear you say it, getting off on humiliating you just a little longer.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You whine again in frustration, wiggling your ass in the air. But Paige remains stern.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, making the blonde smirk and lick her lower lip.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

You nod in desperation, letting her pull your face up from the sheets by your hair, other hand coming to hold your hip.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” she leans down and groans into your ear. “Gon’ fuck you until you cry.”

With that, her hips slam into you, the intrusion so intense you can’t help the way your eyes roll back. You gasp, Paige letting go of your hair and standing back up behind you, both hands on gripping your waist, fucking her hips into you at such a pace it’s making you see stars.

“Ohhh shit,” the blonde grunts, watching the way your ass jiggles as her hips slam against you. The sound of skin clapping and the squelching of the strap deep inside you fills the room, only thing cutting through are your joint moans.

“Baby fuck-” you cry out, part of you wanting to push her away from how crushing her thrusts are, the strap buried deep inside your soaked pussy.

“Look at you takin it, fuck baby,” Paige groans, right hand smoothing over her last name on the jersey. Over the number she wears each game. “Takin’ my dick while wearing my name. So fucking good f’me.”

Your cunt is throbbing, squeezing the strap making it hard to think clearly. You wanted more, wanted less, you weren’t sure. But you could feel your eyes growing wet against the sheets. Paige’s hand travels all the way up to your hair, grabbing it harshly and shoving your face into the mattress.

“You take it like a slut huh?”

You moan, feeling your slick dripping down your thighs, surely covering Paige’s legs now as well.

“Your slut baby,” you whimper, upper body pressed snug against the soft cotton as the blonde pounds her strap into you.

“Aww fuck- good girl,” Paige gasps, the vibrations having her legs shaking. With a swift movement, the blonde manhandles you onto your back, placing your legs onto her shoulders, sliding the purple strap back inside you.

“Need to see your face,” she groans, eyelids so heavy they’re barely open as she keeps fucking you. “Need to see you cum on my cock.”

“Baby, so big,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the blonde kneels on the bed and leans forward, folding you over with ease.

“Take it so well tho,” Paige coos, bringing her face to yours, hand wrapping around your neck as she keeps slamming her hips into you. That athlete’s stamina could have her going like this for an hour. “Gonna cum inside this pussy.”

Her words leave you a moaning mess, your hands scratching at her shoulders leaving red marks behind. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fucking you so hard you’re gon’ have my kids.”

The squelching becomes louder, wetness dripping out of you as Paige’s strap hits deeper than before, making you gasp and scratch her soft skin harder.

“Aw- fuc- shit, ma that’s it. So deep in your guts,” she rambles, eyes beginning to roll back, trying to hold back on her orgasm. She brings her fingers between your legs, thumb beginning to rub lazy circles on your clit as the strap slips in and out of you, fucking into you at a rapid pace.

“P-Paige feel so good,” you cry out, gushing around the plastic desperately. Paige’s head lulls back and forth, fighting her orgasm.

“Mama I need to cum inside you, needa fill you with my cum,” the blonde whimpers, voice growing more high pitched as she nears the edge, fucking her hips into you with such force you think you might black out. The familiar burn ignites at her words, pussy throbbing around the plastic, muscles beginning to coil in your stomach.

“Shi- baby I need you to cum on my cock,” she gasps, eyes squeezing shut, grip around your neck tightening enough to make you lightheaded.

“Paige I-” You cry out, Paige’s thumb pressing into your clit and the tip of the strap hitting the perfect spot with each stroke.

“C’mon ma, lemme fill you up,” she whimpers desperately, legs shaking but never easing the pace. You can’t hold it anymore, letting go and allowing the fire to take over your body.

“Paige I’mma cum,” you gasp, the blonde letting out a moan of relief.

“Gonna cum inside you,” Paige grunts into your neck, as you lie underneath, helpless. Your back begins to arch off the bed, the blonde squeezing the sides of your neck and pinning you down, hips slamming into you. “Gonna fill this pussy aw- up- fuck.”

With that you’re both gasping, rolling over the edge as your climax takes over, pussy squeezing the strap tightly and gushing around it, all over the sheets and Paige on top of you.

“Oh shit-” Paige gasps, breath hot in your ear as she finishes, your mind blank as the ecstasy takes over your body, leaving you trembling underneath the girl, eyes shut tight.

“Holy shit,” the blonde murmurs, trying to catch her breath. Your chest is heaving and your face flushed. As your eyes flutter open, they’re met with the blue of Paige’s irises. She scooches both of you up the bed, crashing on top of you, the plastic still inside you, almost soothing. You wince as she pulls it out carefully, leaving you with an uncomfortable emptiness.

“You’re so great baby,” Paige sighs, resting her head in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms and legs around your girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss onto her forehead. “My number one girl.”

“You really like this jersey huh?” You chuckle as her pink lips kiss your collarbone, neck, jawline and finally your lips.

“Let’s everyone know you mine,” she coos, nuzzling her nose into you and rubbing the skin on your midriff where the fabric has hiked up.

“All yours baby,” you hum, body worn and tired but heart fluttering with love.

“All mine ma.”

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eclipixels · 1 month ago

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Afterglow

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Hyoma Chigiri, Rin Itoshi, Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser

Content: Blue Lock boys after pound town (tiktok trend)

A/N: A request from my one of my fav moots @captainshindo <3

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Yoichi Isagi

You’re sitting across from Isagi in a quiet corner of a late-night restaurant, the hum of low conversations and clinking cutlery filling the space around you. The air is thick with the scent of grilled meat and spices, but all you can focus on is him—slouched in his seat, eyelids heavy, hair still slightly damp from the sweat of what you’d done barely an hour ago.

He looks exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that settles in your bones after giving everything—after pushing, pulling, and losing yourself completely in someone else. His navy-blue hoodie hangs loosely on his frame, collar stretched just enough to reveal the faintest trace of teeth marks near his collarbone, evidence of the way your lips had claimed him. He probably hasn’t noticed, too busy fighting the drowsiness that keeps dragging his head downward, only for him to snap back up again when his chin nearly meets his chest.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” you murmur, stirring your drink with a straw, amusement curling at your lips.

He blinks at you, dazed, as if only now remembering where he is.

“I’m fine,” he says, though the hoarseness in his voice betrays him. He shifts in his seat, one hand lazily rubbing at his face before reaching for the glass of water in front of him. His fingers fumble slightly, like even the effort of picking it up is too much.

You bite back a grin. “You sure? You look like you had the life drained out of you.”

At that, a slow, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I kinda did,” he admits, voice dipping into something softer, something just for you. He leans back, stretching his legs under the table until his foot nudges against yours. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Your face heats up at his words, but you roll your eyes to cover it. “Eat something before you actually collapse.”

He groans but picks up his fork, obedient for once. You watch as he takes a bite, chewing slowly, his gaze flickering to you in between. There’s a quiet intimacy in this shared space, the remnants of passion still lingering between you, woven into the way his shoulders relax and the way his foot stays pressed lightly against yours.

Yeah, he’s tired. But he’s here, with you. And there’s something about that that makes your chest feel warm, like the afterglow hasn’t quite faded yet.

The waiter approaches, setting down a plate of food in front of you both. Isagi lazily thanks him before turning his attention back to you. You notice the way his fingers grip the fork with a little more steadiness now, the small bites he takes as he refuels his drained body. The sight makes you bite back a smirk, he really had no energy left to spare after earlier.

“You’re staring,” he says between bites, eyes flicking up to yours.

“So?” you challenge, resting your chin on your hand.

He swallows, setting his fork down just long enough to rub a hand over his face again. “So, it’s distracting.”

You raise an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Distracting from what? Chewing?”

“Yes,” he mutters, the confession dragging a laugh out of you.

“Just admit I wore you out,” you tease, nudging his foot beneath the table.

He exhales a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head. “You already know you did, love.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, making your stomach flip. He doesn’t shy away from it, doesn’t try to cover it up with some cocky remark. He’s just… honest. Open. Your heart does something stupid in your chest, and you quickly focus on your food to keep from letting it show too much.

“God, what was I even thinking of letting you ride? You nearly killed me,” he sighed dramatically.

“Oh, but you enjoyed it,” you teased, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hm, well… I might just let you do it again.”

“Oh?” you smirked, leaning in a little closer, intrigued by his sudden change of heart.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but only after my soul finds its way back into my body,” he joked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You catch him stifling a yawn behind his hand, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a quiet chuckle. Then he lets out another yawn, barely covering it with his hand. “I think I’m gonna just pass out here. Wake me up when it’s sunset, yeah?”

You snort, flicking a stray napkin at him. “Not happening. I’m not carrying your heavy ass home.”

“You could try,” he mumbles sleepily, already slouching further into his seat.

You shake your head, watching as his head starts to dip again. “Fine, but if you snore, I’m filming it.”

Meguru Bachira

The restaurant is dimly lit, buzzing with soft chatter and the occasional clatter of dishes. You sit across from Bachira, who is currently melting into the booth like a man who’s just ran a marathon. His cheek is squished against the cushioned backrest, golden eyes barely open as he stares at the menu, though judging by the way his pupils aren’t even tracking the words, you highly doubt he’s actually reading it.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh and slouches even further, which you thought was physically impossible until now. “M’too tired to read. You pick.” His voice is thick with exhaustion, slow and slurred like he’s seconds from passing out on the table.

You scoff, flipping through the laminated pages. “You’re the one who insisted on coming here.”

“Didn’t think you’d drain my stamina that much before we got here.” he mumbles, stretching his legs under the table until his foot nudges yours.

You roll your eyes, pretending not to feel the warmth creeping up your neck. “Quit being dramatic, you’re acting like you just did a whole workout.”

“I did,” he insists, lifting his head just enough to look at you before flopping back down. “A very, very intense one.”

“You sound proud.”

He grins, not even denying it. “Well, yeah.” Then, he waves his hand. “Give me your hand.”

You arch an eyebrow, but give in, letting him lazily play with your fingers. His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckles, his touch featherlight, but there’s a sort of intimacy to it that makes your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

He pouts. “You love it.”

You do. But you’re not about to give him that satisfaction out loud, so you just shake your head instead.

The waiter comes by, eyeing Bachira with slight concern, probably wondering if they need to call emergency services for the half-conscious man draped over the table like he’s just fought for his life. Bachira somehow musters enough energy to order something simple, though you’re pretty sure he just pointed at a random item on the menu. The moment the waiter leaves, he groans and drops his forehead against the back of your hand, exhaling loudly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Mmm,” he hums, muffled against your skin. “No promises.”

You sigh, but your other hand moves on its own, fingers combing through his damp hair, still messy from earlier. He exhales again, this time with a content little sound that makes you freeze because oh no, that was cute.

“You’re so spoiled,” you mutter.

He cracks an eye open, smirking. “By you? Yeah.”

You smack his forehead lightly, and he laughs, though it quickly turns into a yawn.

It doesn’t take long before the food arrives, and you thank the waiter while Bachira blinks at his plate like he’s not sure what it is or how it got there. He picks up his fork, twirls it between his fingers, then—

—immediately drops it with a clatter, staring at his own hand in betrayal.

“Honey,” he says gravely. “I can’t hold things.”

You stare at him. “What.”

“My arms are dead. My fingers? Jelly.” He lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers dramatically. “Look at this. I have no grip strength left.”

“Oh my god.” You stare in disbelief.

“This is your fault.” He insists, and your mind wanders back to how he worked you with his hands for what felt like hours before you got here. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands at the thought. You broke your man. All for an orgasm. They were great orgasms but still.

“Do you want me to feed you?” You offer, feeling slightly guilty.

He gasps. “Would you?”

You were joking, but now that you see the way his eyes are lighting up, you realize you’ve made a mistake.

Before you can retract your words, he’s already leaning forward, mouth slightly open, waiting.

“…I regret everything.”

“C’mon,” he sing-songs, grinning like an idiot. “Say ‘ahhh’ for me first so I don’t feel weird about it.”

You grab a fry off your plate and shove it into his mouth to shut him up. He hums happily, chewing like a satisfied child.

“This is amazing,” he sighs, slumping even further against the booth. “I should let you ruin my stamina more often.”

You nearly choke on your own food at what he said. You grab a napkin and dramatically press it against your forehead like a distressed Victorian widow. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” He nudges your knee with his foot again. “You love taking care of me.”

“Debatable.”

“You’re still feeding me.”

Ugh, he’s right.

He grins triumphantly, but it’s quickly interrupted by another yawn. His eyes are drooping again, and you can already tell he’s not going to last much longer.

“Meguru, if you fall asleep in your food, I will take pictures.”

He waves a lazy hand. “That’s fine, just make sure you get my good angles.”

You stare at him in disbelief before shaking your head, picking up another fry to pop into his mouth before he actually does pass out. Yeah. He’s definitely not making it through this meal awake. You place a chaste kiss on his cheek as he snores.

And honestly? You don’t mind.

Hyoma Chigiri

You’re sitting across from Chigiri in a quiet corner of a late-night restaurant, the air rich with the scent of sizzling meat and freshly baked bread. The dim lighting casts a soft glow over the table, reflecting off his crimson hair, which is slightly disheveled—strands sticking to his damp skin, the aftermath of everything you’d put him through just an hour ago.

He looks done.

Not just tired—wrecked. Like he’s been through a battle and barely made it out alive. His normally graceful posture is completely gone; he’s slumped in his chair, arms sprawled across the table like he physically can’t hold himself up anymore. His long legs stretch out beneath the table, one foot lazily nudging yours as if he can’t even muster the energy for a proper kick.

“You good over there?” you ask, taking a slow sip of your drink, watching him with thinly veiled amusement.

He exhales, blinking at you like you’ve just pulled him out of a deep trance. “I think you ruined me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

You smirk. “You’re acting like I made you run sprints for three hours straight.”

Chigiri groans, dragging a hand down his face. “That would’ve been easier.”

You chuckle, setting your glass down with a quiet clink. "Oh? Are you saying I’m worse than your training regimen?"

Chigiri gives you a deadpan look, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’m saying I might need a recovery period before I can walk properly again."

You hum in mock consideration, reaching for a fry from the basket between you. "There’s a reason why you stretch before doing stuff. Maybe you should’ve done that"

His ears flush pink, and he exhales sharply, shaking his head. A smirk falls on his lips as he sends you a look. A look that got you two here in the first place.

“Is that why you’re doing alright? Because I stretched you out so good?”

Now it’s your turn to be flustered. “H-Hyoma!”

Well, you can’t deny it. You stammer as he lazily steals one of your fries, though it takes considerable effort, his hand moving slower than usual. You watch as he chews, blinking like he’s on the verge of passing out right then and there.

The restaurant hums around you, the low murmur of conversations blending with the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. Outside, the neon lights of the city flicker against the glass windows, casting a soft glow over Chigiri’s already exhausted face.

He stares at his drink for a long moment before frowning. He groans again, tilting his head back against the seat. "I’m not sure I have it in me to get up."

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before bending me over.” You shrugged, a sly grin on your face as you sipped on your drip.

"I hate you."

"That’s not what you were saying earlier.” You tease, “Should I jog your memory again?”

"Again?" he nearly shouted. "I don't think I can handle that for a while. Give me three to five business days."

“Yeah right, I give it less than twenty-four hours before you’re begging me to let you do me.”

His lips part like he wants to argue, but all he does is sigh, shoulders sinking further into his seat. He doesn't need to say it—you both know the truth. Instead, he rubs his thumb over your hand, lazy and affectionate, before stealing another fry.

Rin Itoshi

You sit across from Rin at the dimly lit restaurant. Your legs feel weak, a pleasant ache lingering in your thighs, but it's nothing compared to the exhaustion practically radiating off Rin.

His teal eyes are half-lidded, and his usually sharp expression is softened by fatigue. He leans against his hand, fingers buried in his dark hair, as he stares at the menu like it’s some unsolvable puzzle. Every now and then, his gaze flickers toward you, as if blaming you for his current state.

“What?” You blink at him stupidly.

Rin exhales through his nose, not dignifying you with a response. Instead, he lets his head rest against the back of the booth, eyes closing for a moment. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, controlled, but you can tell that he’s drained. You did that. Hehe. Wait, oh my god, you did that to him. The thought makes warmth creep up your spine.

“Maybe you should’ve paced yourself,” you tease, flipping through your own menu. “Not my fault you can’t handle a few rounds.”

His eyes snap open, irritation flickering across his face, but there’s no real malice behind it. Just a grudging kind of admiration, hidden beneath layers of stubbornness. “Shut up,” he mutters, voice rough, as if he’s still recovering.

You bite back a laugh. It’s rare to see him like this—unguarded, spent, completely at your mercy in a way that isn’t physical but still intoxicating.

The waiter arrives, and Rin straightens, but there’s a sluggishness to his movements. You order for yourself, then glance at him expectantly. He sighs before muttering something about just getting whatever you’re having.

“Too tired to decide?” you hum, resting your chin on your palm.

Rin glares, but it lacks its usual bite. “Too tired to deal with you,” he corrects, rubbing a hand down his face.

You grin, satisfied, and reach for your glass of water. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And from the way Rin looks at you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, you know that’s exactly what it was.

You glance over at him, your fingers tapping against your own glass. “So,” you start, breaking the quiet, “how was that game of yours today? You actually manage to score this time?”

His eyes narrow slightly, but the smile on his lips is knowing. “Of course. Not that you’d understand the level of skill it requires.”

You arch a brow, leaning forward a little. “Excuse me? I could totally play circles around you.”

“Sure, you’d be great at running interference. ‘Oh no, I can’t block, I’m too cute, please don’t hurt me!’” he mocks you.

Your eyes narrow, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to slap you.”

Rin winces dramatically, then leans back with a smirk. “I don’t think you could handle me one-on-one. You’ve already proven you’re not great with stamina.”

“Oh? You’re one to talk. Don’t make me remind you how well I can handle my stamina against yours.”

Rin coughs, his face flushing slightly, but he recovers quickly. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m insufferable? Is that why you were trench deep in me a few hours ago?” You smirk, taking another sip of your water.

He scowls, but there’s a certain softness behind it. “That’s enough conversation, shut up. I’m exhausted.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to go for as long as you did.”

Rin’s expression darkens with what could almost be called a glare, but it’s too tired to be truly threatening. “Don’t even start. Do you think you have more endurance than I do?”

“Mhm, I would prove it to you again but,” You lean in a little closer, smirking. “I don’t think you can handle another round of me just yet.”

“You talk a lot for someone who’s too tired to even sit up straight.”

“Well, maybe I just enjoy teasing you.” You lean back.

The waiter comes back, placing your food in front of you. You immediately dig in, savoring the taste. Rin follows suit, though he’s still slower than usual. You catch him glancing at your plate from the corner of your eye, a barely concealed hunger in his gaze.

“Are you still hungry?”

He looks up, and this time, his glare is sharper. “I’m not that weak.”

You smile and slide your plate closer to him, just out of reach. “Sure you’re not.”

Rin narrows his eyes at you, then at the plate. It’s clear he wants it, but his pride’s getting in the way. The tension is palpable as he debates internally, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “Just take it,” you say, amusement coloring your voice.

He glances at you, his lips twitching into a grin. “Fine, I’ll take it, but only because I’m too tired to argue.”

“Ah, see? You do know when to give in,” you say triumphantly, handing it over.

“Don’t make me remind you how easily I can make you give in.” He threatens, but you hope it's a promise.

Seishiro Nagi

It’s a quiet evening at a small, intimate restaurant nestled between two towering buildings. The dim light casts a soft glow over the wooden tables and delicate plates of food. The quiet hum of conversations fills the air, but the two of you are wrapped in a peaceful bubble of exhaustion. You can still feel the lingering heat from earlier, the way his skin pressed against yours, the feeling of his hands tracing patterns along your body.

Seishiro Nagi sits across from you, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he rubs at them lazily. His eyes flicker to you briefly, but they don’t seem to fully focus. There’s a soft, tired smile playing on his lips, the kind that lets you know he's content, but at the same time, it's clear he’s almost struggling to stay awake. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his state.

"Hey, Seishiro..." you say, leaning across the table just enough to catch his attention. His eyelids flutter, and he blinks a couple of times, as if trying to summon the energy to keep them open.

"Yeah?" His voice is hoarse, low, and barely audible. It’s clear that he’s fighting sleep, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhm,” he replies, his voice raspy. "Just never had someone wear me out quite like you."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. The casual tone in which he speaks holds a sincerity that’s hard to ignore. The two of you had just come from your apartment, tangled up in each other in ways that left you both breathless and sore, and now, here you are, in a cozy little restaurant, trying to gather yourselves.

"Oh, um. You’re not falling asleep, are you?"

He shakes his head slowly, but you can see the effort it takes to do even that. His eyelids slide shut for a brief moment, and you can practically hear the exhaustion in his sigh.

"I'm fine," he mumbles. "Just... really sleepy..." His voice trails off as his head lulls slightly to the side, before he catches himself, blinking rapidly to stay alert. You watch him for a few seconds, amused, as he fights the pull of sleep.

"You sure we should’ve come out to eat?" you ask. "I can’t help but feel like you’re about to face-plant into your food."

"Maybe..." he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. "But the food here’s good… 'sides, I want to be here with you."

Your stomach fills with butterflies at that, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. Despite his exhaustion, he’s always thinking of you. He makes sure you’re okay, that you’re happy, even when his own energy is completely drained.

“Okay, but next time, we’re definitely staying in,” you tease, leaning back in your chair. “You look like you could fall asleep any second.”

He smiles lazily, not bothering to fight it. His head drops forward for a brief moment before he jerks back up. "Nah... I’m fine..." But even as he says it, you can hear the faint slurring in his words.

You decide to let him off the hook. The waitress comes by with your food, and Nagi lifts his head slightly as she sets a steaming bowl of ramen in front of him. His eyes widen momentarily at the scent, but they immediately begin to droop again as he lets out another long yawn.

"Ramen," he mutters to himself, poking the noodles half-heartedly with his chopsticks. “S'good, I’m sure. Just... I’m gonna... just eat a bit."

You watch as he takes a few bites, each one slower than the last. His head sways a little as if he’s on the verge of tipping over, and you can’t help but feel a sense of endearment well up inside you. There’s something almost too cute about how he’s always so completely and unapologetically tired.

"Seishiro," you say softly, reaching across the table to gently touch his arm. "C’mon, let’s just go home. You look like you need a nap more than food right now."

He stirs a little at the mention of sleep, finally looking up at you with that same, sleepy smile. "No... I want to... eat it myself..." His voice barely rises above a whisper. But after a few more bites, his resolve crumbles.

“Alright, alright," you say, moving your hand to cup his face. His cheek feels warm under your fingers, the soft skin giving way to the faintest stubble. "You should nap after though. You’ve earned it."

You offer him a gentle smile, one that conveys everything you’re feeling. The tenderness, the affection, the adoration. He closes his eyes at that, his shoulders sinking further into the chair, his body going slack with exhaustion. A few seconds later, he’s practically dozing, his chopsticks still loosely clutched in his hand, hanging precariously near his bowl.

It’s not long before you’re the one gently guiding his head to rest on your shoulder. He lets out a soft, content sigh, his body softening into you like a piece of clay, finally free from the constant pull of the world. You shift your arm around him, letting him lean into you as you pick at your food, savoring the flavors but most of your attention on the sleepy, warm figure next to you.

"How do you always manage to make everything feel so peaceful?" you murmur to him, though he’s half-asleep and doesn’t respond. You don’t need him to. His quiet presence is enough.

Reo Mikage

The quiet hum of the restaurant surrounds you as you sit across from him, your heart still racing from the moments shared just hours ago. The dimly lit space feels cozy, and you can't help but grin at how relaxed Reo looks, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the weariness of the afternoon. Normally, he’s composed of confidence, like a guy who could tell you the meaning of life while simultaneously solving a Rubik's cube. But now? Now, he looks like someone who just tried to run a marathon, got distracted by an ice cream truck, and then took a nap halfway through.

His posture is slouched, his shoulders are practically begging for a pillow, and his eyes are half-lidded with a satisfied haze that matches your own. There's no trace of his usual high-strung self. Instead, there’s a vulnerability in the way he lounges in his chair, as if the very concept of sitting upright is an effort.

He runs a hand through his hair with slow deliberation. You smile, watching him. It's kind of adorable how tired he looks. You’ve always seen him as the guy who has everything under control, but right now? Right now, he’s more like a human noodle.

The waiter places two glasses of water in front of you, his smile polite but with just a hint of curiosity, like they're trying to figure out if the two of you are on a first date or if something more... intimate... just went down. You can’t blame them. Reo looks like he might collapse into a puddle any second, and you’re still glowing like you’ve just won an Olympic medal in... well, let’s say “passionate hugging.”

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, leaning forward just enough for him to hear you. His gaze flickers to meet yours, and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

"Can’t believe you’re the one who’s asking me that," he murmurs, his voice rough in the way people sound when they’ve just done something that requires a lot of energy. "I’ve never been so tired in my life."

You can’t help it. The laugh that escapes you is soft, affectionate, and a little too amused.

"I don’t mind," you reply, your tone teasing. "I kind of like seeing you like this."

He raises an eyebrow at that, lips curving into a slow smile, the glint in his eyes now a little more playful. He leans back in his chair like he’s got a question to ask, but it takes him an unusually long time to find the energy to do so.

"I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried that you enjoy this version of me," he mutters, his hand dragging over his jaw like he’s thinking of adding a full-body stretch to the mix but ultimately decides against it.

"You’re cute when you're tired," you say before your brain can catch up. The words slip out like they’re your new favorite outfit. Reo blinks at you for a moment, clearly processing the compliment like someone who’s just been told they’ve won the lottery. And honestly, with that tired smile spreading across his face, he kind of has.

"Is that so?" His voice takes on a slightly deeper, amused tone, as he leans forward just enough that you can feel his presence press down on you. But not enough to touch. He’s definitely holding back, probably saving up that last bit of energy to make it through dinner without literally falling asleep mid-bite.

"Yeah."

"I’m not good at this," he suddenly says, his voice so quiet that it makes you lean in a little.

You blink. "Not good at what?"

"Being tired," he admits, his voice almost sheepish. "I’m always on the go, always thinking, always—" He stops, then laughs, like he’s just realized how absurd the whole thing sounds. "But right now, I don’t even have the energy to make a joke or flirt with you. I’m just... done."

The confession hits you like a slap to the face. This is the Reo Mikage who can talk his way out of almost anything and charm the socks off anyone, yet here he is, admitting that he’s exhausted beyond cognition all because of you.

You let out a laugh, not unkindly. "That’s actually kind of adorable, you know?"

Reo sighs, his hand reaching up to rub his temples like he’s holding onto his last ounce of dignity. "I never thought I’d get to the point where I’m adorable when I’m barely functioning. This is new."

"Okay, maybe next time we can take it slower." You reach across the table and place your hand over his. It’s a small gesture, but there’s something comforting about it. Reo’s gaze softens.

"I’ll take you up on that," he murmurs, his voice laced with a new kind of tenderness. You were already thinking of next time? The thought made him ache between his legs.

Reo is doing his best to keep his eyes open, but honestly, you can tell he’s fighting a losing battle. It’s like watching a cat try to stay awake, but eventually, it just gives in to the nap.

"You’re going to pass out in a restaurant, Reo," you tease him softly, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

"I trust you’ll make sure I don’t embarrass myself."

You smile fondly. "No promises."

Reo doesn’t respond. His eyes have long since fluttered shut, and his head starts to tilt back. For now, the world can wait.

Sae Itoshi

It was a quiet evening, the soft hum of chatter from other diners filling the air, but you barely noticed it. Your mind was still swimming from the rush of what had happened only hours ago, the lingering weight of the experience heavy between you and Sae.

The two of you had just finished a rather intense bout of passion in the privacy of your bedroom, and while the fire had simmered down, it had left behind a raw, comfortable silence that felt as thick as the air around you now. You sat across from each other at a small table by the window, Sae's face relaxed into something unfamiliar, softer perhaps, but still radiating that effortless cool. Yet, there was an unmistakable tiredness in his demeanor now, a contrast to the usual energy that typically buzzed off him.

Sae had always been the type to dominate any room, but now, with his legs stretched out beneath the table, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his glass, there was an undeniable exhaustion in his posture. His usual confidence seemed to have slipped away, replaced with a rare vulnerability. You studied him for a moment, his sharp features softened from the wear of the day, the slight crease between his brows as if he was deep in thought or maybe just too tired to think at all.

You smirked slightly, leaning forward against the table, meeting his eyes. "You alright?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. You knew him well enough to know when something wasn’t quite right. His body language wasn’t the usual effortless grace; it was more like someone who had just run a marathon, but at the same time, was reluctant to admit it.

He turned his gaze towards you, blinking slowly as if your voice pulled him out of some trance. His eyes, usually sharp and intense, had softened into a haze of exhaustion, though there was still a playful glint in them.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice low and almost drawn out, "Just a little tired."

"Oh? Is it from what we did earlier?" The teasing tone was unmistakable, but you couldn't help it. It had been wild. Sae had been insatiable earlier, his hands never still, his mouth hot against your skin, and his energy was something else entirely. He fucked you so deep and good into that matress you thought you we’re melting into it. But now, he was the one who seemed to need a rest.

"Don't remind me," he groaned, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. His usual air of confidence had given way to something much more human, and that made him all the more fascinating. It was almost like he didn’t quite know how to handle it.

The waiter arrived at the table, placing your drinks down with a soft clink of glass. Sae barely acknowledged the server, his eyes still closed, his fingers drumming lazily on the edge of his empty plate. You gave the waiter a polite smile before they left, focusing back on Sae.

"You know, for someone who's so used to pushing limits," you said, leaning in just a little, "you sure look like you're ready to collapse."

He opened one eye, "I could’ve kept going if I wanted to."

You tilted your head, studying him as he let out a sigh, the way his broad shoulders sagged as if carrying an invisible weight. "You sure? You seem pretty out of it."

"I don’t do ‘out of it’," he replied lazily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. It was the kind of response you would have expected from him, but it lacked the bite it usually had.

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, unable to hide your amusement. "Yeah, sure."

"You think I'm lying?" He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to yours with a hint of challenge, though the weariness behind it was impossible to ignore.

You shrugged. "Yeah. You look like you’re about to pass out right on the spot.”

"Yeah, well..." Sae trailed off, looking at you as if he were trying to decipher something. He reached out across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. "Guess you wore me out. But I can promise you, I could’ve kept going."

"If you say so, Itoshi."

"Don’t get too cocky now. You’re not the only one who can wear someone out. Should I remind you of what happened on your birthday?" There was still a playfulness there, but it wasn’t quite the same as before.

“S-shut up…” You mutter curtly. Even remembering what happened on your birthday with Sae made your legs ache.

But as you glanced up at him again, you noticed that his eyes were now closed. A little snore escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but snicker. Sae Itoshi, the unstoppable force, the man who never showed weakness, he was human after all. He could get tired. He could let himself rest. Even if it was slumping over in his chair at some random restaurant.

"Well, I guess I really did wear you out," you whispered, resisting the urge to laugh out loud.

Sae’s eyes fluttered open just enough to send you a sleepy glare. "I’m awake, don’t get cocky," he muttered, but the sleepy tone betrayed him.

“Yes, sir." You teased, taking a sip of your water as you analyzed his features. Oh, how much you adored him.

Michael Kaiser

You lean back in your chair, trying not to giggle too loudly as you glance over at Michael, who’s sitting across from you, looking like he’s about to pass out at any given moment. His hair is disheveled, his shirt slightly untucked, and he’s giving you the most exaggerated, tired expression.

“Are you okay?” you ask, leaning across the table with a soft smile. You trace the rim of your water glass with your fingertips, watching him as he lazily looks up at you.

He blinks a few times, as though the question takes him by surprise. Then, as if processing your words, he lets out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah… I’m good,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, though you’re not sure if it’s from the aftereffects of your time together or just exhaustion. His gaze drifts to the menu, but it’s clear that he’s not really seeing it.

“Did our earlier activities tire you out?” you muse, tapping your chin.

“How could it not? I had you on that bed for hours.” He shook his head in disbelief at how you expected him to not be exhausted. “Only reason you’re fine is because I let you be pillow princess.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell you to be so rough though, that was done in your own self indulgence.” You narrowed your eyes at him. How dare he try to blame you?

Michael looks up, clearly attempting to muster some strength for a comeback, but all he manages is a weak smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/n,” he mutters under his breath.

“Are you saying you don’t have it in you for another around?” you ask with a teasing tilt of your head. He stares at you like he’s about to say something, but then his shoulders droop again as if the thought of moving is a monumental task.

“Round two?” he repeats incredulously. “You’ve already broken me. What do you want from me, a medal?”

You chuckle, leaning back in your seat as you give him a playful smirk. “Maybe,” you say before continuing “but, I think you deserve an award for stamina”

Michael scrunches his nose, clearly starting to get embarrassed, but trying to hide it.

“I don’t even know if I remember the last few minutes, Micha, you just kept going. Are you human?” You laugh, taking another sip of your water.

"I came here to eat, not to get all worked up again," he grumbled.

You flashed him a mischievous grin and winked. "Well, maybe you should've been clearer about what you wanted. I did offer you plenty to consume earlier."

"Yeah, and you drained all the energy with it," he shot back, barely holding himself together. His breath came in shallow gasps. "Careful, darling. I can have you teary-eyed and screaming again. Don’t talk your way into something you won't be able to handle."

The thought made you ache between your legs, a burning desire coursing through your body. You had to stop yourself from thinking about it too much, or else you might accidentally kill Kaiser by asking for another round. As much as you wanted it, you knew it would be too much for him in his state.

"Really? You look like you're about to pass out," you said, raising an eyebrow as you studied his flushed face.

"Might," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was still a faint glimmer of a smirk on his lips.

"You know, this is all your fault, right?" you teased, your tone light, but there was a definite edge of playful accusation in your voice.

"What did you say?" His eyes snapped open at your words, narrowing in your direction as if ready to challenge you.

"You didn’t have to be so rough," you shrugged nonchalantly, though the memory of what had just transpired made your pulse quicken. "You did this to yourself."

"As if you'd have accepted anything less from me," he scoffed, his voice hoarse but laced with pride. "Keeping you satisfied is the real workout. The things I do, the way I wreck myself just to make sure you’re pleased..." His words trailed off, and you could feel the smugness in his tone even as he struggled to stay awake.

"Oh please," you teased, leaning closer, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. "You think I don’t know how high you get from making me see stars every time you make me come undone?"

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he was already starting to drift. "Hm. I guess we both have our own reasons," he rasped, exhaustion overtaking him as his head lolled to one side, his eyes fluttering closed. You couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly he had given in, how the mighty had fallen. His pride might have been unshakable in the moment, but you had a way of bringing him to his knees. You snapped a quick picture, wanting to capture this rare sight of him defeated and completely fucked past exhaustion.

"Guess we do," you said softly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you admired the man who had given you so much yet couldn’t resist teasing you back.

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riotsideoutside · 2 years ago

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I'm probably going to be moving to Tumblr more permanently now that Twitter is just... well. Everyone knows what a shit storm it's become lmaooo

#I always had a Tumblr right #I just was never as involved here #but the vibes seem cool #if a little unhinged #which is how most people describe me tbh so maybe that's a sign #anyway if you're cool and do art we should be moots #I want to do art trade stuff and take requests #basically I need more art friends #twitter #twitter refugees #art moots #tumblr #looking for moots #moots <3 #mutuals

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 year ago

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YOU MATCH THE 141 ON TINDER 💓

Summary:

While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Pairing:

141 x Reader

poly!141 x Reader

The Beginning:

Teaser

Chapters:

Prequel

1 - Kyle

2 - Johnny

3 - Simon

4 - John?

5 - GETTING LAID?

6 - John.

7 - Getting Laid!! 😈🌶️

8 - Awooga?

9 - Drinks?

10 - SIMON?!

11 - Excuse me?

12 - A date?

13 - Yes, and?

14 - (B)romance?

15 - Mo leannan

16 - Teeth.

17 - Guard dogs.

18 - Picnic.

19 - Slippery Slope. 😈🌶️

20 - Control 😈🌶️

21 - I BEG YOUR PARDON?

22 - What is it about you?

22.5 - Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, Tel Aviv. 😈🌶️(mini chapter)

23 - Kiss and Tell?

24 - Pokémon

25 - Soap..................?

26 - Smart mouth 😈🌶️

Pre-27 - Away (mini chapter)

27 - Peace and Quiet

28 - How in the-

29 - Taking Turns

30 - Playing House.

31 - Uh-Oh.

32 - No Harm Done.

33 - Do You Think?

More chapters - COMING SOON!

Click here to see some fanart of "it's a match" chapter 14 "(B)romance)?" by my lovely moot @xxshadowbabexx.

[ MY MASTERLIST ]

[FIND MY FICS ON AO3]

THE TAGLIST IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED, not accepting any more requests! (I'm sorry, there's just too many people on it)

taglist below the cut

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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goldenroutledge · 2 months ago

Text

i must be dreaming

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

prompt: ❛ you’re lucky that you’re cute. ❜

a/n: for my wonderful moot @yearneir, thank you so much for the request! i had so much fun writing this <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“Knock, knock!” Two knocks sound through the door of Lando’s hotel room, followed by the familiar cheerfulness of Alma, the hotel’s concierge. “Delivery for Mr. Norris!”

Lando’s muscles ache with a soreness that weighs him down into the softness of the duvet, having sprawled out face first onto the bed the second he got back from another long day of testing. The winter months are always the shortest, often flying by more quickly than the season does.

His mind is tired as well, struggling a bit extra to get back into the swing of things after months away from being in the car. He doesn’t recall ordering any room service but if he did, he’s more out of it than he previously thought.

With a sigh of reluctance, he drags his feet towards the door of the stylish hotel suite. His vision is blurry as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and instinctively checks the time on his phone that reads 8:03pm. Definitely way too early to sleep for the night, but a power nap has never hurt him before.

Sure enough, Alma is waiting on the other side of the door with a bright smile and a silver platter in hand. “Good evening, Mr. Norris. I was instructed to bring this to your room along with this letter.”

He takes a deep breath, as if the surprise delivery will make more sense when he gets some more oxygen flowing to his brain. “Oh, thank you. Who’s it from?”

Alma smiles coyly but won’t reveal too much. “I can’t say, but your answer is in the envelope. Can I get you anything else while I’m here, sir?”

“Just Lando is fine.” He politely corrects. “I’m okay, thank you though.”

“Have a nice evening.” Alma disappears down the hallway, leaving Lando to his letter and mysterious silver platter. He’s seen enough movies to know that there’s usually someone’s head under these. His first name is written neatly on the envelope and what catches his eye is the red heart stamped into the wax seal.

He remembers the date, February 14th, and blushes at the thought of you. The both of you had been corresponding on the phone like usual, of course confirming that you had received the bouquet of flowers, chocolates, and a few pieces from your favorite designer that Lando made sure to have delivered to your home, with a promise that he’d be able to properly wine and dine you in a week’s time. He carefully lifts the seal, a childlike grin spreading across his face at the sight of your neat handwriting.

My dearest Lando,

It pains me to be apart from you, but the distance will let our hearts grow fonder. I hope you enjoy the present I’ve prepared for you.

Yours truly,

Y/n.

P.S. Call me when you get this. XOXO.

His hopes are high for whatever’s underneath the silver dome, perhaps some comfort food like a classic Roast dinner that reminds him of home, just like his Mum makes.

Lando lifts the silver to find not a warm meal, but cold and slimy rolls of sushi making the shape of a heart, dipping cups of wasabi and soy sauce resting in the center.

“What the hell?!” He yelps, visibly startled by the sight. “She knows I hate this stuff.” He’s scrolling to the favorite contacts in his call log, instinctively clicking your name.

When you answer on the second ring smiling like the Cheshire Cat, Lando knows he’s been set up.

“Is this your way of breaking up with me? Sending a plate of fish to my hotel room on Valentine’s Day?” Your laugh pierces through the phone, and he’s still dumbfounded as to how you managed to pull a prank on him all the way from Monaco. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Nothing, I just wanted you to know that I’m soy into you. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!”

“Aw, very clever. I hope you know that I’m gonna get you back for this. What fruit was it that you are mildly allergic to again? Starfruit, was it? I’m sending 50 starfruit arrangements to our house as we speak.”

“With all the risks you take at work, I’m amazed that sushi of all things has become your greatest fear. How is that?”

Lando scoffs, “I am not scared of sushi.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Sorry love, the proof is out there. But I wanted you to know that I love you anyway.”

“I love you too.” He grumbles, but there’s no bite behind his words. Lando finally takes a better look at you, but doesn’t recognize the wall in the background. He doesn’t recognize the wall behind you from your house, that is. He looks around his suite, now puzzled as to how your background matches the exact color of the hotel walls. Interesting. “Wait, where are you? You’re not at home are you?”

“I’m in a place that people temporarily call home?” You offer with a mysterious edge to your words and he subtly catches on. You can see the gears turning for him, the realization visible on his face when he moves toward the door once again.

“Wait a second… Are you HERE?! At my hotel?” His incredulous tone translates from the speaker on your phone to reverberating in your ears, behind his hotel room door that you’re standing in front of.

The door swings open and you’re reunited with those sparkling cerulean eyes you know so well. He takes a pause, glancing back and forth between his screen and you, now within arms reach. Wasting time would be a foolish thing to do. Without a care he drops his phone in exchange for cradling your face in his hands before smashing his lips onto yours. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his frame, relishing in how warm he feels against you.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He breathes out, as if his life depends on saying it.

“Surprise! I missed you too, clearly. I’ve been wanting to try my sushi prank for a while now and this gave me the perfect opportunity. Had to get you riled up with something you hate so you’d be extra happy to see me.”

“Not necessary.” Lando murmurs against you, peppering kisses to your lips. “I don’t need anything extra, you know that. It did serve as a nice surprise, though. Definitely better than the sushi.”

You giggle as he shudders at the thought. “Forgive me?”

“You’re forgiven,” Lando sighs, unable to resist your pleading eyes and the warm notes of amber in your perfume that captivate him, “but I hope you know that if anyone else did this to me, and I mean anyone else on this planet, I would not speak a word to them for the rest of my life. However, for you, I can make an exception. You’re lucky that you’re cute.”

You kiss him sweetly, holding hints of satisfaction behind your smile at how well your plan has been executed. “Don’t worry, I plan to make it up to you. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.”

“Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, how did I get so lucky?”

You pinch his cheek teasingly. “You do look exhausted still, are you sure you’re not dreaming of me?”

Lando catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the skin, content with knowing that he’ll dream of you tonight and wake up beside you tomorrow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

💌: thanks for reading, comments & reblogs are always appreciated!

psst… my requests are open :) be my valentine blurb event 💌

taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)

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ihearthayden · 2 months ago

Text

HOLO-HOOKUP

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

MDNI SMUT 18+

PAIRING: master!anakin x padawan!reader

WC: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and anakin are in a secret relationship, since it’s against the jedi code. you couldn’t go on a mission today with your master and his team, because you got the fever. he decides to call you during a break, just for a quick check up—but the conversation will last longer than he expected.

CW: phone/hologram sex, masturbation [ f and m ], improper use of lightsaber/lightsaber play, degradation, dom!anakin, age gap, dirty talk, master kink, semi public, slight edging, name calling/pet names

A/N: hey guys! this is my first post/fic so i’m pretty nervous, but i hope you will like it. [ btw my inspo came from CW S7E2 ] my requests and dms are open so feel free to txt me, i’m in a need of hayden/sw enthusiast moots lol btw english is not my first language, so i’m really sorry if something is grammatically incorrect.

now enjoy the story! <3

The halls of the Jedi Temple were eerily silent as you rested in your quarters, the faint hum of Coruscant's bustling cityscape a comforting lullaby in the background—although it was muffled by the thick walls. From the bed, you could hear the distant whir of passing speeders, and their voices always made your mind wander into its blurry maze—to craft different imaginary scenarios. They fed your delusions with the false hope: maybe your master had finally arrived home from his mission. You were supposed to station on Anaxes with the rest of the team, but a morning fever confined you here, far from the frontlines, far from him.

The aftereffects of the illness weighed heavily on you, your body was sluggish and weak, yet it was your heart that ached the most. You couldn't stop thinking about Anakin's suffocating absence and how he should have been caressing your overheated frame instead of fighting on a different planet. You fantasized about him wiping away the beading sweat from your shivering, fragile body with his caring, large palms. You sighed, leaning back against the cool pillow. Every fiber of your being yearned to be by his side, battling droids and facing the galaxy's chaos together, but your condition had left you stranded here.

The hum of the holo-communication device broke the silence of your desperation. You froze stiff as a statue—just like the ones surrounding Naboo's lakeside, and your heart leaped into your throat. You rushed to the device, fingers trembling as you activated the connection.

And there he was.

The flickering light revealed his face, your heart ached at the sight of him. His face bore new scrapes and smudges of dirt, his hair tousled from the battlefield, but his eyes—those molten orbs of fire and tenderness—were fixed solely on you. You got goosebumps as a shiver went down your spine, but the medicine had already started to work, so the fever didn't cause it.

"Ani," You whispered—a breathless relief flooding through you at the mere sight of him. You hadn't even realized how badly you needed him until now.

"Chee-ska anota," he murmured, the Huttese term for "my dear love" falling from his lips like a prayer.

"I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you'd be too busy saving the galaxy." You teased him softly, but deep down, you were glad you were on his mind as much as he was on yours. He chuckled—the tone low and warm—a balm to your frayed nerves.

"What's the point of saving it if you're not there to see it?"

But before he could continue his sentence, his words faltered for a second as his eyes traced over your face.

"You look—your face is still red, and your eyes..." He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "Your eyes are shining, but not in the way I want them to. You're still burning up, aren't you? Fuck." You noticed him curling his hands into a fist, his fingers dug into his palms. "I could already barely focus on this duty because of you, but this was the last straw. I'm going home."

Even though his concerns melted your heart, you didn't want to ruin their mission by making their strongest Jedi vanish or risk the option of the others discovering your little secret relationship.

"Honey, my fever is already gone. I just need to regain some strength." You were hoping this would change his drastic decision, but it only made him raise his voice at you firmly.

"It was already a huge mistake to leave you alone in such a helpless state. But I promise you, Chee-ska, I won't abandon you again. Ever." Worry pooled in his eyes, a silent storm brewing beneath his lashes.

God, he's always so stubborn.—you thought to yourself.

Your body craved every molecule of him to be close to you—but you knew you had to do something to calm him down and make him stay there with the troops. You brushed your curly locks away from your face and leaned forward on the bed so that your robe opened slightly in the front, revealing the lacy top of your satin nightgown, along with your rosy cleavage.

His features immediately loosened up, while a small sigh escaped his mouth—since he's aware that you never wear any lingerie under it.

"Don't try to manipulate me, Snips. I'm still your master, which makes me the one in charge. I make the rules." He tried to appear serious, but he couldn't mask the sound of longing that filled his voice.

You knew that he wouldn't be able to resist you—since he could never hold himself back. When you find a way to flick the switch in him, he sheds his cautious, caring personality and transforms into a predator. When he got aroused, he became a bloodthirsty beast—and you embodied the prey in his eyes. Just like a starving animal, ready to maul and devour any living creature in sight.

Since your goal was to push him over the edge, you bit the pink flesh of your pouty bottom lip and reached out to his other lightsaber—which was accidentally left lying on the nightstand next to your bed. It was the only thing that resembled his present, and as you slowly ran your fingers over its surface—you quickly figured out your plan.

"If you are the one making the rules, why don't you make them fun?" These words left your glossy lips as you drove the weapon up to the right corner of your mouth.

"Stop being a brat and fix your behavior, youngling. I command you as your superior, not your partner." His tone carried the weight of authority, a warning you might have believed—if not for his eyes, smoldering and unashamed as it lingered on your chest.

You loved to lure out his raw dominance with your attitude so he would use you to fulfill his sickest, secret, intimate desires. His mechanical arm and the force combined allowed him to take advantage of you and have more control over you than anyone else could ever do—and you enjoyed it more than anything.

"Are you sure that is what you want? Because if you change your mind and stay, you could see me doing this." You kneeled and grabbed the saber with both of your hands so that you could lick it all the way from the bottom to the very top of it. You started swirling your tongue around the tip of it and throated every inch of it without any warning. It wasn't a challenge to take it—your esophagus had adjusted from everyday use to Anakin's significantly bigger size—but it still drew a quiet gag out of you. Your teary eyes never left his surprised gaze, which hunger quickly overtook.

You saw him reach out one of his hands towards your hologram—to pretend to grab your hair—and started bobbing it in the same rhythm as you did with your head. You noticed his growing bulge through the thin fabric of his Jedi uniform—and you couldn't help but sit back on your heels and start rocking your hips a little for some stimulation. This lustful view strikes a tingling sensation in your abdomen. Your brain flooded with the picture of his trembling, overstimulated tip as it stained his pants with his sweet, milky, smeared precum—waiting for you to clean it up with your tongue.

You snapped back to reality, and a streak of saliva remained attached to the object as you released it from the hot cave of your mouth—while trying to catch your breath.

"I wish that it would have been you. Even though it's your lightsaber, unfortunately, it still can't cum down my throat like you." You said with sad puppy-dog eyes while trying to stop panting, but an unexpected statement struck your ear.

"Ride it."

A naughty grin appeared on your face as you tried to tease your boyfriend for a tiny bit longer.

"I thought you were worried about your sick little girl, but now you want to use her?" You said with a mocking tone, but he immediately growled at you.

"I said ride it." The harsh order made you stare at him momentarily, but he instantly broke the silence.

"Don't play stupid now. Just obey." He aggressively unbuckled his belt with one hand and rolled up his sleeves while he continued his monologue.

"I lied to the team that I came to this empty warehouse to strategize, so be a good slut for me and don't waste our precious time." He gently ran his fingers over the prominent outline of his size, which made his voice tremble with desire.

"I saw my needy baby grinding while putting on her little show, so don't you dare to deny how fucking wet you are for me." You squeezed your thighs together, and they remained stuck from how sticky he made you. "You knew exactly what you were doing, so now it's your job to finish what you started, sweet little thing."

You realized how Obi-wan or even the enemy could catch him at any millisecond, so you quickly tossed the lightsaber on the bed, placed your hands in front of yourself and positioned your tiny body above it.

"Yes s-sir!" You stuttered, but before you could start masturbating, you heard him say—

"Stop. Did you just go dumb on me already? You forgot something. Words, sweetheart, words. What do good girls say?" His serious side always made your core drool. You remembered the missing essential and said it without hesitation.

"Thank you, master!" His mean face finally released a small smile.

"Now you can continue."

You shifted until your painfully throbbing slit hovered directly over the part that was covered in ridges. As you slowly sank into it, the cold touch of the remaining saliva sent a jolt through your body. You started humping on your little "toy" back and forth, dragging your clit across the whole length of it. The friction made your breath come up in ragged gasps. You tried to glare into his lustful iris but couldn't make contact with his gaze—Anakin had already rolled his eyes back. A heavy moan escaped from your plump lips as he revealed his fully erect member, slamming it against his muscular abs. A puddle of precum pooled around the base of his dick, and some of it already ran down to his thighs. The liquid glistened as the light reflected off it, but he spat in his palm to lubricate it even more. He started gliding his hand on his most sensitive area while watching you chase your high. The holopad was set up to make it look like he was towering over you, ready to finish on your face.

"You are the filthiest whore in the whole galaxy. I mean, look at you, tiny Padawan of mine…skipping your stationing duties to pleasure yourself at home." He kisses his teeth, making a quiet 'tsk' sound." You're fucking pathetic." He threw his head back as he degraded you. You tried to fasten your pace, but your legs started to shake unintentionally to let you know you wouldn't last long. A knot began to form in your stomach, but Anakin shouted at you.

"Oh no, don't even think about it. Don't you dare to cum yet. I didn't give you permission. Don't be greedy."

You whined, your fingers curling desperately into the sheets, the fabric twisting between your trembling hands as you fought against the inevitable. Every muscle in your body was drawn tight, quivering under the weight of restraint, but it was futile—you were at your master's mercy. The heat between your legs was unbearable, pulsing, demanding release, but you knew better than to give in without his approval. Your breath hitched, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips. You felt helpless, wholly unraveled under his control, but deep down, you knew his cruelty had a purpose. He wasn't denying you out of malice—he was building you up, drawing out your pleasure until it consumed you, until you shattered so thoroughly you wouldn't recover for days. The way he edged you was deliberate, precise, and designed to wreck you in the best way possible. Every second he made you wait, every teasing word, every denied climax—it all led to something greater. He wanted you mindless by the time he allowed you to break. He wanted to pull every last drop of prurience from you until you were gasping his name like a prayer. And when that moment finally came, when he finally let you fall, it wouldn't just be pleasure—it would be devastation.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? At least not for such a good girl. Now, my princess gets rewarded for finally being obedient." He looked up at your face, then down to his old weapon in your hands, and his lips curved into a smirk.

"Slide it in your pretty pussy. Ride my lightsaber as if it was my cock." Anakin's penis was aching, his whole body was shaking while he jerked off.

"Spread your legs wider, angel, will you? I want to see what's mine. Your warm cunt belongs to me." After his request, your hole pulsed as if it had its own heartbeat. You aligned the "dildo" to your entrance, and with one sharp movement, you rammed it into your opening. You reached up to your chest to cup both of your breasts in your hands and gave them a rough squeeze before you pinched your nipples as Anakin's replacement kissed your cervix. You saw that he trusted into his palm faster than before and became much more vocal.

"Yeah, that's it, that's my girl. You are taking it so good for me." His praises helped your orgasm to build up even more.

"A-ani, mhh, I'm close; I can't take it anymore! " He heard your shutter, which made him look up from under his eyebrows. You could see that pearly sweat streaks started to run down from his forehead, and their route followed the scar mark on his eye.

"Do you think you deserve it? Beg for it. Can you do that, little one?" He questioned. "How much do you want it, hm? Show me. Make me proud."

His hips hadn't stopped since the call started; he fucked his palm restlessly, so you knew that you had to trigger his weakest spot to get the job done.

"I promise that I'll be your slave, your fucktoy when you come home, okay? I'll let you use me as a cumdumpster anytime, just please let me finish already. Anakin, it hurts! " You whimpered while tears ran down from your cheeks to your chin. You started rapidly circling on your swollen clit and pumping into your soaked folds, sliding in and out his "stunt double" that rubbed against your G-spot repeatedly. This was all he needed to hear and see.

"K-kay, let it happen baby, cum for me. Cmon, give it to me. Give me what's mine." He commanded, his words are law.

Your back arched with grace as you went crashing over the edge. You collapsed on your bed into a puddle that your squirt made, mind blank as waves of pleasure rolled through you. The world around you blurred into nothingness, consciousness suspended in the aftershocks of ecstasy. This meant the main attraction to Anakin, the sight of you undone, the way your body trembled and spasmed. His breath hitched, muscles tensing as climax washed over him. His cock throbbed violently in his grasp, spilling thick ribbons of his release over his fingers as he choked out your name. Ropes of his load painted his v-line, dripping down toned his stomach and pooling in his lap.

"Fuck, you are something else. Good job, kid." He panted as he dragged his pants back on.

"See, I told you that you don't need to leave work for me." You stuck out your tongue while giggling and kicking your feet.

"You are not sick anymore, that's for sure. The only sick thing is what you promised me in return for your orgasm." He winked at you with his ocean-blue eyes. "Good thing that Rex's helmet recorded everything, so I will have proof."

Your eyes widened, and you couldn't believe what you heard.

"OH MY GOD—ANAKIN SKYWALKER, YOU FUCKING FREAK! Why didn't you tell me you made the call from his helmet?" You screamed in anger, but your boyfriend just laughed in your face.

"More risk, more fun, doll."

Before you could respond to his answer, a sharp knock echoed from his end of the connection. You could see the sudden shift in his expression, the way his shoulders stiffened. From offscreen, you heard Rex's voice, low but clear—

"General Skywalker, you've got company."

Anakin cursed softly, his free hand running through his already messy hair. He turned back to the holo-projector, his face conflicted.

"The team found me, I have to go. I'll be home soon, so don't forget our deal. Ni chuba du," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words in Huttese heavy with meaning. "I love you."

Before you could respond, the connection flickered out, the blue light vanishing, and you were left staring at the empty space where he had been.

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

Note

hi honey! this is quite a personal ask and it's a very touchy subject so if you don't want to write it that's perfectly fine!

I recently found out I'm infertile and won't be able to have biological children- I would love it if you wrote something with poly!marauders comforting a reader whose always wanted biological children but finds out she's infertile?

no pressure because this is a sensitive topic- but it would mean the world if you do x

Hi lovely, I'm so sorry about how jarring that must be for you. Thanks for your request <3

cw: grief related to infertility

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 626 words

You hadn’t cried when you found out. It had been a slow, seeping revelation. A shock you don’t know how to get past. So it comes as a surprise when, after sharing the news with your boyfriends, tears spill from your eyes.

Sirius moves first, as he often does, his arms wrapping tight around your middle. “I’m sorry,” he says, pulling you to his chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You don’t know if it’s a loss for him the way it is for you; you never really got around to talking about it, and now it’s a moot point. You appreciate the sentiment anyway. Remus’ hand has been on your knee since you’d sat them down on the couch, a comfort for whatever difficult conversation he sensed was coming, but he’s still now, in shock as you have been. On Sirius’ other side, you hear a dismayed breath go out of James.

“I’m sorry, too,” you whimper. Sirius doubles down on the comfort, arms a vice and mushing kiss after heavy kiss into your hair while you weep.

“Hey,” says James, gently. His hand comes to rest on your back, big enough to touch both shoulder blades. “Shh, it’s alright. It’s going to be okay.”

“Jamie,” Remus murmurs.

“It is, lovely. If you really want it, we’ll figure something out.”

“But we don’t need to do that today.” Remus’ tone is at once stern and gentle. His pinkie makes a couple of short strokes over your leg. “I know how much it meant to you to have kids on your own, dovey,” he says, softer. “I’m sorry.”

James sounds wounded. “I only meant that we’re with you. Or that we’re here for you, you know. Whatever you need.”

You pick your head up from Sirius’ chest. Sirius allows it, though by the way his hands tighten on you only just, so that you can give James a watery smile.

“I know,” you tell him. And you do. It’ll all be alright in the end is the motto James lives by; whatever the opposite of a defeatist is, your sweetheart boyfriend is that all over. But you only want to be sad right now. It’s a new sort of mourning for you, mourning a future you’ve never known and now you can’t have. “It’s okay, I get it.”

James’ expression is already creased with sympathy, but at your teary eyes he starts to look like he may cry, too. “I love you,” he says, squeezing your shoulder softly. “We’ve got you, you know that.”

You nod, because you do. You feel it like a pleasant weight right now, just in the center of your hurt.

Sirius has begun swaying you gently, his lips pressed to your head like he plans simply to leave them there. “What do you want to do, sweetness? Just for now, what do you need?”

You try to clear your throat, but your voice still comes out fractured. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to just be sad,” says Remus. His voice has dropped to a soothing timbre, like logs crackling in a fireplace or the sea shushing over rock. “If you want to just stay here for a while, or cry some more, that’s perfectly alright.”

His understanding draws another sob out of you, your face going back to Sirius’ chest as you give into grief.

“Oh, my love.” Sirius hugs you even tighter, and then a second pair of arms comes around you, James hugging you both. Remus’ touch moves up your leg as you feel the couch dip closer to you, his lips pressing to the side of your head a moment later. You feel engulfed by love and caring. “I’m sorry, lovely,” Sirius whispers against your hairline. “We’ve got you.”

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dontbesoweirdkira · 4 months ago

Note

Can you please write for a yandere NWH Peter Parker x reader who is smarter than him? Like they knew right away he was stalking them and played along?

Also omg I can't believe we are mutuals now, I adore your page so much <3

A/N: I hope I understood your ask properly. Aww that's super sweet! I try to follow back people who interact with my content a lot and show support back! Glad we are moots too. <3

Warnings: mentions of stalking..

Masterlist

Requests: open

Okay i'm going to say on record that if I *had* to have one of the Peters as a stalker...I would want it to be his. Not because I'm a fan girl of Tom or anything but his Peter is by far the most harmless. Like if I saw Tobey's or Insomniac's spiderman stalking me, I'd be absolutely terrified. Tom's Peter is just a ray sunshine and rainbows lollll

Here's the thing, Peter cannot be stealthy to save his life. Which is rather ironic because as spiderman, he is insanely cunning...

Maybe at first he's able to tiptoe around you a little better. You might notice his presence oddly always being around,,,even at places you know he'd never go to but you brush it off. In the beginning his obsession is more like a subtle crush. He doesn't particularly act out of the ordinary when he's around you. Awkwardness, stuttering, poorly witted banter are all Peter's signature when speaking to anyone.

But you still take a mental note of his light stalking.

As he spirals deeper and his attraction towards you becomes more obvious, you know for sure that he's stalking you. It's even become more frequent. Like I said this Peter is so harmless that you just find his behaviors to be more amusing than anything. It's funny because you can tell that he thinks he's being inconspicuous but his gooey smile alone is enough to give him away. lol

You probably don't do anything about it at first, he's not really hurting you. The man just is lovesick..but maybe eventually you decide to have a bit of fun with it.

It becomes a game of making Peter as flustered as possible. Like you'll purposefully wonder into dead-ends, secluded or intimate places (libraries, locker rooms, underwear stores ect) just to catch him in the act and be like "Oh hey Pete!....whatcha doing here?" It's fun watching him freak out and created some stupid excuse. You always act oblivious and go along with his answers.

Sometimes you'll touch caress his arm, ruffle his hair, and make intentional eye contact to watch him squirm. Even choosing more endearing words that you know he'll hang on to. He's probably convinced himself that you are falling in love back. Do you understand what you are truly doing to him??

Maybe you purposefully leave your house unlocked on your blinds open to make his endeavors a bit easier. You're curious to see if he'd be willing to go far enough to actually go in your house... or photograph you from outside..

As light as he is with his steps, you can feel his presence over you as he's watching you rest...

You notice things going missing from your drawers..

It intrigues you as you watch him go from being a total creep behind you back to acting innocent in your face. He easily falls right into your traps. It's almost painful how gullible and clueless he is.

You kind of don't want to give up your act as you've become obsessed with him in your own way. Maybe not in love but just with the peculiarity of the situation... No one would believe you if you told them about this whole thing. If you weren't so calculated about it, you probably would've thought you were insane too.

It was hard not to laugh in his face when he asked for your address to pick you up for a date when you know for a fact he knows the layout of your house like the back of his hand.

Maybe you do end up giving up your cover one day. You know that he's hiding in your closet, watching you study when you finally blurt out..

"Peter, it's been months now. I know you've been stalking me. I know you're hiding in here, you can come out."

Can you imagine the pure look of fear and guilt on his face.. Peter doesn't even know how to react. Like he's fully freaking out in the closet and you can here his little curses and shuffling. He's so adorbs. "Peter...just come out" he says something stupid like "uhh it's not Peter it's...Ignacio, your....cleaning lady..??" He eventually comes out and he feels far too guilty to even look at you. If he had a tail it's be between his legs ahhh... He's completely convinced that you are going to tell him to stay away from you or yell at him.. Like it's so embarrassing how slick he thought he was.

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solxamber · 6 months ago

Note

Hi sol!!! My first request!!! :333

Yayy I'm happy we're moots <33 be sure to always stay healthy, drink water and stuff and have a good day/night/afternoon/evening :)

Anywaysss here's my request! (This is Romantic btw 😝)

Deuce, Riddle, Ace, Epel with a reader (I say reader, just as a gender neutral term lol, also can the reader be in Pomefiore? :3) who is like a perfect role model for people— They're smart, kind and always understanding, mature. But what made them like the reader even more is that: even while they are all the aspects of a perfect model student; at the same time, they aren't like that sometimes.

They are understanding to people and responsible with their academics, but they also have a mischievous side— they can be a bit snarky and reckless in certain situations, they can effortlessly balance out their responsibility in school with their mischievousness (which sort of made them fall for the reader even more, bc they sound so cool and shi)

If the reader was with Ace, Epel. They'll show a more responsible and mature approach, they aren't entirely strict (unlike both of their housewardens) but will always tell them if they're doing something that would get them in trouble. But they do have slight instances where they are a bit out of character.. Like how the reader climbed a whole ass tree in their Pomefiore uniform to grab an item that was stuck on the tree (even if they could just grab it with magic) and gave it back

But on the other hand, If they were with Riddle, Deuce— I guess you could say that they can be responsible and mature, but with a more visible hint of mischief. They annoy Riddle for fun, teasing Deuce if he didn't know something that was pretty obvious already (they apologize, of course). Like how they annoyed Riddle so bad that they got collared, but came back with a strawberry tart that was decorated with red and white roses or how they slightly chuckle when Deuce is confused...

LIKE.. DO YOU GET MY VISION PELAKSEEEL ☹️☹️☹️😭😭😭 PLEASE GET IT... I KNOW MY ASK IS A BIT LING BUT THIS IS EATING MY BRAIN ☹️☹️

Deuce, Riddle, Ace, Epel with a Pomefiore! reader

omg hi 🫶🫶 I think I saw the vision but let me know if you wanted something different!

Deuce Spade

Deuce had always admired how perfect you seemed—a Pomefiore student, embodying grace, responsibility, and intelligence. It was hard not to look up to you. You were someone who aced all your tests, helped classmates without a second thought, and stayed out of trouble. Or so he thought.

It wasn’t until you found him trying to fix an overgrown potion plant that things started to shift. Deuce, sweating buckets, was yanking at the roots of the plant, clearly struggling. “I don’t get it! How did this thing grow so fast? It’s like a magic beanstalk on steroids!”

You watched him for a moment, amused. “Deuce, you’re pulling at the wrong part. You need to loosen the soil around the roots first. Want some help?”

Deuce looked up, grateful, only to realize you weren’t offering your help with magic. Instead, you were already on your hands and knees, digging into the soil. The sight of a Pomefiore student willingly getting dirt under their perfectly manicured nails had him wide-eyed. He was about to say something when you added, “Come on, get in here, or we’ll be stuck dealing with this all day.”

It wasn’t just your willingness to get dirty that caught him off guard. It was your mischievousness. When he finally asked you about it, you just smiled, saying, “Being perfect is boring, Deuce. Sometimes, you’ve got to do things the fun way. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

And just like that, you made him laugh, breaking through his seriousness. You’d joke with him when he messed up, but never in a mean way. “Wow, Deuce, did you really forget to add the salamander tail? That’s like the second step of the potion.” And when he’d look at you in frustration, you’d quickly add, “I’m just teasing. Here, let’s fix it.”

He even started looking forward to your teasing. It wasn’t mocking—it was gentle, almost affectionate, and when you laughed, he found himself laughing too. One day, after a particularly exhausting lecture, you came up to him with a sly grin. “So, Deuce, how does it feel to know the square root of 144? Life-changing, right?”

He groaned but couldn’t help smiling. “Shut up…”

But the real turning point was when you climbed a tree in your pristine Pomefiore uniform. You were helping Deuce and Ace find something stuck in a tree—some stupid ball or something—and instead of using magic, you hauled yourself up the trunk like it was nothing. Deuce gawked, his brain short-circuiting as he watched you hop from branch to branch.

“You know you could’ve just… used magic, right?” he asked when you finally hopped back down, tossing the ball to Ace.

You shrugged, “Where’s the fun in that?”

From that day on, Deuce couldn’t stop thinking about you. Sure, you were responsible, smart, and reliable—but you were also fun, mischievous, and surprisingly laid-back. It was a combination that made his heart race. He couldn��t tell if he wanted to impress you more or just keep watching as you effortlessly balanced it all with that mischievous smirk.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was never the type to be easily impressed—especially by someone who didn’t follow the rules to the letter. But you? You were an exception. Not only were you the perfect role model, responsible and composed, but you somehow managed to bend the rules without ever really breaking them. It was infuriating.

The first time you caught his attention was when you strolled into the Heartslabyul rose garden, completely ignoring the chaos around you. Students were scurrying left and right, trying to meet the latest rule Riddle had imposed. But you? You sat down calmly with a book, unbothered by the hustle and bustle.

“What are you doing here?” Riddle asked, standing over you with his arms crossed. “Shouldn’t you be studying for the upcoming alchemy test?”

You looked up, your smile the picture of innocence. “I already finished studying. Plus, fresh air helps with brain function, doesn’t it?”

Riddle blinked, thrown off by your response. Technically, you weren’t breaking any rules. But something about your calm demeanor did break his sense of order.

The second time you caught his attention was during a dorm meeting when you lightly teased him about his obsession with rules. “Riddle, you ever consider relaxing? Maybe just once?”

He stared at you, utterly scandalized. “Relax? During an official dorm meeting?”

You just grinned. “Just saying. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

Later that day, you upped the ante when you “accidentally” bumped into him and knocked a basket of strawberries onto the ground. Of course, you smiled sweetly, apologizing as you bent to pick them up, but then you slipped in a strawberry tart, decorated with red and white roses.

Riddle stared at it, completely baffled. “Did you—Did you paint roses on a tart?”

“Only the best for the Queen,” you replied with a wink, referencing the infamous Alice in Wonderland scene.

Riddle turned beet red, not from anger but because—against his will—he found it funny. He hated it. You were making him laugh, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Then, came the day you pushed him too far. You were teasing him, playfully challenging one of his many rules, and before you knew it—bam. Collar. You were collared.

But instead of being embarrassed or angry, you sauntered off and returned ten minutes later, holding up a plate of beautifully decorated rose-themed sweets. “Am I forgiven yet?”

Riddle stared at the plate, his face a mix of emotions. “You… can’t just—fine. But only because you followed the correct procedure for apology.”

What really sealed the deal was when you noticed how exhausted Riddle was after a long day. You didn’t say anything, but the next time he sat down, there was a cup of tea waiting for him—perfectly brewed. You didn’t even mention it, just went about your day as if it was no big deal. But for Riddle, it was a very big deal. You weren’t just smart and responsible—you were kind, mischievous, and somehow always knew exactly what he needed. And that terrified and intrigued him all at once.

Ace Trappola

Ace was always drawn to people who could keep up with his chaotic energy, and from the outside, you seemed like the last person who would. You were responsible, always got top marks, and never seemed to get in trouble like he did. You were a Pomefiore student through and through, the perfect picture of elegance and order. Or at least, that’s what Ace thought—until you proved him wrong in the most unexpected ways.

One afternoon, Ace was busy concocting his latest scheme—rigging a classroom window so that it would slam shut the moment someone opened it. Classic prank, a little outdated, but effective. Deuce stood beside him, nervously watching while Ace fiddled with the mechanism.

Just when Ace was about to finish, you appeared out of nowhere, your usual calm expression fixed on your face. “A window prank, Ace? Really?” you teased, looking unimpressed. “You’ve got to come up with something more original.”

Ace, expecting you to lecture him, leaned back with a smug grin. “What’s wrong? You too perfect to appreciate a good prank?”

But instead of walking away or scolding him, you walked over, inspected the rigging, and—with a sly grin—yanked one of the cords so that it was perfectly calibrated to snap the window shut just as someone walked by. “There. Now it’ll make a better sound when it slams shut.”

Ace blinked. “Wait—you’re actually helping me?”

You shrugged, your grin widening. “Might as well. You were doing it wrong anyway.”

And that was the moment Ace realized you weren’t just some stuck-up, model student. You were fun, and a lot sneakier than you let on.

It didn’t stop there. One day, the two of you were walking across campus when Ace noticed something strange. A lone broom was sitting outside of the library, left behind after flying class. You glanced at it, then at Ace, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. “I bet I can stand on it.”

Ace was taken aback. “You mean ride it?”

“No,” you smirked. “I mean stand on it.”

Before Ace could stop you, you were hopping onto the broom in your immaculate Pomefiore uniform, balancing on it like a circus performer. The broom wobbled as you grinned at Ace, one foot on the handle, your arms outstretched. “See? Easy.”

Ace gaped at you, half expecting you to fall off. “You know you’re going to break your neck, right? I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one!”

“I’m responsible,” you said, hopping off the broom with a graceful landing. “I just know how to have fun.”

Ace didn’t know what to make of you. You weren’t just cool—you were insane in the best possible way. Who else would try to balance on a broom like it was a tightrope, in broad daylight, in front of the library? And still look like they had everything under control?

From then on, Ace couldn’t help but admire how you could be both the perfect student and completely unpredictable. One moment you’d be helping him with his homework, making sure he didn’t fail his classes, and the next, you’d be standing on a broom or rigging a prank right alongside him. You made the impossible look easy, and Ace was falling hard.

There was one day that really sealed the deal for him. After a long lecture, Ace was goofing off with Deuce, trying to sneak a piece of fruit out of the cafeteria without getting caught. You, being the mature one, walked up and raised an eyebrow. “Stealing now, are we?”

Ace snorted. “Come on, it’s just a piece of fruit. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Without missing a beat, you took the apple out of his hand, then tossed it over your shoulder—straight into the trash. “The worst thing is you could get caught.”

Ace stared at you in disbelief, then burst out laughing. You were sharp, clever, and always a step ahead of him. And it wasn’t long before he realized that maybe, just maybe, you were the one pranking him the entire time—by being so ridiculously cool without even trying.

Epel Felmier

Epel admired you from the moment you stepped into Pomefiore. You were the perfect model student—always well-behaved, top of your class, and you embodied the elegance Vil demanded. But what made Epel really start paying attention was that you weren’t just some delicate, rule-following Pomefiore statue. You were responsible, sure, but there was a wild side to you that came out in the most unexpected ways.

Take that time during broom riding practice, for example. Epel had seen you fly gracefully like it was second nature, while he was busy trying to not look like a complete disaster on his broom. Then, out of nowhere, you decided to take things to a whole new level. The instructor wasn’t paying attention, so you zoomed ahead of everyone, grinning like a maniac.

Epel watched in awe as you performed a perfect loop-de-loop before swooping down so fast you nearly gave Vil a heart attack. And, of course, you landed as if nothing happened, straightening your uniform and looking as poised as ever.

“Y-You can do tricks like that?” Epel asked, mouth agape.

You shrugged, brushing off the dust from your shoes. “It’s just flying. Gotta make it fun somehow.”

Epel couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

That day, Epel realized you were someone who could balance responsibility with freedom. He had always struggled with the restrictions of Pomefiore’s rigid beauty standards, but you managed to be both elegant and daring. It was like watching someone walk a tightrope with ease, and he was more than a little impressed.

But the thing that really cemented his admiration for you happened after one particularly intense Pomefiore training session. Vil had them all practicing their etiquette, posture, and poise, and Epel was on the verge of snapping. He wasn’t built for all this fancy stuff—he just wanted to be himself, rough edges and all.

After the session ended, you found Epel sulking by the fountain, muttering curses under his breath about how “ridiculous” all this refinement was.

“Need a break from all the beauty drills?” you asked, sitting down beside him.

Epel sighed, frustrated. “I just don’t get it. Why do we have to be so… proper all the time? Ain’t no one back home cared about sittin’ all pretty.”

You nodded, understanding. “I get it. Sometimes all this elegance stuff can be stifling.”

Epel looked at you in surprise. “You? I thought you were like… the perfect student. You never seem bothered by it.”

You chuckled softly. “That’s ‘cause I’ve learned how to balance it out. You gotta know when to let loose. Speaking of which…”

Without another word, you stood up, pulled your shoes off, and started wading into the fountain like it was the most natural thing in the world. Epel stared at you in disbelief.

“What in tarnation are you doin’?” he asked, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Cooling off,” you replied with a mischievous grin. “C’mon, you’ll feel better.”

Epel hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and kicked off his shoes, joining you in the fountain. You both splashed around, laughing like kids, completely disregarding the stares from the other Pomefiore students passing by. It was the most fun he’d had in weeks, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“You’re crazy, y’know that?” Epel laughed, wiping water from his face.

“Maybe,” you replied with a wink. “But sometimes, a little crazy is exactly what we need.”

From that day on, Epel saw you as more than just a perfect role model. You were someone who understood the pressure of perfection but also knew how to break free from it when necessary. And the fact that you didn’t mind getting a little reckless now and then? Well, that just made him like you even more.

Later, as the two of you dried off by the fountain, Epel found himself smiling—really smiling—for the first time in a while. You weren’t just cool; you were fearless, and that was something he admired more than anything.

Masterlist

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skibidihan · 9 months ago

Note

hey!! since u said ur taking requests do u mind doing bf texts with enha jay or something similar? fluff and gn!reader :] hope ur having a good day!! i love ur fics sm 🫶🫶

୨୧ boyfriend texts with jay !

# note ! : thank you for requesting this <3 i love writing jay 😕☝️ and i appreciate your love for my works, always a favorite moot <3 i hope you enjoy this !!

boyfriend! jay x gn! reader. + genre ! fluff, texts. warnings ? : kms jokes, making out mentioned, pet names used. it gets sappy at the end … oops. library ..

feedback & reblogs are appreciated !! <3

FINISHED !

( 💭 ) — the end might be a little cheesy, or cringe, but i wanted to put it in there since a lot of people struggle with being proud of themselves, and i want whoever reads this to feel loved <3

requests are open. send through asks or dm !!

sending to .. @enhaas @starchasing-cryptid @lavendersloane @academiq @sol3chu ( check here if you wish to be on the perm taglist! )

#ᡣ𐭩 . . icewons ?!#starchasing-cryptid requests!#bf texts #enhypen fluff #enhypen jay #jay x reader #kpop #kpop imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jongseong

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etherealily · 11 months ago

Text

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

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You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

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Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breaching every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

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You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what you thought he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

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"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffle bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

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"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

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