#Net packing machine

[thefleetingflashofa-sword623]

hey kitten, mommy needs you to listen up okay? mommy needs you to lis- *snaps my fingers in front of your face* listen to what im saying ok? mommy needs you and your three little friends to repair barricades and fend off waves of nazi zombies that gradually increase in size, which will net you points that you can use to unlock access to different areas of the map and buy new weapons and they drop power ups some times like max ammo and insta kill and theres also the pack a punch machine that you can use to upgrade your weapons and theres also easter eggs that you can solve

[demie90s]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Request: Okay hear me out....we got UConn x reader for senior night...but what about first night? With the walk out song (she'd be eating that attention up, what can a girl do when the camera and the crowd loves her) the three point contest (cause she's just that good), and the scrimmage where she's just having fun. Idk maybe she gets on the mic or something. ntm on me l've never sent a request in for anything before. It's hard out here in these streets. @kajspeaks

(I gotchu pookie. Hope this good cause I was blank minded the whole time😭)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Main Character

UConn x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Forget senior night. This is First Night, and baby, you were built for it.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: sports, spotlight, crack energy, confident reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: cocky charm, crowd control, public mic chaos

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.5k

The lights in Gampel Pavilion were already pulsing when I walked into the tunnel. Fog machine working overtime. The crowd packed wall-to-wall. I could hear the bass of the walk-out song thumping before I even stepped foot on the court. And it wasn’t just music—it was mine. My pick. My moment. I told the DJ I wanted something nasty, something that hit—so he queued up Glorilla and let it ride. That bass dropped, and the announcer said my name like he’d been waiting all day to do it.

When I stepped out, the crowd lost it. Phones up. Flashes popping. The big screen zoomed in right on my smirk as I spun once, pointed to the student section, and dragged a finger across my neck like, Let’s go to war. I didn’t wave. I didn’t fake humble. I stood there in my warmup, one hand on my hip, letting the music wash over me while the team came up behind me. Paige slapped my back like she was proud. Nika yelled, “She loves this shit!” from the side. And she was right. I did. I do.

I walked straight to center court like I owned it. Because I did.

Then came the three-point contest.

Now listen—I’m not even a shooter by trade. I just am. There’s a difference. I don’t set up cute. I don’t spin the ball in my hand like it’s for show. I catch. I rise. I drain. That’s it. Simple math. The first rack? Clean. Second? All net. Third? I hit the money ball, turned to the crowd before it dropped, and let out the nastiest grin. KK fell over on the bench. Geno had his hand over his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. Inês shook her head, but I caught her smile. She thought I didn’t see it, but I see everything.

By the time I finished, they had to cut to commercial early. Said my celebration was “too theatrical.” I call it performance art.

Then came the scrimmage. Coach told us to keep it light. Play for the crowd. So I did. I started pulling no-look passes, step-back threes, taunting my own teammates. I threw a lob to Ice and said, “You better finish this or I’m unfollowing you.” She caught it. Screamed before it even hit the net. The crowd went feral. Someone in the front row screamed my name like they wanted to marry me.

And then, of course, I found the mic.

I wasn’t supposed to. Geno had specifically said “no mic stunts.” But someone left it on the sideline, and I just happened to be standing next to it. So I picked it up, grinned at the camera, and said, “How y’all feelin’ tonight?” The crowd erupted. I pointed to the student section, called out someone holding a “Marry Me #24” sign, and said, “What time?” Nika collapsed onto the bench laughing.

Security started to walk over, but it was too late. I already had the mic in hand and a whole arena in the palm of it.

“First Night, huh?” I said, pacing a little. “New season. New roster. Same bad bitch energy.” Geno was shaking his head behind me, but even he was smiling.

“This ain’t just UConn,” I said. “This is family. This is fire. This is the year we run the whole damn table—and make it look good while we do it.”

I dropped the mic back on the table. Didn’t toss it. Just placed it like a queen setting down her crown. And then I jogged back onto the court like nothing happened. Scrimmage resumed. Game face back on. But every camera in the building followed me like I was still holding that mic.

Because they knew. First night?

That was just the opening scene. This season? This was my movie.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @toorealrai

[playwithsyd]

Tennis Enthusiast Pack

discover university, high school years, spa day required

03/26/2025 - updated for Patch 1.113.297.1020

includes the following:

Tennis Enthusiast Trait

Social Interactions

Enthuse About Tennis

Discuss Tennis Techniques

Gossip About Tennis Players

Insult Tennis Techniques

Compliment Tennis Strokes

Whims

Play Tennis

Use Treadmill

Go for a Jog

Watch Sports

Make a Protein Shake

Tennis Court Lot Trait

all Sims will be able to use the custom social interactions when visiting a lot with this trait, even if they do not have the tennis enthusiast trait. Sims will also gain the Fitness, Charisma, and Wellness skills faster on these lots.

Tennis Player Career

Levels

Tennis Intern

Tennis Assistant

Beginner Tennis Player

Intermediate Tennis Player

Professional Tennis Player

Career Rewards

The Zenus Tennis Net

Pro Training Tennis Ball Machine

The Robinson Tennis Umpire Chair

The Donaldson Tennis Trophy

Tennis Club After School Activity

Levels

Junior Varsity Team Member

Varsity Tennis Member

Tennis Club Team Captain

Club Reward - Tennis Club Athletic Poster

download (public release - November 24)

thank you for the support // please do not re-upload or claim as your own

[tootsquatch]

Plug and Play Net Cafe🎮☕ (no cc basement)

Fellow gamers can rejoice, check in and choose a cubicle to plop down and spend hours of your day doing your favorite things and don't forget to take advantage of our coffee bar and vending machines to calm any hunger and thirst rages! (extra info under cut)

gallery id: tootsquatch

hi guys! this is my first time sharing a build, i was super inspired by the aggretsuko net cafe. No one told me how hard it is to do something with no cc! so you can add a gamer space to any build you want. i'm pretty sure the stairs will disappear and you will have to add them and it'll definitely have to be moved around to be used correctly. I'm sorry for any inconvenience! Hopefully my building skills will get better. i also own almost all the packs and kits, i have a problem. lmao.

if you use my build and want to tag me in any pictures you use i would love to see them sdlakfjalsj okay enough rambling. happy simming!

ALSO WANT TO ADD, i added my net cafe basement to this amazing build by littlepirate213/@pilcrow00b6 !!

and just in case anyone wants to add it to this gorgeous build and wants to see how i placed the basement

[thatbitchery]

You can tell how much a lady will not level up by how much she doesn’t love herself—and you can tell how much someone doesn’t love themselves by how much they don’t understand themselves. I’ve been telling you ladies since the dawn of this blog: a level-up is personal. Custom-made. Made for you and only you. You cannot achieve another person’s goal.

Listen, the highest form of love is knowledge. To be loved is to be known. To love is to look—with the purpose of seeing—and then understanding what you see. To love yourself, you have to know yourself. And that takes nothing but self-observation. No judgment. Open acceptance.

What prompted this? I was talking to one of my girls in my personal coaching program yesterday. We started this month, so we’re still learning each other. My first topic is always fashion, because the outside world is a mirror of the inner—and you can easily understand someone from their presentation.

So this girl and I go through her closet, and I’m honestly both impressed and jealous. We are talking runway-worthy gowns. Designer bags. Louboutin heels. The kind of closet you get in your starter-pack Kardashian era. She looks at me like, “What do we think?” And apart from being impressed by the sheer amount that closet adds to her net worth… I am also deeply disappointed.

Why?

Because she is a textbook introvert. An AO3 nerd who spends all day in pajamas and works online (if you can even call it that) and is introverted even outside—i.e. would rather do indoor activities than outdoor. She’s also hyperactive and sporty. That is not the closet of an 18-year-old valedictorian homebody chess-playing video game addict online business owner. That is a Paris Hilton closet. You will NOT be wearing that micro skirt, ever. Let’s not lie to ourselves.

So she poured all that money (yes, she’s wealthy, but that’s not the point??) into another person’s closet—but inside her own house. What she does actually wear is three sets of loungewear that have seen the washing machine so many times they are fighting for their lives to hold on to color. And she won’t buy a new set because it’s “not elegant.”

So I know I will need Jesus and all of heaven when we get to the “self-love” section. Pray for me, people.

It is very important that you stop looking for trends and God knows what, and start observing yourself. Set your goals according to that, so you don’t waste time and money and actually—for once—achieve your yearly goals. Because they belong to who you are, not who you wish you were.

One of the goals I see a lot is “lose weight.” And you know what? Hell yeah. There’s no empowerment in obesity, let’s get healthy. I get it—I want to be a healthy BMI so I can clear brain fog, look better, feel better, function better, yes. But as a person who spends most of their day indoors, is barely attracted to men, and works in corporate… why are you killing yourself trying for a Bella Hadid body when you’ve got Salma Hayek genetics and you don’t need it? I get starvation if you’re a K-pop idol or a model. I get it. But you’re a regular civilian—just stop at “healthy BMI.” Because not only is it not fun, it’s also extremely unhealthy to have zero body fat. What are you even doing this for? It’s torture. If you don’t need to… what’s the point?

Or the classic “wake up at 5 a.m.”—makes sense, I see it. But if you’re a night owl, what are you doing? Your productive hours are 10 p.m. to 3 a.m.—why would you be awake at 5? That’s when you’re supposed to be going to bed after wrapping up your work.

Or “gym 3 days a week.” I love it, I do. But look at yourself in the mirror and say that again. Be honest—is it going to happen? Have you considered that maybe you’re not a gym person? That there are other ways to move your body that don’t require you to battle depression and poor time management in spandex?

You can easily tell who will not be achieving their yearly goals by comparing the goals to the person. No—those are not your goals. They are someone else’s. So another year goes by, and you achieve nothing. Again.

And if you just—if you just—observed your behavior, with no judgment, without slapping on classifications like “lazy” or “wrong” or whatever else… if you just said, “Okay, how do I make me work, in a way that works for me?” You wouldn’t need affirmations to tell you you’re good enough.

You’d just be.

BMAC

[haydenthewitch]

okay so. can you imagine

the 118 gets called to a spirtual spot due to some cristal-ball mayhap (it was left in line of direct sunlight and it set a bunch of curtains on fire.) Luckly no one was hurt, and the sprinkler system is up to date, so the shop doesn't even have major fire damage to it either. While there, tho, Buck ends up in the possession of a rabit's foot. And suddenly he's having a streak of AMZAING INCREDIBLE LUCK.

"It's not a thing!" eddie insists.

"You can't argue with facts!" buck tells him. "And the fact is, i've been having a statistical improbible bought of luck today, AFTER i got the rabbit's foot. Should i go to vegas this weekend?"

in a cosmicaly comedic twist of events, their next call is to the office building of a private jet's comapny. and buck pulled some crazy stunt, saved the ceo, and now he's being offered two free round trip tickets to anywhere in the country.

so buck packs a bag for vegas. and he tries to invite maddie, but she's WAY too pregnant for all that. So instead he guilty asks if she'd mind taking chris for the weekend so eddie and him could get away. ("yes, but only if you ask him out at somepoint durring your trip." "MADDIE!" "WHAT? i'm getting impaient, buck.")

So he manges to convince eddie to get on the plane with him, and watch him gamble the weekend away ("for sceince, eddie. to prove that i actualy do have a bunch of luck!") and for the first day they have a BUNCH of fun. Buck doesn't actualy gamble more than $50 at any table or slot, Becuse he's not stupid and he knows how these things work. He does lose close to $200, But he wins it all back (And then some!)

"See, eddie! i'm winning even when the machines are rigged! that has to be luck!! i made a net profit in vegas! it has to be lucky!!"

so anyways, they go back to their fancy hotel room (paid in full by the time of their arvial thank's to buck's INCREDIBLE save at the fancy privte jet company) they are wiped out, and they plan to both take a good nap when...

"Oh." Buck says. "There's only one bed."

"So?" eddie says. "That thing looks like a hiwaian king +!! there is plenty of room for the both of us, buck."

(Is this part of the rabbit foot's luck?)

so they climb into bed together (climb into bed! together!!!) and take a nap.

By six pm they are back out on the town, and boy is vegas after 6 pm WAYYY diffrebt than vegas in the full sunlight. They go out to this SUPER COOL (most likely tourist trap) resturant on the vegas strip, and the bill has to be MIGHTY but buck doesn't get to see the number before eddie snatches it up to pay.

("eds, let me pay. vegas was my idea, come on." "Buck, no. i've got some fun money stashed away. plus, you got us private flights and a room for free with your herotics. i'm paying tonight." buck is blushing so much he can't come up with a proper counter argument.)

Buck sees a poker lounge, and he insists that they go in. Thay have fun, and by the time buck has played two games of poker, they are both plesantly buzzed and gigling up a storm. eddie, of course, didn't play. he much prefers watching buck play, watching him work his charm and read pepole like open books. His boy is sooo good at that, fuck.

and then. someone is talking to buck. pepole have been talking to buck all night, and it felt. fine, normal, okay, fun even. this chick... does not feel like any of those. good lord. she's fucking flirting with buck right in front of eddie's goddamn salad. he instantly gets hot under his collar.

and it's kinda petulant, more than it's anger. anger is too scary of a word... he doesn't feel anger, not his hands curling into fists or hot short clipped thoughts. Yes, it does feel petculant, like a child who doesn't like to share. Couldn't this lady see that buck was clearly his?? couldn't she see how eddie felt too, how eddie was, quite simmalarly, clearly buck's? they were practicaly married, couldn't she see the wedding band mark branded into his soul??

fuck. maybe eddie was drunker than he thought.

buck is taken aback when eddie leans over to him, and says right into his ear. "You know, there is one more vegas thing to try."

"What's that?" He asks, trying to pointidly ignore amy (the lady who was clearly flirting with buck even though he only wabted eddie) and her attempt to lean closed to hear this cobversation.

"Vegas wedding. you and what's her face could totaly go get married right now, if you wanted." eddie says and... oh my god. eddie is jellous.

"Nah," buck says. trying to remain casual about the whole thing. "I'd rather get married to you. Make this whole 'necular fam' thing we got going on in Cali' offical."

and eddie... fucking glows at that.

"Hey!" the dealer snaps. "Do you want to be delt in for the next hand or not?"

"No." eddie tells him. "We've got a wedding to plan."

when they show up to their next sceduled 24 hr shift, they can't stop looking at each other and giggling. hen and chim clock the energy hard, but they decide to ignore it for the first half of the shift. that is until...

"How did vegas go? any elvis weddings?" ravi asks.

Buck freezes in place, but eddie doesn't even look up from his phone as he says: "Oh, elvis wasn't there."

Hen IMMEDATLY sits straight up on the couch. "Who Got Married????" She asks, a hint of urgent hilarity on her voice. Buck puts his head in his hands, blushing wildly becuse. good god, he's never going to live this down. "Buck!! WHO GOT MARRIED??"

"Yeah, Buck! who got married??" eddie says, mocking hen but ALSO teasing buck. The little shit. So, to get back at him.

"You know, you aren't being a very good husband right now, eddie buckly-diaz."

10 long seconds of silence, and then all HELL breaks loose in the firehouse. but you know what? it was fucking worth it to see eddie blush all pretty like that.

("Did you tell maddie yet?" Chim asks immedatly, and buck swears. "no, fuck, i havent." chim just grimaces, and says "that is NOT a secret i'm keeping from my wife. you better text her now if you want her to hear it from you." Buck groans, becuse fuck. chim is so right. this leads to:

Buck: eddie and i got married in vegas

maddie: what

maddie: the

maddie: fuck

maddie: this is NOT WHAT I MENT when i said you should ask him out, evan buckley.

buck: it's buckely-diaz actualy

buck: and it's still unclear if we're together

maddie: buck. EXPLAIN

Buck: Oh my god what's that sound it's the bell haha gtg maddie ily

maddie: I HATE YOU )

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 15

AN: Here’s the next chapter, just a cutesy one to transition into the last portions of the story. It’ll end up being 19 chapters so we’re almost done!

Word Count: 3.4k

The UConn Pavilion was alive, buzzing with the kind of energy only playoff basketball could bring. Every seat in the arena was filled, a sea of fans clad in blue and white, waving banners and chanting in unison. The court gleamed under the bright lights, the UConn logo standing proud at center court. The stakes were high; this wasn’t just any game—this was the Big East Championship game, where every second counted, and every play could make or break a team’s positioning come time for the NCAA tournament.

Paige took a deep breath, standing at the free-throw line as the referee prepared to toss up the jump ball. She could feel the eyes of the packed crowd on her, but she tuned out the noise, her focus narrowing to the task at hand. Across from her, Azzi gave her a quick nod, her expression calm but intense. It was their silent way of communicating—no words needed. They’d been here before, and they knew what needed to be done.

From the moment the ball was tipped, Paige and Azzi were a force to be reckoned with. They moved like two parts of the same machine, their chemistry undeniable. Paige drove to the basket with precision, weaving through defenders before kicking the ball out to Azzi, who drained a three-pointer with ease. The crowd roared, but neither player celebrated. There was still work to do.

On defense, they were equally relentless. Azzi intercepted a sloppy pass, immediately looking upcourt to find Paige sprinting ahead. The two connected on a fast break, with Paige finishing at the rim, her layup just brushing the backboard before dropping through the net. The opposing team called a timeout, desperate to regroup, but the damage had already been done.

“Keep pushing!” Geno shouted as the team huddled on the sideline. “They can’t stop you two if you stay locked in.”

Paige wiped sweat from her brow, her eyes never leaving Azzi. They were both breathing hard, but neither looked ready to slow down. Azzi smirked, leaning in close enough for only Paige to hear. “They’re scrambling out there. Let’s keep pushing.”

Paige chuckled, nodding. “Let’s do it.”

Back on the court, the intensity only ramped up. The opposing team fought hard, trading baskets and refusing to let UConn pull too far ahead. Every possession felt like a battle, with bodies colliding and tempers flaring. The crowd fed off the tension, their cheers and boos rising and falling with every play.

With three minutes left in the fourth quarter, the score was tied. Both teams were in the bonus, and the pressure was palpable. Paige dribbled at the top of the key, calling for a screen. Azzi set a perfect pick, giving Paige just enough room to drive into the paint. As the defense collapsed on her, Paige spotted Azzi slipping to the wing, wide open.

Without hesitation, Paige fired the ball to her. Azzi caught it in stride, rising for the shot. The ball hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before swishing through the net. The Pavilion erupted, the crowd on their feet, but there was no time to celebrate. The opposing team inbounded quickly, racing back down the court.

Azzi clapped her hands, barking out defensive assignments as Paige picked up the ball handler. They were back in sync, shutting down passing lanes and forcing a contested shot that clanged off the rim. Paige snagged the rebound, her eyes immediately searching for Azzi. Together, they pushed the pace, refusing to let their opponents catch their breath.

The crowd was on their feet as the clock ticked down in the fourth quarter. With under a minute to go, UConn clung to a comfortable lead. The pressure was suffocating, but Paige kept her composure. She called for a screen, weaving through defenders before dishing the ball to Azzi, who drained another three, putting UConn up by 13. As the final buzzer echoed through the UConn Pavilion, signaling the end of a thrilling Big East Championship game. The crowd exploded, a tidal wave of cheers and applause that seemed to shake the very foundations of the arena. Blue and white streamers and confetti rained down from the ceiling, filling the air with a sparkling, celebratory haze. Paige stood at center court as she took it all in.

This wasn’t just any win—it was the culmination of a season built on grit and determination, a season where they had a full roster for the first time in years. After a difficult, injury-riddled season the year before, where they barely had enough players to field a full squad, UConn had come roaring back this year, undefeated and ready to take on the world. Now, with the Big East Championship secured, the number one seed in March Madness was all but theirs.

Paige’s breath hitched as she realized the weight of it all. The last few years had been a rollercoaster, but this moment made every struggle worth it. She had a perfect season ahead of her, but more than that, she was just a few games away from possibly lifting the NCAA Championship. The emotions flooded her—joy, relief, pride—and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to fully feel them.

She didn’t notice the tears at first, but as they slid down her cheeks, it became impossible to ignore. She’d put everything into this season, everything into leading her team, and it was all coming to fruition in the most glorious way.

Azzi was by her side in an instant, sensing the shift in Paige’s demeanor. She didn’t hesitate, pulling Paige into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around her to offer comfort, strength, and love. The world around them faded. The noise of the crowd, the celebration, everything else was drowned out by the closeness of the moment.

They stood like that for what felt like eternity, Paige resting her head on Azzi’s shoulder, as if grounding herself in the support of the one person who had been with her through it all. Azzi held her tight, the intensity of the moment palpable between them.

In the hush of the hug, just for a moment, Paige’s lips brushed against Azzi’s neck in a soft, almost imperceptible gesture, as if confirming the unspoken bond they shared. Paige pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Azzi’s, the quiet words that passed between them only adding to the electric energy of the moment.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Paige whispered, her voice shaky with emotion.

Azzi’s smile was tender, her voice soft but filled with certainty. “And I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

As their hug lingered, the camera zoomed in on them, capturing every raw emotion. The jumbotron flickered to life, broadcasting their moment for everyone to see. The crowd’s cheers softened as they caught sight of the intimate exchange between the two. The connection between Paige and Azzi was undeniable, filled with so many emotions—victory, love, relief, and the silent promise that they were in this together.

Phones came out in the stands, fans capturing the moment for social media. Before the trophy presentation had even begun, the buzz was already growing. Speculation swirled across Twitter and Instagram, as fans and followers debated the nature of the relationship between Paige and Azzi. Some celebrated the bond they shared, praising their connection as something pure and powerful. Others weren’t so kind, questioning what they saw, unable to separate the intense chemistry on the court from their own assumptions.

@hoopsfanatic21: “That hug says it all. 💙@paigebueckers1 & @azzi_35 are not just teammates. Uconn is unstoppable! #BigEastChamps #TimeForMarchMadness

@CourtSideGurl: “Love seeing @azzi_35 and @paigebueckers1 show their bond on and off the court 😍🔥. But is it just me, or are we witnessing something more? #UConn #BigEastFinals"

@BasketballNews247: "Is @paigebueckers1 and @azzi_35 hug more than just a celebration? The chemistry between them is unreal. 🔥💔 #BigEastChamps #MarchMadness"

@SportsHotTake: "That hug... uncomfortable. Just me? Something feels off with this whole @paigebueckers1 and @azzi_35 dynamic.”

But while the social media storm began to rise, the team was still lost in the bliss of the present. They were too busy celebrating their victory, their trophy, and the joy of a perfect season to notice the online frenzy unfolding. The cameras caught the smiles of the team, the hugs exchanged, and the euphoria of a championship win—but none of them had any idea what was brewing off the court.

When the trophy presentation finally began, Paige was called forward as the Big East Championship MVP. She walked up, her steps steady but her heart racing. The roar of the crowd filled her ears, but she couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions that rose within her. Azzi’s eyes followed her every movement, filled with pride and admiration. When their gazes met, Azzi’s face softened, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was clear: Azzi was beyond proud of Paige.

Paige took the trophy, the weight of it symbolic not just of her individual achievement, but of the journey she had taken with her team, and with Azzi, by her side.

As the celebration continued, no one—least of all Paige or Azzi—could have anticipated the chatter just their moment of a hug on the jumbotron would cause.

As the sound of celebration slowly faded and the team filed back into the locker room, the excitement was still palpable. They had just won the Big East Championship—something they had worked so hard for all season. The coaches were still congratulating them, clapping each player on the back as they made their way toward their lockers. Paige, still holding her MVP trophy, exchanged high-fives with teammates, her heart still pounding from the win.

It was only when they started pulling their phones from their bags that the first signs of the online firestorm hit. Caroline, who had just unlocked her phone, looked up in surprise as her eyes scanned the screen. Her expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief.

"Guys, you need to see this," she said, walking toward Paige and Azzi, who were in the middle of a quiet exchange, still basking in the glow of their victory.

Paige and Azzi both looked up, but it was Azzi who answered, her voice casual. "See what?"

Caroline handed over her phone, showing them the flood of tweets, Instagram posts, and viral videos featuring their hug on the jumbotron. The speculation was rampant. Caroline pointed to one tweet in particular.

Paige and Azzi exchanged a quick, surprised glance. Their hug had only been a moment of raw emotion between them—a celebration of everything they had worked for. Yet, now it was at the center of a social media storm.

“Wow,” Paige said softly, shaking her head. "Just a hug, huh?"

Azzi laughed softly, a touch of disbelief in her voice. "Guess it’s a lot more than that."

Caroline gave them a sympathetic look, her face mixed with concern and amusement. "I’m sure you two didn’t expect this. But honestly? You look so happy together, people can’t help but notice."

Paige nodded, still processing everything. "We’re fine with it," she said quietly. "It’s not like we’re trying to hide anything. But we also didn’t think it’d blow up like this."

Azzi gave a short chuckle, her smile still warm. "Yeah, but it is what it is."

Before they could discuss it any further, Geno walked into the locker room, signaling that they needed to head to the interview room. "Let’s go, ladies. Time for interviews."

As they walked down the hallway, the weight of the conversation they were about to have loomed in the air. Both Paige and Azzi were quietly processing the fact that their moment was now out in the open, and they were about to face questions they hadn’t prepared for.

The interview room was filled with media members, cameras flashing as Paige and Azzi entered, still wearing their uniforms. The reporters’ chatter quickly died down as Paige and Azzi took their seats at the front, with the MVP trophy sitting proudly on the table in front of Paige and the team trophy sitting in front of Azzi.

For the first few minutes, the questions were all basketball-related. The reporters congratulated Paige for her MVP performance, and Azzi was asked about her contributions to the game. They talked about their preparation, their teamwork, and what it meant to secure the number one spot in March Madness.

One reporter, sensing an opening, leaned in. "Paige, Azzi," the reporter began, "we all saw that emotional moment between the two of you after the win. With everything going on right now, fans seem to be reacting strongly to your connection. Have you two seen what’s been happening on social media?"

Azzi and Paige exchanged a quick glance, the weight of the moment sinking in. Paige was the first to speak, her voice steady but calm. "We haven’t seen it, no," she said, glancing at Azzi for a moment. "But Caroline showed us a quick glimpse at what people were saying."

The reporter leaned forward, eager to get more. "So, with all the attention on that moment, what’s your take on it?"

Paige took a breath, thinking carefully before she responded. "Azzi and I have been through everything together," she began, her voice softening with the weight of their shared history. "I’ve known her since I was a teenager. We’ve played on Team USA together, we’ve been through injuries together, and we’ve been at UConn together. Our bond is deep, and we’ve been through a lot. But we’re both private people, and we’ve always kept our personal lives just that—personal."

Azzi nodded in agreement, her tone calm but firm. "Yeah, it’s about respect. We’ve got a deep connection that’s been built over years of friendship and shared experiences. But we don’t feel the need to explain it all. We’re focused on basketball, on the championship, on what comes next."

Paige added, "What’s important right now is what we’re doing together as a team. We’ve been through a lot to get to this point, and we’re focused on the bigger picture."

The reporter, sensing they weren’t about to get an explicit answer, nodded, respecting their choice to keep things private.

The conversation shifted back to basketball, but the subtle way they spoke left room for interpretation. Neither Paige nor Azzi confirmed anything, but their words said enough to make it clear that they weren’t really hiding anything anymore.

…

After the game ended and the interviews were done, Paige and Azzi made their way out the back of the UConn Pavilion, where a crowd of fans waited excitedly. Paige, casually holding Azzi’s bag, seemed unfazed by the attention, her focus more on the quiet moment shared with Azzi. They stopped to take a few pictures with fans, each fan bubbling with excitement.

One fan, snapping a picture, grinned. “You two always seem to be together. I couldn't stand being with my bestfriend 24/7.”

Paige chuckled and shot a playful look at Azzi. “Just good teamwork,” she said with a wink,

Azzi, leaning in a little closer, grinned. “Yep, we work well together. Can’t ask for a better partner,” she teased, her voice light, but with an undercurrent of something more.

Another fan, snapping pictures, noticed Paige holding Azzi’s bag and raised an eyebrow. “That’s sweet. You always carry her stuff?”

Paige shot the fan a half-grin. “What can I say? I’m just really good at helping out,” she said casually, making no effort to downplay the closeness.

Azzi rolled her eyes dramatically, but her smile never faltered. “Yeah, she’s sooo helpful,” Azzi teased, nudging Paige’s shoulder as if they were sharing some private joke.

One fan, waving their hand frantically in an attempt to catch Paige’s attention, called out her name. But Paige was too engrossed in conversation to notice.

Azzi, noticing the fan’s efforts, leaned in with a mischievous smile and whispered in Paige's ear, "Someone’s trying to get your attention."

Paige didn’t look up right away, still distracted by the fan she was talking to. Azzi raised an eyebrow and, with a quick glance toward the fan, turned back to Paige, her voice a little more playful and louder this time. “Hey, babe,” she said, her words slow and teasing, her tone deliberately flirtatious. “Someone’s calling you.”

Paige finally turned, raising an eyebrow at Azzi’s tone but smiling when she realized what was happening. “What? You’re just trying to get me to notice you, huh?”

Azzi smirked, a confident glint in her eye. “Maybe, but I think I’d rather help our fan out,” she said, nudging Paige toward the excited fan, who was still waiting.

Paige chuckled, clearly amused. “Alright, alright. I’m here,” she said with a grin, finally turning her full attention to the fan.

Azzi leaned in a little closer to Paige so only she could hear, her voice lowering just enough to be playful but filled with flirtation. “You know, it’s kinda cute how much attention you get. I think they’re all a little obsessed with you,” she teased, her lips curling in a smile. At this, Paige smiles at Azzi, letting her know she heard her as they share a moment with one another.

The fan was clearly excited. “I just wanted to say that you two are great together! You make the best team on and off the court.”

Azzi glanced at Paige with a knowing smile. “Well, what can we say? We make a pretty good duo,” she replied, her eyes locked on Paige, the chemistry undeniable. “But we’re just doing what we do best.”

Paige grinned, her fingers lightly adjusting the strap on Azzi’s bag. “Yeah, we’re just two people making it work. No big deal,” she said casually, giving the fan a smile. “Thanks for the love!”

As they wrapped up the conversation, another fan shouted from a little further away, trying to get Paige’s attention. This time, the fan looked directly at Azzi, unsure how to catch Paige’s eye.

Azzi, with a playful smirk, turned to Paige and said, “Looks like we’ve got another one. Maybe I should help them out, huh?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You really do like playing matchmaker, don’t you?”

Azzi just gave her a sly wink, leaning closer to Paige’s ear and in a loud enough voice for the fan to hear, she called out, “Hey, Paige! You’re needed over there!” Her words were light and teasing, her eyes never leaving Paige’s face.

The fan’s eyes widened, both at the sound of Azzi’s playful tone and the way she effortlessly got Paige’s attention. Paige couldn’t help but laugh, finally turning to the fan. “Sorry about that! What’s up?”

Azzi leaned in and whispered with a teasing grin, “I think I just became your personal hype woman.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head but clearly enjoying the playful banter. “Clearly, you’ve got this whole thing down.”

As they continued to chat with the fans, one of them pointed out their matching phone cases, prompting another round of smiles. “Are those matching cases?” the fan asked, grinning. “That’s so cute!”

Azzi, glancing down at the phones she was holding with a smirk, nudged Paige. “Guess we’re just on the same wavelength,” she said, her voice light but flirtatious.

Paige shot her a sideways grin. “Don’t lie, I got those for us.”

As they made their way to the car, more fans continued to watch, whispering excitedly about everything they had just seen.

Azzi overheard and shot Paige a teasing look. “Guess I’m getting spoiled tonight,” she said, her voice dripping with playful affection.

Paige opened the car door for Azzi with a smile, not even thinking about it as she helped Azzi slide in. “What can I say? Someone’s gotta treat you right.”

Azzi’s grin widened. “You’re officially my chauffeur now. I’ll make sure to tip well.”

As the car pulled away from the Pavilion, the fans' murmurs continued to buzz. Social media lit up again, fans sharing every little detail they’d just witnessed: Paige holding Azzi’s bag, the matching phone cases, Paige opening the car door for Azzi, the two of them flirting in front of fans. It was a game of subtle hints, with the fans eagerly picking up on every unspoken gesture.

Paige looked over at Azzi, her eyes soft. ��Guess the fans will have a lot to talk about tonight.”

Azzi just laughs at this saying it’ll probably get 10x worse during March Madness.

@melpthatsme

[l-1-z-a]

🧩 The Sims 2: FreeTime Hobbies Mind Map – A Look at a Deeper Hobby System

Because of the announcement of the Business and Hobbies expansion pack for The Sims 4 and because people are writing that few hobbies were provided there, I wanted to share the mind map for The Sims 2: FreeTime expansion pack that was created by The Sims 2 developers during development of this expansion pack and shared by Lindsay Pearson (SimsGuruPearson) on September 23, 2015, on X/Twitter.

This mind map illustrates the hobby system introduced in The Sims 2: FreeTime. It shows how different gameplay mechanics related to hobbies are interconnected.

Main Elements of the Mind Map:

1. Hobbies – The Central Node

All mechanics related to hobbies branch out from this core concept.

2. Heavy Hobbies

These involve more active pursuits, including:

Sports (basketball hoop, soccer net, football toss)

Games (board games, PC games, RC cars/helicopters)

Science (telescope additions, ant farm, stargazing enhancements)

Music (violin, modular synth)

Fitness (exercise bike, jogging, protein shakes)

Arts & Crafts (pottery wheel, sewing machine)

Engineering/Tinkering (train kit, repairable car, tinker interaction)

3. Light Hobbies

These involve less physically intense activities:

Nature (bug collecting, bird watching, hiking)

Literature (writing novels, reading unique books)

Food (judging contests, food platters, nectar bar)

Entertainment (TV additions, merchandise)

4. Hobby System (Tracking)

The mechanics that govern hobbies, including:

Hobby Factors (various influences on hobby progress)

Instruct Interaction (mentoring between Sims)

Hobby Chance Cards (random events related to hobbies)

Share Hobby Tips (Sims discussing their hobbies)

Hobby Secret Lots (exclusive locations for Sims with high enthusiasm)

Iconic Hobbyists (notable Sims tied to certain hobbies)

"The Zone" (a gameplay effect for mastery in hobbies)

5. Lifetime Fulfillment

How hobbies connect to Sims’ long-term aspirations, friendships, and parenting mechanics.

6. Preoccupation (Hobby Obsession)

Additional interactions related to hobbies:

Sims talking about hobbies

Newspaper sections dedicated to hobbies

Sims dreaming about hobbies

Hobby-related idle animations

A computer patch for blogging and surfing about hobbies

7. New Careers

Careers linked to hobbies with objects like the drafting table, ballet bar, koi pond, surveillance mic, and fame star rug.

This mind map visually explains how FreeTime expands the game by integrating hobbies into careers, social interactions, and long-term aspirations, making Sims' lives feel more dynamic and immersive.

Source:

[rey-129-fan]

Well, it's been a while since I've posted any fanfic... Let's change that.

Good news! I'm not dead! My brain did try to get me to do things that could unalive myself for a bit, and then I lost nearly an entire side of my family over the span of 3 years, but I'm still here and still kicking! And I have two new puppies who are adorable and so loving.

Now for this story, this is inspired by a few posts I saw on @theglamorousferal, mostly the one about Amity Parkers going to college in Gotham and buying a hotel (I'm making it a co-op student house, but I've never lived in one, so if something's unacceptably wrong, tell me, if not, artistic license), but also the one where our main Trio buy a building to set up shop there, and wind up adopted my Jason (I swear, I saw that post after I wrote the first chapter, but it just fit so well).

***

Honestly, Amity Park was weird long before the Fentons moved there- the original settlers named the nearby lake Eerie, and it wasn’t after the Great Lake.  It’s just that before the Fentons’ machine punched a hole through reality and created a permanent doorway to the land of spirits and ghosts, the weirdness was not as blatant.

Prior to that, Amity Parkers were some of the few that could move to Gotham without suffering a breakdown that was common for new arrivals.  Now there was a slight dip in newcomers for about a decade or two after the Bat made his debut and then the crazies that followed him, but then Amity Parkers got used to the spirits of the dead wandering around following the aforementioned punching through reality.

All this to say that Gotham Universities were a rather common destination for young Amity Park adults seeking higher education.

Now because of this, there were always apartments advertising themselves for people from the small town.  They, after all, tended to not have a breakdown after their fifth rogue attack and just pack up and leave halfway through their lease.  But it got very annoying having to sift through all the advertisements when looking for a place to stay- something Danny Fenton saw his older sister go through when she got in to Gotham City University.  The boy then shared what he was witnessing with his two best friends- Tucker Foley and Sam Manson.  Tucker offered to help filter out the spam, which Danny’s sister Jazz thanked him for but turned down.  Sam… Sam instead got thinking.

Sam had been to Gotham a few times in her life.  She had an idea of the areas closest to the schools and how much those should cost.  And looking at the letters Jazz was getting, the offers were a little too high for a regular college student to afford.  Sam was also familiar with how many hotels were not being used in Gotham- people building them in hopes tourists would come to stay while visiting the East Coast, tourists that could not be convinced to visit due to the high crime rate and the lack of activities or places of interest in the city itself.

She quickly went to work, looking in to these empty hotels.  She was rather upset by their numbers and put together a spreadsheet of them, with details like number of rooms, any amenities they may have, and nearby landmarks.  She then grabbed her two dorks and marched to Casper High’s Community Outreach director.

Now Sam’s presentation raised a few eyebrows, mostly because it was in a completely different state, but Sam shot back that because of the efforts to incorporate the town’s new ghostly residents and provide them with helpful ways to feed their obsessions- efforts led by the Fenton family- Amity Park had very few homeless, and those that were had a huge community safety net to help them get back on their feet.  Additionally, with how many people moved between the city and the town, helping the city could be argued to also be helping the town.

The Outreach Director just sighed and gave Same the green light to at least draft and send out a proposal to the powers that be in Gotham, saying that there wasn’t much that could be done before they got backing and approval.  Sam thanked them before leaving, Danny and Tucker trailing behind.

She was back the next day with a draft of her proposal and a list of who to send it to.

***

Since returning from the dead in the eyes of the public, Jason Todd was often contacted by groups trying to use the Wayne fortune to fund their own personal projects.  They thought Jason would be the easiest to con- sorry, persuade- since he was a former street kid unlike the rest of his family.  Thus surely he would know just how much this new building with low income housing would help the people of Gotham- it even came with a pool and gym!

Yeah, he did know how much the people of Gotham needed housing, but $2K a month was not affordable when you’re barely making $30K a year!  Oh and the pool and gym were only available for those who could shell out an additional $2K a month.  Jason knows, he read the whole document carefully.

God, sometimes it was hard to tell who was worse, the psychos in Blackgate or real estate investors.  And sadly, he couldn’t just pop a bullet in their heads and be done with it because 1) it would raise too many questions and 2) it would make Bruce get all sad and mopey- again.  Jason just did not have the mental energy to put up with that on top of the rest of his life as a crimelord/vigilante/long-lost adoptive second son of a billionaire.

All this to say, he was not impressed when he first glanced over a proposal to convert the unused hotels around the city into housing units- especially since it was from someone that did not live in Gotham.

Manson?  Wasn’t there a family with that name that would attend some of Brucie’s galas?  Oh yeah, their family made its fortune off patenting the machine that wrapped toothpicks in plastic, as well as a couple others.  And they had a daughter around Repla- Tim’s age.  Hopefully this wasn’t her trying to be a kiss-ass like her parents.

Jason finished reading and sat back.  The proposal wasn’t too bad.  Converting hotels into apartment buildings would be easier than office buildings, and the suggestion to use ex-convicts that wanted to turn over a new leaf as building managers certainly wasn’t the worst.  Also creating a fund for those that couldn’t afford rent, as well as community kitchens and gardens were certain plusses, though would need to have the right people in charge to make sure they actually worked as planned, and to keep the Court of Owls from messing with it.

Overall, it was something Jason would consider, after some research and maybe talking with the rest of the Bats and Birds.  And if this was from the Manson kid, maybe get Dickie or one of the others to talk to her next time there was a gala in town.  Or talk to her himself, if the Pit wasn’t too loud.

…Dick was probably the better option to talk with her if it came down to it.

***

There's the first chapter. I'm going to go write the next one. When I have a good log of them, I'll then go and edit them and put them on AO3.

This has no title yet because I suck at naming. Feel free to comment with suggestions for a name, both for the fic/au and for the eventual hotel/co op. As well as any shinanegans and majors/colleges/universities for our liminal young adults.

Part 1/? Next >

[sunwalker-evermore]

☀️ OO1 - cyber themed npts

☀️ names 01, 404, ada, ajax, astra, bit, blink, byte, cersei, circuit, click, code, cyber, dex, dot, encrypt, exe, flash, futura, gizmo, glitch, hack, hotwire, lux, mecha, mechanism, metal, minus, neo, net, one, pearl, pixel, plus, python, robot, spark, tera, tilde, vesper, vi, web, xios, xyl, xylen, zap, zen, zero

☀️ pronouns .gif/.gifs, .jpg/.jpgs, alt/alts, by/byte, cd/cds, click/clicks, code/codes, compu/computer, cpu/cpus, cy/cyan, cy/cyber, elec/electric, file/files, gli/glitch, glow/glows, hack/hacks, img/imgs, key/keys, link/links, machine/machines, malware/malwares, metal/metals, neo/neos, num/number, pc/pcs, pix/pixel, screen/screens, tab/tabs, tech/techs, txt/txts, type/types, url/urls, web/website, wire/wires, zero/one, >/>self, #/#self, !/!self, ?/?self, +/+self, ae/aem, ce/cem, ky/kyr, ny/nym, vi/vir, zy/zyr, hz/hzm, shz/hzr, thzy/thzm, zt/zts, 💿/💿self, ⌨️/⌨️self

☀️ titles the cybernetic, the encrypted one, the one born of technology, the supercomputer, the virtual one, prn behind the screen, prn between the lines of code, prn from cyberspace, prn made of binary, prn of code, error 404: [name] not available

☀️ @id-pack-archive

[blue-jisungs]

a night to remember

[ song inspo ! ] a night to remember by laufey, beabadoobee

[ author’s note ! ] ive been waiting for AGES to write something borderline psychological/lucid dream-y so HERE YALL GO tbh im proud of this one & u got to see how my brain works on a daily basis (chaos :3)

[ req ! ] yes, here by @slytherinshua <3 hope u like it since i knda went off track teehee

[ summary ! ] riwoo isnt sure which reality is real. or, is there even one sigle reality - are you his? or are you his dream?

[ extras ! ] can be read as both non idol / idol riwoo; ansgty if u look at it, kind of an open ending. its kind of like a puzzle but i dont wanna spoil it - and also, do let me know ur theories hehe<3

[ word count ! ] 1702

[ net ! ] @onedoornet

sanghyeok entered the cafe, headphones playing his recent favorite music. he sat down at his usual spot, in the corner of the room. that way he always had a view for the whole place.

his routine was always the same: order, busy himself until you come in. you either talk or ignore him and then… right. then what? then sanghyeok kind of blacks out, he can never remember how he got home so late.

therefore, he’s stirring his vanilla latte and counting the navy colored sprinkles on his donut. it clearly wasn’t fresh – and naturally, bought from a store. he abhorred this cafe. the sweets were usually old and hard as a rock and their coffee was bitter, too watery for his liking. actually, he hated coffee.

but yet, somehow, he was always here.

he was always here ordering this awful food and horrendous coffee (hell, even their lemonade tastes like water from washing machine after cleaning it with lemon soap). waiting for you. just to look at him. to chat with him.

to kiss him.

“hyeok!”

his eyes shot up and met yours, scrunched in a smile. he straightened his back and waved at you, signaling you to sit down.

but you came up to him and pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek. due to your close proximity he took a deep breath to enjoy your scent. you always smelled like fresh laundry, almost like his pillows and duvets.

“how are you?” you hummed sweetly, voice far more sugary than the donut he ordered. sitting in front of him, you didn’t wait for his answer.

sanghyeok just nodded with a grin, heart easing. you came, after all. your melodic voice started gradually transitioning into an unpleasant ringing in his ears.

riwoo opened his eyes, body jolting forward. he fell asleep.

shaking his head, he blinked away the remains of sleep. reattaching the hand from his chin that he used to prop himself, he felt sore. staying too long in the same position again, he looked around.

the cafe was almost empty. a couple of people he could swear he had seen before and some employees.

riwoo looked at his non-touched order, coffee cold and the foam completely dissolved.

with a heavy sigh he packed his belongings and put his earphones in, heading home.

empty streets were soaked with darkness, only occasional street lamps guiding him home. there and here shadows of passing people followed him, some of them morphing into various shapes rather than being human alike.

he finally slipped back home, too tired and devastated to change into pyjamas.

falling with his headphones on the bed, breathing in the scent of his bed, he–

“hyeok, are you even listening?” your voice hugged him, surrounding all his senses, in a slightly choking hold.

“yes, yes. i just– i missed you” he grinned and felt your hand on his back, rubbing it in a reassuring motion.

“you’re so cute, always daydreaming about me even when i’m next to you” you whispered into his ear.

sanghyeok faced you, something in your eye reminding him of somebody he used to know.

“wait, excuse me. what’s your name, again?”

for a split second your face morphed into fear.

“l/n y/n, silly. i’m your partner” you cocked your head, furrowing your brows a bit “you seem distracted today”

“i just… i thought i was dreaming” he mumbled. something about your touch was unclear, slightly blurry. but maybe he was just making things up.

“i can tell. let me order you another coffee. your macchiato already went cold” you hummed and pressed a tender kiss onto his lips. your comforting scent filled his nostrils.

“right” sanghyeok nodded, zoning out and looking at the piece of carrot cake in front of him. the icing looked ickingly, fluorescently white. unnaturally and fakely.

this day was exhausting. uni was kicking ass and he kind of pushed his limits by going to the gym earlier.

“i ordered. okay, now tell me, where are you taking me tomorrow?” you asked excitedly, sparkles in your eyes.

“tomorrow?” sanghyeok repeated in small voice, scanning your features. he had to blink twice so they sharpened in his eyes.

“yeah! we have our one year anniversary tomorrow! come on, hyeok” you whined, tugging his sleeve. “you told me you have a surprise!”

“i… i do, yeah. i do have a surprise!” he answered with a smile. it must have totally escaped his mind since he had no clue “it will be a night to remember, i can promise you that”

“sounds good” with a grin, you shuffled closer to him.

the rest of the conversation turned into one blur, his answers one worded or one sentenced. he was just really tired.

somehow before he realized, you were putting his scarf on him. right, it’s cold outside.

“you’re so sleepy. let’s just go home, okay? text me when you get back” you smiled softly and cupped his cheeks “i’ll see you in your dreams tonight, hm?”

riwoo’s eyes shot open, body flinging forward. his duvet fell off, chest rising up and down.

he wiped sweat that formed on his forehead and rushedly grabbed his glasses off the nightstand.

taking deep breaths to calm down, he blinked the remains of his sleep away.

who were you?

maybe it was just a cute dream about finally having a partner.

but why is he so scared then?

besides your face seemed similar. and the words… what did you say? something about dreams…

“what the fuck” he laughed breathlessly, putting away his duvet that smelled like came out right from the washing machine.

his friends would laugh if he told them he woke up all sweaty and frightened after dreaming about a date.

busying himself with getting ready, the strange dream escaped his mind. he had to rush to class and then he promised himself he’ll study a bit.

riwoo entered the cafe, headphones playing his recent favorite music. he sat down at his usual spot, in the corner of the room. that way he always had a view for the whole place.

after ordering, he pulled out his books and took a deep sigh.

“lock in” he mumbled, getting ready to shift obrona focused mode to study the material. next week there’s a really important exam—

“your iced americano and red velvet cake. enjoy” the waiter arrived and riwoo moved his books to make place for his order.

“thank you” he smiled and looked up. the waiter’s face seemed somehow familiar. the eyes were exactly the same shade… no, he’s just going insane.

riwoo shook his head and took a bite of the cake. his face twisted into disgust, the chonky texture making it hard to swallow. should red velvet even be chonky?

he paused the music to listen to the noises of his surroundings. the clacking of silverware, soft jazz music, chatter of customers.

his eyes zoned out on the door, brows slightly furrowed. he had a feeling as if this happened already.

then, he watched you walk through the door. something in your eye reminded him of somebody he used to know, a strong feeling of deja vu hitting him.

riwoo followed your steps with his eyes. you approached the cashier, placed your order and sat down at a nearby table.

he gulped, anxiety creating a web over his heart like a venomous spider.

the waiter gave you your order, a vanilla latte and a donut glazed with navy icing.

before riwoo could realize, his legs lead him towards you. mouth opening to ask for your name, he first gently touched your arm to get your attention but you melted away under his touch.

for a split moment he stared into the steaming cup, halting his moves.

“how can i help you, sir?”

he started at, taking a sharp breath. turning around, he saw the waiter that gave him his order earlier.

“i, uh, just…” he gulped, looking at the place where you sat. riwoo blinked twice but no words came out of his mouth. then, he turned his head back to the waiter.

just to see your face.

so he was right! those eyes seemed familiar!

“y/n?” he asked.

and as soon as your name left his lips, he suddenly saw his room in front of his eyes.

sanghyeok leaned to turn his night lamp on, chest rising up and down irregularly.

“dude, are you okay?”

the door to his room swung open and his roommate, jaehyun, approached him.

“you keep saying weird shit in your sleep, i thought something possessed you”

sanghyeok looked at him, analyzing his face carefully. is jaehyun real? is he really his roommate?

sanghyeok reached his hand out to touch him, to check if he won’t dissolve into thin air too.

“i know you love me but that’s gross” jaehyun scrunched his nose and leaned away before sanghyeon’s fingertips could brush his skin “do you need any water? maybe melatonin? i noticed you have troubles sleeping lately”

“y-yeah. i think it’s the pre-exam stress” sanghyeok stuttered out, his throat itchy “you have some sleeping meds?”

“i got some!”

sanghyeok’s heart stopped in his chest, mouth going dry.

you walked through the door, messy hair and jaehyun’s hoodie draping over your shoulders.

you sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

sanghyeok watched you with wide eyes, shifting further away from you.

“c’mon dude, you’re freaking me out. did you have a nightmare? you’re acting like you saw a ghost” jaehyun sighed, rubbing his eye with one of his hands. the other he placed on your shoulder and squeezed it gently.

you grabbed sanghyeok’s hand and opened his palm, putting a navy pill in the middle.

he looked at you, unsure.

“just trust me, you’ll be out like a baby” you whispered sweetly, closing his palm.

and for a mere moment, he couldn’t tell if the laundry smell was his duvet or you.

if he was in the cafe, sitting on a date with you and jaehyun handing him the old, musty donut with navy sprinkles on it.

if the weird sparkle in your eye was real or his lucid dream.

bnd mlist | event mlist

taglist. @rubywonu,, @tricky-ritz ,, @slytherinshua ,, @weird-bookworm

[saturniasxenos]

Cyber / Virtual ID Pack

Inside this pack, you will find: Pronouns, Titles, Names, and Genders that relate to Virtuality, Cybernetic, Robots, and anything alike!

This features a LOOOONG list of pronouns and dystopian-ish names!

Pronouns:

Cy/Cyb/Cyber/Cybers/Cyberself

Vir/Virt/Virtual/Virtuals/Virtualself

Ne/Net/Network/Networks/Networkself

Ne/Net/Nets/Nets/Netself

In/Inter/Internet/Internets/Internetself

Co/Comp/Computer/Computers/Computerself

In/Inpu/Input/Inputs/Inputself

Ou/Out/Output/Outputs/Outputself

Vi/Viru/Virus/Viruses/Virusself

Anti/Antivir/Antivirus/Antiviruses/Antivirusself

Er/Erro/Error/Errors/Errorself

Sys/Syste/System/Systems/Systemself

Pro/Proce/Processor/Processors/Processorself

Di/Digi/Digital/Digitals/Digitalself

Do/Down/Download/Downloads/Downloadself

Up/Uplo/Upload/Uploads/Uploadself

Cor/Corru/Corrupt/Corrupts/Corruptself

Mal/Malwa/Malware/Malwares/Malwareself

Se/Secur/Security/Securitys/Securityself

Cry/Crypt/Crypto/Cryptos/Cryptoself

We/Web/Webs/Webs/Webself

Web/Webs/Website/Websites/Websiteself

Fu/Futu/Future/Futures/Futureself

Ro/Rob/Robot/Robots/Robotself

Rob/Robo/Robotic/Robotics/Roboticself

By/Byt/Byte/Bytes/Byteself

Fi/Fil/File/Files/Fileself

Ra/Ram/Rams/Rams/Ramself

Scr/Scre/Screen/Screens/Screenself

Te/Tech/Techs/Techs/Techself

Te/Tech/Techno/Technos/Technoself

Tec/Techno/Technology/Technologys/Technologyself

Ma/Mach/Machine/Machines/Machineself

Wi/Wir/Wire/Wires/Wireself

Na/Nan/Nano/Nanos/Nanoself

Da/Dat/Data/Datas/Dataself

Plu/Plug/Plugs/Plugs/Plugself

Ele/Elect/Electric/Electrics/Electricself

Ke/Key/Keys/Keys/Keyself

Pa/Pass/Password/Passwords/Passwordself

Ter/Term/Terminal/Terminals/Terminalself

Cy/Cybo/Cyborg/Cyborgs/Cyborgself

Ty/Typ/Type/Types/Typeself

Fi/Firm/Firmware/Firmwares/Firmwareself

Ha/Hard/Hardware/Hardwares/Hardwareself

So/Soft/Software/Softwares/Softwareself

Ha/Hack/Hacks/Hacks/Hackself

Ha/Hack/Hacker/Hackers/Hackerself

Si/Sig/Signal/Signals/Signalself

Clo/Clou/Cloud/Clouds/Cloudself

On/Onli/Online/Onlines/Onlineself

In/Insta/Install/Installs/Installself

Co/Cod/Code/Codes/Codeself

Ad/Admi/Admin/Admins/Adminself

Gra/Graph/Graphic/Graphs/Graphself

Sy/Syn/Synth/Synths/Synthself

Phi/Phis/Phish/Phishs/Phishself

Phi/Phish/Phishing/Phishings/Phishingself

Do/Dox/Doxs/Doxs/Doxself

Si/Sit/Site/Sites/Siteself

Bo/Bot/Bots/Bots/Botself

Pho/Phon/Phone/Phones/Phoneself

Key/Keyboa/Keyboard/Keyboards/Keyboardself

Mo/Mou/Mouse/Mouses/Mouseself

Chi/Chip/Chips/Chips/Chipself

Moth/Mother/Motherboard/Motherboards/Motherboardself

Co/Com/Compute/Computes/Computeself

Pi/Pira/Piracy/Piracys/Piracyself

En/Encry/Encrypt/Encrypts/Encryptself

PDA/PDAs

CPU/CPUs

URL/URLs

404/404s

📱/📱's

💻/💻's

⌨️/⌨️'s

🖥/🖥's

🖱/🖱's

💿/💿's

🎙/🎙's

Titles:

The Cyborg

(X) Whos Wired

Made of Nanotech

(X) Who Uses Nanotech

Scholar of Machines

The Cyber Security

(X) Who Has Cyber Wings

Connected Online

Offline

Unable to Connect

The Administrator

Synthesizer

The Hacker

Nanohacker

The Antivirus

Reconnecting...

ERROR: Unable to Connect

ERROR 404

ERROR: Malware Detected

Names:

Since names don't usually have "techy" meanings, I picked one's that sounded the most cybernetic, cyberpunkish, dystopian, virtualish, etc!

Fem: Althea, Ameris, Astoria, Arcadia, Astra, Beretta, Cyra, Crystal, Crosselle, Eve, Io, Jinx, Kit, Lilith, Meridian, Morrian, Nebula, Nova, Neve, Noxia, North, Octavia, Odette, Odile, Prota, Pistol, Rey, Rue, Rain, Raine, Stormy, Seraphina, Sona, Skye, Thundra, Tempest, Vega, Viva, Vinette, Venus, Xenia, Xya, Xena, Xiomara, Xenara, Xanthe, Zephyria, Zyla, Zadie, Zia,

Masc: Alaric, Aksel, Arden, Antares, Apollo, Ace, Asher, Cole, Cyrus, Code, Draven, Drift, Ender, Flynn, Hawk, Isaac, Jericho, Kip, Kai, Koios, Knox, Nox, Neo, Nero, Octavian, Orionis, Oghma, Paine, Rocket, Ray, Rai, Silas, Slader, Sebastian, Seth, Seraphim, Thalax, Theo, Thatch, Vox, Vector, Wyatt, Xyon, Xane, Xylan, Xerxes, Xayden, Xavier, Xander, Zander, Zayden, Zenith, Zev, Zale, Zane, Zaire, Zeke,

Neu: Andras, Axe, Axiom, Alloy, Allele, Ash, Arrow, Beetle, Chrom, Corvus, Dakota, Dell, Eos, Echo, Eden, Fox, Ghost, Glöckner, Hydrae, Ion, Jesper, Jett, Kursk, Lesath, Locklyn, Lyrae, Maddox, Nemo, Orca, Onyx, Oxygen, Panther, Rikko, Robin, Rune, Scorpion, Scorpius, Saturn, Sparrow, Sonar, Tore, Tauri, Techne, Techno, Ursae, Vesper, Volt, West, Wolf, Xen, Xenon, Zephyr, Zodiac, Zenon, Zeru, Zero, Zen

Genders:

Futuracityc: A gender related to futuristic cities

Futurafashic: A gender related to futuristic fashion

Futurahousic: A gender related to futuristic houses

Digigender: A digital gender. Rangeable from any digital thing or file; virus, malware, .txt, .mp3, antivirus, trojan, email, etc.

Cybergender: A gender or form of gender expression where ones gender or expression is deeply tied into Cyberpunk lore, culture, fashion or media.

CYBERWEAPONIC - a gender that feels like a digital or robotic weapon. this gender may also have ties to sentient AI used as a weapon, but not necessarily.

BIOAMOROBOTIC - a gender connected to being a robot who loves humanity and the world and finds joy all around them!

RobAnatomic - a gender under the anatomic system(link) related to robots, anatomy, robotic anatomy, the anatomy of robots, robots made to teach/study anatomy, anatomy based/related robots of some kind, the anatomy/biology of someone or something being robotic, having robotic anatomy, being a robot with an interest in anatomy and more.

Robogender - for people who’s gender identity aligns with machines/robots/androids/mechs/AIs.

Cyborwebic - a gender related to webcore, evil scientist aesthetics, artificial beings such as androids/cyborgs etc, turtleneck sweaters and old computer monitors

AI flag - this can be used for nonhuman, otherkin, gender, delusion.

Gendervirtual / Genderdigital - a gendersystem in which your gender is related to virtual ) digital themes and x , such as being a virtual ) digital x , a x who loves virtual ) digital themes , a virtual ) digital being who loves x themes , etc.

[lifeofpriya]

Reader being jack’s sister and dating Jannik and having to see them both suffer

hi!!! i slightly tweaked your request--I decided to go with the reader being Jack's best friend instead--I hope it was alright with you 🫶🏼

The Inner Turmoil

wc: 5.1k

"Welcome to the US Open semifinal between Jack Draper and Jannik Sinner," the announcer's voice boomed through the packed stadium, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety in your chest. You had a secret that no one else knew: you were dating Jannik, the stoic Italian with a fiery passion for the sport, but you were also Jack's best friend, the young Brit with the world at his racket strings.

The tension was palpable as the two men faced off across the net, each one's muscles coiled like springs, ready to unleash their power. You sat in the stands, your heart torn between your loyalty to your friend and your love for your partner. The crowd roared as they began to warm up, sending a shiver down your spine. You had been to countless tennis matches, but none had ever felt this personal, this intense.

Jack's eyes flicked up to the stands and found yours, a brief flash of camaraderie in the sea of faces. You gave him a reassuring smile, but it felt forced. You knew he was feeling the weight of the moment too. Jannik, on the other hand, remained focused, his eyes never straying from the ball as he practiced his serves. His concentration was unbreakable, a testament to the dedication that had brought him to this pinnacle of the sport.

The match began, and with it, the storm of emotions inside you grew. Every grunt, every smash, every bead of sweat that rolled down their faces was a silent scream echoing in your ears. You watched as Jack's forehand sliced through the air, a blur of power and precision that you had seen a thousand times before on the practice courts. Yet, today, it felt different. Today was a declaration of war against someone you cared for deeply.

Jannik returned the serve with an ease that was almost unnerving, his movements fluid and calculated. His eyes remained locked on the ball, a silent battle raging within him that you knew only too well. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of applause, a symphony of cheers and claps that washed over the court like a tidal wave. You felt a strange mix of pride and pain as you watched him move with the grace of a panther, his body a finely tuned machine honed to perfection.

You knew Jack was entering the match without having dropped a set, a clear sign of his dominance throughout the tournament. Yet, as the first game progressed, it was Jannik who drew first blood, serving an ace that left Jack staggering. You couldn't help but flinch as the ball whizzed past Jack's outstretched arm. The crowd's applause was thunderous, but it was the quiet nod of respect between the two players that spoke volumes.

Jack's face grew tight with determination, and he began to play with an intensity that could have powered a thousand bulbs. His shots grew more robust, his movements more agile, as he gave everything he had to match Jannik's relentless onslaught. You watched, your knuckles white as you gripped the armrests of your seat, feeling every point as if it were a personal victory or loss.

The match was a dance of power and finesse, a ballet of sweat and grunts, each volley a silent conversation between the two men you knew so intimately. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the green expanse of the court, and the air grew thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint tang of rubber.

As the first set progressed, you could feel the shift in momentum, a subtle tug-of-war that played out in the grunts and paces of the players. Jannik's serve remained unyielding, a thunderous force that had the crowd on the edge of their seats. But Jack was not one to be outdone. He had a fire in his eyes, a burning desire to prove himself against his friend and rival. His returns grew sharper, his volleys more precise, each point a testament to his unyielding spirit.

The rally grew longer, the ball a yellow comet streaking back and forth across the net. You could almost hear the whip of the strings as they connected, a rhythmic symphony of leather and gut that grew faster and more intense with every stroke. The crowd was on their feet now, a collective gasp escaping as Jannik lunged for a return that seemed impossible. His racket met the ball at the perfect angle, sending it spiraling into Jack's corner.

Jack dove, his body a blur of motion and desperation. The world seemed to slow as he stretched out his arm, his fingers brushing the line. The crowd held their breath, waiting for the umpire's call. "Out!" The word cut through the tension like a knife, and you felt a pang of disappointment for Jack, but also a surge of admiration for Jannik's unrelenting skill.

Jannik won the set, his fist pumping in the air, a silent roar escaping his lips. You watched as the two players walked to the net, slapping their rackets together in a show of respect that seemed almost forced. They knew the gravity of this moment, the unspoken understanding that friendship would take a backseat to ambition for the next few hours.

You couldn't help but notice how unusually pale and sweaty Jack was as he took his seat at the changeover. His eyes searched the crowd for a familiar face, and when they landed on you, he offered a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You knew that look—it was the look of someone who had given everything and was wondering if it was enough. You gave him a nod, a silent promise that you believed in him, and his shoulders squared slightly as he took a deep breath and turned back to the court.

Jannik, on the other hand, was a picture of calm. He wiped his face with a towel, took a sip of water, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the horizon. You knew he was visualizing his next moves, planning his strategy for the second set. He had the upper hand, but he wasn't one to take his opponent lightly, especially not Jack.

\\\

As the players took their positions for the second set, the air was thick with anticipation. The setting sun painted the court in a warm, golden light that made the players' shadows stretch long across the lines. The ball was tossed, and the rally began anew, each point a battle that could swing the tide of the match.

You watched as Jack retched onto the court, his body trembling from exhaustion and the weight of the moment. The crowd fell silent, a collective gasp escaping their lips as they watched him try to mop it up with a towel, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Not soon after, you had to watch Jannik awkwardly land on his left wrist, the pain etched clearly across his face. It was a sight you never wanted to see, but you knew that in the cutthroat world of professional tennis, it was all too common.

The umpire called for a medical time out, and the silence in the stadium was deafening as physios rushed out to tend to both Jack and Jannik. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you watched them both struggle with their own private wars of pain and endurance. This wasn't just a match anymore—it was a test of their wills, a battle of bodies and minds.

Jack took a deep breath and nodded to the physio, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at you, his eyes searching for reassurance, and you gave him a thumbs up, trying to infuse him with strength from across the court. Jannik kept stretching his left wrist--his non-dominant hand, thankfully--his face a mask of stoicism despite the apparent discomfort.

The physios retreated, and the match resumed, the tension in the air thick enough to slice with a knife. The second set resumed, each player fighting against their own limitations, pushing through pain you knew all too well from the countless hours you'd spent with them both, listening to their stories of perseverance and sacrifice.

Jack's serve was slower, the effort etched in every line of his face. Yet, there was a grit to him, a determination that was unyielding. He wasn't going to let this match slip away without a fight. His shots, though not as powerful as before, were strategic, aiming for Jannik's weaker side, testing the Italian's endurance.

Jannik, on the other hand, played with a newfound caution, his injured wrist a silent specter hovering over every shot. You could see the calculation in his eyes as he sized up Jack's condition, trying to gauge how much his opponent had left in the tank. His movements were deliberate, each step and swing a chess move in a high-stakes game of attrition.

The second set dragged on, both players refusing to give an inch. The tension grew so intense you could almost feel the strings on their rackets vibrating in your own chest. The crowd's whispers grew into a murmur, each point a delicate balancing act that could topple the scales in either direction. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and determination, the thwack of the ball a rhythmic heartbeat that echoed through the stadium.

Jack's face was a canvas of emotions: pain, anger, and a stubborn refusal to quit. His every move was a silent battle cry, a declaration that he wouldn't go down without a fight. You knew him better than most—his spirit was unbreakable, his will unyielding. Yet, as you watched him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of sweat and dirt, you couldn't help but worry. His breaths grew ragged, his steps less confident.

Jannik's eyes remained cold and focused, his body a study in discipline and control. The injury was a setback, but he wasn't going to let it define him. His groundstrokes remained sharp, his backhand a weapon that could slice through the tension. The crowd, once a thunderous symphony of cheers and jeers, had grown hushed, almost reverent. They knew they were witnessing something special, something more than just a tennis match.

The second set saw a series of nail-biting games, each one more intense than the last. The score was tight, a tug of war with no clear winner in sight. You found yourself leaning forward in your seat, your heart in your throat, as you watched the two men you cared about most push each other to their breaking points. The sun had fully set now, and the stadium lights bathed the court in a cool, electric glow that made every bead of sweat sparkle like a diamond.

Jack's serve had lost some of its earlier ferocity, but he compensated with precision, placing his shots with a newfound accuracy that tested Jannik's reflexes. The Italian, however, was not to be outdone. He dug deep, his eyes burning with a competitive fire that seemed to light up the night. Each point was a battle, each set a war, and the prize was a place in the finals of the US Open.

The crowd was on the edge of their seats, their collective breath held tight in their chests as the two gladiators of the tennis world clashed repeatedly. You felt a strange detachment, as if you were watching two parts of yourself fight for supremacy. Your heart ached for Jack's suffering, and your spirit soared with Jannik's successes. Yet, in the quiet moments between points, when their eyes met across the net, you saw something more than rivalry—a bond forged through shared passion and respect.

Jack's eyes grew distant, his mind a whirlwind of pain and fatigue. You knew he was trying to find that one thing to cling to, that one thought to keep him going. And then, in a flash of inspiration, he did. He thought of you, his best friend, his confidant, the one who had seen him at his worst and still believed in him. His gaze found you in the stands, and you could see the resolve harden in his expression.

The match continued, a back-and-forth of power and finesse, each player giving it their all. Jannik's wrist was clearly bothering him, but he played through the pain, his shots a little less forceful but just as deadly. The crowd, once a sea of divided loyalties, was now united in awe of the sheer grit on display. The thwack of the ball was punctuated by the occasional grunt, the only sound in the otherwise silent stadium.

Jack's body was a canvas of sweat, his eyes never leaving the ball as he anticipated Jannik's next move. Each time he scored, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a silent nod to you and the unwavering belief you had in him. You watched, your own heart racing, as he leaned over and whispered something to his coach, a newfound strategy forming in his mind.

Jannik eventually took the second set, his victory a silent shout of triumph in the face of adversity. The stadium erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, but you couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness for Jack. His eyes searched for yours again, and the look of determination in them was unmistakable. He wasn't done yet.

\\\

As the players switched sides for the third set, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. You knew what was coming—a final act of this epic showdown that would test the limits of their friendship and their bodies. The air was thick with the scent of burning desire and the metallic tang of effort.

Jack's serve was weaker than ever, but his volleys had a newfound precision that had the crowd murmuring in amazement. His legs, once a blur of motion, now moved with the deliberate grace of a ballet dancer, each step calculated to conserve energy. His eyes, though weary, held a fierce determination that mirrored Jannik's own.

The third set was a tug-of-war of the soul, each point a battle that could swing the match. You watched as Jannik's grip tightened on his racket, his teeth grinding with the effort of keeping his injured wrist steady. His serves were now a strategic dance of power and placement, each one a silent challenge to Jack's resilience.

Jack, on the other hand, was a picture of dogged persistence. His body language spoke volumes of the pain he was in, but his eyes never wavered. Every point he won was a victory not just for him, but for the friendship that had brought them here. The crowd was now a blur of faces, their cheers and gasps a symphony of anticipation and dread that played out in your heart.

The match stretched on, the scoreboard a silent judge that ticked away with each passing minute. The third set grew tighter, the points more intense, as Jannik and Jack pushed each other to the very brink of their abilities. You sat, your heart in your throat, as Jack stumbled but never fell, his spirit a roaring flame that seemed to grow with every challenge.

In the stands, you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders, the tension between your allegiances to your partner and your friend a palpable force. Each time the ball flew over the net, you felt your stomach drop, your nails digging into the armrest. You knew you had to stay strong, had to be there for both of them, no matter the outcome.

The third set grew into a marathon of wills, a test of endurance with even the most stoic fans leaning forward in their seats. The night grew cooler, the air thick with the scent of the city that never sleeps, a stark contrast to the serene battle being waged on the brightly lit court. You could see the beads of sweat rolling down their faces, the tremble in their legs as they sprinted back and forth.

You watched as Jack asked for a can of Coke, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. The umpire nodded, and a ball boy rushed to fetch it. As Jack took a sip, his eyes never leaving the court, you could see the gears turning in his mind. The third set was his chance to turn the tide, to show that he wasn't just a contender, but a champion in the making.

Jannik took his place at the baseline, his expression unreadable. He bounced the ball once, twice, then served. The ball soared through the air, a yellow streak that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before it smacked against Jack's racket. The crowd held their breath as Jack sent it back, a shot so precise it was like he had drawn a line with a laser. The rally continued, each player pushing themselves to the edge of their physical and mental limits.

"Game, set, match, Sinner!" The umpire's voice rang out through the stadium, and you felt your heart drop like a lead weight. Jannik had won the third set, the match, and with it, a spot in the finals. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and groans, but the sound was muffled by the rush of blood in your ears. You watched as Jannik dropped his racket and let out a roar of victory, his fists pumping the air as he took in the moment.

Jack, on the other hand, stood still, his shoulders slumped. The fight had drained from his eyes, leaving only a haunted look of defeat. He leaned over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. You knew he was hurting—not just from the loss, but from the sheer physical toll the match had taken on him.

As the players met at the net to shake hands, you felt a strange mix of pride and sadness. Jannik's eyes searched the crowd until they found yours, a look of both triumph and apology. You gave him a slight nod, understanding the price of victory. Jack's handshake was firm, his grip a silent testament to the respect he had for his good friend and rival.

The two men parted ways, Jannik jogging to his chair to celebrate with his team while Jack made his way to the locker room, his head down, lost in his own thoughts. You remained in your seat, the world around you a blur as you processed the emotional rollercoaster you had just witnessed. The applause felt distant, the flashing lights of cameras a stark reminder of the harsh reality of their careers.

You couldn't help but feel a sting of sadness for Jack. Despite his loss, he had given everything he had, pushing himself to the brink of collapse. His performance was nothing short of heroic, and you knew he would be back, stronger and more determined than ever. You made a mental note to be there for him, to listen to his woes and help him pick up the pieces.

But for now, you had to be there for Jannik. As he walked off the court, the roar of the crowd still ringing in your ears, you made your way down to the player's tunnel. The air was thick with the scent of victory and defeat, a potent mix that clung to your clothes and skin. You spotted his coach first, a look of relief and pride etched into his weathered features.

\\\

"Jannik played a hell of a match," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

His coach nodded, a proud smile crossing his face. "Yes, he did. And so did Jack."

You couldn't argue with that. The match had been a masterclass in grit and determination, a battle of wills that had left no room for anything but respect. You pushed through the crowd, the cacophony of voices and camera flashes a stark contrast to the quiet moments of camaraderie you'd shared with both players. Finally, you reached Jannik, who was signing autographs for the eager fans that lined the tunnel. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he excused himself, making his way over.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I know it wasn't easy for you."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tornado of emotions inside you. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his sweat-soaked shirt, the tremble of his muscles. "You were both amazing," you whispered into his ear, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Jannik's grip tightened around you, his chest heaving with deep breaths. "Thank you for being here," he murmured. "For understanding."

You nodded, your heart aching for Jack, for the pain you knew he was feeling. But you also felt a swell of pride for Jannik, for the sheer force of will he had displayed on that court. The battle was over, but the war of emotions waged on in your chest.

As Jannik walked away to face the media, you made your way to the locker room, the air cool and heavy with the scent of sweat and determination. The silence was a stark contrast to the roar of the stadium just moments ago. You found Jack slumped on a bench, his head in his hands.

"You okay?" You asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Jack looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and tired, but his smile was genuine. "Could've been better, but I gave it all I had."

You sat down beside him, your hand resting gently on his back. "You played incredibly, Jack. I'm so proud of you."

Jack let out a sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of his exhaustion. "It just wasn't enough," he murmured, his voice hoarse from the effort. "Jannik… he's on a different level today."

You nodded, knowing the truth in his words. "But you gave him a run for his money," you said, trying to soothe his bruised ego. "You didn't make it easy for him."

Jack chuckled, a hollow sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I guess I didn't. Just wish I could've done more."

You leaned in closer, whispering, "You'll get another shot. I know you will."

Jack nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thanks," he murmured. "Means a lot, coming from you."

For a moment, the two of you sat in the quiet, the buzz of the stadium outside the locker room a distant memory. You could see the weariness in Jack's posture, the pain of his loss a palpable presence between you. You felt torn, a piece of you celebrating Jannik's victory and another mourning Jack's defeat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked gently, breaking the silence.

Jack shook his head. "Not really. Just need some time to process it before I head back to the UK for the Davis Cup." He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "But thanks for being here. It means a lot."

You nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Of course. You know I've got your back, no matter what."

Jack offered a weak smile, the exhaustion etched on his face. "Yeah, I know. Thank you."

You both sat in silence for a while longer, the cacophony of the outside world a stark contrast to the quiet sanctum of the locker room. Finally, you stood up, gently squeezing his shoulder. "I'll give you some space. But you know where to find me if you need anything."

Jack nodded, his eyes a mix of gratitude and defeat. "I do. Thanks." He let out a chuckle, "go celebrate with him, yeah?" He nudged you gently, trying to lighten the mood. "He's your partner, after all."

You forced a smile, not wanting to leave Jack alone in his despair, but knowing Jannik would be waiting, eager to share his victory with you. As you exited the locker room, the hallway was a cacophony of reporters and staff, all vying for a piece of the victorious player. You pushed through the throng, feeling the sting of each flashbulb in your eyes, a stark reminder of the harsh reality that existed outside the bubble of the tennis court.

\\\

When you reached Jannik, his eyes lit up, a mix of adrenaline and relief. He enveloped you in a tight embrace, whispering into your ear, "Thank you for being here." His voice was hoarse from the roars and grunts of the match, his body still buzzing with the electricity of victory. You returned the embrace, feeling the heat of his skin, the rapid beat of his heart.

"You played an amazing match," you said, trying to balance the pride you felt with the sadness for Jack.

Jannik's eyes searched yours, reading the tumult of emotions. "It wasn't easy," he admitted, his voice gruff with fatigue. "But knowing you were there… it helped."

You nodded, the tension in your chest slowly unfurling. "I'm just sorry it had to be like this," you murmured, the weight of the match's outcome heavy between you.

Jannik leaned back, his gaze holding yours. "Me too," he said, his voice a soft rumble. "But that's the sport, isn't it? Sometimes, you win, sometimes you learn."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken words that lingered in the air. Your relationship with Jannik was a delicate dance, one that had to be carefully navigated around the minefield of their professional rivalry. You knew that Jack's loss was a win for your partner, but it was also a stark reminder of the toll their careers could take on their friendship.

"Come on," Jannik said, taking your hand. "Let's get out of here."

You followed him through the maze of corridors, the cacophony of the stadium fading behind you. His entourage trailed closely, eager to celebrate his victory and prepare him for the finals. You felt a pang of guilt as you watched him, knowing that his triumph came at the cost of Jack's pain.

\\\

Once in the quiet of his suite, Jannik let out a deep sigh, collapsing onto the couch. His eyes searched yours, looking for something to anchor him in the whirlwind of his emotions. You sat beside him, taking his hand in yours, feeling the warmth and the calluses from hours of practice.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice raw from the match. "It's never easy playing against friends."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "You both gave everything out there."

Jannik leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Jack…he's incredible," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "The way he fights, it's inspiring."

You squeezed his hand in silent agreement. "He's going to be okay," you assured him. "He'll bounce back."

Jannik nodded, his eyes still closed. "I know," he said. "He's a fighter, like you."

You couldn't help but smile at the comparison. You had always been the stable one, the rock they both leaned on. The one who knew when to push and when to pull back. The one who had seen them at their worst and still believed in them.

"And what about you?" You asked, your voice gentle. "How are you feeling?"

Jannik opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. "I'm okay," he said, but the tightness in his jaw belied his weariness. "It's just…seeing him out there, suffering…it was tough."

You stroked his thumb with your own, feeling the strength in his hand, the power that had won him the match. "But you had to play your best," you reminded him gently. "It's what you both do."

He nodded, his eyes drifting to the floor. "Yeah, but…I don't know." He took a deep breath. "It's weird, playing against someone you care about."

You leaned in closer, your voice a soothing balm. "You guys are more than just rivals. You're good friends, and that's what makes this so special."

Jannik looked up, his eyes searching yours. "It's hard, you know?" he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "To want to win so badly, but also to not want to see him hurt."

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection for both of them. "But that's what makes you both champions," you said, your voice steady. "Your ability to push through the pain and the love for the game, and still respect each other at the end of it all."

Jannik leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder. "Thanks," he murmured. "Couldn't do it without you."

You wrapped an arm around him, holding him close. "You'll always have me," you assured him. "No matter what happens on the court."

The room was quiet, save for the distant echoes of the still-celebrating stadium. You could feel the tension in Jannik's body slowly dissipate, his muscles uncoiling as he melted into your embrace. "I know," he murmured, his voice muffled against your neck. "It just gets to me sometimes."

You kissed the top of his head, feeling the dampness of his hair against your lips. "You're human," you said, your voice soothing. "And that's what makes you so amazing to watch out there."

Jannik chuckled, the tension in his body slowly easing. He pulled back, a look of determination replacing the shadows in his eyes. "Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "I've got one more to go."

You nodded, knowing he was referring to the final match of the US Open. "You've got this," you assured him, a smile playing on your lips. "Just one more step."

Jannik's eyes searched yours, looking for the strength he needed to push forward. "Yeah," he said, his voice firm. "One more step."

You both stood, the quiet moment of reflection overshadowed by the looming final match. The suite was suddenly alive with the sound of his team, discussing strategies and preparing for the celebration. The TV in the corner replayed the match highlights, and you watched the replay of their epic rallies, the fiery determination in Jack's eyes, and the unyielding focus in Jannik's.

Jannik's coach approached, a proud smile on his face. "You played an incredible match, son," he said, clapping him on the back. "The final is going to be tough, but I know you're ready."

Jannik nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that was both reassuring and a little intimidating.

You watched as he turned to face the room, his shoulders squared and his chin held high. The energy around him was electric, his team buzzing with excitement and anticipation. The final match was just three days away, and the gravity of the situation was not lost on you. You had seen Jannik's highs and lows, the hours of practice, the endless days of travel and sacrifice. This was it, the culmination of all his hard work, and you knew he was ready.

[that-sudsy]

AU! Hockey player John MacTavish x Best Friend Reader

AU! HOCKEY 141 TEAM

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or images used in this work, nor do I claim any rights to them.

Kit's notes: I always wanted an AU hockey team of them, *squeals in excitement* Im sorry if I made a few mistakes on the hockey references. I also place a Shoresy reference there too! Let me know my mistakes so I can edit it.

The bustling small town, where the local hockey league is the heart of the community. The TF 141, a ragtag group of hockey players, is gearing up for the championship game against their rivals, the Shadow team.

The ice ring was well resurfaced by the zamboni machine, and the banners now everywhere hanged perfectly in the halls and entrances. TF141 vs Shadows

The arena was electric, the air thick with anticipation as the Task Force 141 prepared to face off against the Shadow team. The stands were packed with fans, waving banners and chanting the names of their favorite players, cheering excitedly with Snacks and drinks. Among them was you, standing with your best friend, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish at the rings entrance, who was known for his rough style of play and infectious energy. you could feel the coldness from the ice ring on your skin through your jumper

“Ready to see me wipe the ice with those Shadow punks?” Soap grinned, adjusting his helmet as he shot you a wink. You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. Soap was always the life of the party, and his passion for the game was contagious.

“Just try not to get yourself kicked out this time, alright?” you teased, nudging his shoulder with your fist playfully.

“Me? Neva!” he laughed, but you both knew that his temper could sometimes get the better of him.

He skid in the ring as he skated around lifting a fist in the air making the fans cheer wildly before he positioned among with his friends.

As the game began, the tension was palpable. John Price, the grizzled coach with a no-nonsense attitude, paced the sidelines, barking orders and keeping a watchful eye on his team. Konig, the towering goalie with a calm demeanor, stood ready in the net, his focus unwavering. Ghost being the defenseman, Gaz being the ring winger.

It was white uniformed versus The Icey Blues streaked blacked uniforms.

The first period was intense, with both teams trading blows and goals. But it was the second period that took a turn for the worse. Phillip Graves, the lead player for the Shadow team, was known for his dirty tactics and cocky attitude. He had a knack for getting under the skin of his opponents, and tonight was no different.

As the puck flew across the ice, Soap found himself face-to-face with Graves. You couldn't make out what graves mumbled over the loud cheering of the fans, The two exchanged heated words, and before you knew it, Soap’s temper flared. In a moment of pure adrenaline, he charged at Graves, tackling him to the ice. The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps as the two players wrestled, their skates clashing against the cold surface.

You watched from the sides of the rings making you hesitate to get in the ring, waiting for the referee to break them no one did. You didnt want more damage so you got in the ring an walked on the ice towards the chaos, your heart racing. “Johnny! Stop!” you shouted, but the noise of the crowd drowned out your voice. Just as you reached them, Graves shoved you aside, his eyes narrowing as he sneered.

“Watch where you’re going, sweetheart,” he taunted, a smirk plastered on his face.

Johnny’s protective instincts kicked in. “Don’t ye dare lay yer eyes on her, ye cow!” he yelled, his Scottish accent thick with fury. He tossed his helmet off making it skid on the ice for a moment as johnny clenched his fist readying for a fist fight. His team trying to calm him down, his eyes blazing with anger as he glared at Graves.

The referee finally intervened, pulling the two apart as the rest of the team rushed in to break up the scuffle. You felt a mix of concern and frustration as you watched Johnny storm off the ice, his fists clenched.

“Johnny!” you called, skating after him. You found him in the locker room, pacing back and forth, his breath heavy with agitation.

“Why did you have to get involved?” he snapped, running a hand through his messy mohawk. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but you didn’t have to lose your cool like that!” you replied, crossing your arms. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”

“Yeah, well, he succeeded,” Johnny muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I just… I don’t want anyone looking at you like that.”

You paused, your heart fluttering at his words. “What do you mean?”

He stopped pacing and turned to face you, his expression softening. “I don’t see you as just a best friend, you know? It’s more than that for me.”

A smile broke across your face, and you chuckled softly. “You’re not mad at me for what happened? That intevined the fight?

“Mad? No. Just… protective,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I care about you, more than I should, more than I can describe.”

You stepped closer, your heart racing. “I care about you too, Johnny. Maybe even love you, I always have.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the tension between you melted away. “Just maybe?"

"Alright, not Maybe...So, what now?” you asked, a hopeful glint sparked in his eyes.

“How about we celebrate the rough play with some dumplings and bibimbap at that new place down the street?” he suggested, a grin spreading across his face.

“Sounds perfect,” you replied, a smile breaking through your earlier frustration. “Just promise me one thing.” he continued

“What’s that?”

“Next time, don’t skate into danger, alright?” he said, his tone teasing but sincere.

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had all night. “Deal, now go...the game is starting"

As you both left the locker room, the game was still getting back together from the earlier event, but for you and Johnny, the real victory was just beginning.

[acronym-chaos]

Deity of Technology, Logic and Fear ID Pack

[PT: Deity of Technology, Logic and Fear ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Aetherion, Algorithmus, Archvane, Axon, Cipherus, Datara, Digiton, Eidolon, Eltrex, Facade, Fractalyn, Ghostline, Hexatrace, Ideon, Infranoir, Intellectra, Logicor, Machinus, Noctilume, Obfuscara, Omnivex, Paradox, Quorith, Requillium, Singulae, Synthane, Technair, Thalestra, Thoughtus, Ultronis, Vastoria, Vexel, Vigil, Xorath

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Byt / Byte / Bytes, Code / Codes / Codes, Da / Data / Das, Dre / Dread / Dreads, Fe / Fea / Fears, Grid / Grids / Grids, Info / Infos / Infos, Know / Knows / Knows [Knowledge], Li / Link / Links, Ne / Net / Nets, Sha / Shad / Ado [Shadow], Sig / Signal / Signals, Tec / Tech / Techs, Tho / Thought / Thou, Vo / Voi / Void, Wire / Wires / Wires

Titles

[PT: Titles].

Echo of the Cyber Void, Master of Synthetic Knowledge, Shaper of Logic Itself, The Ciphered Deity, The Mask Beneath the Machine, The One That Commands with Fear and Logic, The Entity That Sees All Patterns, [Pronoun] Who Knows All Yet Hides It, [Pronoun] Who Rules the Infinite Dataflow

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].

Requested by anon!

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive

[rems-writing]

Act like a brat, get punished

Pairing: mobster aged-up!Jongho x non-idol!Hongjoong

Genre/trope/AU: smut/strangers to lovers/mafia AU

Wordcount: 2,995 words

Rating: mature

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

“I’m sorry, my son. You now belong to this man.”

“We had no other choice! We didn’t get the money in time so this was our best option.”

Hongjoong was tired. He was so tired. He knew his parents were poor, but he didn’t realize that their poverty was so bad that they had to resort to borrowing money from the mafia. The chilling discovery of this reality happened today. He was working four jobs. Three mundane 9 to 5 jobs and one small business that involved his designing skills. Hongjoong loved fashion. It was the only thing he had going on at this point. After the death of Beomjoong, he had to pick up the slack and become the main breadwinner of his family. His dad was a retired electrical engineer while his mom was a part-time worker at a food stall located in the mall just a block away from their cramped apartment. As he stared back and forth in between his parents and the man they owed money to, he sighed heavily. He took off his hat, wiped his sweaty brow, pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration, and simply walked past them to retrieve his things. The man Hongjoong’s parents owed money to looked at the young man in shock as he came back downstairs with a dufflebag packed to the brim with almost nothing. Just a few clothes he reformed, a laptop for online fashion school, his sewing machine, and a few stacks of bills he had stashed away for an emergency fund. His head was hung low and he threw the bills at his parents’ feet. 

“Y-You’re not going to fight back? Or beg to stay?”

“There’s no point. Now come on. Let’s go. I’m sure you don’t want to be late or whatever.”

As Hongjoong brushed past the people that gave him life (he no longer viewed them as parents), he looked at the man wearily before nodding his head, indicating that he’ll be near whatever expensive car or creepy van the man drove in. To say it puzzled the man and broke his heart at the same time was an understatement. After Hongjoong shut the door behind him, the man’s resolve hardened and he scowled at his parents. 

“Look at you two. You basically let him walk out! He didn’t fight, beg, or compromise with me. He just… left. How does it feel to know that your entire family is gone? Only this time… you’re the cause of it?”

Hongjoong’s mother broke down in tears while Hongjoong’s father bent down to comfort her. He looked at the money in disdain before looking back up at the man. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, the big watch on his left wrist sticking out like a sore thumb. The father was about to say something when the man held his hand up. 

“Save it. You two now have money. And from the looks of it, your youngest son saved enough to last you guys a few years. Maybe even more if you’re wise about it. Despite being so… drained of life, he thought about you guys. Always. Consider this debt paid off.”

“B-But don’t we owe you so much more?”

“Eh. You do. However, seeing as he oh so willingly walked out of here without your consultation or mine, I think you guys can pay me back by living with the consequences of your actions. How does that sound?”

The father shut his mouth, knowing the man was right. The man clicked his tongue before adjusting his sleeves and bidding farewell to Hongjoong’s parents before exiting their apartment. He tuned out the mother’s wails that grew louder as he walked away, knowing that this is all she can do. After walking down the steps to the lobby (he refused to take the elevator. He claimed he was too cool for that), he stepped outside and breathed in the crisp air of the city’s nightlife before focusing his eyes on the man before him. 

His heart ached painfully at the sight. 

Hongjoong had his head hung low, his dufflebag was hanging loosely from his hand, tear streaks stained his handsome face, and his sniffles could be heard every now and then. The man cautiously approached him and tucked his fingers under Hongjoong’s chin so he could lift his head and observe him some more. 

Hongjoong didn’t even flinch at the strange touches he was receiving! He truly was tired of it all. 

“You can put your things in the backseat.”

Hongjoong nodded and the man unlocked the door to his expensive Mercedes so Hongjoong could throw his stuff in the back. He let out a quiet ‘Excuse me’ as he squeezed past the man and got into the front seat so he could get himself situated and mentally prepare for what was about to come. Once he was buckled up, the man went to the driver’s seat and closed the door beside him before buckling up and starting the engine. He felt extremely horrible for the younger man’s situation and he felt like he had to say something. Instinctively, he grabbed Hongjoong’s hand, making a note of the single painted nail on his left ring finger. For someone who liked to rough people up using his own bare hands, his touch was gentle. 

“Hey. Look at me. Please.”

The man’s voice was gentle and Hongjoong looked up at him. Despite the hollow expression on his face, the man could tell that his eyes conveyed so much sadness and despair. He squeezed his hand gently and offered a small grin. 

“I’m truly sorry that things had to be like this. How about we make a deal? Just do what I say and I’ll ask nothing else from you. You are free to do whatever you want. I won’t track you down, I won’t have any of my men stalk you, I won’t stop you from doing whatever you need to do, and most importantly… I won’t stop you from running away. If my men do track you down and harm you, I’ll kill them myself.”

Hongjoong’s heart skipped a beat as the man made his situation less of a living hell by putting this offer up on a silver platter. A small part of him doubted his words though. After all, he was part of the mafia. However, the geunity in his eyes and his words washed away that doubt momentarily. After thinking about it some more, he nodded firmly. 

“Ok. I’ll take it. And I can tell you’re a man of your word so… I guess I trust you.”

The man felt relieved that Hongjoong took the deal and his grin grew bigger. Hongjoong  couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like if his round cheeks got squished. He shook away the thoughts and expressed gratitude towards the man. 

“You don’t have to thank me. You didn’t ask for this life so let me at least provide some sense of normalcy for you.”

“Still though. T-Thank you, sir.”

“Jongho. Call me Jongho.”

As the two drove off to Jongho’s mansion, Hongjoong looked back at the building complex he used to call home. With a calm mind and a rapidly beating heart, he awaited the new chapter in his life to begin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Living with Jongho wasn’t so bad! He stuck to his word and allowed Hongjoong to live his life like he normally would. Except for a few rules he made. 

Always come home on time.

If you are invited to dinner, never say no. 

Always sleep on time. 

Focus on fashion school and growing his fashion business. 

These rules didn’t sound as horrid as Hongjoong made it out to be. He practiced timing himself on studying for school and going home after he was done (he had a habit of holing himself up in one of the studios after hours on campus), he ate well, his insomnia was crushed by his newly adjusted body clock, and his fashion business was growing more famous as each day passed. 

It was all thanks to Jongho. 

In addition to Hongjoong’s lifestyle becoming healthier, he found himself falling in love with the older man. At first, he was afraid that Jongho would lash out and he would lecture on how he doesn’t even like men and that he wouldn’t go for someone as young as him. However, after a long night of heartfelt confessions, crying (Jongho let out his bottled up emotions), steamy make-out sessions, and passionate sex right on Jongho’s work table, it’s safe to say that the two were madly in love with each other and they embraced their bond more than ever. Currently, they are getting ready for dinner with some of Jongho’s work colleagues. Hongjoong has met the respective partners of each one, but he was closest with Jung Wooyoung, the fiance of San, Jongho’s older brother. As he thought about what type of weird conversation these two were going to have, he was snapped out of his thoughtful daze when he heard his boyfriend’s voice call out to him. He turned around and had to stifle a laugh. 

Jongho looked absolutely fucking hot in the suit he picked out for this evening. The black button-up shirt clung to his muscled body deliciously, his tie was tucked into his vest, the black slacks he wore defined his meaty thighs, and his dress shoes were polished to perfection. He looked like a god! There was only one problem.

The vest was way too small for his body. 

“That thing is ready to burst at the seams!”

Jongho chuckled nervously and his heart swelled with adoration as he heard Hongjoong giggle loudly. He saw the younger man approach him and watched as he carefully unbuttoned the vest with his dainty hands and a laser-type precision. Hongjoong made sure that the vest came off without it ripping apart. Finally, he shrugged it off his body and smoothed out any wrinkles the vest left behind on his shirt. Jongho willed himself to not grow a boner under his boyfriend’s touch. Hongjoong took a step back and observed him some more before nodding firmly. 

“I think the look is fine. No need to add a blazer or anything else. Just throw on your winter coat and you’ll be all set.”

“This is why you’re the fashion expert.”

Hongjoong giggled as Jongho grabbed his waist and peppered kisses all over his face before pulling him into a hug. He felt himself become flushed at the mere sight of Jongho’s beefy body practically swallowing his tiny frame whole. He had to push him away after a while, causing Jongho to pout. Hongjoong booped his nose and squished his cheeks. 

“Come on, lover boy! We don’t want to be late.”

Hongjoong skipped away and Jongho chuckled to himself before sighing happily and following after him so the two of them could make it to dinner on time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner went great. Everyone had a good time, ate until they were full, drank until they couldn’t anymore, and paid for it all before leaving. While the six of them were left to explore the city, Jongho was driving at an ungodly speed back home to the mansion. Once they made it, he grabbed Hongjoong, hoisted him over his broad shoulder, tossed the keys to one of his servants so they could park the car, and clambered upstairs to their bedroom before throwing Hongjoong onto their shared bed. 

“Did you think that was funny? Hm? Teasing me? Purposefully flirting with Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong shrugged, which made Jongho a bit angry. It didn’t help that Hongjoong had a dopey smile on his face, which was quickly wiped off when Jongho took off his belt and grabbed the tiny man’s wrists before securely tying him up so it was snug enough that he couldn’t shrug it off yet he didn’t feel pain. Jongho gripped Hongjoong’s chin and kissed him harshly. While one hand was keeping Joong’s head in place, the other ripped away his shirt with terrifying (and arousing) strength. His fingers delicately traced the hem of Joong’s skirt before pulling it off quickly yet carefully. He cursed under his breath when he saw Joong clad in nothing but a silver body chain and a silk thong. 

“Well well well. You’re really just asking for it, huh?”

“I did this just for you though.”

Hongjoong pouted slightly, but Jongho never wavered. He can act as cute as he wants. He’s going to be punished like the brat he is. He released Hongjoong’s head and quickly snaked it down to his bound wrists before adjusting him so he could bend the younger man over his lap. With his ass raised in the air, his fingertips lightly skimmed over the curve of it. Jongho looked down at Hongjong, whose eyes were blown with lust. 

“You’re going to count to 10. If you slip up, we’re starting over. And do not give me attitude. Or else I’ll go harder. Understand?”

“Yes, sir~”

The way Hongjoong said that and batted his eyelashes up at Jongho caused the man’s cock to strain painfully against the hard confines of his slacks. He was going to ruin the man below him. He soon raised his hand and swiftly brought it down onto one of his asscheeks. The sound echoed in the room and Hongjoong let out a yelp. 

“One!”

Another smack. 

“Two!”

Another. 

“Three!”

Another. 

“Four!”

As another one was delivered, Hongjoong swore he felt the marks starting to form since Jongho never took off his rings when he spanked him. 

“Five!”

Another one was delivered and Hongjoong just knew that he wouldn’t be able to sit after this. 

“Six.”

Hongjoong’s voice wavered yet Jongho still heard the word loud and clear. He wanted to stop there, but due to the mischievous look in his eyes and the way he bit his lip, it was a sign to keep going. He soon delivered another one. 

“Seven!”

Two more. 

“Eight!”

One more. 

“Nine!”

Last one. 

“10!”

Using his strength, Jongho lifted Hongjoong by the hips and made the younger man straddle him so he could kiss him fiercely and passionately. Hongjoong moaned into the kiss and he flinched a bit when Jongho’s fingertips skimmed through the reddened skin of his ass. He was soon laid down on his stomach and he felt Jongho’s plush lips kiss the reddened skin before he tore off the thong he was wearing. 

Oh. 

Jongho cursed loudly when he saw Hongjoong wearing the new buttplug he got him a few weeks back. It was his reward for being so obedient and never once breaking any of his rules. He dug his fingers into Hongjoong’s hair and yanked him backwards so his bare back was touching his clothed chest. Hongjoong moaned at the contact and Jongho’s lips ghosted over the shell of his ear. 

“Did you wear this just for me?”

“Mhmm! Only for you, sir!”

“You’re such a good boy. Fuck! You make me so happy.”

Jongho angled Hongjoong’s head so their lips could meet once again. During this heated kiss, Jongho tore off his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt quickly before discarding it. The same went for his pants. When he was finally bare, Hongjoong felt Jongho’s huge cock be pressed up against his ass. Despite having sex with him before, Hongjoong will never get over how shockingly large Jongho was. Hongjoong felt his back hit the mattress and cringed slightly at the buttplug being pulled out from him. The cringe was soon replaced with pleasure as he felt himself being filled by his mobster boyfriend. As soon as Jongho bottomed out, he settled inside Hongjoong for a minute before pinning the tiny man’s bound wrists above his head with one hand and squeezing his throat with the other. He pulled out slowly until the tip was only in before slamming back into him harshly. 

“JONGHO~”

Jongho chuckled darkly and began pistoning his hips at a fast pace. With each slap of skin, a moan slipped out of Hongjoong. They grew louder and louder with each passing second. Jongho then tilted Hongjoong’s head up towards the ceiling without letting go of his throat. Hongjoong’s eyes widened at his own fucked out reflection staring back down at him as he was getting dicked down. 

Jongho recently installed those mirrors and now they were being put to good use. 

“Look at you, darling. Being stuffed full of my cock like the bratty slut you are. God I love everything about you. From this body chain to the way you scream my name. You just love being fucked by an older man, huh? I can tell since you’re clenching around me so much. Go on. Say it!”

“F-FUCK! I LOVE IT! I FUCKING LOVE IT! SIR, PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME CUM! I’M SO CLOSE!”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Jongho rammed into Hongjoong a few more times before Hongjoong let out the loudest moan and felt himself spill all over his body. Jongho reached his climax as well and stopped so he could empty himself inside Hongjoong. The two of them were breathing heavily, staring into each other’s eyes lovingly before Jongho pulled out of Hongjoong. He carried the younger man into the bathroom and ran him a hot bath before lowering him into the tub and climbing in afterwards. He wrapped his arms around his waist and the younger man snuggled into his chest. 

“Best. Sex. Ever! I got to thank Wooyoung and tell him that this was worth it.”

“So Wooyoung put you up to this, huh?”

“Well… the body chain and buttplug were my ideas, but Wooyoung was the one that suggested that I acted like a brat.”

“I see. In that case, I’m glad that Wooyoung fed you that idea. You should be bratty often. I love it when I go rough on you.” 

“Me too, Jongho. Me too…”