#Most Expensive Player in History

[sportsimpulses]

On December 19th, the Indian Premier League (IPL) held an auction where some of the biggest names in cricket were up for bidding. The auction saw record-breaking deals being made, with one of the most notable transactions being the acquisition of Mitchell Starc by Kolkata Knight Riders for a staggering Rs. 24.75 crore. This made him the most expensive player in the history of IPL.

[vamptizm]

GIRL YOU LOUD — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x gf!reader

synopsis: you’d been out for the first wings preseason game, sitting on that bench and looking like all of paige’s fantasies and dreams combined. teasing her, messing with her—driving her insane. but she’d get back at you.

warnings: nasty smut. switch!reader. switch!paige. fingering. munch!p. strap on sex (both receiving). praise. degradation. breeding kink. calling paige daddy like twice. edging.

word count: 12.9k

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

The irony of it all didn’t escape you.

There you were—sat on the Dallas Wings bench, in a building you used to hate walking into, a building that reeked of old rivalries and even older grudges. Notre Dame's Purcell Pavilion. Cold lights. Smeared banners. That ever-so-sanctimonious fight song playing in the background like the world was still in 2020. You rolled your eyes once at the ceiling, once at the court, and then let the smugness return to your face.

You looked good. You knew it.

And judging by the sideways glances from coaching staff, cameras, and certain opposing players, so did everyone else.

You weren’t dressed like a player today—not in your Wings gear, not in sideline sweats. The team doctors had benched you for precaution’s sake. Mild shoulder sprain, nearly healed, but not worth aggravating just before the regular season started. You had protested, briefly, then gave up the fight once you realized you could milk this little moment for everything it was worth.

So, you dressed accordingly. Black tailored, wide-legged pants that flowed like silk but cut sharp at the waist. They pooled lightly over your sleek black Diesel pumps, glinting every time you crossed your legs. Paire with a fitted black button-up that hugged your frame just right. Thin vertical white stripes guided the eye in all the right directions. Only two buttons were fastened at the center, offering a perfectly curated glimpse of your midriff and just enough cleavage—pushed together with the help of your favorite and most dangerous bra.

You looked like someone’s scandalous boss. Someone’s very expensive mistake.

Your hair was perfectly blown out, strands falling with soft, intentional volume around your shoulders. A pair of sleek, black rectangular glasses sat neatly on your face, giving the illusion of restraint. But the sharp wing of your eyeliner and the darkness smudged into your lower lash line betrayed you. There was nothing restrained about you. Your waterline was tightlined, your lips glossed to a sinful nude, and every time you blinked slowly—like you were bored, or scheming, or both—you felt the attention shift.

The cherry on top? A gold chain, subtle and delicate, with a single pendant glinting softly at your sternum. An “M.” Paige's middle name. Not obvious. Not something a broadcaster would call out. But you knew. She knew.

It started during warmups.

Paige should’ve been focused—on her stretches, her form, the way the ball felt rolling off her fingertips. But her eyes? They kept betraying her. Again and again, they dragged back to the bench. More specifically, to you.

Sitting pretty in your corporate siren getup like you owned the arena, not just the bench.

Your lips curved slowly into a smirk as you crossed your legs with deliberate ease, letting your heel tap once against the polished court. You didn’t wave. Didn’t wink. You just let her look at you.

Let her want.

And she could’ve kept it together—just barely—until Jewell broke formation and jogged her way toward you, momentarily abandoning her own warmup.

Your grin lit up instantly at the sight of her and you got up from the bench, meeting her in the middle.

The hug you gave each other was all warmth, history, and ease, the kind of closeness that came only from sharing victories, locker rooms, and late-night strategy talks. You and Jewell had been tight ever since the Paris Olympics, and even tighter once Unrivaled started. The matching tattoos on your ribs said enough. Little mementos inked during the off-season in a moment of camaraderie with Aaliyah and Dijonai.

She knew there was nothing to worry about. She knew.

But that didn’t stop her gaze from sharpening. Didn’t stop the sting of possessiveness from blooming low in her chest.

It wasn’t jealousy—it was something else. Something quieter but much deeper. Paige was chill, easygoing, confident. But with you? There was always that subtle current of ’mine’. Not in a way that made you flinch. In a way that made your skin spark.

Even during the locker room huddle with the coaching staff, as everyone went over last minute adjustments and rotations, Paige sat with one knee bouncing and cracking her knuckles, stealing glances at you every other beat. You were seated across the room, half listening, chin propped in your hand and legs crossed like you were made to be admired.

You were just as bad, truth be told. The jersey clung to her in all the right places, but it was the slicked back ponytail that had your thoughts drifting. Clean, no braids today, just polished and severe, framing her cheekbones and making her look like a problem. Your problem.

By the time you returned to the court, everyone hovering by the bench again as the arena buzzed with anticipation, the tension between you two felt like static—quiet, invisible, charged.

And when they called her name over the speakers, Paige Bueckers—#5, guard—you couldn’t help but smile. That slow, proud, shameless kind of smile. The kind she’d see from the court and feel all the way in her chest.

Your applause was calm. Dignified.

But the way you mouthed, ‘go get ’em, baby’?

Yeah. That was just for her.

The game tipped off with a roar from the crowd, the buzz of preseason excitement electrifying Purcell Pavilion. The whistle blew, and the ball was live, but you barely noticed the opening possessions. Your body was still, but your pulse wasn’t.

You lasted exactly two minutes on the bench.

Then you were up, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Chris, one arm folded against your hip, the other resting loosely against your stomach. Every so often, you leaned in to glance at the clipboard Belle held, studying plays like you were still in them.

From afar, for anyone not in the know, you looked every bit the sharp, young coaching mind plucked fresh from a promising start. A new assistant, maybe. Or some newly promoted coordinator. You had the presence for it. The look for it. Tailored and chic with that undeniable something—that weight in your stare, the seductive curve of your lip when the scoreboard shifted in your favor. It was just enough professionalism to keep things respectable… and just enough allure to leave people guessing.

Your presence caught attention. On the bench. On the sidelines. And definitely on the court.

Especially from her.

At the seven minute mark, the play unfolded like it had been drawn with her name on it.

There was something surreal about watching her from the sideline, removed from the action but still tethered to it by a thread that ran straight through your chest.

Paige controlled the ball at the wing, fluid and locked in, her sneakers barely squeaking as she glided past Chelsea Gray. You watched it unfold like muscle memory, like breathing. A surge toward the paint. One beat, two—then she let it fly.

Nothing but net.

She tumbled out of bounds right after, body catching the hardwood before springing back up without hesitation.

You barely registered the crowd’s reaction. Your grin was already carved across your face.

“Let’s fucking go, P!” you shouted before you could help yourself, clapping once with enough force to echo. Not a single drop of shame in your tone—only pride. Pure and wild.

Paige turned as she ran back on defense, the tiniest breathless smile tugging at her lips. She caught your eyes immediately, and lifted her hand, pointing once—index finger angled cleanly toward you.

No dramatics. No show.

Just a subtle gesture, paired with that look she always gave you when it was only you in the room.

That was for you.

And God, did it land.

The gesture, the grin, the unbothered claiming of you in front of thousands—cameras be damned—lit something low and unrelenting inside of you.

She was done hiding. Done pretending like the most important part of her world wasn’t standing right there in heels and lip gloss, looking like a threat and a promise all at once.

The Wings had come out swinging.

It was clear from the jump that this team, despite being stitched together with new parts, a new coach, and not nearly enough time, had potential. Paige was settling in fast, confident in her reads, driving with purpose. Dijonai was relentless on defense. Arike, as always, was a walking bucket.

For a moment, just a stretch of minutes midway through the first quarter, the Wings held a lead. Slender, but there.

And then it slipped.

The Aces weren’t dominant just because of talent. They were seasoned, connected, one mind split between five bodies. It wasn’t surprising, not really. But it still stung.

Timeout was called.

You were back on your feet before the buzzer even finished blaring. Chris and the rest of the staff huddled near the whiteboard, and you stepped in next to him, nodding subtly at Belle as she scribbled adjustments onto the clipboard.

But your eyes?

Your eyes were already on her.

Paige stood at the edge of the huddle, hands on hips, sweat glistening against the curve of her neck, her jersey clinging to her like it belonged there. You didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to.

You tilted your head just slightly. Let your gaze drag slowly down her form and then back up again. Measured. Deliberate. Like you were taking inventory of something expensive you already owned.

When she caught you looking, your mouth curled into a smirk—teeth just barely catching your bottom lip before you let it pop free with the faintest bite.

Then you turned away.

Didn’t even hold her stare. Just dropped back down onto the bench, crossing one leg over the other with the elegance of a woman who knew she had an audience and didn’t mind putting on a show.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her shift. One foot stepping toward you, then back. Hands flexing once at her sides.

She was losing focus.

Not enough to cost the game. Just enough for you to notice. Just enough for her to feel.

Next timeout, you upped the ante.

This time, when the whistle blew and the players circled up near the bench, you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, pretending to study the clipboard Belle held—but the angle pushed your shirt open just enough to give Paige a view you knew she couldn’t ignore.

You could feel her eyes burning a hole straight through the neckline.

Still, you didn’t look at her right away.

Not until the players started peeling off, headed back to the court.

Then—and only then—you met her gaze and mouthed a single, silent word.

‘Focus’

The nerve of you.

And that grin you wore as she turned away?

Smug. Knowing. A promise.

The next possession, Paige was a little quicker. A little more aggressive. Like she had something to prove.

And even when the Aces pulled away in the second half, she kept glancing toward the bench between plays, chewing the inside of her cheek, eyes dragging over the stretch of your legs crossed lazily, the glint of your necklace, the gloss on your mouth.

The whole night, she played with a fire that wasn’t entirely basketball-born.

You were the match.

You hadn’t made it ten steps down the tunnel before Paige grabbed your wrist.

The arena noise faded behind you, swallowed by the concrete and fluorescent lighting of the back corridors of Purcell Pavilion. You expected a word. A smirk. Maybe even just a look.

But Paige didn’t waste time.

She pulled you into a narrow alcove, one of the tucked away side halls reserved for storage or staff access—empty now, quiet and dim—and shoved you gently but firmly back against the wall. Her mouth was on you before you could breathe her name.

Open mouthed kisses trailed down your neck, hot and hungry. She peeled one side of your shirt open with practiced ease, fingers curling under the silky material until it hung loose, giving her more skin, more space, more you.

“Got me fucked up, y’know that?” Paige muttered against your skin, her voice low and wrecked with need. Her hands gripped your waist tightly—possessively—fingertips digging into the flesh just beneath your bra line, beneath your shirt, like she needed to memorize the give of it under her hands. “Sittin’ there lookin’ like you need me to fuck you in front of all those people.”

You shivered, half from her words, half from the heat pooling low in your body.

You didn’t speak immediately. Just let her touch and her mouth work you over, let yourself feel the way her body pressed against yours like it was trying to replace your heartbeat with hers.

But when her teeth grazed your jaw, you finally rasped, “Maybe I do.”

It was breathless, wicked. A tease and a confession all in one. “Would that be so bad?”

Paige froze—just for a second.

Then a exhale slipped out of her throat, and she pressed even closer, her thigh slotting between your legs, her hands pulling you flush against her. “Nah,” she said, lips ghosting over your collarbone. “I’ll give you whatever you fucking want, mama. I got you.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, heart hammering. You could feel her smirk against your skin, feel the thrill building between your legs like a threat.

And then—

“Paige!”

Chris’s voice echoed from the distance, firm and searching. The second half was about to start.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned into your chest, forehead dropping against your skin. Not your shoulder, your chest. Dead center, right above your cleavage. She lingered there, unmoving for a beat too long, nose brushing the curve of you as if it was her last meal. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

“You like it,” you whispered, grinning down at her.

She exhaled hard through her nose. Then she straightened up, one hand staying anchored on your waist, the other sliding up to your face to cup your jaw.

“Just wait ‘til I get you alone,” she murmured against your lips, barely a breath between you. “We’ll see if you’re still smiling then.”

You caught her chin lightly between two fingers and swiped your thumb across her bottom lip, wiping away the gloss she’d stolen. Your smirk never faltered.

And neither did hers.

With one last stolen kiss—chaste, but full of promise—she let go, turning toward the direction of the locker room. Her gait was slower than usual, like her body wasn’t fully ready to walk away.

She didn’t look back.

But you knew she didn’t need to.

You waited another minute. Then two. Composed yourself. Straightened your shirt, adjusted your glasses, gave your reflection in the glossy wall a once-over, then returned to the court with the grace and calm of someone completely unaffected.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Especially not her.

Paige met your eyes the second you stepped back onto the sideline. Her pupils were still blown wide, chest still rising and falling faster than it should’ve been.

She wouldn’t find peace until she had you under her.

The rest of the game passed in a blur of controlled chaos and inevitable disappointment.

You stayed glued to the bench, shoulders rolled back and legs crossed in a way that made your pants ride up just enough to show a peek of skin above your heels. Your injured shoulder didn’t hurt in the slightest—not that it mattered. The decision to sit you out was already made. So, instead of running the floor, you sat like a vision in black and gold, sipping water and watching your team try to stay afloat against the powerhouse that was Las Vegas.

It wasn’t going well.

The starters had slowly been pulled, one by one, until the floor was left to the rookies and training camp invites—girls fighting tooth and nail for a shot at the final roster. You could see it in their eyes, the grit and desperation. It was admirable.

But it wasn’t enough.

You and Paige were seated side by side now. Not a word was exchanged, not really. Just subtle glances and shared breath. Your thighs were flush against each other, warm and pressed tightly together as if the space between you wasn’t already tense enough. Paige’s knee bounced occasionally—nerves or restraint, you couldn’t tell—and her fingers curled into fists every now and then on her lap.

You felt it too.

The buzz beneath your skin. The air charged between you. Her cologne lingered from warmups, light and clean, and her jersey still clung to her like a second skin. Her slicked-back hair was starting to curl slightly at the nape of her neck with sweat. And every time she shifted beside you, you were hyper aware of how close she was.

At one point, your heel nudged against hers—lightly, purposefully—and her head turned like she could hear your thoughts. Her eyes dropped to your lap, lingered for a breath too long on the exposed sliver of your stomach and the necklace that still glinted with that tiny “M.”

It took everything in her not to slide a hand up your thigh. Not to palm the flesh there, grip and squeeze until your posture gave something away. But the cameras were still rolling. The crowd, although thinned, was still watching. Too many prying eyes.

Eventually, the final buzzer rang, and the scoreboard didn’t lie.

The Aces had steamrolled, a thirty point deficit that felt heavier than it looked. The team filed back into the locker room in silence. There wasn’t anger, not exactly. Just quiet acceptance. It was the first preseason game, and this roster was still new—a work in progress, barely stitched together.

On the bus, you made a point to walk past Paige without so much as brushing her hand. Your eyes met for a second, and you knew she was expecting you to sit beside her. You always did.

Instead, you slid into the seat next to Dijonai, plopping down casually as if it wasn’t a statement, as if your skin wasn’t buzzing from holding back the grin threatening to break free. You were well aware of the tension still simmering beneath Paige’s cool expression.

Across the aisle, Nalyssa dropped into the seat next to Paige—a convenient shuffle that almost looked choreographed. It was almost funny. A partner swap, if you really thought about it.

You leaned against the window, legs crossed again, phone in hand but eyes flickering over the top edge of your screen every few minutes to steal glances at her. Paige didn’t look at you.

But her jaw was clenched, her fingers drumming against her knee. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t send a thrill straight down your spine.

She could play it cool all she wanted—but you knew what the night still owed you.

w The bus ride back to the hotel was short, but the silence made it feel longer. The kind that stretched like pulled thread—thin, delicate, one wrong move from snapping. Conversations were hushed. Laughter was minimal. Even the rookies who'd given it everything were slumped back in their seats, drained.

You barely said a word. Not to Dijonai, not to anyone. You didn’t need to, your presence was always loud enough. Even in silence, you were impossible to ignore.

Paige didn’t glance your way. Not once. Not when you stood up as the bus slowed to a stop. Not when your perfume trailed in the air like a tether around her throat. She followed the team inside, nodding politely at the front desk staff, bag slung over one shoulder, her stride confident but tense.

You knew she was waiting. For the moment. For you.

And you gave it to her.

You didn’t rush to the elevator. Let the rest of the girls pile in first. Waited for the second one. When Paige stepped into the quieter lift without a word, you slipped in behind her.

The doors closed with a soft thud, and the silence inside was deafening.

There were only a few others around—one of the assistant coaches, a trainer, Arike. The kind of company that demanded restraint. But the heat was unmistakable. You could feel it coming off her in waves.

She stood on the other side of the elevator, back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed over her chest like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her eyes flicked toward the digital numbers above the doors. But she wasn’t really watching them. Not when she could feel your gaze on her.

You licked your lips, slow and deliberate. Just enough to draw her eyes. And when she looked, you gave her that knowing look. The one you always gave her when the air was heavy and her self-control was unraveling thread by thread.

It was intoxicating, this wordless conversation. This tightly wound tension that clung to both of you like static.

The elevator stopped. Coach and Arike stepped out, exchanging brief goodnights. The second the doors slid shut again, it was just the two of you.

Paige didn’t move. But her eyes were locked on you now. Hard.

Your back hit the wall beside her, your shoulder just brushing hers. “Long ride,” you murmured softly.

“Long game,” she said, voice low.

You could feel her gaze trailing over your profile. Your cheekbone. Your mouth. The exposed skin between the buttons of your shirt.

“And you didn’t make it any easier,” she added, her voice edged in restraint.

You smiled, just the corner of your mouth lifting. “Wasn’t trying to.”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, eyes dropping to your cleavage.

The elevator dinged. Your floor.

Neither of you moved at first.

Then Paige exhaled quietly and stepped out, her hand brushing your lower back in a ghost of a touch—protective, possessive, and barely there. You followed, the hallway cool and quiet except for the sound of your heels on the carpeted floor.

Room 477.

She opened the door first. Let you walk in before her. The door shut with a solid click behind you both, sealing the energy between those four walls like a vacuum.

Still, nothing said. Just the sharp sound of her duffel hitting the floor and the faint rustle of fabric as she kicked off her sneakers.

You turned to her then, slowly. Your arms crossed lazily, your back leaning against the nearest wall. Your eyes never left hers.

She didn’t speak—didn’t need to.

You could see it in her posture, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands flexed like they didn’t know whether to hold you or pin you.

And god, that restraint… it made your blood hum.

This wasn’t the moment for release. Not yet.

But it was close. So close.

And that made it all the more addicting.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching her.

Paige’s jaw flexed like she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her shorts now, and her back was to you, but you knew her tells. The slight tremble in her exhale. The way her shoulders rose and dropped a bit quicker than usual. The quiet, building storm just beneath her skin.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” you said, voice silky soft but loaded, “I’m gonna start thinking you’re mad at me.”

Paige faced you, slow and deliberate. Her eyes dragged over every inch of you—the open button shirt, the exposed skin, the curve of your body. She licked her lips, but didn’t answer. Not right away.

“You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling lazily. “Cheering for my girl?”

Her eyes darkened.

“Nah,” she said, her voice gravel low. “Sitting there looking like you wanted me to take you right there on the bench. All those little looks. You knew I was watching.”

You didn’t deny it. Instead, you pushed off the wall and slowly made your way toward her—heels clicking against the hardwood, deliberate and slow like the start of a song that promises to break you by the end.

When you reached her, you didn’t touch her yet. You just looked up, close enough that your breath tickled her chin. “But you liked it.”

Paige’s eyes closed for just a second. Her jaw clenched.

You pressed closer. Just barely.

Then, your hands rose to her waist—slow and smooth—slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt. Your fingers dragged lightly along the ridges of her toned torso, nails grazing her skin just enough to make her hiss out a breath.

“I wanted to see how long you’d last,” you whispered, eyes gleaming. “You made it to halftime. I’m impressed.”

Her hand shot out—fast, like a reflex—and gripped your waist, dragging you flush against her body.

“You’re testing me,” she murmured, low against your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “You’ve been testing me all night.”

Your lips curved. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Paige leaned in. Her nose brushed yours, her mouth hovering just a breath away. Her grip on your waist tightened, her fingers digging in like she could barely stop herself from throwing you onto the bed and showing you exactly what.

“I should make you wait,” she murmured.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against hers but not giving in. “But you won’t.”

Her mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was all tongue and teeth and frustration, a day’s worth of built up heat bursting open like a dam. She kissed you like she needed it to breathe, like she could consume you whole and still not get enough.

Her hands moved fast—one sliding up your back beneath the top, the other gripping your jaw to keep you there, pressed to her mouth. You moaned softly against her lips, your own hands tangling in the front of her tee, dragging her closer, closer, until there was nothing between you but clothes and restraint.

She walked you backward without breaking the kiss, the two of you stumbling toward the bed like you were drunk on each other.

You fell onto the mattress, breathless, her weight pressing into you—her hips pressed flush between your thighs, her hand still wrapped around the back of your neck. Her mouth never left yours for long—just enough to breathe, just enough to whisper sweet nothings into the curve of your jaw before capturing your lips again.

Her free hand moved with maddening skill, unbuttoning the only two buttons holding your blouse together with the kind of ease that made it obvious she'd done this before. Many times.

The moment your chest was bared to her, your bra doing little to shield you from her hungry gaze, Paige let out a low exhale, one that rumbled in her throat like a warning. Or a promise.

"Goddamn," she muttered, her mouth descending, kissing along the curve of your breast with open lips. She sucked at the skin just above the cup, then gently bit down, pulling a gasp out of you despite your best effort to stay composed.

Her voice dropped lower, lips brushing your skin. "Look at you. Spread out, breathin’ like you need me to touch you or you’ll lose it."

You whimpered—quiet, strained—and she smirked, her hand sliding down, hooking under your waistband.

"Don’t worry, baby," she murmured. "I got you."

Her fingers made quick work of the button, then the zipper, and you felt the subtle shift in her position—her thigh sliding between yours, pinning one of your legs down while the other bent up, braced against her hip. It gave her the perfect angle.

She slid her hand beneath the waistband of your panties, hot skin meeting hotter heat and you gasped, your hips twitching in response. Her fingers grazed your soaked cunt, still over the fabric, and she chuckled darkly at how wet you already were.

"Fuck," she hissed, dragging her lips up your neck. "All this for me? Just from a few kisses and some dirty words? You’re such a fuckin’ slut."

She rubbed slow, deliberate circles over your clothed core, her breath warm against your skin, her voice pitched so low it melted straight into your bones. “You sat on that bench looking like sex, and now you’re here, already dripping. You want me to take my time, or should I make you beg?”

You chewed your bottom lip, fighting a moan, your hands clawing at her back, nails digging in just enough to make her shudder.

"Say something," she whispered against your collarbone, teasing the edge of your bra down with her teeth. "Use that pretty mouth or I’ll stop."

"Paige..." you breathed, finally cracking. "Please don’t stop."

That was all she needed.

Her mouth returned to your breast, tugging the bra down just enough to wrap her lips around your nipple, tongue flicking, lips sucking slow and firm while her fingers over your panties pressed in harder, rubbing slow, dirty circles that made your thighs tremble.

“Good girl,” she groaned into your chest. “Keep askin’. I’ll give you every fucking thing.”

Paige’s mouth wandered, but not where you wanted it. She kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts—leaving marks with her mouth, her teeth, anything but her lips. She was everywhere but your mouth, and it drove you insane.

You chased her lips once, a quiet whimper escaping you, but she dodged with a smirk, sucking a bruise just beneath your jawline instead.

Her hand, still between your legs, rubbed those slow, agonizing circles over your soaked panties—drawing out your arousal like she had all the time in the world.

Then she stopped.

You whined, lifting your hips in protest, but before you could whine her name, you felt her hand slide under the fabric.

The moment her fingers made contact with your wetness, she let out a low laugh. A dark, smug sound that sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“Jesus,” she muttered, teasing her fingers through your slick. “You’re fucking dripping. This all from me just talking to you and some kissing?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathless, flustered chuckle. “Shut up…”

She didn’t seem to like that.

Her free hand moved from behind your neck to grip your jaw, firm and fast, tilting your face toward her. The pressure wasn’t gentle, and the command in her eyes made your breath hitch.

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up,” she warned, before finally crashing her mouth against yours.

It was rough. Unforgiving. All teeth and spit and frustration.

When she pulled back, your lips were swollen, and a thin string of spit still connected you. Her hand remained wrapped around your jaw, fingers digging in, keeping your face locked in place.

“You’re on thin ice right now,” she said lowly, the words thick with hunger and something darker. “You don’t get to run that mouth unless I say so.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as her fingers moved again, slow, pushing one long digit inside you without warning. You gasped, sharp and high, your mouth falling open as your body arched into her.

But Paige didn’t let your head fall back.

Her hand on your face held you steady, forced your gaze to stay locked on hers.

“Nuh uh,” she said, voice hoarse. “Keep your pretty on me. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your breath hitched as her finger curled inside you, the pace slow and controlled, dragging over every nerve like she’d mapped your body out and memorized it.

“Say it,” she demanded, leaning in, lips brushing your cheek but not your mouth. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. But her eyes—those hungry, sharp, unrelenting eyes—never left yours, and neither did her hand.

“…You,” you rasped. “It’s you, Daddy.”

Her smirk deepened. “Damn right.”

And with that, she pushed deeper, knowing full well you’d break before the night was over.

Paige’s eyes flicked up to yours again, still holding your gaze like a chain wrapped tight around your throat. Her finger never stopped moving, the slick sounds between your legs growing louder in the quiet room.

Then she slowed, almost to a stop, barely curling her finger with maddening control.

“You want more?” she asked lowly, like she didn’t already know the answer. “Think you can take it?”

Her voice was smooth and mocking, thick with amusement and desire. She leaned in just a little closer, eyes never straying from yours. “Be honest, baby. You really think you can handle another one?”

That teasing lilt in her voice made your jaw clench, your fingers twisting in the sheets beneath you.

You didn’t just want more—you needed it. Your body was already begging, trembling, aching for her to fill you just a little more. And she knew it.

So you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, chest rising and falling faster, lips parted, silently pleading. She already knew.

Paige laughed under her breath. “Figures.”

And just like that, her second finger pushed in beside the first. Your head snapped back with a sharp gasp, a breathy moan slipping past your lips as your back arched. Your elbows wobbled where they held you up, threatening to give out from the sudden wave of pressure and pleasure crashing into you.

But you held yourself up. Barely.

Paige's other hand finally released your jaw and braced herself against the bed, palm flat next to your hip, hovering over you like a predator.

Her fingers moved in and out of you, curling and scissoring, switching between long, languid drags and quick, pulsing thrusts that had your thighs twitching. The room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal, and the only thing louder than that was your breath—ragged, shallow, desperate.

But still, your eyes never left hers.

Even as your legs began to tremble, your focus stayed locked on her. Eyes wide, pupils blown, your bottom lip caught between your teeth like you were holding back from begging or crying out. You looked wrecked, completely overtaken by lust, and it made her lose her rhythm for a second.

Her gaze dipped from your face to your heaving chest, down to the way her digits pumped into your sopping pussy, then back up again.

“Fuck…” she whispered, her pace speeding up before she could even stop herself. It was instinctual. Animalistic.

For a moment, she lost herself in you. In the way you looked at her like you wanted to eat her alive. Like nothing existed except her hands on your body, and the high you were chasing.

But then, she caught herself.

She blinked hard and slowed down—too fast. You felt it immediately.

“No—no—" you whimpered, hips twitching, your body already so close you could taste it. But she didn’t stop gradually. She stopped completely.

Fingers still buried inside you, she stilled them, refusing to move. You were practically vibrating, your body locked in that terrible, beautiful edge of no return.

Your head fell back in frustration, eyes squeezing shut. “Whyyyy…”

Your voice was cracked and desperate, a pathetic little whine that only made her smirk.

She slowly slid her fingers out of you with a wet, sinful sound. And then, holding your stare again, she brought her fingers to her lips and licked them clean.

“Tastes like heaven,” she murmured, letting her tongue run over the pad of each finger.

Then, smirking down at you—panting, trembling, and glistening between the legs—she said lowly, “You know damn well why, mama.”

She leaned in close, lips just brushing yours but not kissing. “You don’t get to come ‘til I say you can.”

And you swore you could’ve come from just those words alone.

Paige sat you upright with a quiet kind of urgency, the heat in her eyes doing more than words ever could. Her fingers curled around the edges of your button-up, tugging it off your shoulders and down your arms until it slipped free. She tossed it somewhere behind her without a second thought. Then came the gentle taps on your hips and you instinctively lifted them, letting her drag your pants and underwear down and off in one smooth pull. Her movements were sure, practiced, reverent.

Her mouth found the curve of your neck again, soft lips pressing against your pulse as she reached behind you with one hand, unclasping your bra with that same cocky ease you’d never admit drives you crazy. The straps slid away, and she tossed that too, her breath warm against your collarbone as she pulled back just enough to take you in—fully bare now, save for the necklace with her initial that rested right above your chest and your heels, which she deliberately hadn’t touched.

“Y’look so fucking good wearing my name.”

She stood up straight, eyes lingering for a second longer before she reached over her shoulder, tugging her own shirt off. Her muscles flexed subtly with the motion, her nike sports bra clinging to her frame, rising just a bit with each heavy breath. Her shorts still sat low on her hips, but she didn’t touch them yet.

Instead, her hands found your waist again. She dragged you closer to the edge of the bed, her palms firm on your skin, possessive. Your knees parted naturally, thighs relaxing around her shoulders as she dropped to her knees—slow, like she had all the time in the world. Her arms wrapped under your thighs and she pulled you forward until you were right where she wanted you. Her face hovered close, her nose brushing against the inside of your thigh, eyes flicking up with that look—the one that made your breath catch every single time.

"Look at you," she murmured low, almost in awe, her voice rough. “prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Her grip on your thighs tightened slightly, anchoring you in place. You could feel her breath against your skin, warm and teasing. Every part of you felt like it was pulsing in anticipation—mind hazy, legs tense, spine arching ever so slightly as your body leaned into the gravity of her.

"You wanna act like a brat," she whispered, her voice husky and dangerously calm, "so now you’re gonna take everything I give you, right?”

And all you could do was desperately nod.

She didn't move yet, not really. She just stayed there, admiring you, kissing the inside of your thigh once, twice, with maddening restraint. Teasing. Waiting.

And then her grip shifted again, just slightly, as if she were finally ready to devour you whole.

The air in the room was thick with heat, not from the summer night, but from the slow, delicious burn building between you and Paige. Her palms pressed against your thighs, thumbs brushing lazy circles into your soft skin as her eyes roamed over your body with dark intent. From her position on her knees, she looked like worship and sin all at once.

She didn’t rush. Paige never did. She took her time, like she wanted to commit every inch of you to memory.

Her lips ghosted over the inside of your thigh, moving higher, then lower again, teasing. She nipped gently at the sensitive skin, just enough to make your breath hitch—and then soothed it over with the flat of her tongue, a silent apology that somehow only made the ache worse. Your hips shifted slightly, not enough to beg, but close.

Her arms tightened under your thighs as she pulled you a little closer still, locking you into place. Her breath was hot and steady, and her lips so close—so achingly close—but still not where you needed them.

“You’ve got no patience,” she murmured, mouth brushing your skin, her voice thick with a grin you couldn’t see but could feel. “You sit all pretty on the sidelines all game, teasing me... and now you want it all at once?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, really. Your throat felt tight, your body strung out with anticipation. You didn’t need to speak anyway. She could feel the way your thighs trembled slightly beneath her grip, the way your hips bucked without realizing, the way your fingers clutched the bedsheets behind you.

Paige pressed another kiss higher up your thigh, dangerously close, then paused. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours with that same fire that had been there since tipoff.

"Use your words" she breathed, low and commanding. "Tell me what you want."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough. “You.”

She smirked, not cocky, but hungry. “Yeah, mama?” Her tone was thick with heat, her lips brushing against your skin between every word. “You’re gonna get me.”

And then she dipped her head again—slowly, reverently—as her grip tightened and she finally closed the space between you.

Your breath caught in your throat the second Paige finally moved. Her mouth found you like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it, licking a stripe up your folds—slow at first, like she was savoring something forbidden. Her grip under your thighs remained firm, keeping you right where she wanted you, like she didn’t trust you not to squirm away from the intensity she brought with every calculated kiss, every hot breath against your skin.

She moved with intent. No rush, no hesitation, just pure control. The kind of control that had your head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed, and one hand coming up to grab the sheets as your body tried to process it all.

Then came her voice, low and muffled against you, still cocky even down on her knees. “Mm... this what you wanted?” Her voice alone had your stomach tightening. “You were damn near begging for it without saying a word.”

You whimpered in response, because yes, this was exactly what you wanted. Maybe more than you could admit.

Shuffling your feet, you managed to kick your heels off.

She didn’t let up. The hand that had held your thigh adjusted, her fingers brushing over your skin possessively, thumb stroking idle circles into your hip while she worked you over, relentless and deliberate. Lips wrapped around your lips, tongue teasing your entrance, slurping up everything you gave her.

You were soaked, needy, and trembling, your body starting to rock toward her without thought—like your hips had a mind of their own, chasing the high she was expertly building.

Then, just when your breaths were getting short and your grip on the sheets was threatening to rip the fabric, Paige pulled back, just slightly.

Your eyes snapped open in protest.

She looked up at you through her lashes, chin glistening, lips swollen, and all she did was smirk. “Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, voice dark and dripping in amusement. “You knew I was gonna take my time.”

Still kneeling, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up slowly, hands gliding up your sides before she leaned in, the weight of her body settling comfortably against yours again. Her mouth hovered just beside your jaw, her breath warm and teasing.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she whispered, pressing a kiss right beneath your ear. “Not even close.”

Then, her mouth found yours, and this time, she didn’t hold back.

You could still taste yourself on her lips—warm and sweet, a reminder of how she’d had you moments ago. The kiss between you turned greedy, tongues tangled in a dance of desperation. You tugged at her waistband, your fingers curling under the elastic with an urgency you didn’t bother to hide.

Paige grinned against your mouth, the cocky tilt of her lips a stark contrast to her breathlessness. “Damn, baby. Slow down,” she murmured, voice teasing and low. “I’m not going anywhere.” But she gave in, tugging them down and kicking them off.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond—instead pulling her mouth back to yours, swallowing whatever quip she might’ve had lined up next. The two of you shifted, clumsily but in sync, toward the center of the bed. Your back hit the pillows, hair spilling across the sheets like a halo, while Paige loomed above you in her boxers and sports bra, every inch of her radiating heat.

The ache between your thighs was still there, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and before you could stop yourself, the thought was already spilling into the space between you. You bit her lower lip, sharp enough to make her pull back with a dramatic wince, though the glint in her eyes betrayed how much she liked it.

She licked her lips slowly, gaze dropping to your flushed, eager face. “What was that for?”

“Wanna try it” you murmured, fingers brushing the edge of her waistband again. “On you.”

Her brows lifted slightly, curiosity igniting behind her eyes. “Try what on me?”

You exhaled, slightly exasperated. “You know what. Your ‘mousekatool’ as you call it. Don’t make me spell it out.”

That earned a quiet snicker from her, and her head dipped as if to hide the grin spreading across her face. “You mean my strap?” she teased, voice pitched low with faux innocence.

A soft laugh escaped you despite yourself. “Yes, Paige. The strap.”

She tilted her head, amused and entirely too smug. “Who says I brought it this time?”

“You always bring it,” you countered without missing a beat, your tone equal parts accusing and needy. “You bring it everywhere. Don’t lie to me.”

She smirked, fingers idly tracing along your thigh, like she was in no rush at all. “Maybe I like being prepared,” she hummed, leaning in to press a kiss just beneath your jaw. “You been thinking ‘bout it?”

“For a while,” you confessed softly, voice almost shy beneath the tension in the room. “Like a lot.”

She paused for a beat, her breath fanning against your skin as her lips curved into something darker, softer. “Yeah? How long’s a while?”

You rolled your eyes again, clearly not in the mood for her games, and gave her shoulder a small push.

But Paige only laughed under her breath — a low, husky sound—before finally nodding, the shift in her expression signaling a silent ‘okay’. Her gaze held yours for a beat longer, just long enough for your breath to hitch, before she pushed up off the bed to retrieve what you both knew she had packed.

The anticipation thickened the air, the weight of the moment drawing everything tighter. She was quiet as she moved, deliberate and smooth, her back flexing beneath the dim light while you watched her, bare and wanting and more than ready.

And she could feel it too, the heat that simmered in your stare, the tension in your posture, the glint in your eye that made it abundantly clear. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to take control.

When Paige returned, the familiar shape of it in her hand, your smirk was immediate—small, sly, and a little too eager. You reached for it without hesitation, and she let it go just as quickly, the edges of her mouth curling in a low chuckle.

“You waste no time, huh?” she murmured as she watched you from the foot of the bed, eyes hooded, mouth still glistening faintly from you.

“Could say the same about you,” you replied, voice light but your fingers focused as you stepped into it, adjusting the straps and tightening where it needed with a practiced ease. Confidence hummed beneath your skin, electric and heavy, and you didn’t bother hiding it.

Once it sat snug and secure against you, you tilted your chin, nodding toward the bed, a silent instruction.

And to your pleasant surprise, Paige obeyed.

No eye roll, no sarcastic comment. Just a quiet spark of something between amusement and anticipation in her expression as she crawled backward, settling herself against the pillows. Her breathing was calm, but you knew her well enough to spot the tension—the subtle way her fingers curled into the sheets, the way her eyes tracked your every movement just a second longer than usual.

She was curious, excited. And nervous.

The realization that she’d never let anyone else do this, never even entertained the idea, filled your chest with a kind of fierce pride. It wasn’t just trust.

You climbed onto the bed slowly, knees on either side of her hips. The sight of her spread out beneath you, still in her sports bra and chest rising and falling, was enough to make your breath catch. You tapped her hip gently.

“Lift,” you said, quiet.

She obeyed again, and you tugged her boxers down with care, dragging the fabric past toned thighs, revealing her inch by inch. Her skin was warm beneath your palms, and when you looked up at her again, her gaze was already locked on yours—unreadable, but heavy with something unspoken.

You leaned forward, catching her mouth in another kiss. Slow at first, exploratory. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Soon it was hungry again, mouths open, lips swollen, tongues sliding in sync. You deepened it purposefully, pouring reassurance into every motion, letting your hands slide over her. Grounding her, and reminding her this was you.

Her legs shifted slightly beneath you, and you felt it. The tension in her thighs, the way her fingers grazed your arms, seeking anchor. So you kissed her harder. One hand cradled the side of her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone, while your hips stayed still for now—letting her adjust, letting her breathe.

You didn’t need to rush.

This was new. But it was yours to explore together.

Paige's breathing had shifted, deeper and slower, like she was trying to brace herself for something unfamiliar. You hovered over her, letting your eyes roam, deliberately dragging your gaze down the length of her body. The contrast was striking. Strong, confident Paige, laid bare in front of you, chest rising and falling with anticipation she hadn’t put words to yet.

You let your fingertips trail down her sides, a whisper of a touch. Featherlight at first, just enough to draw goosebumps along her skin. Her stomach twitched beneath your hand when your palm flattened just above her navel.

“You good?” you asked, voice hushed but edged with something firmer, more grounded.

She gave you a small nod, eyes burning into yours. “Better than good.”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You kissed her again, but not her mouth this time. You pressed your lips to her neck, slow and indulgent, tasting the skin there. Down to her collarbone, where your tongue traced the curve, your hands moving to her hips to keep her steady. You heard the slight hitch in her breath when your lips dipped even lower, pressing along the top swell of her chest, still caged beneath her sports bra.

You smiled against her skin. “This in the way?”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, lips quirking. “What do you think?”

You didn’t hesitate. You slipped your hands under the band and dragged the fabric up and over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor. The second she was bare to you, you didn’t even look. You leaned in, kissing the top of her breast first, then lower, letting your tongue sweep over skin that was already flushed and warm. Her hands found your back, blunt nails digging slightly when your mouth closed around her nipples, drawing a soft, reluctant moan from her.

She arched into you without thinking, chest pressing against your mouth, and you took your time—suckling gently, then switching sides, giving her equal attention until her grip on your shoulders turned into a quiet plea.

“Mama.”

“Mhm?” you murmured against her.

She gave a small shake of her head and exhaled a half laugh. “Teasing me already?”

You kissed your way back up her collarbones, up her throat, and then caught her mouth again, messy and hungry. She could taste your hunger on your tongue and it only made her pull you closer.

One of your hands slipped between her legs, stroking over the inner thigh, slow and measured. You were deliberately avoiding where she wanted you most. She tried to shift her hips, subtly guiding your hand lower, but you held your place—firm, patient, smiling into the kiss.

“You’re not the only one who gets to tease,” you whispered against her lips.

“God,” she muttered, tilting her head back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a beat.

You used that moment to lean in, letting your mouth hover beside her ear, voice low and deliberate. “You want it, pretty girl?”

Paige’s brows knit together slightly, breath catching again. Her hands clenched the sheets beside her. “Yeah.”

Your hand finally slipped lower, brushing softly over her core,slow and maddening, enough to make her hips twitch. You dragged your fingers in circles, watching her expression unravel in real time—almost cursing at how wet she already was.

The look in her eyes—wide, dazed, dark with hunger—made your stomach twist in the best way.

You slowly pulled your hand away, earning yourself a disappointed sigh from the blonde underneath you.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth as you casually brought your fingers to her mouth, her tongue immediately darting out to lick off her own slick. It was nothing short of intoxicating and addicting to see her like that.

You slipped your fingers out of her mouth and your hand curled around the strap, getting a feel of what had been inside of you countless of times, before slowly spitting down on it. You watched as you stroked the silicone, wetting it. Suddenly, you understood why she found so much enjoyment in it, why she always took her sweet time while you waited impatiently.

And now the roles were reversed.

Paige was just about to protest, wanting to tell you to hurry the hell up, but the feeling of the tip of her own strap circling her entrance had her swallowing her own words and her breath catching in her throat.

“Y’good, daddy?” Your voice is silky smooth and sweet like honey, a smug look etched into your features.

Paige wanted to just flip you over and have her way with you. Calling her that while teasing her after you’d practically begged her to let you fuck her? You knew exactly what you were doing.

She didn’t reply, not with words. Her hands rose up, curling tightly around your hips, nails digging into the plush of your skin.

But you didn’t react—not even when she tried to pull you closer.

You positioned the tip at her leaking entrance, the sight causing you to unconsciously lick your lips. She needed you desperately, and probably had been all day long.

Slowly, hand still wrapped around the strap, you moved your hips closer, only the tip pushing in. You watched her for a moment, eyes glued on the way her lips parted as her head tipped back. Then, your gaze traveled down, taking in the way it slipped deeper inside of her torturously slow, inch by inch until you bottomed out.

Paige gasped at the delicious stretch, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“This okay?” You felt the need to ask, to make sure she was comfortable under your care and give her time to adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck,” the blonde cursed under her breath, her grip around your hips tightening as if you were her lifeline. “It’s good, mama. You can move.”

Nodding your head, you pulled out half way, easing back in with deliberate patience.

You shifted above Paige, the leather strap harness snug around your hips—foreign, unfamiliar, but grounding you in the moment. Your palms braced on either side of Paige's bare waist, breath catching as you looked down at her.

Paige was already flushed. Blonde hair a halo of gold across the pillow, pale chest rising and falling in shallow waves. Her legs fell open again, instinctively, as if inviting something she’d never asked for before.

Her lips parted, just barely. “You can… go slow.”

“I was planning to,” you murmured, voice low, nearly sweet. Your fingers brushed up Paige’s thigh in a soothing pass, a grounding gesture for both of you.

The first push back in was gentle. Careful. A slow rock forward as you let the strap guide you, adjusting to the rhythm, to the tension and give of Paige’s body beneath you. Paige’s breath hitched—sharp and soft at once—and her hands curled into the sheets.

Her blue eyes fluttered up, catching your gaze with something between disbelief and desire. She’d ever felt this full. Never been looked at this way.

You leaned down, lips grazing Paige’s jaw. “Still okay?”

Paige swallowed, nodding, her fingers sliding up to grip your forearm. “More than okay.”

You set a rhythm, slow and purposeful, letting each roll of your hips press deep and linger. Paige’s moans started soft, reluctant at first—like she was surprised by how good it feels. Each one drawn out, breathy, as her thighs trembled slightly with every thrust.

You watched her unravel beneath you. How Paige bit her bottom lip, how her fingers dragged along your bacm, how her lashes fluttered every time you sunk in deeper. It wasn’t just about control, it was about giving, too. Giving Paige something she never thought she wanted, and now couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Sweat beaded at both of your skin, the room warm with breath and heat and slow tension. When Paige wrapped her legs around your hips and pulled you in closer, your bodies locked together, like it was meant to feel this way all along.

“Fuck,” Paige breathed, voice wrecked. “You feel so good.”

You brushed your lips against her temple, whispering like it was sacred. “You feel even better, Baby.”

And then you rocked in again—harsher, deeper—and watched Paige slowly fall apart all over again.

The way she clung to you, the sound of her moans unraveling in your ear, the heat radiating off her body. Every time you sank into her, every time her hips tilted to meet yours, it got a little harder to hold back.

You didn’t even realize you were moving faster until her breath hitched again, more desperate this time. Her fingers dug into your hips like she needed something to ground herself, something solid while you pulled her apart.

Your eyes stayed glued to her. To the way her lips parted just before every moan. To the way her brows pulled together when your thrusts got deeper. To the way she took you, like it was too much and not enough all at once.

And then your gaze dropped, locked in on where your body met hers. How the strap stretched her glistening cunt.

You swore you could feel her. Swore you could feel every squeeze, every flutter, every reaction she gave you—even through the strap. And it drove you fucking insane.

The pace picked up, your hips rocking harder now, the sound of skin on skin thick in the air. Paige’s moans came faster, choked and breathy, and still she didn’t tell you to stop.

She didn’t want you to stop.

One of her hands slipped up to her mouth, knuckles pressed to her lips as she bit down, trying to keep quiet, trying to keep herself from falling apart too loudly.

“Don’t hide those sounds from me,” you warned, voice low and ruined, one hand grabbing her thigh to yank her closer with every thrust. “You’re so fucking pretty when you moan.”

Her eyes rolled back, her back arched, and a whimper escaped around her hand despite her best efforts.

“Look at you,” you murmured, nearly breathless yourself, the rhythm hard and steady now. “All spread out for me… letting me fuck you like this for the first time. You feel it, don’t you? You feel me in your guts.”

She nodded, mouth open but words gone, completely lost to the feeling.

And you were gone, too. Gone in the way she clutched at you, in the slick sounds filling the room, in the way she trembled every time you hit just right. You’d never seen her like this—never been inside her in this way. And it made you feel invincible.

It made you feel obsessed.

“I could stay right here all fucking night,” you whispered harshly, eyes devouring her. “You feel unreal. Don’t ever wanna stop.”

Paige let out a broken, muffled moan—legs shaking, knuckles white against her mouth, body arching into yours like she couldn’t bear a single inch of space between you.

And with every thrust, every cry, every sweet wrecked sound you pulled from her lips, you made her yours.

She’d taken taken two orgasms from you. Stolen them, really—left you shaking, wrung out, and aching with nothing to show for it but trembling thighs and the ghost of her mouth still between your legs. And now, with every thrust of your hips, the straps pressed hard against your core. Slick and pulsing and needy, and it was driving you insane.

Your fingers curled tight into the flesh of her hip, holding her in place, like if you didn’t keep her still you’d lose your fucking mind. Her legs locked around your waist, dragging you in deeper, and you leaned down to kiss her, messy and hungry and almost angry with how much you wanted her.

She moaned into your mouth, high pitched and breathless, and it broke something in you. The squelch of wet, filthy friction echoed between you, loud and obscene, and it made your stomach tighten. She was so fucking wet for you. You could feel her flutter around the strap again, tightening, pulling, like her body knew you now.

Her breath hitched, over and over, those beautiful little gasps coming faster, more ragged. Her thighs trembled against your sides. Her hand shot up to the pillow, grabbing desperately for something, anything, to ground herself.

“Oh my god—” she whimpered, breathless. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” you growled, not slowing for a second. “I know, baby. Look at you. So fucked out, clinging to me like this. You gonna cum all over me? Gonna soak it for me like a good fucking girl?”

Paige choked on a sob, nodding frantically as her mouth opened but no words came. Just sounds, broken, ruined little moans that made your hips stutter with the sheer heat of it.

“That’s it,” you panted, the rhythm wild now, completely consumed by her. “Take it. Take all of me. You feel that?”

“Y-yeah,” she gasped, her hand clawing at your back. “You fuck me so good—shit—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Your mouth dropped to her neck, biting down just enough to leave heat and pressure behind.

She cried out then, loud and raw, back arching as her orgasm hit like a fucking storm. She clung to you, muscles clenching hard around the strap as she came, soaking you with it, thighs twitching uncontrollably. Her moans turned into whimpers, then into wrecked little “oh my god”s and “don’t stop”s as her high dragged out, long and messy.

You didn’t stop, not right away. You rode it through, watched every flicker of pleasure twist across her face, obsessed with how beautiful she looked undone like this. She was yours. Wrecked by you. Filled by you.

And through it all, Paige kept whispering, voice hoarse and trembling. “So good… fuck, you feel so good… never—never been fucked like this before… you’re so fucking good, baby.”

You slowed eventually, panting against her skin, her praise still echoing in your head like a damn prayer. And all you could think—half crazed, overwhelmed, euphoric—was ‘I’d do it all over again.’ Just to see her fall apart like that one more time.

Her moans still echoed in your ears. High, strangled, ruined, and yet you still hadn’t cum.

She’d robbed your from it twice earlier, dragged those highs from you with her mouth, her fingers, her body pressed into yours like she had something to prove—then left you hanging. But now? Now it was your turn.

You didn’t give her time to come down. Didn’t even let her legs close. You fumbled with the straps, tugging the harness of and sitting back. Your thighs slipped between hers, only to be met by the hot, slick press of your cunt grinding down onto hers.

Her gasp was sharp, almost pained, but her hips lifted into yours anyway, her body betraying her sensitivity in favor of your shared need.

“Oh my god,” she whines, head rolling back as your cores met, swollen and soaked and completely unfiltered. The friction was messy, wet and loud and absolutely obscene, but you didn’t care. Neither of you did.

You moaned, high and needy, grinding harder as the sensation built—bare skin dragging against hers, nerves shot and screaming, the strap still hanging from your hips, forgotten now. It was just you and her—sliding together, chasing it, drowning in it

“Fuck, Paige—” you gasped, eyes half-lidded and locked on her flushed face. “I need—need to cum.”

She groaned, reaching for your hips with shaky hands, guiding you, matching your rhythm even though her legs were trembling.

“Take it,” she rasped, breath still ragged. “Fucking take it. You’ve earned it, baby. Cum for me, rub that pretty pussy on me until you fall apart. Don’t stop.”

You whimpered, the sound punched from your chest as you rolled your hips harder, faster, your wetness mixing with hers in a way that made everything slip and slide just right. Too much and not enough all at once.

Then—without warning—her hand slid up, two fingers pressing against your lips. You didn’t hesitate. You took them into your mouth, sucking hungrily, eyes glued to hers like she was your entire world.

Paige’s eyes darkened, her voice dropping into something deep and dangerous.

“Look at you,” she growled, the fingers in your mouth curling slightly, holding your jaw. “So desperate. So fucking wet. You gonna cum just from this? Grinding that needy little cunt on mine like a good girl?”

You moaned around her fingers, nodding, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. Your hips stuttered, rhythm breaking as the pressure built, dizzying and intense.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice a husk, her eyes wild with want. “C’mon. Show me. Take what you need, mama.”

You cried out around her fingers, your entire body locking up as your orgasm tore through you—hot and violent and blinding. You shook against her, thighs trembling, nails digging into her sides as you lost yourself, your high crashing into hers, mingled and messy and soaked with everything you’d been holding back.

And through it all, Paige just held you. Let you ride it out, while coming down herself. Her fingers slipped from your mouth, trailing down your jaw, down your neck, and she whispered,

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

Your chest was still heaving, legs quivering and damp with both your releases. She leaned in, her touch featherlight on your jaw, caressing your cheek like she hadn’t just dragged the orgasm of your life out of you.

“You good?” she murmured, voice hoarse, but laced with something dangerous underneath. Something eager.

You nodded, dazed, your lips parting to respond. But before a single word could come out, she flipped you onto your back with terrifying ease, making you gasp.

“You’ve had your fun,” she rasped, reaching behind her for the discarded strap and sliding it on like it was muscle memory. Her eyes never left yours. “My turn.”

Your breath caught. That quiet ache between your legs that had just barely dulled now flared back to life. Your heart kicked up again. You could only watch, eyes wide and pulse skipping, as she adjusted the straps against her hips, rolling them once to test the feel.

You expected her to climb over you again, to press her body flush against yours.

But instead, she grabbed your thigh, flipped you again, and hauled your hips up until your knees dug into the mattress and your chest hit the pillow.

“Wh—Paige—” you barely managed, dizzy from the motion, your ass up and exposed, slick still dripping between your thighs.

“Shh,” she said, low and firm, one hand splaying against your lower back to keep you down. “You’re ready for it, baby.”

And then she sank into you.

No warning. No teasing. Just one smooth, hard thrust that punched the air from your lungs. The stretch burned for a second, sensitive and overwhelming, but your body welcomed her fast, the slickness easing her in and making the glide so damn deep.

You gasped into the pillow, your fingers clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck!” You tried to back away from the sudden intrusion.

“Oh, now you wanna run from this dick?” she growled behind you, her pace already brutal, hand gripping the back of your neck and pinning you down. “Stay with it, ma.”

Every word was punctuated by a thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin loud and wet, echoing through the room like sin. The bed rocked, your thighs shaking, your jaw slack as moans spilled from your lips without warning.

“You feel that?” she panted, hips snapping forward. “So tight—still sucking me in like you didn’t just come all over me a few minutes ago.”

You whined, eyes rolling back.

“Messy fucking girl,” she hissed. “Dripping all over my thighs. Can’t even think straight, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to beg, moan, something—but all that came out were high pitched sounds, your cheek rubbing against the pillow as she fucked into you like she owned every part of you. You knew it was gonna leave makeup stains.

“You like being used like this?” she breathed. “Stuffed full of my cock like a good little slut?”

You whimpered, nodding frantically, and Paige moaned behind you, a low, almost possessive sound that made you clench around the toy still sliding in and out of you.

“Yeah, you do,” she said, her voice unraveling. “So greedy. So fucking wet for me. You’d let me do this all night if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

You would. God, you would.

And she knew it.

Her hand slipped down your back, finding your ass, squeezing once before giving it two sharp slaps that sent a jolt through your body.

You were loud. Too loud.

You knew it the second the heel of her hand shoved your face further into the soft pillow, muffling the wanton moans that kept slipping past your swollen lips. The hotel room felt like it was vibrating with your sounds—high, helpless, wrecked. Paige’s thrusts hadn’t let up for a second.

“Shh,” she gritted, eyes blazing as she hovered above you, sweat dripping down her chest. “You want the whole floor to hear how good I’m fucking you?”

Your response was just a choked whimper, muffled against the pillow. You couldn’t stop trembling.

She’d slid out and flipped you fast, like you weighed nothing, shoving you onto your back and sliding right back in with a single sharp thrust. She slapped a hand over your mouth, covering it. Now your legs were everywhere. One pinned tightly against your chest, the other slung up and over her shoulder, spreading you open, folding you. The angle had her deep—so deep you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but take it. You swore you could feel her in your lungs.

“Fuck, look at you,” she rasped, her eyes dragging over your face. “Mascara running, mouth open, pussy clenching like you’re trying to milk me. You can’t stop, can you?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to answer her, but all that came out was a cry into her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” she growled. “Drippin’ on the sheets, crying for my cock.”

You blinked up at her, more tears threatening to spill now from overstimulation, from how full you felt. You were so far gone it didn’t even feel real.

And then her voice dropped lower—dangerously low. Possessive.

“I could fuck a baby into you like this, mama,” she murmured, eyes locked to where she was sliding in and out of you. “Folded in half, stuffed so deep you’d take every last drop.”

Your entire body tensed at her words, another sharp cry muffled against her hand.

“Oh, that got you,” she cooed, rolling her hips slow and deep, pressing until your breath caught and your toes curled. “You want me to fuck you full, huh? Knock you up?”

You whined, your hands scrambling up to her wrist, not to pull her hand away—but to hold her there, like the weight of it grounded you.

She leaned in, sweat-slicked chest and hard nipples brushing yours, her palm still sealing your mouth as she whispered filth in your ear.

“Everyone down the hall could hear you if I let go,” she breathed. “You want them to know what I’m doing to you? Want them to hear you beg me to cum inside? To fill you up so good you’ll still feel it tomorrow?”

You couldn’t take it. Your back arched, tears spilling now from the intensity of it all. Her words, her thrusts, the way your body had no control anymore.

“You gonna cum for me again?” she growled, pace turning brutal. “So messy, so loud, soaking my cock like it was made for that pretty pussy?”

You screamed into her hand as your climax hit you hard, your body locking up, shaking beneath her like you’d been electrocuted. Every muscle trembled, your cunt pulsing around the toy like it was real, like your body couldn’t tell the difference.

“Fuck,” she moaned, watching you fall apart. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Take it.”

Your cries were muffled, desperate, ruined. And still, she didn’t stop. She fucked you through it, deep and filthy, until you went limp beneath her, completely wrecked, your leg falling from her shoulder as she finally slowed down, panting hard above you.

And when she finally removed her hand, your lips were glossy with spit, your cheeks stained with black streaks, your voice barely a whisper.

“Paige…”

“Shh,” she whispered, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Just lay there. Let me take care of you.”

And with one last kiss to your temple, she finally pulled out, leaving you gasping, trembling, your entire body a soaked, overstimulated, satisfied mess.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling as Paige finally stilled above you. The sweat on her skin shimmered under the dim bedside light, her golden hair clinging to her temples, and her lips were parted—soft, flushed, as if she’d just confessed something without meaning to.

You didn’t even realize you were crying again until she reached up and thumbed away the tears under your eyes. Her touch was gentle now, tender and careful, as if she was worried she’d break you after what she’d just done.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing her thumb along your jaw. “You okay?”

You gave a dazed little nod, voice barely audible. “Mhm… Just… That was crazy, what the fuck.” You let out a long exhale.

Her chest lifted with a soft laugh, but there was something else behind it. A vulnerability. A truth trying to sneak through between the lines.

She helped you sit up slowly, her hands never leaving your skin. She unstrapped herself and tossed the harness aside, then climbed back onto the bed to cradle you in her lap, letting your legs rest over hers. You could still feel her heartbeat beneath your cheek as you curled into her, warm and safe.

You were quiet for a while—until you felt her lips near your ear.

“I’d do it,” she murmured, voice thick and quiet.

Your brow furrowed slightly, still dazed. “Do what?”

She pulled back just enough for her eyes to meet yours.

“Put a baby in you,” she said, dead serious. “If I could… I would’ve done it right there. Fucked it into you like I meant it.”

A breath caught in your throat, the ache between your legs flaring back up even though you were exhausted and sore. Your heart felt like it skipped a beat.

“Cute.” You grinned bashfully, eyes still glassy. “I’d let you.”

And you meant it—God, did you mean it. If biology didn’t care, if the world didn’t matter—you’d let Paige Bueckers ruin your body, mark your life, and carry her forever in you. You’d wear her love, her heat, her name, like it was carved into your bones.

She kissed you softly after that, nowhere near as greedy or hard as before. Just lips to lips. Reverent. Slow. Worshipful.

“C’mon,” she murmured eventually, slipping out from under you and reaching for a robe. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let her guide you into the hotel’s oversized bathtub, both of you sinking into the steaming bath she’d set up. She sat behind you, your back against her chest, arms looped gently around your waist.

She washed you with care—her fingers massaging your scalp, rinsing off the sweat, the stickiness, the smeared makeup. All the marks she’d left.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t… Did I?”

She chuckled, warm breath against your cheek.

“Nah,” she whispered. “You were perfect.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and sinking further into her hold.

And there, in the soft glow of the bathroom lights, skin clean, hearts raw, and bodies tangled up beneath the water—you stayed. Letting love settle in the places lust had already scorched. Letting her hold you like she never planned to let go.

Because she didn’t.

And neither did you.

[stargirlygirl]

valentine's day with the boys

shoto, denki, katsuki, shinsou, shiggy, kiri, izuku, tamaki, tenya, touya, hanta x fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — fluff, college au, 2.7k words

a/n: happy valentine's day!! sloppy kisses for all of you mwah. i have over 200 followers now which is actually insane. thank you so much for all of your support! i hope this feeds you well.

todoroki shoto

⭑.ᐟ he has been eyeing you for a few months now and makes an effort to speak to you most days, even though you do most of the talking.

for valentine's day, he gets you an expensive perfume and lipstick he thinks compliments you so well (pays with his dad’s card ofc).

the day before valentine’s, he catches up with you after class and asks you to take a walk with him. he leads you to one of the quiet gardens and presents you with the gifts he bought for you.

“can i be your valentine?” he says quietly. he's blushing a little as he stares at you. you nod, thanking him and reassuring him that you’d love for him to be your valentine.

on your valentine’s date, you wear the perfume and lipstick he got you (they suit you so well!). he surprises you with a beautiful bouquet of red roses and takes you to his favourite noodle place. he gets their signature yakisoba (duh) and makes recs for you. you try his soba and moan in delight, stunning the poor boy who’s so nervous rn that he’s actually going out with you. he listens to you yap with stars in his eyes, more than content to get drunk on your voice

the night ends with a tender hug and a promise to go out again sometime.

kaminari denki

⭑.ᐟ he has been stuck in the friend zone for the past year. literally trying to rizz you up every chance he gets but is rejected every time (he cries laughs it off).

the day before valentine’s, you enlist denki’s help to make some goodies for your uni’s bake sale tomorrow.

he confesses his love to you via a heart-shaped jam cookie, telling you how he’s been in love with you since you met and that all those times he asked you out weren’t jokes. his feelings just spill over as he holds the warm cookie in his hands, gazing at it with rosy cheeks.

“i just-fuck-i really like you y/n and i want to be your valentine. can i—” you pick up the cookie from his palm and take a bite. your eyes widen because it tastes good. you bring the other side up to his half-open mouth and shove it in. he chews on the delicious cookie but, almost chokes on it as you giggle and tell him that you like him too, that you’d love for him to be yours.

on valentine’s day, you two help out with the bake sale. afterwards, you two walk around campus, handing out the leftover goodies to anyone in sight. you then book it back to your place for the night and make dinner together (as if he cooks).

after dinner, you two cuddle up on the couch and watch a rom-com.

bakugou katsuki

⭑.ᐟ he’s been tolerating you for a while. it’s only when hanta suggests asking you to be his valentine that bakugou realises how much he wants you.

the day before valentine’s, he waves you over during hockey practice (arf arf arf for hockey player bakugou omfg yummy yum bark bark rawr rattling my cage). you point to yourself, mouthing “me”. he just smirks and saunters up to you.

once you’re within reach, he tugs you close and smashes his lips on yours. you meet his rough kiss with wide eyes before softening and melting into his warm embrace.

when he pulls away, he demands that you be his valentine, “this shit is for losers but, you’re my valentine, alright?” he grunts. you blink at him, unable to think straight. seeing that dumb look on your face, he tugs you back into another passionate kiss. when he pulls back this time, you nod and whisper that you’ll be his.

on valentines day, you two go to a museum together (because you think history is cool or whatever) and have lunch afterwards.

the date ends with a sweet kiss as you have a new bf now hehe.

shinsou hitoshi

⭑.ᐟ he’s been working on a new song for valentine’s day (inspired by you ofc). he asks you to come over to his place a few days before valentine’s so he can show it to you. toshi knows how much you love hearing him play.

he’s peeking out his bedroom window, watching for any sight of you at least ten minutes before you agreed to meet him. when you show up, he rushes down the stairs and orders everyone not to open the door.

he invites you inside while running his hands through his hair and leads you to the garage. you sit down on the chewed-out sofa and watch him excitedly as he plays his latest song on his guitar, singing with a delicious rasp. he keeps his eyes on you the entire time. when he’s finished, you ask him what inspired him.

“you did, kitten. i want you to be my valentine… n’ maybe something more. how does that sound?” he says, smirking. you’re stunned by the fact that he feels this way about you. you giggle and stutter nervously about how much you would like that.

on valentines day, you spend the day in toshi's garage. he teaches you how to play the guitar on one of his older ones. he ends up tickling you and lying on top of you on his sofa, peppering you with kisses and whispering sweet-nothings.

congratulations, you have acquired a hot lead guitarist bf.

shigaraki tomura

⭑.ᐟ holy moly has this man been pining for you for far too long. he’s been overthinking asking you to be his valentine since the start of the year.

a week before valentine's day, you offhandedly mention that you like snake/spider bites when chatting with toga on the way to class. shiggy – being the loser that he is – was trailing behind you two, eavesdropping.

after class, he finds touya and asks to take him to a good piercer. that afternoon, he’s gritting his teeth as he gets his lip pierced with touya standing in the corner, filming (like the little shit he is).

the next day, you block shiggy from entering class. you stand in front of him, rocking to the side when he tries to get past you. he hides beneath his cap but you grab his chin and tilt his gaze toward you, taking in his new piercings with a creased brow.

you tell him that you saw touya’s instagram post and needed to know for sure if he got it done. shiggy grumbles and tells you to go away but you grab his wrist and tug him to a nearby bench. plopping down on it, you ask if he’s okay, and he mutters that he’s fine. avoiding your gaze, he asks if you like them, if you like him.

“you like these, right? cause… i-i got them f’you. cause i like you… or whatever.” you give him the biggest cuddle and reassure him that you love them and that you really like him.

you two spend valentine's day at shiggy’s apartment playing video games. you gently kiss his face after he smashes through so many levels, careful to avoid his fresh piercing.

kirishima eijiro

⭑.ᐟ he's liked you for a few months now; he’s enraptured with your presence and personality, your beauty, your everything.

eiji buys you a gorgeous bouquet of your favourite flowers and surprises you with them at your place. he tells you straight out that he likes you and that he wants you to be his valentine.

“i’ve liked you for a while now and i want you to be my valentine. maybe even my girlfriend if you’ll consider it," he says, gazing at you intensely. you tell him that you’ll start with being his valentine and kiss him on the cheek, taking the bouquet from his arms.you’re blushing hard as you ask him how he knew what your favourite flowers were (he asked your friends).

on valentines day, he’s got a boxing match. he gets you a front-row seat, and you cheer so loud for him the entire time he fights. emerging victorious, you stand up and clap, causing the people around you to do the same.

you meet him out the back and pepper his face with sweet kisses before catching his lips in a tender one. you two go out for dinner that night (his treat ofc).

over ice cream, you talk about your greatest fears and biggest ambitions.

he drops you back at your place that night and kisses you goodbye, promising you that he’ll become a man who’s worthy of dating you.

midoriya izuku

⭑.ᐟ he's probably pining for you since middle school or something. he writes you a four-page love letter detailing his love and admiration for you.

izu slips it in your bag during a study session a week before valentine's day. he gets really nervous the next day when you see each other but is immediately disheartened when you don’t say anything about it.

it’s only the day before valentines you find the letter (it slipped out of your bag as you were searching for a hair tie). you read it with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat.

after calming down, you head to his place. opening the door, izuku is met with you clutching his now tear-stained love letter in your hands. you throw yourself in his awaiting arms and apologise profusely for not finding it sooner. he shushes you and reassures you that it’s okay.

“don’t be sorry. i should have just told you that i liked you. d-do you-um feel that way too, y/n?” you nod enthusiastically and kiss him with shaky lips, his freckled cheeks cupped in your wet hands

izu takes you on a picnic for valentines day near the river. over sandwiches and cheesecake, you laugh about how long you’ve both been crushing on each other.

tamaki amajiki

⭑.ᐟ he's been crushing on you for years. he tries three times in the lead-up to valentine's day to ask you to be his.

the first time, you find him sitting in a corner at the library. you whisper to a very quiet tama about the upcoming assignment for one of your courses. when you finish speaking, he opens his mouth to ask you to be his valentine but, the librarian shoots you two a dangerous look and tells everyone to be quiet.

the second time, you’re walking out of class with nejire yapping away when he catches sight of you. neijire knows how much he likes you and tells you that he needs to talk to you about something. you hum and go up to tama, asking him if everything is okay. he starts mumbling that he likes you when mirio shows up out of nowhere and pulls you two into his burly frame, asking if you’re excited about the game tonight.

the third time, you’re catching the train home together after choir practice. you sit next to each other, you yapping away and tama listening nervously (he can’t stop staring down as he picks at a loose thread on his pants). as the train draws nearer to your stop, he starts panicking.

he looks up with wide eyes and quietly confesses to you, "s-sorry y/n i-i l-like you. a lot. please be—consider— being m-my valentine.” he scrunches his eyes shut, afraid of your reaction. you press the softest kiss to his cheek and whisper in his ear that you’d love to be before getting up and waving goodbye.

on valentines day, you go to a food market and spend the day sampling all of the different foods (the grilled octopus is your favourite).

your date ends with you giving him a warm hug and telling him to text you when he gets home. after texting you, he collapses on his bed, overthinking everything that just happened.

iida tenya

⭑.ᐟ who is the top student in every single one of his courses, and who has no time for dating outside of his busy study, extracurriculars, and work schedule. but then he meets you during a tutorial, and boy is he smitten.

it’s the day before valentine’s when you two sit with each other in the library for your weekly study session. the librarian kicks you out at 9pm and tenya walks you to the train station.

you’re about to head off to your platform when he catches your hand. it’s silent except for the distant whirring of cars and the trembling of train tracks. no one else is around to witness how gently he holds your hand, his finger intertwining with yours. you ask him what’s wrong but he shakes his head.

he clears his throat and pushes up his glasses before asking you, “would you like to be my valentine?” you chuckle and nod, drawing closer to him and grabbing his other hand. you kiss his jaw tenderly and skip off to your platform before you miss your train.

on valentines day, tenya takes you to the ballet. by the end, you’re in tears, clutching his hand. you’re one of the last to leave the theatre, tenya wiping your eyes and rubbing your back.

that night, he promises you he’ll make time for you in his busy schedule and gives you a big cuddle before parting ways.

todoroki touya

⭑.ᐟ he's actually been obsessed with you since you were kids and plotting to make you his since the moment you accidentally threw a building block at his head on the first day of kindergarten (he still has a little scar near his hairline from your attack).

this is finally the year that he’s gonna do it (he tells himself).

as part of his therapy, he does recreational candle-making. he knows how much you love candles since you’re always adding a new one to your collection, texting him pictures of them and claiming that this one is “different”.

he chuckles as he pours different oils into the boiling wax, thinking about how he’ll give you something you’ve never seen before.

a few days before valentine’s, he’s got your candle all wrapped and tied with a pretty bow (fuyumi’s work). he's standing near the garden on your route to your favourite coffee shop (he knows that you'll be getting hungry around now). as soon as he sees you, he's suddenly the same five-year-old boy who’s giddy from the blood rushing to his head and the apologetic mumbles from your mouth as you sobbed.

you notice him and wave as you walk over to him. you're grinning as asking him how he is. he tries to act cool (as per usual), but his heart rate is off the charts. he’s breaking out into a sweat, about to start panting from his nervousness.

those icy blue eyes widen as you press the back of your hand to his forehead, claiming he has a fever. he shakes his head; a moment of clarity.

he thrusts the candle into your hands as he blurts out, “willyoubemyvalentine?” you accept and throw your arms around him, reassuring him that you’d like nothing more.

that night, you blow up his phone with how much you love your new candle.

on valentine’s day, you two make it your mission to try every flavour of slurpee from your local seven eleven. with belly aches and rainbow tongues, you two lie on your couch and confess your long-held feelings for one another.

sero hanta

⭑.ᐟ he’s been crushing on you for a few months now.

at eijiro’s house party, he gets dared by the bakusquad to ask you out for valentine’s day. with shaky hands and an even shakier resolve, he comes over to you and asks if he can take you outside.

the cool breeze provides the reprieve you two need from the heap of sweaty bodies, scent of alcohol, and endless making out inside. you ask him if everything’s okay, but he shakes his head.

stuffing his hands in his pockets and avoiding your gaze, he mumbles, “y/n, I really like you, okay? do you wanna be my valentine?” you playfully shove his shoulder, telling him that, obviously, you do.

you two spend the rest of the night sitting in hammocks and drunkenly chatting over your feelings and the latest gossip at uni

on valentine’s day, hanta teaches you how to skateboard at your local skate park. it’s embarrassing wearing all of these pads to protect your joints, but oh-so-necessary with the number of times you fall over. he holds your hands and laughs at you when you rock side-to-side, but he always encourages you to keep going.

afterwards, you two grab some ice cream and sit at the back of the parlour. like all cute couples, you feed each other your different flavours and hold hands as you walk home.

you ask a red-faced hanta if he wants to be your boyfriend, and he says yes.

[theerurishipper]

Twitter AU Masterpost

I decided to compile a list of my Twitter posts, and just put in a little summary of what goes on in each so anyone who wants to can find whichever one they want.

Now also on AO3:

Part 1

Damian bullies Bruce and Dick messes with him, Bruce simps for Superman on main and Clark and Damian take on a hater in the replies, Jason wants to be verified and his siblings bully him a little.

Part 2

A fan of Nightwing's gets a picture of him and Robin and Red Robin battle it out in the replies while Flash stirs up shit, Donna posts a picture of Dick and the Fab Five take on a hater, Damian texts Dick about his profile picture, a lucky Gothamite snaps not one but two pictures of Batblob.

Part 3

Nightwing posts a picture and the people of Bludhaven take the time to appreciate him, Red Robin reminisces about kicking Red Hood and Red Hood gets bullied some more, Batman posts a picture of baby Robin!Dick and everyone coos over it, Riddler questions how Batman got his Twitter handle.

Part 4

A warning is issued for Gotham vigilantes about Batman and Catwoman getting busy and Nightwing's trauma about this is addressed, the debate over Batman's sex life is put to rest, Talia issues a clarification and sets the record straight, Gotham discusses Bruce's emo era.

Part 5

Lex hateposts about superheroes and Bruce annihilates him in the replies, there's an investigation into the matter of Luthor's handle, a mysterious troll makes an appearance, Dick questions Clark, Bruce reveals his and Clark's shenanigans from Dick's Robin days, and a hater is given even more power.

Part 6

Lex is salty and Lois and Clark tear him apart, Superman posts a picture and is accused of plagiarism, Nightwing starts a trend, Babs takes issue with her overuse of coffee being questioned.

Part 7

Oracle and Red Hood reveal the story of why Joker is banned from Twitter, the people of Gotham reminisce about an old tradition, Bruce gets roasted by Alfred, Damian has a wholesome interaction.

Part 8

Damian bonds with Dick and gets trolled by Steph, Spoiler finally creates an account, Spoiler poses a question to the people of Gotham, Batman is bullied by his kids and a billionaire.

Part 9

Spoiler gets a present, mistakes have consequences, Red Robin questions Nightwing's decisions, a resident of North Dakota has a life changing experience.

Part 10

Some well-meaning Gothamites stand up for Red Hood and Oracle gives a history lesson, an old face makes a less than triumphant return, the fab five have some fun, a relatable photo of Batman reveals something more and a new player enters the picture.

Part 11

Harley Quinn beats up Joker, Flash is disgusted by Nightwing, Batman's hypocrisy is revealed, Superman has some fun at Batman's expense.

Part 12

Black Canary fondly remembers a better time, Green Arrow confronts Batman, Green Arrow issues an apology, Oliver schemes and plots, a well-kept secret is finally revealed.

Part 13

Arsenal reveals a personal secret, the people discuss some new revelations, the fab five weigh in on Arsenal's problems, Nightwing takes a stand.

Part 14

The Gotham villains share some opinions, Two-Face and Riddler have an argument, Flash finally picks a side, Green Arrow evades responsibility.

Part 15

Some observers share some hot takes, the Superfam witnesses a breakdown, Lois asks Bruce for help, Dick puts an end to the ongoing feud, everyone starts to move on.

Part 16

Deathstroke shares a story of a failed assassination, someone loses their Twitter privileges, the Court of Owls tries to recruit Nightwing, Talon gets more than he bargained for, some very recent history repeats itself.

Part 17

Bruce is a meme, The League has some concerns about their monthly budget, Nightwing's personality confuses everyone who knows him.

Part 18

Bruce's mistakes reveal his most defining character trait, an early present for Superman causes chaos in the present, Superman's reactions to the goings on lead to some pleasant destructive results, Bruce's inability to understand memes is discussed

Part 19

Red Hood shares an embarrassing opinion, Red Robin starts an argument, Superman wins massively, the superhero community can agree on one thing.

Part 20

The villains discuss their least favorite Robin, Nightwing defends his pettiness, Red Hood endures some misplaced blame, Tim explains his masterful plan, Jason finally gets a win.

Part 21

The Court of Owls is humbled, Nightwing's friends face a problem, a culprit is found responsible, Arsenal gets in hot water.

Part 22

One of Bruce's childhood obsessions is revealed, Riddler tries to call out Batman and runs his mouth online, Riddler issues an apology, the Wayne kids' comments about Bruce eccentric habits reveals their own inadequacies.

Part 23

A tweet is posted by a concerning individual, the heroes find a surprising ally, Superman is the victim of a prank, Superman fires back.

[haikyu-mp4]

Irrestistible – Suna x reader wc 1143 – gn!reader hockey player x figure skater au

“You figure skate, right?” Suna said, a bare-minimum attempt at whispering. The two of you sat in the middle of the library, squeezed between someone who seemed to be on their last straw and someone who did not like history.

His random question brought you out of your self-deprecating thoughts and back into the room, where you had to tutor one of your class’ most obnoxious, lazy, careless, idiotic-

“Yes,” you answered kindly, despite your thoughts. “I do.”

“I know,” he whispered, lips pursed together as if sheepish, but the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “You’re real pretty.”

Clearing your throat, you strictly kept your eyes on his book on the desk after realising you had stared at his eyes for a little too long. “Let’s stay focused on this, I don’t have all day.”

“Sure, take the lead.”

The next time you met in the library, it seemed that the two of you finally loosened the knot in Suna’s head that insisted he couldn’t do maths. You grinned when he solved one of the more difficult issues on his own, holding up a hand for a high-five and not even caring that much when the sound of it might have disturbed some of the others who sat close by.

“You did so well!”

But the happiness you felt at him accomplishing this wasn’t the only thing that occupied your mind. At your praise, Suna couldn’t help but smile widely, showing much more of his teeth than you could usually see. Your eyes zeroed in, and Suna’s smile fell, lips pursing together to hide his two missing teeth on the one side. “Thank you. What’s next?”

You nodded subtly, registering his avoidance of the subject. “Integrals.”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm dramatically over his face. “The misery never ends!”

You didn’t stop thinking about it, though. A lot of the more reckless hockey players chipped or lost their teeth now and then, but it was usually fixed within the week. What could have happened for him to be missing them still?

Suna suddenly turned to you, putting a finger under your chin so you would face him. “You might as well just ask.”

“What happened to your teeth?” you whispered.

Suna huffed through his nose, and the signature smirk stretched across his lips. “I annoy people, frequently.”

The answer made you chuckle under your breath, gaze falling on his notebook, which proved he hadn’t focused much on the last few problems either. Gulping at his intense stare, you hesitated but asked anyway. “Why haven’t you had them fixed?”

“It’s expensive. My parents already paid for me to transfer here; the scholarship doesn’t cover my own wrongdoings.”

Looking back up, you had sympathy painted all over your face. You weren’t sure how to answer but didn’t have to figure it out as Suna perked up and turned back to his task.

“But one day I’ll be in the big leagues and my smile will be back to irresistible.”

Even though you and Suna were both at the rink many days of the week, you hadn’t run into each other much before. At least, you hadn’t noticed him.

Now, you could swear he was always there. Whether he gave you a short wave when you passed by while he played or winked at you when he saw you skating, you found yourself growing fond of his presence.

This time, he walked up to you after you finished training, slumping down beside where you were switching from skates to normal shoes. “Hey,” he said.

You looked around and noticed there were no other hockey players left, then glanced at the clock to confirm that his training had ended two hours ago. “Suna, did you wait here for two hours?”

He shrugged, but the smile on his face gave away something less careless. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“Why?”

“The other day, you said you weren’t happy they switched our training because you had to walk home late. Thought I might walk you home.”

It sounded like your heartbeat wanted to talk to him, ringing in your ears and pinching its colour into your cheeks. You looked down at your shoe and tied the last lace. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Suna made it a regular thing, staying around until you finished training to walk you home, chatting about your days and lives, interests and dislikes. It became your favourite part of the day, and your friends commented regularly on how you and Suna sat closer and closer to each other each time you tutored him.

This time, you didn’t get off the ice after training. You skated a couple more laps while the others filed out of the room one by one, wishing your pulse would slow down before you spoke to Suna.

“Put your skates back on.”

Suna blinked, taken off guard by the change in routine. “My skates?”

You confirmed and giggled as he got to it, glancing at you with suspicion. When he got back up, skates safely secured, you ushered him to meet you in the middle of the ice. “Have you ever danced on ice before?”

Pride filled you at seeing the cool-headed Suna Rintaro out of his element. He raised his arms carefully, allowing you to direct his hands to your waist. “Not like you do.”

With careful movements, you moved to the side, and he followed clumsily. His eyes darted straight down to your feet. While he was good at skating, he wasn’t used to avoiding someone else’s skates while moving. “Just follow my lead,” you encouraged.

Your eyes were locked onto where a blush spread quickly from his neck to his ears. He finally looked up as he got into the pattern of your movements. “Am I in trouble?” he chuckled.

You hummed and smiled, leaning closer to twirl the two of you in a circle. When you slowed to a stop, you slid your arms around his neck, and a chill ran through you as he naturally followed and moved his arms around you. “I think I have a crush on you.”

Suna groaned, which disturbed the palpable tension between you and made you question yourself entirely. Oh no, maybe you had misunderstood. Had he not returned your affections? Did you just make a complete fool out of yourself-

“Sublime!” he yelled, tilting his head back so it wouldn’t ring in your ears. You drew a breath and held it, shocked at the outburst yet consumed with happiness at what it might mean.

His head came back down so he could look at you, grin wider than you had ever seen it, with his missing teeth on full display.

You couldn’t help but think that his smile was already irresistible.

masterlist

[luna-thecreator]

(credit to @mama-rein for making the banner for me <3)

Part 1 (Eboni x Smoke's Story): Flicker and Fade

Paring: Stack (Elias Moore) x Evelyn (Mixed OC)

Plot: As old emotions resurface and new truths unfold, she must decide if some wounds are meant to stay closed—or finally be healed.

Word Count: 3.2k

Tags: language, power dynamics, emotional tension, , dangerous love interest, emotional trauma, mentions of abandonment,

A month ago, Evelyn had met a woman named Eboni. Their encounter had been quiet, casual—a brief exchange in the corner of a smoky bar after one of Evelyn's late-night gigs. Eboni had been sitting alone, nursing a glass of whiskey, her eyes hidden beneath the brim of her hat. There was an air of mystery around her, a quiet strength that intrigued Evelyn.

Eboni never spoke much about herself, never shared anything too personal. She was a woman of few words, and the ones she did speak were measured, guarded. She often wore an enigmatic smile, and Evelyn couldn’t decide whether it was warmth or something else entirely lurking behind her eyes. All Evelyn knew for sure was that Eboni used to sing at a juke joint—one of those dim-lit, back-alley places where the music was louder than the world outside. But that life, Eboni said, had been cut short when a man had taken her in, offered her something more stable, more secure. Evelyn had tried to dig a little deeper, to understand the man who had swept her off her feet, but Eboni never lingered on the details. She just shrugged it off, like it was a chapter of her life she no longer cared to revisit.

Tonight, though, Eboni had invited Evelyn to visit the juke joint again. The same one Eboni had once graced the stage of, her voice echoing through the smoky air. Evelyn had agreed, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what kind of place it was—whether it still carried that same weight of history, or if it had become just another establishment run by the hands of time. It had intrigued her, and she couldn't help but feel the pull of curiosity.

Evelyn started her day the way she always did. The smell of fresh coffee filled her small apartment, mingling with the scent of tobacco as she lit a cigarette. She didn’t care for much—nothing fancy, no expensive perfumes or new clothes. It was just her, the smoke, and the rhythm of the blues that set the pulse of her mornings. The old record player, worn from use, churned out the familiar tunes of Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, and Bessie Smith. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the music seep into her soul, the sound of it reverberating in the bones of her apartment. The beat of the music always settled her mind, a way of shaking off the remnants of last night’s troubles.

She couldn’t help but move as the music wrapped around her, swaying gently as her body found its rhythm. It was instinctive—dancing had always been second nature to her. The light from the morning sun barely filtered through the window, casting soft shadows on her as she moved, the music carrying her every step. She was at ease, in her own world. For a woman who had learned early on to keep her guard up, this—this feeling of freedom—was the only place she truly felt at peace.

Evelyn was a woman with curves that could’ve belonged to someone else, but somehow, they fit her perfectly. She wasn’t slim, not in the way the world expected. But there was a beauty to her softness, to the way her round hips swayed with every move she made. Her hair was a thick, curly mass, wild and untamed, always just a bit too much for others to truly understand. A sprinkling of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose, a mark of her mixed heritage—just enough to leave an impression but never enough to make her feel entirely out of place. And as much as she carried the subtle traces of her white ancestry, it was the blackness in her skin that stood out most. The dark shade of her skin, rich and radiant, filled every room she walked into, commanding attention even when she wasn’t trying to.

She didn’t think much of it. To Evelyn, it was just the way she was. No label, no need for others to try to categorize her. She had always found that people were more inclined to define you by what they saw, not what you felt. So, she let it all settle in the space between her and the world—her beauty, her scars, her past—and danced. In moments like this, alone with the rhythm of the blues, she felt like nothing else mattered. The outside world could wait.

But tonight was different. As she made her way to the mirror, adjusting the hem of her dress and wiping the smudges of the day from her face, she realized she was heading into the unknown. The invitation to the juke joint wasn’t just a casual affair. Eboni, the woman who barely spoke about her past, had reached out to her, pulling her into a world Evelyn had yet to explore fully. What would this night bring? Would it answer the questions Evelyn hadn’t even known she was asking? Or would it stir something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to confront?

As she finished her coffee, she stubbed out the cigarette, adjusting her hair and glancing once more at her reflection before grabbing her coat. There was something about Eboni—a quiet allure that Evelyn couldn’t shake. She’d soon find out what it was, and maybe, just maybe, this night would offer her more answers than she ever expected.

Evelyn’s gaze swept across the dimly lit room as she stepped into the juke joint, the heavy scent of cigarette smoke mixing with the hum of old blues that crawled from the speakers. The place felt like it had been frozen in time—shadows clinging to every corner, worn wood floors beneath the weight of secrets and late-night confessions. It was just the kind of place Evelyn liked, the kind where the past lingered like smoke in the air, and nothing was ever said outright. The music, slow and mournful, filled the space with its aching rhythm, just the way she liked it.

Her eyes flicked to the bar, and she spotted Eboni immediately. The woman was perched on a barstool, her silhouette barely discernible in the low lighting, her presence magnetic. Eboni’s dark eyes were focused on the glass in her hand, her lips set in a calm, unreadable expression. As always, there was something distant about her—some quiet strength that drew people in without her ever having to try. It was part of what made her so alluring, part of why Evelyn couldn’t shake the curiosity that had bloomed inside her since their first meeting.

But before Evelyn could take another step, the door creaked open with a quiet groan, and two men walked in.

Smoke and Stack.

Evelyn’s heart skipped, but she quickly masked the shock. She hadn’t seen Stack in three years—not since the day he left without a word, without an explanation. Her stomach twisted at the familiar feeling of his presence, even though she hadn't expected it tonight. And Smoke... well, she’d never forgotten the calculated way he moved, his sharp eyes always observing, always calculating. He was the kind of man who made decisions with precision, weighing every move before he made it.

He walked in first, the heavy thud of his boots on the floor a sound that seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the room. Smoke’s posture was perfect, like he owned the place. The light glinted off his jacket, making his presence all the more noticeable, but it was the way he carried himself—the quiet power, the confidence—that had heads turning. He barely spared a glance at anyone, his focus entirely on Eboni at the bar.

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat as Smoke made his way over to Eboni. The closer he got, the more her nerves buzzed. She hadn’t seen him in years either, but his power was undeniable. He reached Eboni, who looked up with a small, knowing smile that made Evelyn feel like an intruder. Smoke leaned in, brushing a kiss against her lips—soft, intimate, like they were the only two people in the world.

Evelyn froze, her mind scrambling to make sense of what she was seeing. Eboni had never mentioned anything about Smoke. She’d never given any indication that she was involved with someone, let alone someone like him. It was a punch to the gut, though she wouldn’t have admitted it aloud. She was left standing there, caught between the pull of curiosity and the sting of jealousy she hadn’t expected to feel.

And then, Stack.

He stayed by the door, as if he was afraid to step any further into the room. His eyes scanned the bar, briefly catching sight of Evelyn, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. She could see the conflict in his gaze—he wanted to move, to speak, but something held him back. His broad shoulders stiffened under the weight of years and unspoken words, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as if he were battling something deep inside.

The tension was thick, heavy, as if the air had grown thicker around them. Stack hadn’t expected to see Evelyn tonight—Eboni had set this whole thing up, bringing them back together in the only way she knew how. Evelyn had no idea Eboni had orchestrated this, but it was clear now. Eboni, always the quiet observer, had known exactly what she was doing. This was a chance for them to face the past, a chance for Stack to finally come face-to-face with the woman he had left without a word.

Evelyn’s pulse quickened as she locked eyes with Stack. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she stood her ground, refusing to let him see how much his mere presence still rattled her. He looked different—more worn, more guarded, but there was no mistaking the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

She wanted to turn away, to leave and pretend like she hadn’t just stepped back into the past, but something in the room held her in place. The tension, the unfinished business hanging between her and Stack—it was too much to ignore. But it was Smoke’s kiss on Eboni’s lips that kept playing in her mind. How had she not known about this? The man who had left her three years ago was standing here now, not as the man who had walked out without a word, but as a man in the shadow of another.

Eboni’s knowing smile told Evelyn everything she needed to know. This wasn’t just a coincidence. Eboni had set this meeting up—had done everything in her power to make sure that Evelyn and Stack would come face-to-face again. But why? What was Eboni’s game, and what was she trying to bring to the surface?

Evelyn had no answers yet, but the night had just begun, and something inside her told her it was going to end in a way she could never have predicted.

As Stack started to make his way toward her, his heavy boots clicking against the worn wooden floor, Evelyn felt a knot form in her stomach. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think—only felt the overwhelming pull of the past. She didn’t want to face him, not here, not now. Not after all these years of questions that had never been answered.

She quickly turned and walked toward the door, her steps frantic, like the space between her and Stack was the only thing keeping her from losing herself in the weight of it all. Her hand reached for the door handle, trembling, and she pushed it open, stepping into the cool night air. The fresh breeze hit her face like a splash of cold water, but it didn’t calm her racing heart.

"Ev," she heard Stack’s voice, rough and low, just as the door slammed shut behind her.

She didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

But then, a firm hand gripped her arm, pulling her back into the night. She spun around, eyes wide, and there he was, standing too close for comfort. His face was just as she remembered—dark eyes full of emotion, his jaw tight as if he were holding something back. And yet, there was something different in his stance, something hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he was the man he used to be or something entirely new.

"Hold up, now," he said, his voice low, almost pleading.

Evelyn yanked her arm away, trying to break free of his grip, but he didn't let go. Her breath hitched, and her throat tightened as the words she’d buried for years rose to the surface. She had to say them. She couldn’t keep them in any longer.

"You just left. No warning, no explanation. Like I meant nothing," she said, her voice trembling but sharp, like the blade of a knife. "How do you even come back after that? Like nothing happened?”

Stack’s face softened, but the guilt in his eyes was evident. He stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "I ain’t wanna hurt you, Ev. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost faith in shit... in me. I thought leavin' would be easier for you. Easier than watchin' me stay and break you, bit by bit."

Evelyn shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "You know you never planned to stay. Why can't you just say that?" The words left her mouth with a force that made her chest ache, like she had just been waiting for the moment to finally spill out. 

Stack took a deep breath, his gaze flicking to the ground before returning to hers. "Say what, hmm?" He removed his hat, in respect and honesty.

"I love you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And I think about you every damn day." His words hit Evelyn like a punch to the gut, raw and real, but they didn’t make the hurt go away. "I just wanted to keep you somewhere safe. And it was never gonna be here." He paused, swallowing hard. "And it was never gonna be wit’ me."

Evelyn’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She couldn’t. Not here, not now. She wiped her cheek quickly, forcing a laugh that felt too bitter. "Safe? You left me alone, Stack. You think I felt safe then?" She stepped back, putting some distance between them, her voice shaking with the weight of everything unsaid. "You walked away because you thought it was easier for me, but you never thought about how it would destroy me. You never thought about what it would feel like to watch you disappear without a trace. You just did it and kept going, like you didn’t even care."

Stack’s face hardened, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he stepped closer, like he was fighting every instinct to reach for her and pull her into his arms.

"Thought I was protecting you," he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Evelyn’s heart pounded in her chest, the old wound reopening, bleeding into the air between them. "You can't protect me from everything, Stack. Not from you... not from the choices you made." She shook her head again, tears welling in her eyes. "You left me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop wondering what went wrong, why you didn’t fight for us." Her voice broke. "But I’m tired, Stack. I’m tired of waiting for something that ain’t ever coming back."

His face softened, his hand reaching out as if he wanted to touch her, to reassure her that things could still be fixed. But Evelyn stepped back, out of his reach, her breath trembling as old feelings stirred violently in her chest.

"Maybe you were right," she whispered, her voice thick with grief and longing. The night felt colder somehow, the silence between them louder than any blues song playing behind the walls of the juke. "Maybe it was always meant to be this way. You left because you thought it would be better for me. And now here you are, back in my life, making everything harder than it needs to be."

She shook her head, then glanced away, eyes glistening. “But I remember things you probably tried to forget.” Her voice dropped, intimate and wounded. “The way you would caress my curves when we made love… like you were learning me by heart. Your taste—your sweet but salty lips that felt so soft from the cocoa butter you always used.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, angry and aching. “Everything about you made me want you more. You made me forget every man before you. I didn’t want a man after that—I wanted my man. My Elias.”

Stack didn’t let her finish the breath that followed.

He moved fast, the kind of movement that came from holding something in for too long. Before she could step away again, his hand gripped her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck, and he yanked her into him. Their bodies collided with years of ache between them, and then—he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was the kind of kiss that bruised. The kind that said I missed you, I’m sorry, I still love you, all in one shattering breath.

Evelyn gasped, trying to pull back at first—but her body betrayed her. Her fists balled in the front of his shirt, and instead of pushing him away, she clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the ground.

His mouth tasted like smoke and memory, and for one brief second, she remembered everything—the way he’d caress her curves like prayer, the way his sweet-but-salty lips lingered after whispered confessions and late-night love. The cocoa butter. The heat. The way he used to hold her like she was something holy.

And God help her, she kissed him back.

But it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, Evelyn stared up at him, eyes wide with the storm still raging inside her.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Don’t make me feel all of it again if you’re just gonna leave.”

Stack leaned his forehead against hers, his own breath ragged. “I ain’t leavin’ this time, Ev. Not without fightin’ for you.”

Evelyn let out a strangled cry, the sound breaking from her like something torn loose. Her fists slammed against Stack’s chest—once, twice, over and over—each hit fueled by every night she’d spent wondering why he left, every ache she buried just to make it through.

“You don’t get to come back and do this to me!” she sobbed, pounding his chest with trembling hands. “You don’t get to kiss me like nothing happened!”

“Baby—” Stack’s voice cracked, but he didn’t stop her. He stood there, letting her rage, letting her break against him.

“I waited for you!” she shouted, her voice soaked in pain. “I used to sit on my damn porch thinkin’ maybe you’d come walkin’ up the road like you used to! Like nothin’ changed!”

Her arms gave out, and all the fight drained from her body. Her head collapsed against his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt like she could hold herself together if she just held onto him tight enough. His scent—leather, smoke, and something warm she’d never been able to name—wrapped around her like a memory she didn’t ask for.

“I hate that I still want you,” she whispered, her voice raw and broken. “I hate that after all this time, I still love you more than I should.”

Stack’s arms circled her gently, like he was afraid she’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m sorry for every day I wasn’t there. But I never stopped lovin’ you.”

She shook her head against him, fresh tears falling.

“I don’t know how to let you in again,” she whispered.He pulled back just enough to lift her chin, his thumb wiping at a tear on her cheek. “Then let me earn my way back.”

[quenthel]

Ok so I saw some people being confused Abt Avowed, claiming that it's themes are similar to recent fantasy games, and being upset that it's not like regular (western European medieval) fantasy.... And it's crazy to me.

Like both Pillars games and Avowed too are mainly stories about colonialism. These stories focus on these themes admittedly to a fault (the gods are more stand-ins for an ideological weapon as a tool of colonialism that they are gods in a religion ppl are part of, so we don't actually see religious people in this world where gods are extremely important) but that's the main focus.

In pillars one we see the aftermath of a failed colonial project and the political and religious fallout caused by this.

In deadfire we see an ongoing colonial struggle where multiple large empires are wrestling with each other for the privilege to exploit the natural resources and the people of a less technologically developed culture.

In Avowed you see the very beginning of a colonial struggle where a large empire is setting up a large landmass inhabited by smaller fragmented communities for a potentially hostile takeover.

Like this is the political set up of the setting. It's not medieval fantasy because it's not medieval at all (there are guns...) it does not take place in a Europe looking place bc the main theme IS colonialism and colonialism never took place in western Europe.

I don't really think the themes of colonialism are something at all explored in other triple A fantasy games. At all. Much less this explicitly.

I understand the world of Eora can seem confusing bc it's dense. There are a lot of different countries and empires with various geopolitical ties to one another AND with their specific national struggles bc this is a setting that is more concerned with exploring a more "realistic" approach to fantasy politics and nation making and whatnot. Like there are no ethnostates here. There is no international one currency.

The other main theme I would point out w Avowed is that of discovering a lost culture which got destroyed by the overt ideological war machine left behind by an empire whose legacy still shapes the world. Something new and different became real in a very isolated place under very specific circumstances and precisely bc of that imperial powers destroyed it all.

For new players who are a bit puzzled by the setting I can only suggest: stop relying on your previous knowledge of what fantasy is like ( like in DND etc.) and treat this setting as a backdrop for stories that are interested in our human history and wish to reflect on it. If you abandon those pre-concieved notions it might make understanding easier. Or you might discover this type of shit is not for you and leave it at that.

Imo eora is one of the smarter and more unique fantasy settings out there, and it's existence itself is just very very cool. It's a lot smarter in it's construction and exception that most other stuff you can find out there so it's worth exploring and enjoying. Even tho Avowed is not as good as the first two pillars games and even tho it's a more expensive game, I think it's enjoyable and an overall good time.

[stereax]

CapFriendly Alternative Sites MegaPost

(Last update: 07/27 - added CapSized.)

As we are all likely aware by now, the Washington Capitals have decided to ruin everyone's lives by purchasing and sunsetting CapFriendly. The site has gone dark as of July 10, 2024.

While the hockey community has experienced a similar loss before, with the death of Matthew Wuest and the subsequent loss of CapGeek, this is a markedly different situation that sets a troubling precedent - namely, that freely usable, public NHL data is now available to the highest bidder, who can then revoke access to the data at a minute's notice. Two things can coexist: we can be happy for the makers of CapFriendly that they are being compensated well for their services while also scorning the Washington Capitals organization for choosing to turn off CapFriendly entirely.

Under the cut, please find a list of free CapFriendly alternatives and other websites that contain NHL data. (In some cases, they are mostly free - however, most/all important information for lay analysis is available for free.) This list is dynamic and taking suggestions, so please feel free to send me any websites you find at @stereax and check the original post for updates!

PART 1: SALARY CAP TRACKERS

PuckPedia: The New CapFriendly

PuckPedia is the closest replacement to CapFriendly currently available. It contains salary cap information for all teams and players, draft pick information, several calculators including a buyout calculator and a pick value calculator, agent information, and more. They also run PuckDoku! The biggest strike against PuckPedia is its lack of simulators (Armchair GM, mock draft, or trade simulators); however, in the wake of the CapFriendly news, PuckPedia shared that an Armchair GM simulator is under active development. 07/05 Update: PuckGM is here! You can also react to prospective PuckGMs (thumbs up, thumbs down, laugh, think emojis).

CapSized: Labor of Love

Referred to me by @nonslipdoormat and billed as a "solo female developer's project" (nonslipdoormat IS said developer!), CapSized is a site that's designed similarly to CapFriendly. It has some features other sites lack, such as trade histories going back to 2003 (with some entries as old as 1964!) and a detailed transactions page again stretching YEARS into the past. The more you poke around, the more cool things you uncover. Its primary purpose is to be a "visual database", but calculators and an NHL GM mode are on the list of future additions. I'll be dead honest, I think this is my favorite cap-checker site because of all the extra utilities. Super excited to see where this project goes!

Referred to me by @reavenedges-lies. A "baby site" that has some of the basics of salary cap info, plus a buyout calculator, qualifying offer calculator, and trade proposal maker. The trade proposal maker is prone to error and seems to only be useful for graphics. It can be a useful site for some, but it would not be my first choice.

CapWages: CapFriendly Lite

Another alternative to PuckPedia that mimics CapFriendly in design and is more intuitive for users going directly from CapFriendly to an alternative site. Like PuckPedia, it now features a GM mode, but the GM mode is in beta and is not fully functional (it only shows contracts currently existing at the NHL level). Nevertheless, for checking salary cap info, it is very good and I recommend it. Also now has a buyout calculator.

CapSpace: Young Gun

BenchWarmers: Greenhorn

Similar to CapSpace but perhaps a little better in the design department. I like how, if you don't have an account, it acts like you're Kyle Dubas and has you watching Toronto and Carolina. Has a few neat stats (like "core four" which shows how much the four most expensive players are making) that I haven't seen easily replicated on other sites, but functionality is rather limited outside of that, which is why it's also not my first choice.

Spotrac: Another Salary Cap Checker

An alternative to PuckPedia for salary cap information. However, it lacks much of the information and functionality of PuckPedia or most other sites listed here.

PART 2: ADVANCED STATS

NaturalStatTrick: The Holy Grail of Stats

NaturalStatTrick, or NatStat for short, is a site that contains just about any stat you can think of for any team or player. It has a learning curve but is generally understood to be the most reliable stat tracker available for free. You can even view stats for individual games on it!

MoneyPuck: DTWoMeter and More

You know it from the Deserve-to-Win-o-Meter or its playoff odds rings, but MoneyPuck has a lot of useful data as well if you do a little browsing. Generally, I've heard that MoneyPuck is less accurate than NatStat, but is easier to use, especially on mobile.

HockeyViz: "If I Ever Sell, I Failed"

Home of the Simple Hockey Charts, HockeyViz has a visual for just about every stat out there. You've almost certainly seen some of them before. Most of them are completely free to the public! They're super useful for visualizing stats as more than "just numbers", allowing you to see exactly WHERE things are happening on the ice.

HockeyStatCards: GameScore Kings

Again, you've probably seen HockeyStatCards's GameScore charts. Using data from NatStat (see above) and an algorithm created by Dom Luszczyszyn, it provides a simple GameScore number that tells you whether a player is having a positive or negative impact on the ice for every game in the NHL.

PART 3: SPECIALIZED SITES

NHL Armchair GM: Building Rosters

This site allows you to Armchair GM a roster. Notably, it has a steeper learning curve than CapFriendly and does not have a forum or other way to easily save and publicize your Armchair GM moves. However, it can be useful to make Armchair GMs and have visuals for them.

NHL Entry Draft: With the First Overall Pick...

This site contains a ton of draft resources, from a mock draft simulator to scouting reports. Definitely a useful site for those who are interested in the entry draft. I've seen a couple of mock draft sites, but this one seems to have by far the easiest and arguably most expansive way to use it.

NHL Injury Viz: Rulers of LTIR

Here, you can explore the relationship between the injuries of players, their cap hits, and how teams did without them. Very useful when you're arguing that a certain player going down doomed the team.

PART 4: MORE TYPES OF DATA

HockeyReference: The Good Old Days

Hockey Reference is best used for surface level data about older players. It has some trivia sections as well, for if you ever wanted to know all players wearing certain jersey numbers, sharing a certain birthday, or hailing from Alaska.

EliteProspects: Every League Imaginable

Want to know the roster of a third-tier league in Quebec? EliteProspects has you covered. Literally every league on the face of the Earth, currently existing and not, EliteProspects has info on. Any player you can possibly name, EliteProspects has their stats from atom hockey all the way to the end of their career.

HockeyDB: Another Spot for Stats

HockeyDB, referred to me by @reavenedges-lies, is another solid site for looking up basic hockey stats. Also has a ton of leagues, similar to EliteProspects. Has a hockey card feature as well that shows you cards featuring the player you've looked up, which is neat!

PART 5: FORUMS

HFBoards: Hockey Forums

Probably the most well-known hockey forum out there. If you want to talk puck on a more forum-like site, similar to CapFriendly's forums, this is the one for you.

PART 6: CAPFRIENDLY ARCHIVES

SergeiFyodorov's CapFriendly FAQ Drive

Curated by @sergeifyodorov. Originally posted here and sent to me by @fellowshipofthegay. Archives of the CapFriendly FAQs!

Got a site that's not listed here? Let me know at @stereax and I'll add it! Remember: While CapFriendly may be going away, hockey analysis is here to stay!

[4unnyr0se]

❥ study sesh | satoru gojo

warnings: college au!, fem reader, gojo is submissive lol, goldren retriever gojo, gojo isn't very smart but thats okay we love him, fingering, roughness, making out, hickeys, top! reader, geto is mentioned several times, couch sex, readers favorite kind of sushi is also my favorite kind, degrading, insecure reader, asphyxiation, mentions of vaping and drinking, mentions of marijuana use, protected sex, choso mentioned, geto is a bastard, doordash is expensive and i dont like that

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 4k

Gojo groaned at the email he was just sent, running his hands down his pale face in annoyance. He slammed his laptop closed and tossed his head back, groaning exasperatingly. Failing a required class, seriously? Out of all the things he could do at university this was by far the most cliche. So annoyingly cliche, like his entire college life was a very niche film. Rolling his azure blue eyes, Gojo opened his laptop to reread the email his professor sent him. His high-and-mighty professor had arranged a tutoring session with the only tutor for History of Japan 201. Lucky him.

“Dickhead,” Gojo mumbled, pushing himself out of his rolling chair. He quickly stretched and placed his laptop inside his backpack along with the mess of empty vapes and crumbled-up phone numbers that he swore he would text (he never did.) He checked out how he looked in the mirror, adjusting his v-neck collar and fluffing out his snow-white hair just a little bit. He may not have known who you were yet, but he’d be damned if he didn’t look fine at any given moment.

“Yo, I’m going out.” Gojo spoke to Geto, his suitmate. Geto took the joint out of his mouth and raised an eyebrow, offering the blunt to Gojo. 

“Why? There are no parties happening tonight, at least not that I know of.” Geto asked, sitting up on the edge of his bed. Geto’s bed was significantly nicer than Gojo’s his sheets didn’t have any suspicious stains on them and they smelled like laundry.

“Fucking Professor Yaga is making me go to a tutoring session for my history class. Says if I don’t do it then my grade’ll be tanked.” Gojo sighed, running his hands through his hair as he leaned against the door to their apartment.

“Tanked? You mean your grade was good this time around?” Geto smirked, putting out the joint at the bottom of his shoe.

“If you count a 59% as good,” Gojo shrugged, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Oh, you’re fucked man.” Geto laughed, laying back down on his bed. “Good luck with the history nerd, you’ll need it.”

“Fuck off man,” Gojo punched Geto on the arm, eliciting a smug chuckle out of Geto’s throat. “I’ll be back when I’ll be back. If you’re bringing a girl over, text first. If I have to see your face covered in cum again I’ll vomit.”

“What, someone jealous?” Geto rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Whatever man, see you.” Gojo walked out of his apartment, walking down the steps in a hurry. “And get the fuck out of my room! You have your own!” He yelled up the stairs, knowing the chance of Geto hearing him was slim to none.

He put his headphones on, turning up the music to drown out his thoughts. What if you were fucking annoying, or shitty at teaching? How fucked would he be then? Even worse, what if you were too good at your job and Gojo’s grade skyrocketed? Would he be asked to become a tutor? No one fucking wants that, especially not him. Tutoring was for losers and virgins, and he certainly wasn’t any of those.

Gojo walked across campus with a spring in his gait, nodding to the girls who waved at him. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for girls (and occasionally the female professors) to get flustered when he walked past them. His classmate fainted one time he asked her for a pencil, but he thought she was probably faking it. It wasn’t a secret that Gojo was a known player on and off the campus, but why did the women he slept with have to exaggerate everything? It felt fake, artificial. Gojo liked his women to be lively, to be real. 

Whatever, he didn’t need to think about that right now. Gojo approached the library, taking off his headphones and placing them over the curve of his neck. He sat down at a table near the back end where all the books were stored, slowly gathering dust. Hell, some of them haven’t been touched in decades. Maybe it was for a good reason.

“There you are! I looked everywhere.” His ears perked up at the sound of a feminine voice approaching him, his ocean eyes turning to get a look at you. You stood in front of him, clutching your messenger bag in your left hand and a pencil in the other. “You’re five minutes late, you know. Now we only have 55 minutes to go over the material instead of an hour, dummy.”

Gojo rolled his eyes and opened up his backpack, fishing aimlessly for a pencil and a sheet of paper. An empty puffbar fell out and landed on the carpeted floor, which made you raise an eyebrow. Gojo coughed and picked it up hastily, shoving it back inside his black hole of a book bag.

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a vape before,” He muttered, adjusting his posture.

“No, I have. I’m just surprised that you like that flavor. Blue raspberry ice is so basic.” You retort, sitting down across from him. Spreading out some papers from your messenger bag, you hand Gojo a highlighter and a pen, both in the color blue. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to highlight what’s important on the documents and write them down on the notebook paper. After that we’ll make flashcards from your notes and just do those until the hour is up, does that sound okay?” You looked at him, taking out your pen and paper to observe how he studied. You didn’t need to review the material, you knew it all by heart anyway. But if you were being completely honest with yourself, it was such a treat to have the academic fate of Satoru Gojo in your hands. Like a little bird trapped in a cage, except this bird was unironically stupid.

“I’d rather kill myself, but okay. Anything to pass this lame-ass lecture.” Gojo muttered in frustration, pulling the lecture documents forward. His eyes lightly skimmed over them, not absorbing much of the information anyway. He could just do this in his apartment, why did Professor Yaga feel the need to torture him with this useless tutoring session? Because his professor hated him, that’s why.

“Hey, don’t diss Japanese history. It’s fun sometimes if you forget about all the wars and whatever.” You softly giggled, curling a lock of your hair behind your ear. Gojo looked up from his highlighting to stare at you for a brief moment, the ghost of a smile touching his plump lips. 

‘Cute,’ He thought to himself, turning his attention to the documents once more. He continued to sneak an occasional glance at you to gauge what kind of person you were. Were you a typical history nerd, or was this a persona you put on to protect yourself? Gojo always had a way of reading people, but you remained a mystery to him.

Gojo would groan in frustration frequently, covering it up with a hasty cough. Why couldn’t he read you, and why did he want to get to know you better? This has never happened before with him, not sure for quite a while. 

“Uh, are you okay? You’ve been coughing the entire time, do you need to go home or something? I can always email Yaga and tell him you aren’t feeling the best.” You spoke, packing up your pen and papers neatly into your bag, a stark contrast to the way that Gojo’s bag could be considered a biohazard. 

“Oh, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking real hard about the Heian period is all.” He smirked, covering up his hazy mind with quick wit.

“Mhm, I’m sure you were, princess.” You retorted, flashing a smug grin at him. “By the way, thanks for completely reinforcing the stereotype of a dumb frat guy. Keeps my image of your kind on track.”

“The fuck you mean by that?” Gojo asked defensively, getting up and throwing his bookbag over his shoulder. “Are you saying that all frat guys are stupid or something?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, pretty boy.” You began to walk to the door, grinning to yourself as Gojo quickly caught up to you in just a few paces.

“You’re something else, girl.” He spoke, walking with you out of the library towards the university center. “I like that. Where are you going?” Gojo asked, following you like a lost puppy.

You rolled your eyes, stopping in your tracks. “To the university center. I want dinner.”

Gojo shook his head and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the path. “No way, I’m not letting my tutor get food poisoning from a shithole like that. I’ll order us something, okay?” He flashed his pearly whites at you, which you couldn’t help but admire. For such a disorganized slob he sure knew how to take care of his hygiene. 

You raised an eyebrow skeptically, not minding how he wrapped his arm around you. Almost like Gojo wanted to protect you weirdly enough. “And why would you order me food? All I did was teach you about the Heian period, it wasn’t anything.” You babbled on in an ill attempt to make excuses.

“Just let me buy dinner for you, okay? We can go back to my apartment and study some more there, the library is suffocating me anyway.” Gojo whined, steering the both of you in the direction of his university apartment. It wasn’t a very long walk from the main campus, and yet he was almost always late to every single one of his classes this semester.

“Suffocating you with knowledge, perhaps. Is your brain seriously that small?”

“Maybe don’t diss the guy that’s paying for your dinner, sweetheart.” Gojo wiggled his thin eyebrows at you, walking up the flights of stairs to his apartment. “My roommate might still be home but don’t worry about him. Suguru is usually too stoned to notice anything.” He turned the key and let you both inside, kicking off his shoes onto the carpet beneath him.

You took off your shoes and placed them beside his own, sitting down on the living room sofa. Gojo had sauntered off somewhere, yelling for his suitmate. “Looks like he isn’t here, probably under a bridge or skating with Choso.” He placed his hands in his pockets and sat down a couple of feet beside you. 

“So, what did you wanna order? Burgers, Chinese? Anything except soba, I fucking hate soba.” Gojo chuckled, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. 

Thinking for a moment, you snapped your fingers together. “Sushi. I haven’t made decent sushi in forever.”

Gojo slowly nodded and opened up a popular food delivery app, hitting the little sashimi icon on the home screen. “A little expensive but okay. D’ya like rolls or sashimi or what?”

“Rolls, spicy. Salmon, if you can.” You told him your preferences, leaning down to take your laptop out of your messenger bag. “I’m making you a Quizlet so that my time here doesn’t feel completely pointless.” As you mumbled to yourself, a tiny little foil packet well out of the side pocket. You grabbed it quickly and shoved it in your front pocket, praying that Gojo didn’t notice. 

“Foods ordered, it wasn’t cheap either. Not that I mind, I got plenty of cash to spare!” Gojo smiled, miming throwing money in the air. 

You let the faintest smile touch your face, typing away at your laptop. “You’re like a puppy, you know. Like those white labs I see all the time.” You looked at him, admiring the way his messy white hair added to his devilishly handsome aura. “They’re pretty cute.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to you, almost teasing you with his proximity. “Are you saying that you think I’m cute, nerd?” He purred, sticking his tongue out.

You blushed and rolled your eyes, closing your laptop. “Maybe, so what if I did? I’m just your tutor. Yaga is giving me extra credit just by talking to you.” You mumbled, noticing that Gojo was still leaning closer to you.

“Well…I think you’re pretty cute too.” He grinned, a blush covering his stupidly adorable face.

Your fingers tensed up in your lap, your gaze locked onto the shag carpet beneath you. You wouldn’t dare look into his eyes, not now. They would only suck you into his sexy blue vortex and then before you knew it you would be on his lap, straddling his waist and making out with his neck.

“You think all girls are pretty, you’re a player for fucks sake.” Your voice was filled with scoff and denial, the tension between you two growing with each passing second. “My friend saw you shoving your tongue down a sorority girl's throat last night, did you think she was cute too?”

“Well, technically yeah but it’s only on the surface. She was attractive but she had no personality, unless you count downing vodka crans as a personality trait.” He pointed out, wrapping his arm around your shoulder once more. You two were pressed against each other, your arms limp at your sides. You had no idea what to do, should you touch him as well? Where would you touch him?

“So…you think my personality makes up for the fact that I don’t have a pretty face?” You sighed, your insecurities surrounding you like haunted spirits.

“No! No way, no.” Gojo assured you, cupping your cheeks with his hands. “I think you’re pretty and smart and funny and…I know I’ve only met you a couple hours ago but you’re really fucking sexy.”

You gulped as you felt his warm and large hands on your face, leaning into the touch slightly. Satoru Gojo called you sexy, his history tutor. He thought his history tutor was sexy. You smacked your glossed lips together, your noses touching. “How long until the sushi gets here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Do you think we could fuck in that amount of time?” You boldly asked, staring into his gorgeous, enchanting blue eyes. You bit down on your bottom lip, your own eyes containing unspoken desires. 

Gojo smirked and pulled you onto his lap, his hands resting on the swell of your hips. “Hell yeah, sweetheart.” He whispered, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was slow at first, your arms wrapped around his neck while his own hands trailed up and down your back, occasionally stopping to feel the round flesh of your ass.

Your tongue entered his mouth, doing battle with his wet muscles before exploring his cavern. Gojo groaned at the sensation of your tongues colliding, attempting to shift himself so he was on top.

You pulled away from the kiss and tutted at him, pushing his chest down so he was leaning against the leather texture of the couch. “No, pretty boy, I’m on top this time.” You spoke softly, your voice dripping with sexuality and confidence. 

“This time, huh? You wanna see me again after this?” Gojo smirked, slapping your ass gently. “Someone sure got confident real quick.”

You shrugged and bit down on his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling away a second later. You saw how Gojo reacted to your dominance, how the breath left his lips the second you laid down the law. Your long nails dug into the black tank top he wore, your thumb slipping under the hem to feel his abs.

“You’re so fucking ripped, holy shit.” You breathed out, planting gentle kisses on his neck. You squeezed your legs shut, anxious to receive any friction that would make you feel amazing.

Gojo grinned, taking off his jacket along with his shirt and tossing it behind his head. “What about now, you still like what you see princess?” He chuckled, flexing his biceps to impress you.

“Oh shut up and finger me.” You smiled and rolled your eyes, slamming your lips against his once more. Your hand guided his under the hem of your sweatpants and underneath your panties, prodding them at your weeping entrance. “Fuck me with your fingers before I ride you, Satoru.”

“God, I love it when you tell me what to do.” He groaned, shoving your pants down to your kneecaps along with your panties. He put his fingers inside of his mouth, a popping sound leaving his lips as they were soaked in his spit. “Gotta make sure they don’t hurt you.” He teasingly ran them up your folds, inserting his middle and index finger inside of you slowly. Gojo thrust them up and down at a regular pace, not knowing if you liked it rough or gentle. 

“S-shit, your fingers are so fucking long. Oh shit.” You moaned into his ear, slumping yourself against his muscular chest for support. His fingers continued to drill up and inside of you, observing how you convulsed around him if he fucked his fingers in and out of you at the speed of light. 

“Yeah, you like that pretty girl? You like getting fucked by some dumb frat guy's fingers?” Gojo whispered into your ear, biting the shell harshly. You squealed in pleasure as you felt his thumb rub harsh circles on your clit. Fuck, he was so fucking good with his hands. 

“Fucking love it, holy fuck!” You gasped, feeling your knees start to give way as your orgasm approached. Suddenly, you grabbed Gojo’s wrist and pulled it away from your pulsating core, your breath slow and shallow. 

Gojo raised an eyebrow in confusion, his cock throbbing horribly in his boxers. “Was I too rough or something?” He asked, concerned about his performance. 

You shook your head in assurance, kissing his forehead gently. “N-no, not at all. It’s just that…I wanna cum on your cock, not on your fingers.” You whispered, playing with the drawstring of his sweatpants. “Also…that erection looks pretty fucking painful. Are you gonna let me ride you or what?” You teased, thumbing with the hem.

Almost instantly Gojo’s sweatpants flew off his body, leaving him only in his very tight black boxers. Your hands tugged down on the hem, pulling the boxers down so only his cock and balls were exposed. He was huge, his mushroom tip was pink and he had a large pulsating vein wrapping around the shaft. “Fuck…do you have a condom?” You asked, wanting so badly to just slam yourself down and fuck him senseless.

“Y-yeah, in my bag over there.” Gojo pointed to his discarded backpack at the entrance of his apartment, secretly wishing it would just fly into his hand like Thor with his hammer.

You wobbled over to retrieve the condom, shuffling through old candy wrappers and empty vape pens. Finding it, you practically sprinted over to sit back down on Gojo’s lap. He took the condom from your hands and tore open the foil with his teeth, rolling the latex on with ease. “Fuck, I’ve never been this sensitive before. You’re a witch.” He breathed out, kissing you softly as you hovered yourself above his cock.

“Shh, just lemme fuck you. Alright, baby?” You purred, lowering yourself down onto his cock. You hissed as his thick mushroom head pushed past your entrance, the pleasure outweighing the pain tenfold. “F-fuck, you’re so fucking big.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, pretty girl.” Gojo chuckled, grabbing onto your hips. He pushed you down further onto his cock, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until he’d bottomed out.

You started to move yourself up and down on his cock, bouncing slowly to grow accustomed to his length and girth. You kissed him passionately, gripping his broad and muscular shoulders for support. “Ngh, fuck!” You cried onto his lips, placing his hands on your waist to guide you.

Gojo’s hands pulled you back and forth, up and down on his length until you got the hang of handling how big he was, your hands now groping your tits as you fucked yourself on his cock. The filthy sound of skin slapping and squishing against skin filled the apartment, the still and stiff air being replaced with the intoxicating aroma of sex and lust. 

“God, just like that baby! Fuck, you’re so fucking good at riding this dick princess. Ride my dick, fuck, ride me! Fuck me!” Gojo cried out, resting his head on the cushions behind his naked body as your hips slammed onto his pelvic bone repeatedly, surely leaving bruises for him to wake up to tomorrow.

“You’re so fucking noisy.” You growled, wrapping your hands around his bruised throat. Not enough to stop him from breathing, just enough to let him know who was in charge. 

Gojo whimpered as he felt your hands wrap around his throat, his cock twitching inside of you. He had no idea he liked it when he wasn’t in charge when he was being used like a fucktoy. Gojo fucking loved watching ride him, how your sobbing cunt took his cock so nice and so deep.

You tilted your head to the side and smiled darkly, moving even faster on his cock to the point where you were just bouncing on the abused appendage. “What, baby forgot how to use his words? Are you being fucked too good you can’t even speak, huh? Adorable little slut.” You whispered, your lew words making Gojo want to become yours even more.

“Oh, is somebody gonna fucking cum?” You mocked, pouting your lip. Your grip around his neck tightened as you continued to ride him, feeling your orgasm fast approaching. “Fucking cum for me baby, cum like the good little whore you are.”

“Fuck, I’m c-cumming! Fuck, ngh, fuck! Oh my God, fuck! Please” Gojo practically sobbed as his orgasm filled the rubber he wore, his grip on your hips not faltering. He could feel your cunt milk him for all he was worth, still bouncing on him with vigor. “P-please cum, please! Wan’ feel you on me, please!” He begged, his beautiful blue eyes swelling with tears.

You threw your head back as your orgasm finally hit you, pleasure coursing through every single possible vein in your body. “A-ah, shit! Fuck, fuck, oh my God!” You cried out, the bouncing on his cock slowing down as you rode out your high.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto Gojo’s sweaty chest, admiring how good he smelled even after sex. His arm wrapped around your soaked shirt, embracing you gently. “Fuck…that was the best sex I’ve had in a while.” He chuckled, kissing the side of your face.

“Oh yeah? We should do it again sometime after you do your homework of course.” You offered him a half-smirk, pulling yourself off of his now soften cock. You tied the condom and tossed it in a nearby wastebasket, pulling up your sweatpants and panties. “The sushi is probably here by now, should I go get it?” 

“Oh fuck,” Gojo grabbed his phone and unlocked it, seeing the notification that the sushi had been delivered ten minutes ago. “Fuck me, we took thirty minutes! Guess you were wrong about timing there, hm?”

You rolled your eyes and opened the apartment door to be greeted by a smug-looking Geto holding your sushi. “I’ve been standing here for about five minutes, you guys are really fucking loud.” He chuckled, allowing himself inside.

“Really, Satoru? On the couch? I sit there sometimes, dude.” Geto placed a hand on his hip, handing you the boxed sushi.

Gojo rolled his eyes and walked over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He had put his pants back on but his abs were still very much on display.

“Fuck off, Suguru. Please.” Gojo mumbled, squeezing your waist. You smiled at the welcome touch, especially enjoying the banter the two of them shared.

“Seems like you already did, Satoru,” Geto smirked, walking off to his room.

“Fuck you, dickhead!”

[seat-safety-switch]

Most dogs are trapped in an endless loop of boredom. After millennia of hanging out in the wild, they're now stuck in suburbia. Just like their so-called best friend, the human, dogs yearn for stimulation that they're not getting in their off-eggshell-white, HOA-controlled economic-efficiency prisons. In recent history, these stimuli used to come from long rides in cars, but with the price of gas, and especially the death of our beloved Saab Automobile AB, who can afford to just drive their dog around while they bark at weird birds they see on the highway?

In the modern era, the rapid development of "dog parks" has attempted to provide a substitute to the demanding dog. No roar of engines, sure, but you get to run around a bit, maybe bite a Little League player. Unfortunately, dog parks are expensive to safely fence, and the poop has lots of negative impacts on the local real estate market, which we have collectively decided is the most important thing in existence and should be the sole survivor of our civilization, the only mark in the historical record that we were ever here. So they get turned into luxury condos.

Trains would be an option for the bored pooch-about-town, had we thought to build them. Dogs are notoriously enthusiastic about steam locomotives in particular, a fact which alternately thrills and horrifies animal psychologists the world over. Electric less so: the inverter whine hurts their little ears, and most of those run underground, where the only thing to bark at is weird rats. No fun at all. Streetcars, you ask? Don't make me laugh. You know what happened to that clown college at the bottom of the hill.

There is, however, hope. At the pet store, I have just now found this rubber bee that squeaks when you squeeze it. I am assured that it is the end of dog boredom for all eternity, or at least until my miniature Pomeranian, Ripper, tears the squeaker out and pukes it up on my duvet at 3:15 in the morning. Don't thank me: I'm just doing my part for all of dogkind.

[corvidcall]

what just happened in the mtg fandom?? *nosy*

an announcement from the rules committee for the most popular magic format (commander, which is a casual four-player format that 1. lets you use any card from mtg's history, as compared to other formats that only use one from after a certain year or within the past 3 years and 2. honestly tries to avoid banning cards in general) came out that, kind of suddenly tbh, banned four really well known cards

one of the cards just came out a few months ago and was already banned in pretty much every other format for being really broken and overpowered. not a huge surprise imo

the other three were really expensive format staples - Jeweled Lotus, Mana Crypt, and Dockside Extortionist. All three of them are "fast mana" cards, which allow the player to play stronger cards much earlier in the game than they normally would be able to, which can have them winning a game while all their opponents are still getting started. if your opponent had these cards in hand, your only way of standing a chance was for you to have them as well. at the highest level of play in the format, theyre almost necessities

and also you couldn't find any of them for less than $100.

a lot of people at the highest levels of play were mad about the ban, because they say their decks can't function without these cards. other people were mad that their card collections just lost hundreds of dollars in value, since the card prices obviously crashed as soon as the ban was announced. others still were mad that these cards were banned, but not other sources of fast mana (namely, Sol Ring, which is kind of the signature card for the format)

but also... fast mana cards have been a really longtime complaint from players, that they make games too one-sided, or that they make games too fast/ high powered, which is antithetical to the casual nature of the format.

so. responses have been mixed, but very intense across the board. personally, i only had one of the banned cards (and i got it in a booster pack, so it didn't cost me $100) and i never found a good deck to put it in, so it really affects me very little anyway

[peppermintpillz]

Punch Out Wii boxers if they were in band

Glass Joe- French horn 

I had to make the obvious French joke with the French man. Also in my personal experience, French horn players were always the weakest in terms of playability so it’s fitting for glass joe

Von Kaiser- trumpet 

I know trumpet players are usually associated with having big egos, but I think people tend to forget trumpets are very well-respected instruments, especially in the army. Since Kaiser is a veteran, it would make sense he probably played the trumpet

Disco Kid- tenor sax

Disco Kid is a very jazzy guy, so obviously he’d play one of the jazziest instruments. He’s not an alto because I feel like altos are usually more prissy, meanwhile tenor saxes can still jam but they get along with everyone

King Hippo- drums

This one is based on the fact King Hippo always bangs on his stomach, kinda like a drum. Plus he’s really huge, so I feel like playing the drums would be easiest for him, as he would have an easy grip on the mallets

Piston Hondo- xylophone

I put him on xylophone mainly for the xylophone sound effects that play right before his Hondo Rush. Plus he kinda has a whole “speed” thing going on (the Hondo Rush is a bunch of fast punches, also he runs faster than a bullet train) and normally you need to play the xylophone very fast to keep up with tempo

Bear Hugger- bassoon

All the bassoon players I’ve met were jolly and kind, and bear hugger is one of the friendliest boxers in the WVBA. Plus they’re kinda similar in way? Bassoons are usually seen as a “bass line instrument” and usually forgotten, but in a lot of pieces there’s usually a bassoon solo where it’s actually more important than it seems; which I feel is also how Bear Hugger is treated (dude was in the arcade PO, SPO, and punch out Wii I feel like he should get more recognition than he gets)

Great Tiger- bari sax

Bari saxes seem to have this sense of “knowing they’re better than everyone else because they’re skilled”. Great Tiger seems to have a bit of an ego similar to that, and so I feel like bari fits him the most. He would be a skilled player, but he would def rub it in 

Don Flamenco- alto sax

Alto saxes are probably the most romantic instrument there is, and Don Flamenco is the most romantic boxers out of everyone. Plus, alto saxes all seem to have this flamboyance about them

Aran Ryan- flute/ piccolo 

In his theme, the flute is very present, it practically carries the melody. I think Aran would be one of those guys that takes playing the flute and piccolo with pride, and would try to break the standard that only girls play those instruments.

Soda Popinski- tuba

Kinda like bassoons, tuba players are always so whimsical and chill. From what I’ve seen, Soda Popinski is usually depicted as a big scary Russian man, but to me it seems like he’s really kind-hearted, and only gets angry due to the fact he’s being drugged with all those sodas. I think Sodas wouldn’t mind he would normally just play the bass line, he’s just happy to be playing music 

Bald Bull- oboe

There seems to be a running trend of big aggressive men playing dainty little instruments. It’s similar reasoning as Aran Ryan, Bald Bull’s theme seems to have an oboe carrying the melody, so ofc he’s on oboe. Plus I think Bald Bull does have the ability to be calm and composed, and I think playing the oboe (an instrument that super expensive and requires careful usage) would calm him.

Super Macho Man- trombone

Imo trombones players are the ones with the biggest ego (also the most annoying). SMM probably would just be ok on the trombone, but he will definitely start blasting as soon as he got the melody in a piece and would never learn to shut up. 

Mr. Sandman- clarinet

Philadelphia has a history of very rich and jazzy music, and I feel like Sandman is the guy to play the clarinet over the saxophone. The clarinet is also a pretty important instrument to jazz music, and jazz is a pretty important part of black culture. Mr. Sandman is one of the less stereotypical boxers so he’s less connected to his Philadelphian culture, and I think playing clarinet is his way of getting more connected. 

Little Mac- contra bass

This one is like Aran and Bald Bull, except the opposite. Since little Mac is shortest of the bunch, I think it’d be funny that he happens to play one of the biggest instruments that’s requires him to stand. Not only is it comical but also kinda fits with the whole underdog theme, despite his size he still manages to play the contra 

Doc Louis- conductor 

I put Doc as the conductor since conductors are usually just band members that retired, and got promoted to teaching band members. Since doc teaches little Mac to box, he would probably teach others how to play an instrument 

[canirove]

Rice, Rice, baby | Chapter 1

Summary: Liv and Declan, Declan and Liv, or the story about how a born and raised Tottenham girl falls in love with an Arsenal player... and its consequences.

Author’s note: Best way to celebrate my birthday? By sharing a new story about my beloved 🥳🫶🏻 I started writing this story back in October after making this gif (that's how Declan looks on this first chapter), and I got so inspired that I even managed to write like a script with everything I wanted to happen from beginning to end, which doesn't happen very often or never tbh 😅 I hope you like it as much as I do, and as always, thank you for reading! 💜

Next chapter

Masterlist

"And don't forget about the national team staying with us next week. We need to be at our best, the club wants them to keep coming here and not go back to Carrington or any other training centre" our boss says.

"We always are at our best."

"I know, Alex. But you know what I mean.”

"Yeah, we have to kiss their asses" he mutters.

"Shh" I tell him, hoping our boss hasn't heard him.

"You know it's true" he whispers. "Since we don't have enough with our princesses, now we'll have new ones. And I'm sure they are even more annoying."

"If you dislike football and this job so much, why don't you quit?"

"I don't dislike football, Liv. I dislike football players, it isn't the same” Alex says. “And I don't quit because Tottenham is the team me and my dad support, they happen to pay really well, and I need the money. Besides, what will your dad say? He helped me get this job, I can't disappoint him."

"He'll survive" I chuckle.

"I don't think so. If I'm not here, who will make sure his daughter doesn't end up sleeping with a football player? Especially now that we are gonna have some Arsenal ones in the building. They are the enemy."

"That is so stupid."

"The rivalry between Tottenham and Arsenal isn't stupid, Liv. Please show some respect."

"Whatever" I reply, trying to focus again on what our boss is explaining.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Ready to meet our new princesses?" I ask Alex.

"No."

"Well, too late. They are here" I say when the doors of the cafeteria open and the players from England's national team start walking in, Harry Kane leading them.

"Urgh, not him" Alex groans.

"Shut up and get to work. And don't forget to smile."

"I don't want to smile at him. Or at any of them."

"Hello, guys. Nice to see you again."

"Harry, hi!" I say. "How are the Germans treating you?"

"Good, all good. How are you around here?"

"All good too" I smile. "Same as always?"

"Same as always, Liv."

After Harry some other players like Rashford, Stones or Bellingham also come get their orders, and then…

"Hi, what can I get… you" I say, getting lost in the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. 

"A latte, please" he smiles.

"A… a la… a…" I mumble.

"Liv… Liv… Olivia!" Alex says, hitting my arm.

"Ouch! What?"

"His order" he says, nodding towards the blue eyed God in front of me. "Didn't you hear him?"

"I… Yes. A latte."

"That's it" he smiles again, the most stupid giggle ever leaving my mouth. What an amazing first impression, Olivia. 

"I… Umm…" I mumble again.

"Liv, hey! Long time no see!" 

"Madders, we saw each other three days ago" I say, my brain remembering how to work after hearing his voice.

"It feels like an eternity" he smiles. "Have you met Dec yet?"

"Uh?"

"Mr. Declan Rice. The most expensive English football transfer in history" he laughs, wrapping his arm around the blue eyed God's neck and messing up his hair, somehow making it look even better than it already did.

"You… what?"

"You hadn't recognized him?" Madders says. "I know he's had a big glow up, but he hasn't changed that much since the Euros."

"Yeah… I…" I say, feeling my cheeks on fire and the stupidest person in the world. How did I not recognize one of England's best players?

"Anyway, can I get the same as always?"

"He asked first."

"But he plays for Arsenal and I am a Tottenham boy, Liv. What will your dad say?" Madders smirks. 

"Her dad?" Declan asks with a confused look.

"He's been working for Tottenham since before we all were born and hates anything Arsenal" Madders explains. "So if he finds out that you are favouring him over me…"

"You are so annoying, James" I say, rolling my eyes.

"Yet you love me" he smiles. "So, can I get my usual?"

"No" I say, turning around and getting Declan's order ready.

"You are so rude, Olivia…"

"Yet you love me" I reply, making Declan laugh. "Your latte."

"Thank you, Liv" he smiles as he takes his cup, our fingers barely touching but being enough to make my face burn once again. 

"You're welcome" I giggle. You are so lame, Olivia. Dear God.

"Can I get my coffee now or are you gonna keep smiling at each other like two teenagers in love?" Madders asks.

"What?" Declan and I say at the same time.

"Flirting with an Arsenal player, Liv… What will your dad say?"

"Shup up, James" I say, turning towards the coffee machine to hide that my face now must be the same colour as Declan’s Arsenal shirt.

"You are an idiot, bro" I hear him say before walking away.

"What? Why? What did I say? Liv, hey. What did I say?" 

"Just go drink your coffee, James" I sigh.

"But…"

"Go."

"You two are so weird… Made for each other" he winks, making me roll my eyes again.

Once I'm done with all the orders, I can't help but check around the cafeteria looking for Declan. During the Euros he had already caught my eye, but he didn't look as hot as he did right now. He was definitely aging like fine wine. 

When I finally spot him, he's sitting next to other Arsenal players, a soft smile on his lips while sipping his coffee. And then… Then he turns to look at where I am. At me. And his smile grows wider, making my knees feel like jelly. 

"Best coffee ever" he mouths, remarking each word.

"Thank you" I reply, definitely smiling like an idiot.

"Olivia, Olivia, Olivia…"

"Holy shit, Alex" I jump when I hear him next to me.

"Flirting with an Arsenal player at work? And him among them all? Your dad is gonna be so disappointed…"

"Shut up, Alex" I say, giving him a push that doesn't move him from where he is standing. "I'm gonna go check that we aren't running out of anything, you know how picky the boss is with that."

"Yeah, run away."

"Fuck you" I reply, showing him my middle finger and hoping no one from the national team has seen it. The least thing I need right now is someone complaining to our boss because of my bad behaviour.

As I leave, I can't help but look at Declan one last time, and to my surprise, he also is looking at me. And when our eyes meet…

"Holy shit" I whisper. Can you get turned on by a wink? Because I'm pretty sure that just happened.

[bucketkicked-m]

a new muse has joined the ranks: kaede "daisuke" jigen ! *

*This is a reimagining / original interpretation of the canon character D.aisuke J.igen from the anime L.upin the T.hird. I absolutely recommend the series and movies (both of which there are several!) ♡

BASICS:

Name. Kaede Jigen (Jigen Kaede, 次元 楓)

Alias/Nickname. Daisuke Jigen, Jigen, Ji-ji

Age/Birthday. Somewhere in their mid 30s, November 29th

Height. 5'11"

Gender. Nonconforming/genderfluid, uses he/they pronouns the most.

Orientation. Lesbian.

Occupation. Marksman, gunman for hire, thief.

ABILITIES / SKILLS:

Skilled with multiple firearms but is mostly seen wielding a Smith & Wesson Model 19. Has been known to use sniper rifles, shotguns, and various explosives as well.

Is a sharpshooter and can perform a 0.3 second quickdraw but also knows hand-to-hand combat enough to use it sufficiently.

A skillful and seasoned poker player, Jigen is able to gamble well. Can also shuffle and deal cards. Knows many card tricks.

Makeup/drag and styling are things Jigen has learned over the years. He upkeeps a masculine appearance, sometimes even creating facial hair for a disguise. They spend lots of time perfecting their look before a job as needed.

Able to take apart and clean guns, as well as put them back together so that they are fully functional again. Can also fashion guns out of unconventional materials.

PERSONALITY:

At best, Jigen is sensible, professional, perspicacious and analytical. At worst, he's grumpy, rude and sullen. Bad moods are usually caused out of worry of a job going wrong or Lupin's antics. They are extremely loyal to Lupin and the rest of the gang, even if it sometimes feels like herding cats.

Despite Jigen's gruff facade, he has an ironic and dry sense of humor and genuinely enjoys taking part in shenanigans and capers. They're a bit of a cynic and tend to not trust people easily. They won't date unless there's a strong mutual attraction. Jigen won't kill women or children but will cut down any man who poses a threat.

Enjoys collecting guns of varying calibers & sizes, but his primary three are a Magnum, a Colt, and a Smith & Wesson. They have extensive knowledge of a variety of types of firearms.

Jigen is a heavy smoker, with his favorite brand being Marlboro Reds. He also likes to indulge in drinking beer and hard liquor, usually scotch. Jigen's off-time is usually spent on watching sports, fishing, gambling, target practice, billiards, listening to classical music, and lounging around. He likes being lazy and napping when time allows. He has a deep affection for Spaghetti Westerns and boxing. He's partial to American food, in particular steak, potatoes, burgers, and pizza.

Jigen doesn't like to see good things go to waste. He spends his money on antique guns, alcohol, cigarettes, hats, and expensive designer suits such as Givenchy, Fendi, & Prada. 

Does not tend to go out and party or do any excessive socializing. Needs to recharge after a long day.

HISTORY:

Born in the Bronx, Kaede was a rough and tumble kid who grew up learning street smarts over what you'd find in a book. Toughing it out on his own was difficult, as he'd been having to learn lessons on his own instead of having a mentor help navigate him through situations. Seeking this connection, a hopeful Jigen joined the New York mob as a teen. They'd also heard rumors that it could be a lucrative job if they worked up the ranks, so this contributed to their decision as they wanted to be able to support themself.

A mentorship was quickly established between them and a mobster, who taught him how to shoot guns when he noticed that they couldn't even shoot down cans. With his mentor's advice to always draw faster than your opponent and hours upon hours of practice, Jigen gained an incredible amount of skill that allowed him to work as a hitman. Eventually he also garnered a reputation that allowed him to travel outside of the States for jobs, eventually ending up in Italy and joining the mob there.

While in the Italian mob, he grows close to his boss's wife, Cicciolina. The boss eventually catches wind of this, and tries to kill Jigen, but Cicciolina ends up accidentally killing her husband instead in order to protect Jigen. When Jigen takes the weapon, a gun, from her hands, other mobsters see him and assume that he killed the boss. This left him on the run, until he managed to join a rival Chinese gang for a while instead to make ends meet.

After a fated reconnection between Jigen and Cicciolina that leaves her dead, Jigen decides to quit mainly killing for a living and turns to becoming a thief. After a brief run-in (where they tried to kill each other but then worked together to escape) with the budding notorious thief, Lupin, they decide to partner up and split their spoils 50/50 after each successful heist.

On occasion, they still take headhunting jobs if the pay is good enough but mainly sticks to thievery. Jigen does not retain any of their mob ties and is a lone wolf when not working with Lupin.

MISCELLANEOUS FACTS:

Jigen keeps his Magnum in a fabric holster specially built into the back beltline of his pants.

He feels quite naked without a gun and will instinctively reach for it even if it is missing.

Jigen always carries a few rounds of special ammunition, such as armor-piercing shells and his own custom-made rounds to use as circumstances dictate.

Has a severe fear of the dentist.

[rakkwal]

Play.CivMC.net

Version: Java 1.20.1

CivMC is a geopolitical Minecraft server focused on civilization-building. Players form nations and establish governments, wars occur, and treaties are signed. You can play with friends, punish your ideological enemies, or raid and attack indiscriminately. All interactions and laws are player enforced, with the help of plugins that have defined the genre since it's inception as CivCraft. You can view the player run wiki here, the player run map (with rail lines, nation borders, ect) here, and the player run newsletter here. The wiki also contains a New Player Guide! Every new player gets one free teleport within 24 hours of joining, make it count! Basic information under the cut.

The primary plugins used on CivMC to make it unique are NameLayer, Citadel, and Exile Pearl. FactoryMod also deserves a mention here.

Exile Pearl is arguably the most interesting mechanic, which allows you to kill another player with an Ender Pearl on your hotbar. This will imprison said player in the Nether, and also imposes restrictions on their gameplay. Pearls degrade however, and player "Essence" is required to keep them fueled. Essence is granted on a daily basis to players after being online for 30 minutes. Requiring a somewhat active nation to keep others imprisoned. Pearled players are kept in vaults, disgustingly large and complex obsidian structures meant to have maximum security.

NameLayer acts as the base structure for many other plugins on the server. It allows players to make groups, with different ranks in said group having more, or fewer, permissions within a group. Such as who can buy from your shops, open doors and chests, or who can chat in said group. This last one is important, as the default chat range is only 1000 blocks. However there is a public global chat, just type "/global" after joining to participate, and "/local" to revert back.

Citadel is a reinforcement plugin that will make your chests harder for nefarious actors to break into, your buildings more resilient to attacks, and allows you more peace of mind during your off hours. Individual blocks, chests, doors, etc can be locked with reinforcement materials. Each material requires a set number of breaks before the block will drop. Stone is 50, iron ingots are 300, and diamonds are 2000. Virtually every build in the game is reinforced with stone, more expensive materials are reserved for more important things, like chests. NameLayer hooks into Citadel to allow granular access control for almost everything!

FactoryMod allows you to create small structures known as factories, made from a furnace, crafting table, and a chest. Factories allow for more complex recipes and items not found in vanilla minecraft. More efficient recipes than in vanilla minecraft (32 gold ore to 48 ingots, 64 cobble to 96 stone!). And cheaply available decorative blocks to make your builds nice.

There are plenty of other mechanics I haven't touched upon, like brewing alcohol for unique potion effects, how crops grow (or don't!) in certain biomes, the distribution of ores, or how you can see who broke into your home and stole all your crafting tables. See the wiki for more information on game mechanics! There are plenty of nations on the server, which I would recommend joining before trying to make your own. One of my personal favourites is the nation of Pavia, locted at (800, -3000)

Pavia is an elective meritocracy, comprising of a Prime Minister and his Cabinet, elected by the Nobility of Pavia. Pavia's territory is divided into distinct classes outlined by the foundational law of the country, the Magna Pavia. These classes administrate their own territories with varying states of autonomy and all add their own story to Pavia's ever-growing lore & history! Pavia is famous for its incredible and sprawling architecture as well as its economy, home to the largest Bank on CivMC and one of the server's most extensive shopping districts. There is a tutorial open to anyone to learn every guide and plugin which is located in the Pavia townhall, if you wish to use the server tutorial head to (+800 , -3065) inside the building on the ground floor. If you are new to CivMC, it is recommended you start off by settling in the Bedford Commons, a city just outside the capital's walls. The coordinates are (+1000, -2800).

[blackblooms]

Since irredeamable wont release for some time. Ill be presenting some of my notable projects. I`ll start with the one i would most recommend. It's pretty old and janky but i think there is plenty to find for those willing to get past its flaws.

Black heart: Play it here and now!

One of my most Ambitious project ever, black heart is a sidescrolling action-adventure game, highly inspired by the zelda series. In it, you play as 3 sisters, going on a perilous journey to rescue their people from the tyrannical grasp of an evil empress.

Pros: -Each of the 3 sisters comes with a unique feel. From their attack pattern to their health, physics, and items. Much of the game is built around those distinctions. -The story is simple but effective, with a clear goal to achieve and many characters to meet. -The world is very expensive and diverse, containing several interconnected zones to discover and explore. -The lore is complex, nuanced, and intricate, each of the races is well-developed with their own history, culture, heroes, and villains. -The dungeons are large and numerous. Each features its own type of puzzle and distinct aesthetic. -The bosses are all unique and ambitious, often featuring several phases, mechanics, and attack patterns. -There are a whole lot of secrets to find, certain fun and silly, others strange or creepy.

Cons: -The main characters are pretty bland and display little personality outside of the few traits they are given. -Combat can be pretty bare-bone and uninteresting outside of boss fights -Some of the writing and lore have not aged well and could be considered a bit tasteless or insensitive. -Since puzzles are often built around specific characters which have their own hp, losing them can force players to backtrack.

Recommended to: -Fans of Zelda games who crave another game in the genre. -People who want to get lost in a big and complex world. -People who want to experience a fantasy world unlike any other. -People who long for a game that they can discover for themselves without risking being spoiled by walkthroughs or wikis.

Estimated Duration: 6-8 hours.