#it feels forced. but other than that... the game is impressive and fun

[ms-all-sunday]

in op world seeker nami is described as "a flamboyant young woman with red hair" and i think that's my favourite description of nami I've ever seen

so far op world seeker is the most engaging one of these games story wise. its gameplay is mid, true, (i like the combat, for the record.) but the fact oda wrote the games story does shine through immediately.

[mrsshabana]

This request can go on the back burner, but an idea struck me with the force of a ton of bricks when I say your post about incel Gyutaro.

What about a little story where Gyutaro is trying to join a fraternity, to impress girls, and it's hazing time~ They make the pledges strip down to their boxers and wear blindfolds. The frat guys got a bunch of pretty girls together to write on their bodies with washable markers. Compliments or insults. The one with the most compliments from different girls joins tonight, and the one with the least has to walk home in his underwear. The others just get their clothes back and can stay at the party.

Reader is heartbroken by the amount of insults on Gyutaro's body with no compliments. So she puts on red lipstick and kisses all of his birthmarks! And writes in the lipstick. He's still losing, but he definitely won't mind as much anymore. Also, I feel like this is a mouthful if you don't wanna post my ask, itself, that's fine.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐥 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Gyutaro thinks joining a fraternity will help him impress girls, but it results in him getting hazed and utterly humiliated. Though you end up making it all worth it. Maybe it did help him impress girls after all. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, smut, MDNI, incel Gyutaro, college au, angst, humiliation, hazing, vaginal sex, creampie, premature ejaculation ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.6k words. THIS MIGHT BE THE BEST ASK I'VE SEEN ALL YEAR. I KID YOU NOT - AS SOON AS I SAW THIS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT EVERY MOMENT SINCE. This ended up being some of my best writing, thank you so much for this request ♡

You've seen some crazy shit since you've joined a sorority but nothing quite like this. It's nothing new that the fraternity guys on Greek row like holding strange events and wild parties. But you never thought they'd invite you and some of your fellow sorority members over to haze some rookies.

A line of almost naked men stand before you, blindfolded and in nothing but their boxers. You and the other girls are tasked with writing comments about their appearance on their bodies with a marker. Compliments or insults, both are encouraged.

Most of them just look like your everyday frat boy, with lots of them having abs and large muscles. The only one that stands out is the guy at the end. You can already tell he doesn't belong in this crowd by how pale he is. Not spending the summer drinking beers at the lake and getting a nice tan? Who the hell is this guy? He looks like the type that stays inside all day playing video games and watching hentai.

And that's not all - his body stands out in many other ways as well. He's really skinny and his hip bones protrude in an unnatural way. Not to mention the large ink-like birthmarks that are scattered across his body.

However, even though he looks different, you don't have a negative impression of him. All you thought when you first saw him was, "Huh, that guy doesn't look like the kind of guy to join a frat."

As you go down the line you write nice comments on each man's body, not having the heart to write anything negative and possibly hurt someone's feelings. You always felt bad for the guys that get hazed so you could never bring yourself to make it worse for them. However, when you get to the skinny guy, you are utterly shocked by what you see.

Littered all over his body are mean and cruel insults. You felt sick to your stomach as you read them.

"Disgusting"

"Freak"

"Incel"

"Virgin"

One girl even wrote, "Ew, why are you even here?" while another wrote, "I rather die than sleep with you lol."

You understand that he has an unconventional appearance but it certainly does not warrant all of these hateful comments. It breaks your heart to see that not even a single girl has said something nice about him.

You can't even imagine the amount of courage it must have taken him to stand up here like this. Only to get shot down and made fun of? You won't stand for it.

He flinches as he feels your delicate, manicured hands touch his chest. Then he feels something creamy and soft glide along his body, it feels different from the markers he's felt so far.

You decide to write some nice comments in your favorite red lipstick.

"So hot!"

"Cutie ;)"

But you feel like it isn't enough so you put a layer of the vibrant shade on your lips, then begin to kiss the birthmarks on his body.

His breath hitches and his face turns red when he feels you kiss him. Starting with his cheek and going all the way down to the mark on his hip. Everyone stares at you with confused faces as they watch you adore the "ugliest" guy in the lineup. But honestly, you don't care, you think he's hot as hell.

However, you feel like it's not enough so you write, "CALL ME!" in large letters on his chest followed by your phone number.

As all of the girls finish up leaving their comments for the guys, they are finally allowed to take off their blindfolds and read the messages on their bodies.

When he removes his blindfold you can't help but smile seeing how cute he is, and not to mention those beautiful blue eyes.

The self-proclaimed leader of the hazing committee, Tengen Uzui, reads the comments out loud.

Of course, the insults on Gyutaro's body sting. Especially since they are so harsh and he received a lot more than everyone else. But the bright red compliments are what's keeping him afloat. Almost making him not give a fuck about what any of the other girls had to say. Of course, there is a part of him that thinks this could be a cruel trick to get his hopes up. But honestly, after going so many years without a girl even looking in his direction, he can't help but get excited. After all, this is the first time he's ever gotten a girl's phone number.

He looks around the room, trying to see who the culprit could be. There are a few girls wearing red lipstick so he's not entirely sure who it could be.

"Looks like you'll be walking home, Gyutaro!" Tengen announced loudly, "And I'll be keeping these!" He laughs as he snatches Gyutaro's clothes - forcing him to walk home shamefully in nothing but his boxers.

He feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him as everyone stares and laughs. Just wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, he nods and walks towards the door.

"Wait!" You shout as you run towards him, taking off your shirt and jeans. Once you're down to your bra and panties you say, "Let's go together."

His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, his face as red as a tomato. The party goes completely silent, the girls stare at you with confusion and a hint of disgust. While the guys stare at Gyutaro with envy, wishing that they were in his place.

"Well, come on," you say, breaking the silence.

Gyutaro gives you a shaky nod and opens the door for you, following you out.

Once outside the frat house, he really doesn't know what to say, at a complete loss for words. A half-naked girl is walking home with him right now, and not just any girl, you're a solid ten.

His perverted self may be too focused on your appearance right now, but a part of him does recognize how nice it was of you to do that for him so he didn't feel so embarrassed. You literally took off your clothes so you could endure his hazing punishment with him. No one's ever been so kind to him before - especially not a woman.

He keeps looking at your tits, trying not to be obvious about it but he can't help himself. He loves boobs!! He always has and he's never been so close to them before. Honestly, it's a miracle he isn't sporting a massive hard-on right now. The cold breeze hitting his exposed skin is the only thing keeping it at bay.

"Um... thanks," he rasps quietly, barely mustering the courage to speak to you at all, "What's your name?"

"Oh, my name's Y/N. And don't mention it," you smile, "No one deserves to be treated that way."

"... so you did it out of pity?" he frowns.

"Not at all! I-I didn't mean it like that!"

"Then what did you mean?"

"Well... I think you're really cute. Nerdy shy guys like you have always been my type," you express your feelings with a hint of embarrassment, "And just because you don't look like the other guys doesn't mean that warrants bullying."

Gyutaro blushes deeply, too shy and flattered to respond. So you continue.

"Don't join the frat, Gyutaro. You won't be happy there, they'll just make you an outcast because you're different. I really hope you change your mind about it." You hope your words won't offend him, but it's the honest truth. A guy like him doesn't belong in a frat and deep down he knows that.

Gyutaro hates everyone in that frat, he finds them annoying and idiotic. He only wanted to join in the first place because he's so desperate to get laid and he knows those types of guys pull chicks left and right.

"Alright, I won't join. But only if you have sex with me," he states with a confidence he hasn't had all night.

"Wh-what?!" You gasp, almost certain you must not have heard him correctly.

"I only wanted to join that stupid fraternity to get laid. You're the first girl that's ever been interested in me. So if you sleep with me then I'll know I can get laid without needing the frat."

At a loss for words, you stare at him with wide eyes as the two of you stand outside of his dorm building.

You're no saint, so sex isn't something you aren't used to. But you also wouldn't consider yourself the type to sleep with a guy you barely know either. This is still weird for you. But is it too weird for you?

Obviously not because you feel butterflies form in your stomach and a moistness develop in your panties as you think about it. He is really cute, and he does have a point. If you sleep with him maybe it will boost his confidence. And who knows, maybe after tonight you could get closer to him. Being a virgin and all, he doesn't seem like the type to just dip and skip.

"Ok, you have a deal," you smile shyly and take his hand, "This is your dorm building right?"

His jaw drops, not expecting you to have agreed. "Y-Yeah," he stutters.

"Let's hurry before anyone catches us!" Dragging him inside, the two of you sneak up to his room without being noticed.

Once inside you get clear confirmation that Gyutaro is the exact kind of guy you thought he was. Clothes and empty energy drink cans were strewn about his room. The air smells like a mix of body odor and G Fuel. On his desk is a nice looking PC gaming setup. Equip with neon lights and an RTX 3090. And you aren't surprised to see a bottle of lotion on his desk. And beside it is an nsfw figurine of some anime character that looks vaguely similar to you. Maybe you are his type after all.

Gyutaro doesn't bother cleaning up or even apologizing for the mess, it's like he doesn't even care. He just turns on some colored lights and sits on the bed. Now that he's out of the cold and inside the comfort of his own dorm, you can see his erection quickly growing under his boxers.

"Well? Don't tell me you're gonna chicken out now," he scowls.

"No! I'm not chickening out! I'm actually really excited..." you sit beside him and caress his thigh.

Immediately you can see his member twitch beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. He had this nonchalant act going on, but now it's crumbling down and he's a complete mess.

"C-Can I touch them?" he mutters as he stares down at your chest.

"Sure, let me help you," you say as you unhook your bra and throw it to the side. His eyes widen and he has to stop himself from drooling.

Like instinct, his hands go to your breasts and he starts feeling and playing with them. It's obvious he's never done this before because his hands are shaky and he's handling them roughly. But he's just so excited!

"Woah," he says in awe, "These are awesome..."

Even though he's a bit rough and inexperienced, it still feels good. The way his bony fingers squeeze and prod, along with how he runs his fingers over your nipples with curiosity.

"Gyutaro..." you whisper as you caress his cheek and pull him closer, "Come here." Pulling him into a heated kiss, it's obvious he doesn't know what to do. But you try your best to guide him.

He whimpers into the kiss as you slide your tongue into his mouth. He tries to reciprocate but he's quite sloppy.

Despite that, it still sends him to cloud nine. Not only is this his first kiss but he also gets to touch tits at the same time. It's so overwhelming for him that he feels like he's already going to cum.

Hastily shoving his hand down his boxers, he grabs the base of his cock and squeezes tightly - desperately trying to stop himself from cumming. He pulls away from the kiss and says, "T-Take off your panties, I-I wanna fuck you already."

With a devious smirk, you spread your legs as you remove your panties, showing him how wet you are. Gyutaro gulps, staring at you like a starving animal.

"I'm ready for you, Gyu," you coo as you lay on your back, completely submitting to him.

"Wait um... can we try doggy style?"

You're kind of surprised by his request but you don't mind so you flip over and get on your hands and knees.

Gyutaro would actually love to watch your face contort as he fucks you, but he chose doggy style because he doesn't want you to see him while he does it. Even after everything you've said to him his insecurities are still there. And a part of him fears that if you see his dick then you'll change your mind about this. He's not the biggest, but he definitely isn't small either. The size is actually really nice, but he's so insecure that he can't see that. But the worst part is the birthmarks, he feels like his dick looks like he has some type of venereal disease even though he doesn't. So he figures it'd be best if you just didn't see it at all.

Once you're in the doggy position he feels comfortable enough to pull down his boxers. You feel the sticky, leaking tip nudge against you as he positions himself.

His brows furrow in frustration as he tries to find the right spot, his inexperience showing.

"Here, let me help you," you say in a sweet tone as to not upset him or sound judgmental. Though he's still a bit embarrassed anyway.

Reaching between your legs, you grasp his shaft and gently guide him inside of you. Once he's an inch or two inside, he gets too excited and fully thrusts forward. Jolting his needy cock into your gummy walls. You yelp in response while Gyutaro moans loudly.

"F-Fuck... ngh Y/N, you feel so goddamn good," he groans in pleasure as he tightens his grasp on your hips.

After a moment of stillness, he starts thrusting when he feels like he won't cum immediately. But it's not long before that sensation comes back.

Only after a few thrusts, do you feel a warmth spread inside of you as you feel Gyutaro's thighs begin to shake.

"Did you- did you cum?" Surprised, you look back at him to see the blissful expression on his face.

But your words quickly snap him out of it, "Shit... m'sorry," he pants, obviously feeling ashamed and embarrassed, "I-I didn't mean to cum so fast."

He quickly shoves his dick back in his boxers, trying to hide his shame as he hangs his head and refuses to look you in the eye. The only chance he got to have sex, he ruined it by cumming too fast like the incel that everyone says he is. He looks down at the writing on his body, starting to feel like all of those insults from earlier are justified.

Seeing the shift in his mood, you quickly put your panties back on and hug him. "Hey it's ok, it was your first time. That just means we'll have to do it more so you can get used to it."

"R-Really? You don't think I'm pathetic...?" he whimpers in disbelief.

"Of course not, I still had a lot of fun," you smile and kiss his cheek, "Maybe I can stay the night and we can try again in the morning."

"I'd fucking love that."

[livvymd]

Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet)

First pub golf - george clarke x reader. (Chapter one)

idk im bored so i thought id make a series I guess??

The night air was chilly, and Y/N couldn't shake off the nerves swirling in her stomach. She had done plenty of collabs with ChrisMD, ArthurTV, Arthur Hill, and Chip, but George Clarke was a new face. They had talked here and there through group chats, but she'd never met him in person. She stood outside the pub, trying to steady her breath before walking in.

"You're going to be fine," she told herself, adjusting the straps of her bag. "It's just a pub golf, nothing to be nervous about."

Inside, the pub was warm, filled with the buzz of chatter and laughter. As soon as Y/N stepped in, Chris spotted her and waved, signaling her over to the group already gathered around a table.

"Oi, Y/N!" Chris grinned, standing up to pull out a chair for her. "The gang's all here!"

She smiled awkwardly, her eyes scanning the group. Chip was already animatedly discussing something, ArthurTV was laughing at something Arthur Hill had said, and then her gaze landed on George Clarke. He was sitting quietly, sipping his drink, with an unreadable expression on his face. He looked different in person—taller, more intimidating in a way, but not in a bad way.

"Hey, George," Y/N said softly, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He looked up, offering a polite smile. "Hey, nice to finally meet you in person. Chris has talked about you loads."

The awkwardness lingered for a second. Y/N shifted in her seat, trying to ease the tension she felt creeping up her spine. She wasn’t sure how to break the ice with him, but thankfully, Chris filled the silence by launching into the rules of the night’s pub golf event.

“Right, we’ve got our first challenge—let's get to it. Y/N, first time, so we’ll go easy on you.”

Y/N chuckled nervously. “I don’t even know what that means, but okay.”

George grinned, his eyes twinkling a little. “Don’t worry, it’s more about the fun than the actual competition. Though, we do tend to get a little competitive. You ready to show us how it’s done?”

She shot him a smile, relieved he was being friendly and easing her nerves a bit. "I think so... I hope so."

The group moved to the first bar in the pub, and Y/N felt the tension between her and George slowly start to fade as the night wore on. They weren’t quite at the point where it was smooth sailing yet, but they started making small talk here and there. George wasn’t flirting, not at all—but there was a certain warmth in the way he spoke, like he was genuinely getting to know her.

At the second bar, the drinks started flowing a bit more freely, and the atmosphere shifted. The laughter became louder, the jokes more ridiculous. Chris, always the instigator, pulled out his phone to record.

“Alright, let’s see who can do the best impression of a famous YouTuber,” Chris challenged.

Everyone groaned, but George stood up first, dramatically adjusting his posture before turning to Y/N. “I reckon Y/N could pull off a ChrisMD impression,” he teased, his voice playful. “What do you think?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Me? I think you’ve had a few too many, George.”

George grinned. “Maybe, but I reckon you can do it. Go on, give us your best ChrisMD.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the request was, but she stood up, setting her drink down. She exaggerated every part of Chris’s usual antics, throwing in over-the-top commentary about football and making everyone laugh. Even George, who was still sitting back, seemed impressed as he leaned forward.

“Okay, I’ll admit, that was pretty good,” George said, a smirk on his face. “But I still think I could beat you in the impression game.”

“Sure, mate,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes, but there was something in her voice—something playful—that made George’s grin widen even more.

They carried on like this, teasing each other back and forth, slowly starting to feel more comfortable in each other’s presence. The alcohol seemed to loosen everyone up, and as the night wore on, it became less about the competition and more about enjoying each other’s company.

At the next bar, everyone was significantly more drunk, and the playful jokes kept coming. Y/N had no idea when the mood shifted, but at some point, George started calling her “pet” in a teasing tone. She wasn’t sure if it was just a joke or if it meant something more, but every time he said it, her heart skipped a beat.

“Come on, pet, don’t be shy,” he teased, nudging her as she hesitated to take a shot. “You’ve got this.”

She laughed, trying to brush it off, but she couldn’t deny the weird feeling that had settled in her chest. It was a nickname, a joke, right? But it didn’t feel like just a joke. There was something in the way his voice softened when he said it, something in the way he looked at her with that half-smile.

As the night grew late, the tension between them seemed to build. George started calling her “poppet” too, and she wasn’t sure if it was just drunken flirting or something more. There was a teasing edge to his voice, but there was also something sincere in the way he said it. He was enjoying her company, but so was she—and for a split second, the whole room seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of them.

“You’re a bad influence,” Y/N muttered, her words a little slurred.

George leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Me? I’m just helping you loosen up, pet.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or excited or both. She wasn’t sure if he was still joking, but the playful vibe between them had taken on a different tone. It didn’t feel like just a joke anymore—it felt real.

As the night wound down and the group began to stumble out of the pub, George pulled her aside for a moment, his hand resting casually on her arm. “You know, I didn’t think we’d get on so well,” he said, his voice low, sincere, with a hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “But I’m glad we did.”

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, me too. It’s been fun.”

The group began to scatter outside the final bar, everyone full of drink and laughter, limbs loose and stumbling as they tried to figure out taxis and directions. Y/N zipped up her jacket against the cold, cheeks flushed from a mix of alcohol and the lingering buzz of the night.

“You heading back alone?” George asked, his voice quiet but clear amidst the noise of the street.

Y/N turned, blinking at him. “Yeah. I don’t live far, I was just gonna walk.”

George frowned slightly. “I’ll walk you, if that’s alright.”

Her heart jumped a bit at the offer, but she kept her voice steady. “That’s... yeah, sure. If you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I did, pet.”

There it was again—that nickname. Her lips twitched with a half-smile, and they started down the pavement together, a little quieter now that the group had broken off. The air between them felt more focused, more personal. Every step away from the others made it feel a bit more like something.

“You were a good sport tonight,” George said after a moment. “Didn’t even act like it was your first pub golf.”

“I think the five shots helped,” she laughed, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “That, and you lot being ridiculous.”

George chuckled. “We’re definitely that. But you fit in alright. Proper natural with the chaos.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You think?”

He nodded, sincere now. “Yeah. You’ve got this way of being... calm, even when everything’s mad around you. I noticed that.”

Y/N’s throat tightened slightly, caught off guard by the comment. No one had ever really said that to her. And the way he said it—soft, like he wasn’t just throwing words around—it stuck.

“Well,” she managed, brushing hair from her face, “you’re a lot nicer than I expected, if I’m honest.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Bit colder? Maybe a bit full of yourself?” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

He snorted. “Charming. So glad I made a great first impression.”

“You grew on me,” she admitted. “Especially after you started calling me ‘pet.’”

George glanced at her, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Yeah? You don’t mind it?”

“No,” she said, quieter now. “I don’t.”

They stopped in front of her building. Her flat was on the corner of a quiet street, streetlights casting long shadows. She turned toward him, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were.

“Well. This is me.”

George nodded, then hesitated. “I had a really good time tonight. With everyone. But… mostly with you.”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Same.”

There was a beat. Just long enough for something to settle in the air. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, a little bashful.

“Would it be mad if I asked for your number?” he asked. “Just... I’d like to text you. Maybe hang out again. Without the golf and the camera crew.”

Her heart leapt, but she tried to play it cool. “That wouldn’t be mad.”

She handed him her phone, and he typed in his number, saving it under George Clarke 🍻. She couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll text you,” he said, passing it back. “So you’ve got mine too.”

“You better.”

He lingered for a moment, then offered a soft, “Goodnight, poppet.”

Y/N didn’t say anything—just smiled and stepped inside. And as she shut the door behind her, she leaned against it with a quiet laugh, heart racing, cheeks still warm.

Not a bad first pub golf.

[gdinthehouseee]

Valentine's: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: a steamy valentine's date with ji-yong in his penthouse

word count: 6397

tags: fluff, mature (for spice? steam? there's no actual smut)

ao3 link

It was finally Valentine’s day. You had spent the night back at your own place, something you haven’t done in probably months ever since you started dating Ji-yong—practically already moved in together at his place instead. Last night, he told you he wanted this day to be special, so you figured you would go home for the night in order to put some real effort into your look tonight. Naturally, this morning, you spent hours making sure everything was perfect: everything from your outfit to the gift you bought him. At least it was easier to hide that. 

Finally, the sun had set and it was time for the real fun to begin.

The scent of something rich and savory fills the air as you step into Ji-yong’s penthouse, the warm lighting casting soft shadows across the sleek interior. Your eyes immediately land on him—standing by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile playing on his lips as he stirs a pot on the stove.

“You’re just in time, aein.” He says smoothly, glancing over his shoulder to give you a once-over. His gaze lingers a little longer than necessary. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You scoff, setting your bag down. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who looks like you’re about to seduce someone.”

“Maybe I am.”

Before you can fire back, he closes the distance between you and reaches for your hand, guiding it to his chest dramatically. “Feel that? My heart’s racing already. You really do have that effect on me.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You roll your eyes, but your expression betrays you as you keep your hand over his heart.

“You know you love it,” he teases, tugging you closer until you’re nearly flush against him. “Now, if you’ll behave and keep me company, I might even let you taste what I’m cooking.”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and flickering towards your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Or, you could just taste me instead. Your choice.”

“Ji,” you whined. “What’s gotten into you?”

Thankfully, your bashful smile let him know that you were both enjoying his boldness. No matter how much you rolled your eyes or tried to act unaffected, the soft curve of your lips gave you away every time. Ji-yong lived for that—watching the way your defenses crumbled under his charm, the way your gaze flickered between playful defiance and quiet surrender. It was a game he loved playing, pushing just enough to make you flustered, but never too much to overwhelm you. And judging by the warmth creeping up your cheeks, he was winning.

“Am I not allowed to flirt with my girl?” He jokingly pouted, one hand remained over your hand on his chest while his other hand found its home at your waist. 

“Of course you are.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he said before pressing a quick peck to your lips. “C’mon, let my cooking impress you instead.” 

The countertop is lined with ingredients, a simmering pot sending out a rich, mouthwatering aroma. You watch as he moves effortlessly around the kitchen, confident in every step. He grabs a spoon, dips it into the sauce, and turns to you with that signature smirk still plastered on his face. “Here. Taste.”

You lean in slightly, expecting him to hold out the spoon properly, but instead, he lifts it higher—forcing you to tilt your head back as he guides it between your lips. The warmth of the sauce spreads across your tongue, but all you can focus on is the way Ji-yong’s gaze drops to your lips, his smirk deepening.

“Good?” He asks, his voice lower now.

You swallow, trying not to show how flustered you suddenly feel. “Yeah. It’s really good.”

He hums in satisfaction, but instead of stepping back, he raises a finger and swipes it across the corner of your lips. “You had a little something…” He brings his finger to his own lips and licks it off, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. “Can’t waste it.”

You scoff, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he muses, tilting his head, “you’re still here.” He leans in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping. “Does that mean you like it when I tease you, jagiya?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the counter, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—other than the way he’s looking at you. “You clearly need supervision, so I’m helping.”

“Helping? That’s cute.”

“I know how to cook, you know.”

“Sure you do,” he teases, stepping behind you so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. Before you can respond, his hands slide over yours, effortlessly guiding them to the knife on the counter. “Let me see, then.”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the handle, heat radiating from his body behind you. “Ji-yong.”

“Hm?” He rests his chin on your shoulder, completely unfazed. “I’m just helping, right?”

You exhale sharply, trying to ignore the way his voice drips with amusement. “I don’t need you hovering over me.”

He hums as if considering your words, then suddenly reaches around you, grabbing an ingredient from the counter—brushing against you just enough to send a jolt up your spine. “Ah, my bad,” he murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear. “Didn’t mean to get in your way.”

You whip around, intending to glare at him properly, but the moment you do, he lifts a small piece of fruit to your lips. “Open up, aein.”

“What—”

“Shh.” He taps the fruit against your bottom lip, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Be good and try it.”

Despite your attempt to act like you were annoyed with him, you open your mouth, and he places it on your tongue, his fingers lingering a little too long. His eyes flicker down, watching the way your lips close around it.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You chew slowly, refusing to let him see just how much he’s getting to you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He grins. “Of course I am.” He picks up another piece, twirling it between his fingers. “The question is… are you?”

You swallow, willing yourself not to fall into his trap. Instead, you decide to turn the tables. Two can play this game. With a slow, deliberate movement, you step closer, reaching past him to grab a piece of fruit for yourself. He watches, amused, as you bring it to your lips—but instead of eating it right away, you pause. You roll the fruit lightly between your fingers, letting your lips hover just above it, pretending to inspect it. “Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, glancing at him through your lashes. “I don’t know… do you think I should try it, Ji-yong?”

His smirk falters just slightly—his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. You don’t give him a chance to recover. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, you bring the fruit to your mouth and take a bite, your lips just barely brushing your fingers. Your tongue flicks out to catch the sweetness, and you swear you hear Jiyong’s breath hitch.

You let out a small, pleased hum as you chew, tilting your head. “Mmm. You were right. It’s good.”

His smirk is still there, but his jaw tenses slightly. “Glad you approve.”

You take another bite, even slower this time, then reach up with your thumb to wipe the juice lingering at the corner of your lips. His eyes track the movement immediately. For the final blow, you bring your thumb to your lips—just like he did earlier—and suck the sweetness away, holding eye contact the entire time.

Ji-yong stills. You see it—the exact moment the teasing backfires on him. His smirk wavers, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, you even heard the way his breath hitched. For once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback.

Satisfied, you tilt your head. “Something wrong?”

Jiyong exhales, slow and measured, before abruptly closing the distance between you.

“Oh, aein,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with just two fingers. His gaze is dangerously dark now, heated in a way that makes your stomach flip. “You really wanna play this game with me?”

You blink innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckles, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. His hand doesn’t drop from your chin—instead, his thumb brushes along your jawline, slow and teasing.

“You’re cute,” he murmurs, his lips so close you can feel his breath. “But you should know better than to tease me, princess.”

Before you can react, his other hand suddenly slides down, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your breath catches, and he grins, fully aware of what he’s doing to you.

“Now,” he says, voice nothing but smooth velvet, “let’s see how long you can keep up, hmm?”

Oh. You’re in trouble.

His grip on your waist tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you. His smirk is still there, but there’s something darker behind it now—something that makes your pulse skyrocket. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish this game he started. Not that either of you want to stop playing.

“You’ve been getting bold,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip. “Teasing me like that. Acting all innocent when we both know you’re not.”

You refuse to back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, keeping your voice steady despite the way your heart is slamming against your ribs.

Ji-yong lets out a low, knowing hum. “No?”

Before you can react, he shifts, caging you in completely—his arm sliding around your lower back, his other hand pressing flat against the counter beside you. He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“Then why,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement, “do you look like you’re about to melt?”

You inhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. But it’s impossible when his presence is so overwhelming—the scent of him, the heat of his body, the way his lips are hovering over your skin, never quite touching, but making you ache for it anyway.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, challenging him right back. “If anyone’s about to melt, it’s you,” you whisper.

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose—a laugh, but barely. His grip tightens, his body pressing into yours just enough to make you shiver.

“Oh?” He muses, tilting his head. “That so?”

His hand on your waist slides lower, fingers grazing over the curve of your hip—slow, deliberate, teasing. He’s watching you, studying the way your breath catches, how your fingers clutch at the counter behind you.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone.

His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight, before ghosting down your neck. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten. However, he can’t help himself as he begins to kiss your jawline. Slow and soft pecks trailing down your jaw and your neck, until he reaches your collarbone.

“Still think I’m the one melting?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice so dangerously low it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers instinctively grip his shirt, as if holding onto something solid will keep you from completely losing yourself in him. Of course, he notices, and he grins against your neck.

“You’re already falling apart for me.”

Your head is spinning, your breath uneven, but how could it not be? Ji-yong is right there, pressing against you like he has no intention of letting go—and God, he looks unfairly good doing it.

The dim lighting casts soft shadows over his sharp features, highlighting the mischief in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at his lips, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead like he was made to look this effortlessly perfect. His jaw is so sharp it could cut, his skin so frustratingly smooth it’s unfair, and then—those lips. Lips that are so close to yours now, parted just slightly, so warm against your skin as he teases you without even trying. His scent—clean, expensive, intoxicating—wraps around you like a slow-burning haze, making it impossible to think of anything but him. And then there’s his hands—warm, and so damn sure of themselves, holding you in place, fingers pressing just hard enough to make your stomach tighten. His confidence, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, has you completely undone before he even touches you properly. How is it fair that someone can look this good and know exactly how to use it? And worse—how are you supposed to survive it?

And then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP!

A loud, obnoxious timer shatters the moment.

For a second, neither of you react—both frozen, caught in the tension that had been building like a slow-burning fire.

Then, he exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he lets out a deep, frustrated groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, his grip on your waist flexing like he’s resisting the urge to just ignore it altogether.

You, on the other hand, are biting back a grin. “Ji-yong,” you say, feigning innocence, “I think something’s burning.”

His fingers tighten just slightly before he finally pulls back, shooting a glare toward the kitchen timer like it personally offended him.

“I hate that thing,” he deadpans, jaw clenching as he forces himself to step away from you.

You laugh, still breathless, but can’t help the way your lips curve in satisfaction. “You were the one who insisted on cooking.”

His eyes darken again instantly, and suddenly, you realize teasing him right now might be dangerous. He lets out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back like he’s trying to shake off the tension that had just settled so thickly between you. His jaw is still tight, and you don’t miss the way his fingers flex before he finally forces himself to step away.

“You’re lucky I care about feeding you,” he mutters, tossing a glance your way as he checks on the food.

You cross your arms, watching the way his back muscles shift under his shirt as he moves around the kitchen. It’s almost unfair—even when he’s frustrated, he looks good enough to ruin you.

“I don’t know,” you muse, leaning against the counter. “Seemed like you cared about something else a lot more just now.”

Ji-yong pauses. For a moment, he just stands there, hands braced against the counter, before he slowly—so slowly—turns to face you again.

“Oh?” His voice is deceptively light, but his gaze? Dangerous. “Are you saying you’d rather skip dinner?”

“Didn’t say that.”

He hums, his eyes still too intense as he starts plating the food. “Good,” he murmurs, sliding a plate in front of you before leaning in just slightly. “Because you’re gonna need the energy later.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate how easily he turns the tables back on you. He grins, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before grabbing his own plate and nodding toward the dining table. “C’mon, aein. Let’s eat.”

You exhale, trying to calm the warmth in your cheeks, before following him.

He lights a few candles, their soft glow casting warm flickers of light across the sleek tabletop. The ambient dimness makes the setting feel far too intimate, like something straight out of a private five-star restaurant. He places the plates down with precision, adjusting them like an artist perfecting his masterpiece. A bottle of expensive wine appears next, because of course he has that on hand, followed by two glasses that catch the light just right. He even adds a small vase with a single rose—a dramatic touch, but so undeniably him. When he finally steps back, admiring his work, he catches you staring and smirks. “What?” he teases, tilting his head. “Didn’t think I’d put in the effort?”

Your gaze flickers back to Ji-yong, who’s watching you with that infuriatingly smug expression, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“I just…” You trail off, lips parting slightly as you glance at the setup again. “I wasn’t expecting all this.”

He leans casually against the chair, his smirk only growing. “You wound me, aein,” he sighs dramatically. “Do you really think I’d invite you over for dinner and not make it perfect?”

“Perfect, huh?”

He shrugs, stepping closer—too close. “Well,” he murmurs, eyes glinting as he reaches for the wine, “it’ll be perfect once you sit down and let me pour you a drink.”

You finally sink into your chair, still feeling a little dazed from how effortlessly Jiyong managed to make this dinner feel so special. He pours you a glass of wine first, his fingers steady and graceful, before taking his own seat across from you. For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence. The soft glow of the candles flickers between you, casting shadows over his sharp features. He watches you as you take the first bite, eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“Well?” He asks, resting his chin on his palm, waiting for your reaction.

You pretend to consider, chewing slowly as if deep in thought.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t even—”

Before he can finish, you let out a dramatic sigh, setting your fork down. “I guess it’s okay…”

Ji-yong scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s amusement flickering behind them. “You’re such a brat,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give me that.”

Before you can stop him, he reaches across the table with his own fork, stealing a bite from your plate. His expression shifts almost immediately—satisfaction mixed with pure smugness.

“Yeah,” he hums, chewing slowly. “Tastes like perfection. Just like I thought.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “You really know how to fish for compliments, huh?”

He tilts his head, a lazy grin forming. “I don’t need to fish for them. I already know I’m amazing.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

But as you glance around the table—the candles flickering, the way he watches you between bites, the small, intimate details he put into everything—you realize something: he didn’t have to do all this. When it comes to showing his love for you, Ji-yong loves extravagance, sure, but this dinner? This was different. This wasn’t for show. This wasn’t for anyone else. This was for you.

Your heart softens, and without thinking, you murmur, “Thank you, Ji.”

He pauses mid-bite, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting that. “For what?”

You shrug, nudging a piece of food around your plate. “For this. For making it special.”

His smirk falters for just a second before something warmer takes its place. He leans back in his chair, watching you closely, his teasing tone now laced with something softer.

“Of course, aein,” he murmurs, lips quivering. “You deserve it.”

And just like that, your heart is completely gone.

Dinner continues at a slow, unhurried pace, both of you enjoying the food and each other’s company. The teasing ebbs into easy conversation, laughter spilling effortlessly between bites, and for a while, it’s just… nice. Comfortable. Like the world outside doesn’t exist. He watches you fondly as you take another bite, his elbow resting on the table, chin propped up on his hand. He’s been staring at you like that for a while now—like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“What?” you ask, lips twitching as you meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” he says, swirling his wine glass lazily. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How cute you look when you’re enjoying your food.”

A flush creeps up your neck before you can stop it. “Oh my god, Jiyong—”

He grins, setting his glass down. “What? It’s true.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table as his voice drops just slightly, just enough to make your stomach flip. “You make the smallest happy noises when you like something. It’s adorable.”

Your mouth opens—ready to argue, ready to defend yourself—but then you realize you can’t even deny it. He must’ve been paying such close attention to notice that. And that realization? It makes your heart ache in the best way.

You clear your throat, playing with the stem of your glass just to avoid looking directly at him. “You notice too much.”

Jiyong exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I just notice you.”

The words settle between you, gentle but weighted, sinking in like warmth spreading through your chest. There’s no teasing in his voice this time. Just honesty. That’s more dangerous than any flirtation. For a moment, you just look at him—this man who could have anyone, who could be anywhere, but right now, he’s here. With you. Watching you like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to.

“…You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” you finally murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He starts grinning as if he had just won something. “Oh, I know.”

“Unbelievable.” You groan, tossing a napkin at him.

But even as you shake your head, you can’t stop the softness creeping into your smile. By the time dinner winds down, you feel light, warm, and completely at ease. The teasing has softened into something quieter, something closer, as you sit across from Jiyong in the glow of candlelight, your empty plates long forgotten.

Ji-yong finishes the last sip of his wine, then sets his glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad for a home-cooked meal, right?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Mmm… I guess you can keep your title as a decent chef.”

He scoffs, clearly unimpressed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Decent?” He stands, making his way over to you, his smirk lazy but his eyes holding something softer. “Jagiya, you practically moaned over that food.”

Your jaw drops. “I did not—”

He laughs, reaching out to take your hand. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, quieter. “I have something else planned.”

Before you can ask what, he tugs you up from your seat, guiding you toward the spacious living area. The city skyline stretches out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a breathtaking backdrop to the moment. But it’s not what captures your attention. It’s the way he holds your hand so naturally, like he was always meant to.

“What are we doing?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Dancing.”

He reaches for a remote and clicks a button. Within seconds, soft, slow music fills the space, blending seamlessly into the ambience of the night.

Your breath catches slightly. “You planned this?”

Ji-yong’s fingers thread through yours, his other hand settling lightly at your waist. His touch is warm, steady—so sure of itself, like he’s been waiting for this.

“I told you,” he murmurs, leading you into an easy sway. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Your heart stumbles, warmth spreading through your chest like honey. How does he do this? How does he make you melt with just a few words?

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease, but your voice is softer now, barely above a whisper.

He grins, pulling you just a little closer. “And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t deny it because right now, wrapped up in his arms, your bodies moving in slow rhythm beneath the dim glow of the penthouse lights, you can’t remember a time when you felt this safe. And when Jiyong’s hand slides up your back, his touch gentle but grounding, you know—you don’t want this night to end.

His grip on your hand tightens just slightly before he lifts it, guiding you into a slow, effortless twirl. You let yourself spin under his touch, the motion making the hem of your outfit shift slightly, your hair catching the light just right. For that brief moment, everything feels weightless—dreamlike. But when you turn back to face him, you catch the way he’s looking at you. His gaze roams over you slowly, deliberately, like he has every intention of memorizing you. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, his dark eyes drinking in every single detail as if seeing you for the first time.

Warmth rushes to your face as you clear your throat, shifting slightly under his stare. “What?” you ask, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected.

He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his expression as he tugs you closer again, resuming your slow sway. His voice drops, low and utterly sincere.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. Not cute. Not pretty. Beautiful. And the way he says it—so effortlessly, like it’s just a fact—makes your heart stumble.

“Getting shy, are we?”

You groan, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “You are so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Completely smitten with you?”

You huff, looking away, but that only makes him grin wider. And then, in a move that’s entirely unfair, he leans in, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t look away. I meant it.”

Your stomach flips.

Oh, he’s serious. So serious.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his expression warm, unreadable, and maybe even a little too tender. His hand lifts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle it nearly undoes you.

"You should hear it more often," he muses, voice low and honeyed.

Your lips part, but no words come out—because how are you supposed to respond when he says things like that?

He watches your reaction, his teasing smile softening. His arms tighten around you as he spins you playfully again, stealing another lingering glance before pulling you back into him. His gaze is nothing short of adoring.

The soft melody still lingers in the air, but you stop moving first.

Ji-yong’s brow lifts as you take a step back, though his grip on your waist tightens, like he’s not ready to let you go. His lips curl. “What, done with me already?”

You grin, tilting your head. “Maybe.”

His smirk falters. Just slightly. You take advantage of the moment, slipping from his hold to retrieve something from where you’d hidden it earlier. You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you.

“Relax, I’m not leaving,” you tease, casting him a glance over your shoulder. “I just have something for you.”

When you turn back, holding a small, neatly wrapped box, Jiyong looks genuinely surprised. His gaze flickers between the gift and your face, and for once, he seems… speechless.

“You got me something?” He finally asks, like the idea never occurred to him.

You smirk, stepping closer. Close enough that he has no choice but to focus on you.

“Of course,” you murmur, trailing a finger down the front of his shirt, just to see his reaction. “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t?”

Jiyong inhales, but his smirk returns—a little slower this time. “That’s what I normally say.”

“Not anymore.” You grin, pressing the box into his hands. “Now, open it.”

He watches you for a second longer, like he’s trying to figure out what game you’re playing. Then, finally, he pulls at the ribbon and lifts the lid.

The moment he sees what’s inside, his smirk fades.

The bracelet inside is sleek, but there’s a personal touch—a custom engraving on the inside. Jiyong’s thumb drags over it, his eyes lingering.

“You really know me, huh?” His voice is softer now.

“Obviously.”

His gaze snaps back to yours immediately. This time, there’s something different—an intensity that wasn’t there a second ago. For the first time tonight, you feel like you have him cornered. Slowly, you reach for his wrist, lifting it between both of yours. “Here,” you murmur. “Let me put it on for you.”

His fingers twitch slightly when your fingertips brush against his skin. You don’t rush. Instead, you take your time. He exhales slowly as you fasten the clasp, his usual teasing nowhere to be found. His gaze stays locked on your face, but there’s a flicker of something else. Something like anticipation. Restraint.

“You’re quiet.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Am I?”

“Mmhmm.” You run your fingers over his wrist deliberately, letting your touch linger. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

His jaw tenses. Oh, this is fun.

You let your fingers trace the bracelet just a little longer than necessary, then glance up at him through your lashes. You can see it now—the tiniest hint of pink dusting his ears. He knows what you’re doing. And he can’t stop it. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his voice coming out a little rougher than before. “You’re playing with fire, aein.”

You smile innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

His gaze darkens—and just like that, the shift happens. His fingers catch your wrist mid-movement, grip firm but careful. His smirk is back, a little lazier now, a little more dangerous. “You think you can tease me?” he murmurs, tilting his head. His thumb brushes against your pulse point, slow and deliberate. “That’s cute.”

Your breath hitches—not because of his words, but because of the way he says them. He steps closer.

“I should give you something too,” he muses. His grip doesn’t loosen. “Something to match.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can even question it, he releases you and disappears into the other room.

And when he returns, dangling from his fingertips, is a delicate necklace.

The necklace swings in Jiyong’s hand, glinting with the soft lighting as he holds it just out of reach. There’s a predatory look in his eyes, the glimmer of amusement dancing across his features as he teases you.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, your voice playful but filled with challenge. “You really think I’m just going to beg for this?”

His smile widens, his gaze darkening slightly. “I don’t think you will. I know you will.” His voice drops an octave, dripping with confidence as he steps closer.

You refuse to back down, crossing your arms, determination flooding your veins. “I’m not begging.”

“Oh, but you will,” he murmurs, stepping closer. There’s a dangerous edge to his voice now, though the smile never fades. “You’ll ask. In your own way.”

You scoff, but there’s a flutter in your chest, excitement mixing with the heat he’s radiating. “You’re not getting ‘nice’ from me.”

The corner of his mouth tilts upward, a silent challenge flickering in his gaze. “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into his chest in one swift motion, your back hitting him hard as he spins you around. You gasp, slightly disoriented, but you’re quickly steadied by his hands on your waist. You try to steady yourself, trying to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. “I’m not begging.”

Ji-yong’s lips brush against your ear, his voice low. “You don’t have to beg, but you do need to ask. Nicely.”

He’s testing you, pushing your limits with every word. The coolness of the necklace rests in his hand, so close you can practically taste it. But he doesn’t make a move to put it on you just yet. Instead, he slides the necklace slowly between his fingers, watching you with that quiet intensity. His lips graze your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You’re fighting to maintain control, to keep your composure, but it’s hard with the way he’s acting.

“You know, princess,” he whispers softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

You try to focus, but his hands slide down your arms, slow, deliberate, every touch purposeful. He leans in, his lips just barely grazing the back of your neck as he savors the moment, lingering for far longer than necessary.

“I’m not begging,” you murmur, but the words are shaky now, losing their strength.

He laughs, soft and rich, a sound full of dark amusement. He moves back slightly, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two. You try to take a deep breath, but he takes his time, the necklace still dangling loosely from his fingers. Every second feels like an eternity as he looks you over—taking you in, analyzing you.

“Say please,” he demands suddenly, his voice cool and commanding, forcing you to look at him. You try to hold your ground, but the way he’s looking at you—like he’s already won—makes it impossible. His eyes flash darkly as he leans in again, his lips grazing your skin with a lingering kiss along your neck. The warmth of his breath makes your pulse quicken. The tension between you two only grows thicker, more suffocating, until you can’t keep your composure anymore. You shiver slightly, trying to breathe through the moment.

Finally, unable to stand the pressure any longer, you whisper it: “Please, Ji-yong.”

The second the word leaves your lips, his hand moves, quick and sure, as he slides the necklace around your neck. The cool metal is the only thing that cools the fire spreading through your veins. But even after he places the necklace carefully around your throat, his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. He adjusts the chain slowly, his fingertips grazing your skin with each touch, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

The way he looks at you now—the satisfaction in his gaze—is almost enough to make you forget everything else.

“Good.” He looks down at you, eyes dark with desire, lips curling just enough to show the power he’s taken from you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

As he waits for your response, his eyes still locked on yours, you can’t help but smile, your fingers gently brushing over the delicate chain of the necklace he just put on you. The way the soft sparkle catches the light makes you pause, admiring how it fits perfectly around your neck, just like it was made for you.

You tilt your head slightly, your fingers lightly grazing the pendant as you gaze up at him. "You know," you start, your voice soft and filled with admiration, "I can’t stop looking at it."

He watches you, clearly intrigued. "Yeah? You like it?" His voice carries a hint of pride, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, too. It’s like he’s hoping you truly appreciate it.

You smile, your fingers gently tracing the necklace, and your eyes lift to meet his. "I love it," you say, your voice warm, sincere. "You really know how to pick the perfect gift."

Ji-yong's gaze softens, his earlier teasing gone as he watches you with a fond expression. "I’m glad," he murmurs, stepping a little closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. "It’s all for you, princess."

For a moment, you both just stand there, the sweet sincerity of the moment filling the space between you. The tension from before fades away, replaced by something softer, more intimate. You catch his eyes again, a small smile on your lips, feeling the weight of the gift and the gesture behind it settle in. You then continue to gaze at the necklace, your fingers tracing its smooth, delicate pendant as you let out a soft sigh. The way it catches the light only seems to make it more beautiful, but it’s not just the gift that’s leaving you speechless—it’s the gesture, the care behind it, and the way Ji-yong’s eyes are locked onto you, full of affection.

"It’s perfect," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as you lift your gaze to meet his. You’re so focused on the warmth in his eyes, the way he’s watching you, that it’s almost like everything else disappears for a moment.

He steps closer, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you softly. It’s tender, almost too gentle for the electric tension building between you. You can feel the heat of his body pressing into yours, and when he pulls back, his voice is low, almost growling with desire.

"You’re perfect," he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours. "But I need you now."

Ji-yong doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. As soon as his words sink in, he’s on you again, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that sets your skin ablaze. His hands move with purpose, gripping your waist, pulling you against him until there’s nothing left between you but heat. His kiss is demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips as he takes everything you’re willing to give—and more.

A soft gasp escapes you as he presses you back against the nearest wall, his body molding to yours, his hands roaming your curves like he can’t stand a single inch of space between you. One hand cups your jaw, angling your face so he can deepen the kiss, while the other slides down, gripping your hip before tugging your thigh up against his. The sheer need in the way he holds you, in the way his fingers dig in just enough to make you gasp, sets your pulse racing.

His kisses grow more urgent, more desperate, as though he’s trying to drown himself in you. He pulls away for just a second, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes dark and full of heat as they flicker over your face. Then he’s back again, kissing you harder, deeper, as if he never wants to stop. His fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill down your spine, and the sound you make has him groaning against your mouth.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and rough. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper back, no longer being able to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. You try to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction, and he notices. Of course he does.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

“Good. Because I’m craving something much sweeter.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @petersasteri

[occamstfs]

In The Rink: Dunks

After moving far away from home Duncan seeks to find new community with the local hockey team. Little does he know that the Captain sees the potential for him to be a new star player.

My little reward for HairyJockTf went a little long so I broke it up into two stories haha! Hope you enjoy this ode to hair growth, jock stink, and hockey! -Occam

The sound of a puck sailing across the ice echoes through the freezing stadium, accompanied by the sound of the massive men racing to catch it. Skates on their massive feet send flurries of shaved ice up in their wake as they zip and turn in shocking displays of brutish grace. When bodies start to collide and fists start to fly in what Duncan Worthy thought was just a fun little scrimmage game he imagines how quickly he would be laid out in such a brawl and begins to hunt for the nearest exit. 

Almost as swiftly as the fight broke out however, coaches call their men to heel and the teams separate. After a second longer of posting up, all return to the game and seem almost playful in the wake of what seemed like genuine violence. Suddenly realizing this is far more a bloodsport than he was aware, Duncan starts backing away sheepishly. Though he was looking for a team sport to find prepackaged community after his move from the south, clearly ice hockey was not the move.

Unfortunately for the suddenly shy Duncan, his attendance today was initiated by him reaching out to one of the players soaring down the ice, Matt King, the team captain. As the burly player turns to see Duncan begin to skulk away he calls his coach to pause the practice and less than a moment later Matt skates to the edge of the rink and begins shouting for Duncan’s attention, “YO! Worthy!” His impressive arms seem even bulkier covered in the thick obscenely large uniform he’s wearing. Duncan audibly gulps, though thankfully he’s far enough away from the athlete that he could scarcely hear.

Duncan isn’t sure why he’s frozen in place, seemingly trapped by Matt’s attention. The skater rolls his eyes as he calls out once more, “Hey kid! Are you coming or what?!” Despite himself he starts walking down rinkside. It’s not like he’s not athletic, Duncan’s healthy, he prides himself on staying fit, lithe. But as he nears Matt it just becomes clear that he bit off far more than he could chew. Even without skates the captain stands well over a head taller than him. Duncan struggles to speak while everything in him begs him to leave with his tail between his legs and never come back. Realizing that Matt is staring down at him expectantly, demanding a response, he speaks up unprepared as he may be, “Well, uhm Matt-”

“Nah nah, call me Kinger, bud. So youse think you’re ready to hop on the ice eh?” Duncan feels his bones turn to jelly as every neuron struggles to heed his flight response. There is simply no recourse but to escape, he’s too small, they’re too intimidating, they’ll break him in half completely accidentally. But he remains firmly rooted in the captain’s gaze. Kinger whistles to the equipment manager to summon some skates for Duncan and the sound forces the fearful man to attention. His shaky hands grow rigid as the older man approaches with a pair of skates. “See ya out on the rink Worthy!” 

Kinger turns and gets back to the game. Duncan’s preylike instincts are overpowered by the man’s words. Though from any reasonable angle it’s just a phrase in parting, they sear into his mind like programming. See ya out on the rink. Pausing to watch the game resume, the desire to leave wanes as he sees the men grind against each other after the puck. Certainly looks like they’re having fun right? Wearing all that protection, how bad could it be? How bad could he be? Sitting down he changes into the smallest pair of skates the team had for him, even still his toes have about an extra inch of wiggle room. Neglecting to take that as yet another sign to back out, Duncan hops up on the wall and then he’s on the ice.

Still finding his bearings he slides along and sticks to the wall. The manager tosses him a stick and the coach implores he get used to moving around on the ice. Duncan sighs and, despite his limited experience skating, finds himself immediately moving with intuitive familiarity. Faster than he can comprehend it becomes second nature, allowing his attention return to the burly men on the far side of the rink going at it. Soon enough he can’t even remember what he was so scared of, excitement begins to build in his chest as he begins to follow the puck from afar. 

From his vantage point he races with a fluidity alien to himself, as if the skates have imbued him with a lifetime of experience skating. Chewing his lip he has a stray thought wondering about wearing a mouthguard which he promptly discards, lest it interfere with his keeping up with the puck. Eagerness to properly join in the fray with the crew of men who outsize him before even accounting for their bulky pads continues to burn within him, he scratches at his chest and finds his tee hugging his torso in a distinctly odd manner. And man, beyond whatever butterflies hide in his chest, his skin is itchy enough that he should be concerned about an allergic reaction. 

But no, no time. He’s gotta keep his mental. The puck goes long and flies towards him. Both teams follow the puck hungrily with their eyes before it nears the man who holds a hockey stick for the first time. He doesn't think as he moves, he doesn’t need to. It’s as if he were made for this. The sound of his stick making contact sends a crack through the stadium that echoes louder than a gunshot. The puck shoots past the men who now stand with mouths agape. He stands tall with pride, seemingly taller than he’s ever stood before. Must be the skates he thinks with a newfound cocky smirk across his face, but as his midriff is clearly exposed, the few hairs compromising his meager treasure trail fluttering in the aircon, it is clear something has changed in the man.

Practice is cut short soon after and Duncan has an immediate meeting with the Captain and Coach. Off the ice the confidence that filled Duncan begins to seep away, certainly not helped by the fact that he apparently threw on a shirt a couple sizes too small. He blushes as the older coach puts his hand out for a shake and his arm goes an embarrassing length past his sleeve. The coach simply smiles and nods though, and before Kinger even gets a chance to vouch for the newbie he’s already on the team. Duncan doesn’t notice as his shoes have apparently inched to fill the skates that were a size too large as his head begins to swim with the excitement of being out there with the boys. 

His shirt hugs his chest even tighter as Kinger pats him on the back, “Welcome to the team Worthy!” Duncan smiles looking up at his captain and while struggling to get his shoes to fit he speaks up only to hear the first voice crack he’s had in a decade, “Ah well, then yoOu- Ah!” His mouth slams hard enough it seems to be welded shut as he clears his throat. Kinger smirks and ruffles the newbie’s hair laughing, “Howsabout you go shave up and take a shower. Wear that tarp any longer you’ll have to peel ‘er off, hah!” 

With that he leaves Duncan behind and heads off to the locker room leaving his new teammate behind to take in his words. Shave? He scratches his cheek and tilts his head as he finds more stubble than he thought he left the house with. Guess it must have been a week since he shaved he guesses. Putting it on the todo list he then sniffs himself and grimaces as he finds himself muskier than he’s been after his sweatiest workout. There’s an audible sound as he pulls his sticky shirt from his skin which convinces him to expedite his time out of here. Still unable to get his shoes off he finds a pair of tennis shoes left with the equipment given to him and throws them on.

It takes a few steps for him to get used to them, despite his complaints to the equipment manager these tennis shoes are even larger than the skates he was given. Though feeling cramped in every other piece of clothing he finds himself not quite minding the room. Hopping in his car to drive home he furrows his brow as he finds himself needing to adjust all his mirrors. His new odor rapidly fills the car, overpowering the smell of his pristine equipment with ease as he speeds off to clean off the stink of his first practice. 

Storming into his apartment he struggles to tear his clothes off en route to the bath. His sweaty shirt gets stuck on his shoulders as he tries to yank it upward, exposing a core thicker, his waist seemingly filled out from the hourglass figure he has unintentionally maintained. Beyond that his treasure trail seems to be claiming far more real estate as it flourishes upwards and outwards, curls as thick and long as his pubes begin an ascent above his waistline as they begin to shade the whole of his lower stomach. 

No time for inspection however as he starts the shower going as soon as he gets the shirt off, grimacing at the clear tearing sounds of fabric giving way. Arms still upraised he quickly turns away from his steaming pits, quick enough that he notices not how his few curls have begun to multiply. Instead he leans in close to see the stubble that Kinger called out. He twists his jaw to get a good look at every angle and rolls his eyes as he finds it as patchy as ever. His eyes glaze over and his jaw slackens as he finds himself briefly distracted by a thought, or no, a memory? 

The rink always brings out a rookie’s stubble Matt- It’ll just grow back. Why shave when that’s time you can spend on the ice?

He comes to before he even notices he was out, his thicker hand scratching at stubble that is thicker, darker than it was seemingly seconds earlier. Duncan certainly doesn’t mind though, seeing his beard fill in more, becoming stubble he can be proud of fills him with a surge of pride, and below the belt something else begins to surge. He smirks as he contemplates whether he should masturbate before or after taking a shower, grasping at his cock and finding it weightier than usual he quickly makes up his mind. What the hell, why wait.

Then his phone rings, a message from his Captain. His cock twitches as he focuses in on the message, “yo worthy sry for not askin earlier- oilers v flyers 2nite, u down 2 come over” Without a thought or second of hesitation he replies “ya” and he begins getting ready to go. Turning off the shower before even stepping inside he remembers he still stinks and bathes himself in cologne, smirking as he stares at his body in the mirror, proud as he sees his paltry patch of chest hair seems larger, thicker than he remembers it being. He pokes at a new weight on his chest and fights the urge to flex his barely existent muscle as every movement seems to have a bit more force behind it.

Duncan pointedly avoids questioning new idiosyncrasies as they begin to pop up. Surely he didn’t just douse himself in Axe instead of showering? Why does he know where Kinger lives? When he goes to his wardrobe he finds most of his clothes simply do not fit right. Button ups struggle to close across his chest and thicker waist. He struggles to move his arms in tees and sweaters as they hug his shoulders. Nothing without an elastic waistband seems to be able to manage stretching around his ass. Throwing on his new tennis shoes as they seem to be the only ones that fit he finds them almost snug? 

Every roadblock causes micro-headaches. Questioning them only exacerbates the issue, while acceptance ameliorates. Throwing on sweatpants and the baggiest shirt he could find, Duncan doesn’t even give himself a once over before he’s out the door. On the road once more he only keeps one hand on the wheel while the other mindlessly feels himself up. His stomach is tighter for sure, with an alluring amount of give. New pecs pop out just far enough for his hand to push up on them, which allows him realize that any amount of excitement will cause his larger bulge to show in his sweatpants. No time to debate how he’ll conceal that from the Captain he wanders up to the front door and prepares himself.

As if Kinger knew he was standing there, the door swings open and the Captain’s thrown his arms around Duncan’s wider shoulders. His thick palms slam into the newbie’s back with enough force to send him falling on his face. Presently each slam only sends more pleasure into Duncan. Feeling his player’s package unmistakable poking into his own waist at the embrace, Kinger clicks his tongue, “Ah excited to see me eh? Hah! Be sure not to lose control bud, need all of youse out on the rink.” Released from the bro-hug Duncan gulps and blushes as he is less than certain he will be able to go long at all without giving in to desire burning stronger than ever. 

Seeing doubt in his expression Kinger’s friendly eyes switch to something far more commanding and Duncan stands rigid. Gotta listen to the Captain. Watching stubble thicken and the once baggy shirt tighten even further on his broad shoulders, Kinger returns to joviality and points to a stack of pizzas on the coffee table, “You hungry bud?” Duncan suddenly feels an emptiness in his stomach and wonders when the last time he ate even was as he feels a hunger more ravenous than he could understand overtake him. His mouth waters like a drooling dog as he mindlessly goes to tear open a box. Already stuffing his face he takes in the number of boxes and asks, with uncharacteristic slovenliness, “Scho, uhhh is more of the team coming or wha?” 

Kinger smirks and stands behind the smaller man, massaging his shoulders, “Nono those are just for us, didja forget how much food youse demolish bud?” Looking at the stack he knows that can’t be right, he’s never even had the need to exercise moderation. The idea of eating more than four slices is anathema, and yet less than a minute into the game he’s already starting his fifth and his stomach demands more yet. Kinger watches the man feast, knowing his newest teammate needs all the calories he can get as his body struggles to put on pounds at a speed eldritch. Shoulders broadening enough to be shoulder pads themselves as chest hair begins to bloom far beyond the small patch that has long made its home in the center of his chest.

Spreading out like a fungus, follicles neglected by puberty go into overdrive as his greasy hands funnel food into him, getting grease over stubble that begins to crest its way into a solid beard. Duncan is unaware as he demolishes the first box of pizza by himself as he is completely absorbed into the game on TV. Reacting to each play as if he were in the actual stadium. His legs bounce with anxiety as the players race across the rink, each time shooting up with more force as they bulk up. His expanding jungle of pubes, discontent from spreading upwards alone, send dense curls to shade his inner thighs before shooting down to cover his calves.  

Kinger moves to sit on the couch, attention solely focused on his team’s growing asset. His eyes struggle to keep up with the changes simultaneously rocketing across his body. Already he hears the elastic waistband of his sweatpants straining, Duncan’s, or rather Dunks’, butt filling out to the size needed to maneuver such an otherwise powerful form on the ice. The most powerful ass in the MLB has nothing on the monumental pair of cheeks that are a moment away from sending a tear through his sweats. Making an uncomfortable face Duncan kicks off his shoes before they begin to tear. Glancing down, Kinger finds he doesn't have the care to finish the job and remove socks that have similarly begun to turn to tatters. Curls spreading down from his meaty calves poke through the expanding holes on his tearing socks. His feet rapidly become hairy fins that would fit on any number of fantastic bestial men, toes surging through the front of his socks as he flexes his feet without thought.

The Captain jumps in shock as Dunks stands with a start and shouts at the ref, his voice clearly deeper, rougher, as spit flies from his mouth in a rage. Beard thickening as his neck similarly expands with his deluge of expletives at the man in stripes. Kinger puts a hand on Dunks’ arm to calm him down, “Hey hey bud, save it for your own penalties eh?” Clenching his jaw the newbie looks down and at the Captain’s words crosses his arms and barely stilling his anger at Kinger’s request. The man’s hand still resting on Dunks’ arm, both men turn to see the growing package not at all hidden in Dunks’ sweatpants as the sound of it tearing through his briefs resounds in the small living room.

Scratching at his meatier pecs he sits down and after a moment of hungrily staring at his Captain he rolls his eyes and returns to the game. His biceps are suddenly constricted by his sleeves so he does what any rational mind would and rips them off. Kinger’s mouth is ajar as he watches the increasingly brutish man toss the torn sleeves to the floor before scratching deep into his pits and sniffing. The Captain doesn’t pay much attention to the jungle of hair spreading out from Dunks’ pits, after all that doesn’t bring anything to the rink, but he would need to lose a few of his five senses to not notice how potent the changes are there. 

Patches of sweat appear all over the shirt that now hugs his burgeoning torso like lycra. But nowhere so prominent as under the still-expanding jungle of hair under his arms, musk thick enough to warrant stink lines, enough to knock a lesser man unconscious spills from his freed underarms. Eyes glancing over to see his Captain cover his nose in shock, Dunc smirks as he realizes how much power he holds. He grunts in his new barbaric voice as his pecs can no longer be hidden by his ratty shirt. Unwilling to hide his pride under a bushel, just as he removed his sleeves he wrenches his shirt off. This was of course made easier by the litany of tears sundered across it by his expanding torso. 

His breath catches in his chest as his pecs burst larger into the open air. Thick strands drip with sweat as they spread dense enough to be a pelt across his upper body. Moaning as he leans back on the couch, hair rapidly covers every inch of real estate it can find, connecting every disparate patch from pubes, to pits, to the scratchy underside of his neck. Expanding shoulders similarly aren’t safe as curls bound across them to meet with the itchy forest spreading up the small of his back. He shifts uncomfortably as thick strands similarly cover his ass, though somewhere in between slamming pizzas and screaming at referees he lost the shame to scratch such an itch in front of his Captain, and so he does. 

Kinger struggles to hide the grin on his face as the man in front of him becomes the enforcer he’s always dreamed of having on his team. He watches as the changes in his mind finally begin to show on his face. His brow thickens to hang over eyes that grow dull to anything but hockey. His iron jaw hardens over a beard that should have taken years to grow while his nose becomes one that has clearly taken more than a punch or two. It’s unclear how many of his front teeth or real or inserts, though something in the minds of both men makes it clear that they’ve seen his own teeth scatter across the ice on a handful of occasions, though not nearly as much as those of his opponents.

Kinger’s chest flutters with excitement as he imagines being on the pitch with Dunks. His own eye twitches as years of playing together begins to fill his mind. He’s always dreamed about having a teammate as committed to the game as he is and finally he’s got a brute enough to carry them to the trophy. Seeing the behemoth taking heaving breaths on his couch, torn clothing scattered around him, Kinger can’t quite help but feel there is some vital piece of the puzzle missing. The burly man’s hands trail to his crotch as every muscle in his body feels the need to give into lusts that control him but Kinger whistles and Dunks immediately halts his giving in, “Not yet bud, not yet. Gotta hit the rink first.”

Dunks’ mind fractures and remakes itself in a moment. Memories of over a decade playing surges into his mind. He remembers starting out a waif, as he was in reality this morning. He remembers hardening over the years alongside his captain, alongside Kinger. Becoming a man on the rink, becoming an unstoppable titan. Maturing into an athlete the likes of which his team's never seen, and with each leap forward in ability so to does he become more masculine, more virile, more of a man. No, more of a beast, higher function giving way to instinct and physicality. Kinger couldn’t be prouder, and until another reason presents itself he can think of no higher goal.

Coach never expected Dunks to be nearly as much of an asset as he ended up being. The hairy brute was always looking out for his Captain’s back, truly a tank on the rink. Often he would struggle to control his urges, on and off the ice, but a look from Kinger would always snap him back in line and empower him to come back even stronger, sometimes seemingly literally so. He never took more than two trips to the penalty box a game despite his ever-present urges to truly dominate his opponents. 

After months of success on the rink it becomes clear that Dunks’ virility is making him a bit of a loose cannon. Lucky for the both of them Kinger has an idea. When an old friend of Duncan’s reaches out to the team to inquire of Worthy, Kinger implores him to visit. While it would be unbecoming for the Captain to have a relationship with a member of the team it was clear that Dunks’ has long been in need of some manly relief.

As he’s drafting a letter with a one way plane ticket to Dunks’ once-friend he wryly smiles as he realizes exactly what the missing piece was all along, their team could use exactly one more player and if this Remy Woods ends up being even a fraction of his friend, there is no way for them to lose.   

Continue Reading with In The Rink: Woodie!

[harpsinfinity]

Faking it

piers nivans, chris redfield & leon Kennedy X afab!fem!reader

→ you're known for faking your orgasms, the guys will change that

“Finally got you, gonna make you come real hard”

Piers groaned, cheeks tinged pink as you squeezed down on his hard cock, rutting into you mercilessly

He’d found out you’d had to fake all of your orgasms with previous partners, partners who were unable to find that sweet spot inside of you. Their fingers unable to deftly swipe and thumb at your clit like piers did

He knew you’d be faking it tonight, but piers had other plans. Plans to get you to come around him so many times and so hard that the only thought filling your mind was him. His name, his touch, his words. His cock

You moaned out, making a sound you never thought could come out of you. The actual pleasure that was buzzing within you was so new. So different. Yes, you’d experienced it before. But not in so long. It’d been so long that you’d forgotten, forgotten what it feels like to be stuffed full with a nice fat cock

You were a blubbering mess as he slammed into your g-spot, gun-calloused fingers tormenting your poor clit. The sound of skin to skin no doubt penetrated the walls. Piers was determined to make his neighbours hate him with now loud he wanted to get you tonight.

“Yeah, cmon, give it to me right now”

his soft lips skimmed your skin, along your shoulder and sticking even softer kisses to your skin as tears brimmed your eyes from how good it felt.

When that coil tightening in your abdomen finally snapped, you practically screamed his name. Body trembling with so much force that piers had to hold you tight.

When you finally came down, he had a shit eating grin on his face

“You want more, sweetheart? Actually, don’t answer that. I know the answer”

A loud moan ripped through you, faking your high as Chris mirrored you. His load fills you up. Faking it wasn’t unusual for you. Though Chris knew your game. And you were certainly underestimating his name

Gripping your hips and pulling you off of him and sinking down the rustled sheets until his breath fanned over your filled, swollen cunt

“Chris..? What are you-”

You yelped as his tongue ran a looooong strip from the bottom to the top of your slit, hands steadying your hips

“I know you didn’t come, honey” he mumbles into your folds, nose nuzzling against the underside of your clit

“ i don’t know what you’re-”

Your cut off with another lick to your twitching hole, hands flailing until they find purchase in the sheets as you sigh in pleasure

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, I'm gonna make you come on my tongue. And you’re gonna take it like the good girl i know you are”

With that, he stuck to his word. Diving into you like he’d been starved of a meal in ages. Tongue-fucking and slurping, his spend only making it more wet and messy as audible sounds met your ears

He’d reduced you to a moaning mess so easily, it was impressive. Too impressive. You practically saw heaven itself when his fingers slipped in and crooked upwards, hitting that spot that made stars shoot around in your vision

It didn’t take long to have your legs shaking and clamping around chris’ head. Drawing out your pleasure with his mouth and fingers even as you came hard

By the end of the night, you were no doubt satisfied beyond words (and limp)

Leon punched his hips up with yours for the umpteenth time as you came around him once more with a trembling keen

He thought you’d spent way too long faking your pleasure, letting your partners take all the fun while you were left sore and disappointed. Tonight, that had definitely changed.

You lost count of how many times you came long ago, simply too weak and too drunk on bliss to do anything than simply lie there and take it

Your world turned upside down, leon being on top of you once more

And you realised, he was still hard

You whined, pushing weakly against his chest

“Lee please ! i can’t come anymore !"

He simply shut you up with a kiss, grinning against your lips as he thrust into your sore pussy. He’d trapped you underneath him, all you could do was take it

“Yes you can, just one more i promise, doll”

pressing a kiss to your temple as he rolled his hips in a motion that had you reeling in pleasure, tilting your head back into the softness of the pillows as he swiftly worked you into yet another high, as intoxicating as it was

Your entire being shook as you squealed from the unfamiliar pressure pressing against your stomach, choking out a sob of leons name as you squirted all over him and coating his cock and pelvis

“See, i knew you could do it”

Commission me

[prettymonegasque]

not acceptable

Charles Leclerc x fem!driver! reader

Summary: Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do when your pretty boyfriend is a lil dumb

Warnings: Excessive cursing, Lando slander, grown men sharing a single brain cell, fluff?

Word Count: 1.3k

Based on my favourite scene in Schitt’s Creek

In all the two years you’ve been in Ferrari, the speculations and rumours of you dating Charles were non-stop. Neither of you paid much attention to it. You were both in happy relationships. However, that changed in the summer of ‘22 when you broke up with your partner. It wasn’t messy and you both agreed it was for the better. You focused on the rest of the season. 

Fast forward to the summer of ‘23, you and Charles were both single. You decided to give in to the speculations and give the relationship a real shot. You went on a few dates, each one being more fun than the previous one. Yet neither of you took the leap to become exclusive. You both liked each other but it wasn’t said out loud as much as you would’ve wanted to. So when Charles invited you to a game night with his friends, you thought it would be the one where he introduced you as his girlfriend. 

You knocked on his apartment door at 7 pm. You had brought a charcuterie board because you panicked and the first thing your mind thought was cheese. 

“Y/N! Come in.” Charles opened the door and hugged you. You tried your best to return while managing the charcuterie board. He laughed at your struggle, took the board from your hand and led you in. You spotted some familiar faces in the room. “Hey, guys. This is Y/N. My teammate as you know.” To risk being dramatic, the only description for what you felt was “death by a thousand cuts”. You still forced a smile and greeted everyone. You took a seat on the sofa next to Charles. “You brought a charcuterie board?” Pierre asked puzzled. “Dibs on gouda.” Yelled a familiar Brit.

**************

For the next few hours, you forced yourself to forget about your “teammate” and focus on the game instead. To everyone’s surprise, you were very good at Monopoly. You had already collected over $7000 worth of assets. You were more than happy to win by default. Arthur suggested Uno and everyone complied. You had never played it before which made the group very happy. 

When you got your cards you leaned over to Charles and whispered “What the fuck should I do now? ” Charles peeked at your cards and by instinct you shied them away from him. “You have to show me the cards so I can tell you what to do.” He laughed. You rolled your eyes and showed him the cards. “How the hell did you get 3 +4 cards?” “Why? Is that bad?” “No no. It is very good and I am very grateful my turn is before you.” “I am gonna crush these motherfuckers” You silently giggled.

“Y/N your turn,” Andrea called out. You placed the +4 card on the table. “Seriously?” Lando sighed and took 4 cards from the deck. “I thought you'd never played this before.” “I haven’t. I’m just that good, Norris.” “You know you could put all the +4 cards at once? ” Charles whispered in your ear. When your turn came again you placed both your +4 cards down. “Oh come on. You’re an absolute ass.” Lando exclaimed. “You just got destroyed by a UNO rookie, Lando” Pierre doubled over in laughter. “Also you have only one card left. You can call out UNO” Arthur nudged you. “UNO!” You yelled. “Well, I guess we have a winner. ” Lorenzo sighed and folded.

You started feeling a little guilty. Your winning spree kept cutting the game short. It didn’t look like anyone was having any fun. Even if Charles isn’t going to introduce you as his girlfriend, you still want his friends and brothers to like you as Charles’ girl. Charles brought in Scrabble as his last resort. He wasn’t expecting to go through 2 games so quickly. You were chosen as the judge. You promised yourself to go easy on everyone. You weren’t sure if you were making a good impression on everyone but boy did your ego love this. 

**************

“What do you mean ‘rizz’ isn’t accepted?” Arthur yelled. “Mate it isn’t in the dictionary.” “Then why does everyone call Lando ‘NoRIZZ’?” “Hey!” “I consider it as an acceptable word. We know the meaning. It exists. It’s a word.” You chimed in. “Thank you!” Arthur smiled and added 13 points to himself. The game continued and you limited yourself to simple words. And you accepted every word regardless of how ridiculous it was. 

“Yes Pierre ‘Fuck’ is a word.” 

“I mean we all know what ‘OMG’ is”

“Sure, Charles. You can make Frenglish words.” 

You could physically feel the pain from the insanity of some words but you were on a mission. You nodded and smiled and carried on. The words became chaotic by the minute. Your last straw was when Lando argued that “Skibidi” should be accepted. 

“That’s it. I can’t take this shit anymore. I respect the game too much to put up with this. You are way too old to use the word ‘Skibidi’, Lando.” “Yeah so wrong, Lando” Pierre fakes disappointment. “You! Fuck is not acceptable.” “Not acceptable. Yes sorry, Y/N” He bites back a laugh. “OMG!? Are you kidding me?” “I wasn’t.” Lorenzo shakes his head. “And my boyfriend sits there looking pretty and wanting to make up Frenglish words. THAT’S NOT EVEN A LANGUAGE. NOT ACCEPTABLE!” 

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Charles looked up at you. “I said Lando is old.” You tried to shift the conversation. “Why the fuck am I getting slandered?” “No. I think it was something about your boyfriend being pretty and making up words.” Charles redirects you. “Um... I don’t remember saying that.” You mumbled. “Yeah no. That’s what we heard. Right Arthur?” Pierre snickered. 

“Hey if my girlfriend says Frenglish isn’t acceptable then it isn’t, guys” Charles smirked. “Or it is. I don’t remember saying it.” You shrugged. “So you can do whatever you like.” The ceiling looked much more interesting than the gorgeous green eyes looking at you. “I think our work is done here. Let’s go guys.” Lando stood up. “And what exactly was that work, Norizz?” You called out as everyone was walking out the door chattering. Lando just smiled at you and closed the door. 

You and Charles remained quiet and just looked at each other for a long moment. “I don’t k-” “Do you r-” You both spoke at the same time. Gentle giggles echoed in the silence. “I was gonna ask if you regretted it?” Charles looked at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “No. God no. Charles, I don’t regret it at all. But to be honest, I kinda thought you hosted this game night to introduce me as your girlfriend. It sucked ass when you called me your teammate.” You looked down at your feet. You contemplated if sitting down would make this whole shebang less awkward. But Charles quietened your thoughts by standing up and taking your hands in his.

 “Cherie, seconds before you knocked, I was having a full-blown panic attack. I really really like you and I wanted us to be official but I didn’t know what you felt. The guys were there for emotional support because I do not trust myself with any high-risk situation.”

“You drive a car at 300 km/hr almost every weekend.” 

“Please. That is nothing compared to you. Every time I get in the cockpit, I’m more worried about your safety than mine. I was going to introduce you as my girlfriend. Trust me the word was on the tip of my tongue but I was being a pussy and chickened out. I’m so glad you did it tho.” His smile made those adorable dimples pop as he hugged you. “I’m so glad I did it too.” Your voice came out muffled with your cheek pressed against his chest. 

“And I’m so glad you called me pretty.”   

[doodledrawsthings]

you. Oh my god, you. (Positive)

listen. Before I had internet access, all I had was 1 hour of allotted browser time, bing image search, and a single dantdm play through of a hat in time that never got finished. I googled fanart and got pretty much nothing, I googled fancomics and got pretty much nothing, but you know what I did end up finding?

your art.

from ages 11-14, my goal in life, in art, was your art. I can’t tell you how much I loved finding random screenshots of your posts, because I was always just so impressed by how clean and consistent your sketches are, how the characters always stay on model, the shape language, how you could somehow sketch a character in like 20 lines when it took me 50 to draw sans in my little spiral notebook— like! Holy shit! For years I have looked up to your art! There’s still a photos folder on my dads old huge-ass 12 inch work iPad labeled “holy crap” and filled with your art. Because it inspired me so much. It’s become an undeniable part of my artstyle, now — I still have fanart I drew way back in the day of Hattie and the rest, I didn’t even know anyone’s names because I couldn’t play the game, but you’re the reason I eventually did play the game. Your coffee shop au and different versions of the prince— one of those ieterations inspired the main character of my novel! Well, novel that I tried to write, I was 13 so it was eh, but I tried!!

I’m submitting this on-anon because I don’t want to out my age on the wide internet (I like my privacy) but. Your art has really meant a lot to me. It’s the reason I played hollow knight, and it’s the reason I kept trying to develop an art style I was happy with. You’re the reason I started scribbling comics in my notebooks. Being 13-14 was pretty much the worst two years of my life, but I had Bing image search and the occasional glimpse of your signature, and I’d be so happy every time I found a new (if crusty) three-times screenshotted jpg. You literally introduced me to the concept of polyamory and nonbinary-ness with the coffee shop au. I had no other access to that in my household, and. Yeah. It meant a lot to me.

Anyway. I’m so glad I’ve finally tracked you down (in the most non-ominous way possible) and I’m so glad you’re still active— Please never stop making art. Your art is incredible, and amazing, and also you never know who’s out there on Bing image search. Thank you for creating for as long as you have. You’re pretty much the reason I’m shooting for an art degree (Wish me luck!) so just…Thank you.

(Also I had no idea you were a professional storyboarder, which is insane because that’s what I want to be when I’m through college. Hey, maybe I’ll end up storyboarding a remake of something you’ve storyboarded! hehehe)

Hi anon!

So right off the bat, I gotta tell you that this message made me start bawling when I woke up and saw it. Like I had a full-on cry session while reading your message and lying in bed for almost an hour. I am crying as I am typing this response, on my phone, still in bed. It’s 11am and i woke up at 9. So I hope it turns out coherent.

The last two years have been. weird. I say that a lot because I wanna say “rough” but that still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m almost hyper-aware that there are so many people that have it worse than me rn, so it feels hard to even acknowledge when I’m going through anything, myself, sometimes- REGARDLESS, it’s been kind of an all-time low for my mental health. There was a point within in the last year where I just HATED drawing. I struggled to bring myself to work, I struggled to bring myself to even draw for fun. It felt like I was posting just to post, trying to keep people aware of my existence and it almost felt physically painful to force myself to sit down and do it, sometimes.

I’m getting better now, I think, but. Yknow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the “oh I can make money off this,” “oh I can get attention off this,” “oh I can prove myself a functional person in society with this,” of it all. I forget why I actually do this, sometimes, or if I even enjoy it. And then I get messages like yours, about the kid with limited internet access looking for A Hat in Time fan art on Bing image search, and I get taken back to when I was a kid scrolling Google images and deviantart for the same thing.

I don’t mean to like. Foster some kind of parasocial thing with you or any one of my followers. There’s a reason I’m saying all this, I hope it ties up in the end.

We don’t know each other. I’m not some mysterious legendary artist, or whatever. I’m a person who gets burnt out, and jealous, and insecure. I need inspiration to function, just like you, and when I don’t have it, I get art block. But I also really like to draw fictional characters kissing and hanging out. I like coming up with comics and stories and playing out dramatic and funny scenarios in my head like I’m mashing Barbies together. And when other people tell me they enjoy the stuff I put out when I do this, it makes me really, really, really happy.

I think I needed to read your message, probably. With the state of… Everything… Right now, especially recently, I feel like a lot of artists are also struggling with a sense of purpose, pride, and reason as the world makes it harder and harder to even BE an artist, these days. And when I read this message it was like Anton Ego at the end of Ratatouille, I got taken back to when I was a kid looking at my favorite artists and studying their style and striving to be better and better at it over years of my life. Not just because I wanted a job for it or cuz I wanted to be a famous Disney animator or whatever, but because it was fun and I just liked doing it.

Thank you, SO much. I say this in the most genuine and earnest way I possibly can possibly express. I wish you luck on your own path in art and art school. And if you decide that animation industry is your thing, then I wish you the best in that endeavor, as well. I think I will keep making art for a long time.

Peace and love on the planet earth ✌️✌️✌️

[goldenmetstli]

Seto Kaiba as a Friend

NOTES: It's been a while since I wrote about my sweet cursed child. This one is pretty long and includes "What it is like to hang out with him". Let's dive in!

✮ Pretty obvious, but he doesn't know how to have friends, and if he ends up having one, it will be in extraordinary circumstances. Like with Yugi and everyone else, there needs to be an external reason why you two are in the same room (a tournament, business meeting, waiting for someone else, etc), and even then, he is not fond of just socializing for the sake of it; there are more important things in his mind and schedule than talking to strangers.

✮ In general, you need to catch his attention (it could be positive or negative) and have lots of forced interaction/proximity for Kaiba to consider you something more than a faceless, unimportant person. From then on, it is just luck lol

✮ I don't think he has a specific person he befriends because his idea of intrapersonal relationships is so distorted that they just happen in extraordinary situations. But one essential thing is that he needs to respect you.

✮ For example, Jounouchi made a bad first impression; it wasn't until his battle with Marik that he respected him as a duelist. From then on, he kind of acknowledged him and wouldn't mind hanging out with him if they were in the same room.

✮ But it's not like he would start chatting with Jounouchi; it is more like if Jounouchi started a conversation, he wouldn't ignore him and would even engage. They have also known each other for so long that it just happens that they are now what other people might consider friends.

✮ Like I say, it is very specific and circumstantial.

✮ A way to know if you two are friends is if he shows interest. Did you invite him to play some games at your house? He would ignore or mock them for having such an outlandish idea if it were anyone else. But with you, he would be silent for a second and then offer a better place to play the game or check his calendar to see if he has any available time.

✮ Would Kaiba say you are his friend? Never in his life. He just doesn't mind your company. And that is the biggest compliment: he is okay with your presence. That's all it takes lol

✮ Still, you simply cannot expect him to answer you in a timely manner. If you are not his brother, a stakeholder, or an employee, he will read your message and answer in four business days.

What does it look like hanging out with him?

✮ I believe hanging out with Kaiba would involve games (board games, video games, DnD, etc.). He would give his undivided attention and expect you to take this seriously as he does, and do your best to beat him. If it's DnD, he would get very involved, acting the scenes, adding music, just the whole immersion.

✮ Kaiba doesn't have a lot of free time, so the fact that he takes time out of his day to spend time with you is HUGE. Because of his serious face and intense personality, it might not seem like he is having a good time, but believe me, the fact that he is immersed in the games with you is his way to have fun.

✮ If he starts to taunt you that you might lose, or is a little mean, he is having a great time lol

✮ The more time you spend together, the more you will unlock other ways to hang out with Kaiba. His favorite is to exist together in the same space, while the other works on a project/homework/etc.

✮ You will have to be the one who proposes it at first, but over time, he will ask you about your work/school, comment that you should work on it, look at his watch, say he has to review a business presentation, and suggest stopping at an expensive cafe. This is his way of saying, "Let's spend time together."

✮ Kaiba doesn't mind silence. But if you want to chat, please don't make small talk. He feels you two are way past the point of talking as if you were coworkers or strangers, so he would find it odd. Ask about his work; he loves to talk about it. Anything related to his interests (new technology, his company, games, etc.) would be great conversation ideas.

✮ He is kind of obsessive, so the more he considers you a friend or someone relatively close to him, the more he will observe you. He will remember details about you; your favorite colour, the beverage you always ask, your game style, little quirks, etc.

✮ Kaiba would store that information without even noticing it.

✮ After a while, if you ever told him that your computer broke or your car needed to be fixed, he would help you. In his head, he convinces himself that you need those to work or go to school; it is a need, not a luxury. He doesn't do it for the goodness of his heart; it just happens that he has the means to fix it so you will stop moaning about it. Just that, nothing more.

★・・・・・・★

Well, that is all for now ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕!! Thank you so much for reading!!

[xoxorory]

Final Lap !

POV: FemJournalist!Reader Pairing: F1 Driver!Percy Jackson x Journalist!Fem Reader Genre: Humor | Fluff | Romance | Tension | Slow Burn | Flirting | Suggestive Comments Word Count: ~3000 words Tag list: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001,@yintous (if you want to be added,comment below! !) Warning:English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy ! ! !

I. On the Starting Grid

Interviewing Percy Jackson was like trying to stay calm while a Formula 1 car sped past you at 300 km/h.

Inevitably, you'd get distracted.

Because Percy wasn’t just a talented driver—he also had that carefree boyish smile that made any professional question feel absurd.

And you, as a sports journalist, had to stay professional.

“Well, Percy, it’s been a pretty intense season so far…” you begin, holding the mic firmly, ignoring how his green eyes lock onto yours with a disarming intensity.

He tilts his head with that ever-confident expression.

“Intense in what sense? Competitive, or the part where I almost died in turn 3 last week?”

You’re usually good at keeping your cool during interviews, but Percy Jackson tests your limits every time.

“I’d say both.” You smile, trying not to play into his game.

“Ah, then yeah. Pretty intense.”

The mechanics and other reporters around him are used to his humor, but you notice something else in his tone. Something playful. Like he’s more interested in your reaction than in the question itself.

“Now that we’re halfway through the season,” you continue, regaining control, “a lot of people are wondering if you plan to renew with your team next year.”

Percy leans his forearms on the pit wall and gives you a slow smile, like he knows something you don’t.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll interview me again soon.”

The cameras are still rolling. His mechanics exchange glances. You feel a sudden heat creep up your face.

“Percy…”

He shrugs, unbothered.

“What? It’s a serious question.”

Your producer signals you to keep going, and you force yourself to get it together.

Percy Jackson was a problem.

One with a helmet, a Formula 1 car, and an impressive talent for getting inside your head.

II. Yellow Flag

The problem with Percy Jackson was that he didn’t know when to stop flirting.

From the first time you interviewed him, it became a kind of running joke in the paddock. His answers always included some offhand comment directed at you, and his teammates—pretty much everyone in the paddock—had caught on.

“So, has he proposed yet, or is he still pretending he only wants interviews?” Annabeth Chase, a reporter from a rival network, asks while flipping through her notes.

You sigh.

“Don’t start.”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow.

“Why not? It’s fun watching him fail at flirting.”

You won’t say it out loud, but you don’t think he’s failing all that much.

Especially lately, every time Percy looks at you, there’s an annoying flutter in your stomach.

Annoying… and very, very dangerous.

III. DRS Zone

The next time you interview Percy, it’s after a chaotic race where he finished second. He’s drenched in sweat, hair tousled, and his race suit is unzipped halfway, revealing the top of his fireproof undershirt.

And you… well, you try to stay composed.

“Percy, after that nail-biting finish, do you think there’s anything you could’ve done differently to win?”

He runs a hand through his hair, never taking his eyes off you.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I should’ve made a bet with you before the race.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

Percy grins, clearly enjoying your confusion.

“Yeah, something like: ‘If I make the podium, you owe me dinner.’”

The crowd around you reacts with laughter and murmurs.

You try to come up with something professional to say, but Percy’s already won.

“I think that would violate journalism’s impartiality rules…” you finally say, knowing full well it’s a weak excuse.

Percy doesn’t flinch.

“Then let’s call it a ‘work meeting.’”

Mechanics and journalists around you laugh, and you know this moment will hit social media before you even process it.

Percy Jackson was a problem.

And worst of all, you were starting not to want a solution.

IV. Final Lap

The season’s nearly over. Percy is fighting for the championship.

And you… well, you’re still in denial.

Until Annabeth shows you a video on Twitter.

It’s a clip of Percy, just before a race, when a reporter asks if he has a lucky charm.

“I don’t carry anything special,” he replies. “Although…” He pauses for a second and smiles. “Lately I seem to do well when a certain journalist is on the grid.”

The comments are full of theories and speculation.

And you know Percy Jackson is playing with fire.

Or with you.

Or both.

That night, when you check your phone, there’s a new message.

Percy Jackson: So? Have you thought about the dinner?

You close your eyes and sigh.

Percy Jackson was definitely a problem.

But maybe…

Just maybe…

He was the kind of problem you didn’t want to escape from.

Do y'all want a second part of it? I was thinking about it but idk honestly LOL

[sweetbans29]

Eyes On You - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You catch Caitlin's eye during a game (based off of THIS request)

Warnings: fluff, flirting, ever so slightly suggestive

Word Count: 3.2k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Okay but tell me you haven't gone somewhere and actually imagined this happened because you would be lying...

It is a Tuesday afternoon when your friends practically beg you to go to the women's basketball game.

"Come on, it will be fun," one of your friends says. You shake your head no without looking up from your biology paper.

"I need to finish this paper, it is due Friday and I am nowhere near close to done," you say, typing a sentence only to delete it immediately after. For some reason, this research paper is just not coming together.

"We already got you a ticket, you are going." Your roommate states knowing the real reason you don't want to go and it has nothing to do with your paper.

The truth is there is a girl on the team who you have been crushing on for a while now. The two of you are in the same business marketing class. She caught your eye pretty early on. The two of you ended up sitting next to each other and would make small talk whenever you got to class. It was never anything major but it was always the highlight of your day. You would get back to your room and immediately tell your roommate about your little conversation with the star athlete.

That was the thing, when you were in class she wasn't the superstar, she was just Caitlin. She would make you laugh with some silly little comment and you would talk to her like she wasn't the biggest person at the school. She made you feel seen and you made her feel heard.

You close your laptop and give your roommate the death stare. She knew you would say no but got you a ticket anyway - knowing you would never go to the game without being forced. This is your roommate's push to finally show your interest outside of your small talk in class. If you were to ask her, she was sick of hearing you always talk about Caitlin and never taking action to show her you actually liked her.

You give in, knowing your roommate isn't going to budge and will literally drag you there with her bare hands.

The group of you head back to your apartment and get ready. You opt for a simple look - jeans and a Hawkeye hoodie. Your friends on the other hand were dressed to impress. You check yourself out in the mirror and question if you should change. You decided against changing and instead grabbed a Hawkeye ballcap, hoping to blend in with the crowd and not be seen by your favorite player.

All of you decided to walk to the game, it wasn't more than 20 minutes away from your apartment. The closer you got to the stadium, the more nervous you felt. You have no idea why you are nervous, it is not like she is going to see you.

When you get there, you follow behind your group of friends. It is all kind of overwhelming - the crowd and how many people are here and how decked out in gear they are.

You are too caught up in the scene to realize that your group is being ushered to your seats. This is your first Iowa women's basketball game and you didn't realize how crazy your school went for this team. You know that there has been a lot of traction around Caitlin Clark and how she is changing the game for women. But what you are seeing, is truly amazing the effect she is having on people.

When you all get to your seats, you are mortified. At no point did your roommate or any of your other friends mention that you were sitting courtside. Having the perfect view of the court is nice when it comes to watching the game but not when it comes to hiding from your marketing crush.

You sit and glare at your roommate, who ignores you quite easily as she is in conversation with one of the guys you came with.

You pull your ball cap down and wish you could sink through your chair. This will be fine. You will be fine. There is no way she is going to notice you when she is focused on the game. You keep telling yourself this.

The team makes its way onto the court - the crowd goes wild. You watch as they come jogging out, starting to warm up. Your eyes scan the crowd for no.22. You see a few other girls that are familiar from classes and make a mental note to cheer them on. When you finally find Caitlin, your heart skips a beat.

She looks so good. This is 100% her in her element. The once so laid-back girl, now locked in and ready for what the next 2 hours hold. You are mesmerized by how calm she looks - like the thousands of fans here shouting her name are nonexistent.

Your eyes remain on her while they warm up. When their warm-ups come off and they take the court for the beginning of the game, something shifts in her.

You turn over to ask one of your friends a question about the team, missing the first glance that Caitlin gets of you sitting courtside for her game. She turns over to Kate, who is standing right next to her.

"That's her," is all Caitlin says and gives a little point to you. Kate follows her point to a girl who looks like she doesn't want to be seen. That's hard to do when you are literally sitting on the court.

Your attention goes back to the game as the girls go up for the tip-off. When the Hawkeyes take it, you feel yourself getting into the game. No one really knew you grew up playing in middle school and high school. You were never good enough to play in college but you enjoyed the sport. You left that part of you when you left high school.

It's not even 2 minutes into the game when you feel eyes on you. You turn to see your friends staring at you. You look back at them confused. Your roommate uses her head to signal to something on the court. You look and are surprised to see Caitlin looking right at you.

You feel a heat creep into your cheeks as you just stare at her. See it would have been a good idea to smile or nod. Hell, even wave but you just sat there staring at her with a blank expression.

She just smiles and lets out a little chuckle as she turns back to the game. She gets the ball and shoots a logo three no more than 10 seconds after you made a fool of yourself. When she turns to the crowd to celebrate, she points directly at you and then holds up a three with her other hand. Your roommate elbows your side as you hide your face.

This was everything you were terrified of, being seen.

"It looks like she has someone to play for," one of your friends gives you a little nudge.

"Guys there is no need to make this bigger than it is, she could be pointing to anyone over here, it isn't a big deal," you say in hopes that you will also believe your lies.

Your roommate scoffs. "You keep telling that to yourself sweetheart, she knows, we know and by the looks of it, the team also knows," she says as she nods over to the girls on the court.

All of your heads turn to see Caitlin, pointing to you again but this time talking to more girls on her team. They all look at you with smiles then break from their huddle and head back to their spots on the court.

Caitlin is running straight in your direction.

"Watch," you say referring to how you are not the center of attention to anyone.

Caitlin doesn't stop where she is supposed to be posted but rather runs straight to you with her hand out. Your hand comes out to give her a high five.

"Glad you could finally make it to one of my games," she says with a little smirk. "Only halfway through the season, better late than never." She gives you a wink before heading back to her post.

You feel like you could pass out. There is no way she just came up to you, mid-game, to be a little flirt.

"Looks like your girl Caitlin now has someone to dedicate her plays to," one of your friends teases you.

"Oh shut up," you say but that doesn't take away from the butterflies that build in the pit of your stomach.

Everyone turns back to the game and as you watch your team fight to keep the lead.

It seems like in every other play, Caitlin is turning her head to give you a smile or a smirk. You want time to stop so you can walk up to her and tell her to get her head in the game. There is no way she should be this distracted when the score is as close as it is.

The next play has a girl from the other team, pushing Caitlin causing her to fall on her backside right in front of you. You lean down to stop her from rolling into the chairs, your hand coming to her lower back and right arm as she slides right into you. When your hand touches her skin, you accidentally shock her - sending a little electrical current running through both of you.

One of her teammates comes to help her up and a foul is called. Before she goes to throw her free throws she turns to you, saying, "Thanks, babe."

Your friends, yet again, turn to look at you and you just wave them off.

The buzzer goes off as halftime commences. You are scrolling on your phone when someone approaches you.

"Hi, I was asked to come give this to you," the woman says as she hands you jersey. You give her a confused look, not taking it, but rather just looking at the article of clothing she is holding.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you are talking about," you say, genuinely confused.

"I was told by one of the players to give this to you to wear for the rest of the game," she says, signaling you to take the jersey. It is your roommate who takes it from the woman and lets her know you will put it on. The woman walks away and your roommate full-on turns to face you.

"You are putting on this jersey," she says, throwing it at you. You hear her mumble, "Just letting the poor woman stand there when she has better things to do. All you had to do was take the jersey." She seems annoyed at how naive you are being.

You look at the jersey that was just given to you - Clark 22 printed on the back. You slip it over your hoodie and slip your hat back on. You aren't going to deny the feeling you get when you first slip it on. And it is not like you are the only one wearing the number 22, there is a stand full of fans sporting the number as your marketing crush is the school's star.

When the team heads back out at the end of halftime, Caitlin's eyes go straight to you, making sure you got her little gift. She is pleased to see you wearing it.

As the third quarter begins, the team comes out hot, putting up 2 threes in the first minute. You are cheering them on louder than before.

After the next play, Caitlin comes your way.

"Much better," is all she says as she gives you another wink. You just smile at her, bringing your bottom lip in between your teeth. Caitlin's eyes go from yours, down to your lips. The smile she once wore, was now replaced with something between annoyance and longing. Every fiber of her being is telling her to walk up to you and pull that pretty little lip of yours out from your teeth and tell you that your lips are only for her to bite.

She finally looks away, realizing how much you are distracting her from the game. Kate runs up to Caitlin and whispers something into her ear, Caitlin nods and heads to grab water from the bench as the other team calls a time-out.

By the time the fourth quarter rolls around, you feel like you belong courtside. Your friends are still giving you a hard time whenever Caitlin looks your way or comes over to make a little comment to you. The game is nearing its end when Caitlin comes over to pass in the ball after a foul. She is standing right in front of you, so close you could touch her if you wanted.

She takes a small step back, her leg brushing up against yours. She steps up to the line and leans forward just enough to stick her ass out in your direction. This whole time, she has been the one in control. All that control went out the window when you bit your lip causing the super start to internally lose it. Her standing where she was, right in front of you, was no accident - she wanted you in the palm of her hand, not the other way around.

And boy did she have you. You sit there and just admire her body. Checking out her legs and how they are perfectly shaped. How her arms are beautifully toned and how she looks all around is incredible.

The game ends and the Hawkeyes take the win. The team rushes onto the court and begins celebrating with those who finished out the quarter.

You and your friends stand, stretching your legs. You had no intention of staying to see Caitlin after the game, thinking the team would go out to celebrate. You plan on giving Cait back her jersey the next class you two have together.

Your back is facing the court as you are waiting for your friends to grab their stuff when you feel a tug on your arm. You spin around and come face to face with none other than Miss Caitlin Clark.

She has a smile on her face and without warning, she grabs your waist and kisses you. Time stops and all the people in the background fade away. Your hands come up to her face as they cup her cheeks. You feel her bring your body closer to hers as she deepens the kiss. She gives your bottom lip a little bite as you break apart.

You stand there speechless. Dreaming of this kiss since the beginning of the semester, never in a million years imagined it would happen like this.

The most radiant smile is on her face. She leans in closer to you.

"My number is on the inside of this jersey. Call me, will you?" She asks as she looks at you for a response.

"Of course," is all you can say, still in shock about what has just happened.

"Good," she says. "I'll be waiting." She lets you go and gives your friends a wave before heading back to the team.

The whole walk home your friends can't stop talking about what had just unfolded before them. Some of them are as shocked as you are, while others are already planning your wedding.

When you get back to your room, you shoot Caitlin a text so she has your number.

[CC: I'm glad you didn't take long to shoot me a message}

{CC: Are you busy tomorrow? Want to work on our marketing paper if you haven't finished it yet?]

[You: That sounds great, I am quite behind 🤣]

[CC: Well I don't know if I will be much help, but I would rather do it with you than alone]

[You: I'm for it, meet at noon?]

She sends you her address. You like it and put your phone down to head to bed. Before you do, you hear your phone go off one more time. Grabbing it, you see one last message from Caitlin.

[CC: Sleep tight babe]

The next morning you wake up and go for a run. You needed to do something to help with the nerves that began to build just thinking about seeing Caitlin today.

You get back, shower, then get ready to meet her at her place. You make sure to stick her jersey in your bag to return to her and head out the door.

It only takes you about 15 minutes to walk to her apartment. When you get there you knock on the door.

She opens it with a huge smile, "Hi."

She lets you, opening her arms for a hug which you gladly shuffle into. It surpassed the length that friends would hug. As you pull away you decide to give her cheek a little peck.

After doing so is the first time you see her blush. You smile at her and continue to walk into her apartment.

The two of you decide to work on her couch - both struggling to get through this paper. You took frequent breaks talking about when you both started liking each other and more about your lives outside of marketing.

As you take another break, you grab your phone and decide to look her up only to find edits of you and her from the night before.

Your cheeks heat up immediately as you hide your face in your hands.

"What?" She says trying to look over at your screen. You hand her your phone and she laughs a little, followed by an 'awww'.

"I can't believe there are people out there who are making full-on edits of us." You say with a little groan - the spotlight is not your thing.

"They are cute," she says as she keeps scrolling through your phone. "Look at this one!"

You lean into her and look at what she is talking about. It is a clip of you before halftime, wearing your Hawkeye sweatshirt then jumps to after halftime when you are wearing Caitlin's jersey.

"I am sure glad I gave you my jersey," she says with a little smirk.

"That reminds me, I brought it back for you," you say, moving to grab it from your bag. She grabs your arm and brings you back into her.

"That one is for you to wear to the rest of my games," she says like it is a known fact. You decide to tease her a bit.

"And what makes you think I want to go watch you play again?" You ask.

She gives you a little pout - which literally melts you.

"Because you are my new good luck charm," she says and leans in closer to you. Your breathing becomes uneasy.

"But you don't need luck," you say just above a whisper. Your eyes going in between hers and her lips.

"You're right..." she says, also looking at your lips. Her eyes make their way back to yours. "I don't need luck, but I need you."

She leans in and kisses you. This kiss is much more reserved than the one she planted on you last night. There was no rush or urgency in this kiss, it was quite pleasant.

You inhale and bring your forehead to hers.

"I am all yours."

AN: I really like how this came out! Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[kumkaniudaku]

The Lady in Pink

Summary: Terry realizes his feelings run deeper than he though.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 2,006

Warnings: None

Take a seat in pairs. Put away your books and notes. Prepare for a game of Pop Quiz. 

Instructions rattled off in Mr. Turner’s patented Kentucky drawl sounded more like an auctioneer’s ramblings than anything remotely coherent. Still, Terry settled into a stool behind the high black countertops in the back of their 5th period forensic’s lab. 

If Terry were honest, he hadn’t cracked open his textbook in days despite a looming chapter test at the end of the week. He’d get to it eventually. Between trying to impress scouts every Friday, another year of book club, and college prep, finding the time to study fingerprinting was low on the priority list. If not for Patrice, he’d be hovering around a measly D+ instead of his modest B-. She kept him steady, especially in impromptu group quizzes. 

Sliding into the seat beside Terry, Patrice pushed a perfectly curled tendril behind her ear and adjusted her glasses, unaware of the chain reaction she’d set off. Ear perked like a dog hearing its name roll from the lips of its owner. Eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in every detail from her gold hoop earrings, to her pink strawberry printed cardigan and skin tight jeans. Terry watched her in a haze of teenaged longing and romantic feelings starting to change his brain chemistry in ways he hadn’t prepared for. The more time they spent rubbing shoulders during weekend hang outs and talking about the future, the more some unidentifiable emotion blossomed in his heart. 

His mother said he liked Patrice a few weeks back. “Close,” he thought to himself though he vehemently denied it to maintain his privacy. Whatever this new thing was extended far past surface level ‘like’. He ‘liked’ Theresa Allen sophomore year. She was a cool girl, but she didn’t make him happy the way a Saturday at the mall with Patrice made him happy. 

He ‘liked’ golfing with his dad on occasion. Though the sport was too slow for his taste, smelling fresh cut grass in the breeze and drinking bland sweet tea along side the man he looked up to most was always fun. 

He ‘liked’ a slice of apple pie sometimes. It wasn’t his favorite, but he could go for a piece if the mood hit him. 

Liking Patrice was long gone. This new thing, complete with uncontrollable thoughts and a newfound desire to know how her lip gloss tasted on his lips, was something else entirely.

“I like your sweater,” he complimented before she could greet him. “It’s nice. Where’d you get it?” 

Patrice giggled. “Thanks, TJ. My auntie made it for me. She’ll be your biggest fan when I tell her what you said.” Her attention flittering to chatter on the other side of the room gave Terry another opportunity fox his daily fix of silent admiration. Yeah, this wasn’t like. This something all consuming and entirely overwhelming. 

When she’d had her fill of observing her surrounding, Patrice looked back at Terry to speak.

“You ever get to chapter five,” she asked, looking over at her best friend. Ogling turned into a black stare and a twinge of guilt forcing him to look away from her expectant gaze. She kissed her teeth. “TJ…” 

“I know, I know,” Terry groaned. “I’ll be caught up when we study Wednesday, I promise. You want me to bring your favorite?” White chocolate covered pretzels always did the trick. Minor disagreements, his own absentmindness, and everything in between could be cured with her snack of choice. He watched her break into a slow smile and nod. “Yeah, I thought so. You got it. Hand to God.”

“You better. Especially after I carry us through this quiz.” 

“Oh you mean like how I carried us through the calc assignment last week?” A friendly nudge to Terry’s shoulder from Patrice pushed them both over the edge into a pit of giggles. 

Like two parts of a whole, Terry and Patrice made up the slack where the other lacked. Number crunching and complex math theory was like child’s play to Terry. He enjoyed the grueling process of combining letters and numbers to come to a finite conclusion. As he put it one evening over the phone, math came with logical conclusions. Even if you had ten ways to get to it, there was only one right answer. Patrice let him drone on and on most nights until he provided the solution for her to work her way out of a maze of erased possibilities into whatever would get her the coveted check mark and passing grade she was chasing. 

Patrice took over the words and menial task of remembering facts. If Terry needed to know a summary of To Kill A Mockingbird’s core themes or what exactly John Steinbeck was trying to get across in Of Mice and Men, he knew he could ask one question to send Patrice off into a winding tangent. Her ability to simplify colorful language was one of his favorite things. His second, was watching her adjust the satin ribbon in her ponytail before one of Mr. Turner’s famous pop quizzes. 

As she gave the pink bow a firm tug, Mr. Turner passed around buzzers for each group. “The rules are simple folks. One spokesperson for the group. You get five seconds to answer after buzzing in. No answer loses points. First group to 25 gets their lowest grade bumped up by 15 points. Any questions pupils?” 

“Can Patrice and Terry split up this time? I really need these points.” 

Mr. Turner shook his head as his finger wagged in the air. “No easy wins in this class! Earn it!” 

Low chuckles rumbled throughout the classroom at the tandem’s expense, earning a quiet eye roll from Patrice. Three school years in and she still hadn’t made much progress with some classmates through no fault of her own. 

Terry shot daggers across the room to the culprit before leaning over to offer comfort. “Forget her. She could get as many points as she wants and still wouldn’t pass.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Patrice shrugged. “I don’t lose. Only answer if you’re sure.” 

A smile crept across Terry’s face while he watched Patrice settle into her seat, cracking her knuckles before delicate fingers settled on the big red button between them. Competitive Patrice was one of his favorite version of his best friend. Typically, she didn’t involve herself with the taunting, name calling, and brute force of competition. She thought football and boxing were barbaric despite Terry convincing her to spend more time with his two hobbies. Physical battles were never her thing. But mental warefare? She loved demoralizing her opponents with with wit, finding great pleasure in brain games regardless of reward. Diamond Presscott had unfortunately put herself into Patrice’s sniping scope. Doomed. The girl was doomed. 

Question one. Mr. Turner shuffled through notecards and settled on the first opportunity for five points. “What is the purpose of cranial features?” 

“They allow the skull to grow!” Their shared buzzer could barely light the blinker on their station before Patrice was off to the races with an answer. 

“Correct! Way to be quick.” 

Terry offered his knuckles for Patrice to pound, receiving a light push away so she could focus. “When we win,” she muttered without looking in his direction. 

“My bad, champ. Go ahead.” He chuckled.

Back and forth she and Mr. Turner went as if they were the only two people in existence. Terry observed in awe, mouth slightly ajar at the beauty sitting beside him. 

“The size of a shotgun is described by?” 

“Gauge.” 

“Handwriting’s individuality is classified as?” 

“Class evidence.”

“What are the three types of forgery?” 

“Blind, simulated, and traced!” 

Each question met with a correct answer and beaming smile from Mr. Turner earned assorted groans from students well aware that the points they needed were firmly snatched from their grasps before they truly had a chance. 

Patrice didn’t care. Call it an unfair advantage or being a teacher’s pet – it mattered not to a young girl intent on reaching the highest academic heights possible. She’d do it all again the next day and the one after for the thrill of seeing smug smiles turned into tight frown. 

Terry was more than happy to be on the other side. Being in her orbit was gift from God himself and, as he found himself fully engrossed in every soft bounce of her ponytail and glint of light reflecting off shiny, full lips, he couldn’t help but to send a quick thank you to the man upstairs. 

He liked Patrice when he met her. Every moment spent side by side in book club meetings and study hall sessions left him giddy once he returned home. He liked her smile and her sense of humor. He like the deep dimple in her right cheek. He liked how she wore her hair, the vanilla body mist she wore, how she tapped her pencil when she was thinking, and her way of infusing smart sarcasm in every conversation. 

He  liked her yesterday and two weeks before. He liked her when he woke up that morning and took extra time moisturizing his hair and patting careful sprays of his father’s expensive cologne on his neck. He liked her when they passed each other in the hallway and made silly faces en route to separate classes for first block. He even liked her when he sat down in Mr. Turner’s 5th period forensics class, waiting for her to join his side. 

So what was this new phenoment? 

What was this tightening in his lungs and quickening of his heart? Why did he feel so safe and seen without her ever acknowledging his presence in her pursuit of total domination? Was the absence of everyone but her a sign of something deeper or the result of sitting too close to the TV like his mother had warned about all those years? 

As big feelings overtook a starry-eyed young man discovering new information during his favorite science course to date, Patrice quietly pumped her fist and looked to him with a wide smile that rivaled the sun. “Light work,” she boasted while looking for his approval. “Isn’t that what you say during your sports ball thing or did I get it wrong?” 

“That was right,” he chuckled as nonchalantly as he could before raising his hand for a high five. “Good job, Treece. I really like being on your team.” 

Screwing her face, Patrice placed the back of her hand on his cheek. “Terry being nice before lunch? You must be sick.” Her knuckles searched for heat on his face, softly lulling his eyes closed for a moment to revel in her attention. “You ain’t warm. Maybe you finally realizing who’s really in charge over here.” 

Her snickering sounded like a symphony in the ears of a young boy slowly wading into grown man feelings. Terry smiled back at Patrice, totally ignoring lab instructions rattled off and children shuffled pages and prepared for 40 minutes of instruction. 

Dark pupils dilated inside green irises. The morning’s previous problems floated away into the ether to make way for unexplained happiness. Stress slid from newly broad shoulders, down his back, and out of the door to know him no longer. His cheeks flushed while the tips of his ears turned a new shade of red. Sweaty palms nearly left handprints on his jeans. Bright red strawberries knitted onto a pretty pink sweater filled gave way to perfectly smooth brown skin as Terry examined Patrice from head to toe once more. His heartbeat quickened to the beat of a thousand flutters in his belly at the sight of her small frown while she sat deep in thought. A beauty like no other.

This wasn’t like, or infatuation, or some thing called lust that his grandma often blamed for the sins of man. Something stronger had taken up residence in his heart. 

For the first time in his young life, he could call love by its name. Patrice.

—————-

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[ouiouibaguettt]

Tackling the Hearts

YN YLN -> your name & your last name

masterlist (1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

5,7k of words! Hope that you will love it!!

request from @liverpoolfan96:

Aggie one but this time enemies to lovers reader plays for Barcelona first leg they got into and always commenting on each other instagram and in 1st leg had a fight players at to stop same second leg but in end after game second leg sorted it out and had a date and got together

The sun had just begun to dip behind the mountains as the first leg of the Champions League semi-finals approached. The atmosphere at Camp Nou was electric, buzzing with anticipation. Barcelona, led by their formidable goalkeeper YN, was facing off against Chelsea, and the stakes were higher than ever.

YN had always been competitive, driven by a desire to be the best, but there was something about Aggie Beever-Jones that made their rivalry more intense. The Chelsea forward was not only a force on the pitch but also a constant presence in YN's notifications. They had exchanged barbs on Instagram for weeks now—snarky comments, teasing memes, and the occasional underhanded dig. What started off as harmless fun quickly escalated into something far more personal.

On the field, the intensity of their rivalry reached a boiling point. Every tackle, every run, every pass felt like it carried more weight. YN’s eyes constantly flicked to Aggie, who was always close by, a cocky smile never far from her lips. The crowd roared as the match hit full swing. Barcelona’s players were moving with precision, working as a unit, and the energy was palpable.

It was clear that the semi-finals were the most intense challenge yet. But for YN and Aggie, it was more than just a game—it was about proving who was better. As the match neared its climax, YN found herself in a race to stop one of Aggie's dangerous runs. But just as Aggie reached the edge of the box, she took a harsh tackle from Barcelona's defense, leaving YN on the ground.

Frustration boiled over. YN shot up, glaring across the pitch at Aggie. The Chelsea player smirked, mouthing something that only fueled the fire. Without thinking, YN took a few steps toward her, fists clenched. "You think you can walk all over us?" YN’s voice was low and sharp.

"Maybe you’re just mad because you’re not as good as me," Aggie retorted, her voice dripping with condescension.

The taunts flew back and forth, and before long, the two were nose to nose, shouting over each other, pushing each other in a physical confrontation. It didn’t take long for their teammates to rush in.

Jana and Aitana, YN's best friends, were the first to intervene, standing between the two players. "Stop it!" Jana snapped, shoving both players back. "This is a game, not a personal vendetta!"

But the intensity of the moment was palpable. Chelsea players, including Lucy and Keira, rushed over, trying to separate them, their eyes full of disbelief and frustration.

“Both of you need to calm down,” Lucy said, her arms crossed and her tone firm.

Despite the scuffle, the match went on. The tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, but Barcelona pulled away with a dominant 4-1 victory. The final whistle blew, and while Barcelona celebrated the win, YN couldn’t shake the feeling that the altercation had done something more than just distract her.

The locker room was buzzing with excitement, but YN’s head was somewhere else. As her teammates laughed and joked about their impressive scoreline, YN’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, seeing a new comment from Aggie on one of her posts: a simple smirk emoji. It stung more than it should have.

Jana, noticing her quietness, raised an eyebrow. "You good?" she asked, as she threw on her shirt.

YN didn’t respond immediately. She stared at the screen of her phone. "She’s insufferable," YN muttered under her breath.

"I get it, but you need to let it go," Jana said softly. "We won the game, that’s what matters."

"I know," YN replied, trying to push the tension away. "But it's like she’s trying to get to me. It's not just the game, it’s everything—every comment, every match."

Aitana, who had been quietly lacing her boots, looked up with a knowing expression. "She's baiting you. Don’t take the bait. Focus on the next match. This is far from over."

As YN left the locker room, the weight of the first leg still lingered, but her teammates were right—there was more to come. The second leg was just around the corner, and Barcelona had the advantage with their 4-1 victory.

But as the bus ride to the hotel continued, all YN could think about was Aggie. How much longer would their rivalry last? And why, despite the animosity, did YN feel like there was something more there?

As the night settled in, YN found herself scrolling through her Instagram again, the same comment from Aggie staring back at her. Despite everything, there was a part of her that felt something other than irritation.

The second leg couldn’t come soon enough.

The second leg was set. Barcelona had an incredible 4-1 lead from the first match, but YN knew that Chelsea would come out strong. This wasn’t over. The tension had only escalated since the last time the two teams met, and YN could feel the heat of the rivalry burning through every practice, every comment on social media, and every glance on the pitch. Aggie was relentless. YN was equally so.

The match kicked off at Stamford Bridge, and it was clear that both teams were giving everything they had. The crowd was alive with energy as Barcelona and Chelsea battled for control. Aggie and YN were once again glued to each other, every moment of the match felt like it was filled with bad blood. However, Barcelona’s offense was too strong for Chelsea to handle, and by the end of the match, Barcelona won 4-1 again, securing a resounding 8-2 aggregate score.

While the team celebrated, YN couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling of unfinished business. The rivalry with Aggie still burned inside her, and she knew deep down that she wasn’t done with it yet. It wasn’t just about the game—it was about everything. The frustration, the jabs, the way Aggie seemed to get under her skin in ways no one else could.

As YN walked back to the locker room, she could see the Chelsea players, including Aggie, moving toward the exit. Aitana, always perceptive, noticed YN’s eyes lingering on Aggie and approached her with a determined look.

“You’re not going to keep stewing about this, are you?” Aitana asked.

YN just shook her head, letting out a frustrated breath. “It’s not over. I need to talk to her. I can’t let this go.”

Aitana looked at her friend with a serious expression. “Then you need to apologize. This thing, this fight—it’s not you. It’s bigger than just the game. But if you want to fix this, you have to make the first move.”

YN hesitated for a moment, then nodded, knowing Aitana was right. “Okay. I’ll go.”

After a few minutes, Aitana led YN down the hallway toward the Chelsea locker room, where Aggie was talking to her teammates, clearly frustrated but holding her composure. It was then that Keira Walsh, who had been a quiet but steady presence in the chaos, stepped up and grabbed Aggie by the arm.

“You need to go,” Keira said quietly, but with a sense of authority. “It’s time for you two to talk.”

Aggie’s eyes widened in confusion, but before she could say anything, Keira was already pulling her along.

“What the hell—?” Aggie started, but Keira didn’t let her finish. She walked her right into a quiet corridor, where YN and Aitana were waiting.

Aitana threw YN a knowing glance, and YN stepped forward. “Aggie,” she began, her voice sincere. “Look, I know we’ve been at each other’s throats, and I’m sorry. I don’t want this rivalry to be personal anymore.”

Aggie took a deep breath, her face softening slightly. “I get it,” she said. “I don’t want to hate you, YN. I don’t want this either. But… damn, you’ve made me want to kick your ass every single time we play.”

A small laugh escaped YN’s lips at that, but the tension was still palpable. They were both on edge, but there was something softer now, something real between them that neither could deny.

Before either of them could say anything else, Keira suddenly clapped her hands, a mischievous grin on her face. “Alright, girls, you’ve had your talk,” she said, practically dragging both of them towards the supply closet down the hallway. “Time to make sure you don’t run off and keep fighting.”

“What the hell are you doing?!” YN exclaimed, eyes wide as Keira pushed them both into the small, dimly lit room.

“Just talk it out. No distractions,” Keira said, as she closed the door behind them with a wicked grin. “You two clearly need to sort things out. No one leaves until you do.”

Before either could protest, the sound of footsteps faded away. They were alone.

For a moment, it was quiet. Both players stood there in silence, the weight of the situation suddenly hitting them. YN and Aggie, trapped in a small space, surrounded by cleaning supplies and boxes. They were close—too close—and neither was sure how to break the silence.

“You know this is ridiculous, right?” YN said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Aggie sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah. It’s kind of embarrassing, to be honest. I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither,” YN admitted, shaking her head.

They were both standing a little too close, the air charged with tension that wasn’t quite as angry as it was before, but still thick with something neither of them could name.

“You think this is stupid?” Aggie asked, voice quiet. She was looking at YN now, something unspoken between them.

YN nodded slowly, her breath caught in her throat. “Yeah. But it’s hard to ignore when you’re constantly… in my face.”

The words hung between them, but there was something different in the air now. Instead of the biting insults, there was a strange understanding. Their rivalry had always been more than competition. Now, it felt like it was shifting into something they couldn’t control.

Before YN could say anything more, Aggie leaned in, closing the space between them with an intensity that took YN by surprise. The kiss came quickly—suddenly—but neither of them pulled back. It was raw, heated, and for the first time, it felt like the rivalry had finally found an outlet.

In the small supply closet, what started as a confrontation turned into a kiss neither could deny.

And just like that, the line between enemies and lovers blurred.

The small, dimly lit supply closet was silent except for the quiet breaths of both players. Aggie and YN, still close enough that their lips could practically taste the words they hadn’t yet spoken, were breathing heavily, their hearts racing. The kiss, sudden but inevitable, seemed to have no end in sight. It was as though they had been waiting for this moment all along, hiding behind a rivalry that had kept them apart for too long.

YN's hand found its way to Aggie's neck, pulling her in closer, feeling the heat of their bodies clash in a way neither of them had expected. Aggie, just as lost in the moment, slid her hands around YN's waist, tugging her even closer. The world outside of the closet seemed to disappear as their bodies and lips spoke a language neither of them had prepared for. The competitive edge they had built up between them for years slowly melted away, replaced by an undeniable pull.

They didn’t know how much time had passed, but every moment felt like it had been building up for an eternity. YN could feel the way Aggie's hands moved with a gentle urgency, and it was as if they were both finally letting go of everything that had kept them apart.

However, Aitana and Keira were just outside, leaning against the door, their eyes wide in amusement. They had initially intended to give the two players time to "discuss" their differences, but seeing how heated things were getting, they exchanged knowing looks.

"You think they're really talking it out?" Aitana whispered, grinning. Keira raised an eyebrow, folding her arms.

"I think they've said everything they need to say already," Keira replied with a smirk. "But let's make sure they don’t lock themselves in here forever."

Without another word, Keira gave the door a soft push. It creaked open, revealing the two footballers tangled in a passionate kiss. Aggie’s hands were buried in YN's hair, and YN was pressed so close to Aggie that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Aitana stifled a laugh, and Keira’s eyes widened, both of them clearly surprised but not entirely shocked. They’d known the tension between YN and Aggie had been simmering, but this? This was more than they had bargained for.

“Uhm… well, this is definitely… not what we expected,” Keira said, her voice breaking the charged silence.

Both Aggie and YN froze, their eyes snapping open in simultaneous shock. Their faces flushed with embarrassment as they quickly pulled away, standing awkwardly, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“What the hell, Keira?” Aggie managed to say, her voice low but tinged with something else now. “What are you doing?”

“We were just checking if you two were ‘discussing,’” Keira responded, her voice teasing but with an undertone of amusement. Aitana, still grinning, nudged her friend.

“You know, I think they were discussing a lot more than just football,” Aitana said with a sly wink.

YN couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly, running a hand through her hair. “I… uh, we were just… well, it’s complicated.”

“You think?” Keira teased, smirking as she stepped back and opened the door fully, ushering both of them out into the hallway.

“I didn’t think we were going to walk in on that,” Aitana added, her laughter echoing as the tension in the room began to shift. The two players had gone from rivals to something else entirely, and the realization was still settling in.

Aggie and YN exchanged a glance, both of them smiling in spite of themselves. The heat between them was still present, but now, there was a new sense of understanding. No more fighting. No more competition. Just… whatever this was.

Keira, ever the instigator, looked at YN and Aggie with a knowing grin. “So, what’s next for you two?”

Aggie bit her lip, clearly still processing everything. “I think we’re going to need some time to figure it out. But I’m not going to lie… it’s definitely… different.”

YN nodded. “Yeah, a little too different for comfort.”

“But I think I’m okay with it,” Aggie said, her smile softening as she glanced at YN.

Aitana raised an eyebrow. “Well, as long as no one tries to kill each other next time you play, I think we’re all good.” Her teasing tone made the moment feel lighter, and YN chuckled, feeling the last of the tension between her and Aggie evaporate.

Keira smirked, clearly pleased with the turn of events. “I can’t believe we’re witnessing this. You two… from hating each other to this? What’s next?”

“We’ll figure it out,” YN said softly, her gaze lingering on Aggie. “One step at a time.”

Aitana gave them both a knowing look, her grin never faltering. “Good. Now go have that date, and no more hiding in supply closets, alright?”

As the group of players made their way out of the hallway, YN and Aggie lingered behind, still processing everything that had just happened. Their rivalry, their anger—it all seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by something new. Something neither of them had expected, but both of them couldn’t ignore.

And so, as the day ended, YN and Aggie found themselves walking side by side for the first time without animosity, without resentment. Whatever had started in that small supply closet had marked the beginning of something else entirely.

And neither of them could say what it was. But it was theirs.

The following evening, the chaos of the semifinals had calmed, but the whirlwind between YN and Aggie was far from over. The tension had shifted into something entirely new, and after what had happened in the supply closet, neither of them could pretend they weren’t intrigued by what was blossoming between them. What had once been fiery rivalry was now turning into something neither of them had anticipated.

YN sat in the lobby of her hotel, staring down at her phone in her hands. She’d managed to shake off the nerves, but they had returned the moment she received the text from Aggie earlier that day.

I’ll be at your hotel at 8. Be ready, no excuses.

A few hours later, she was standing in the lobby waiting, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a loose top, but even in the simple outfit, she felt a rush of excitement—something was shifting in the air, and she was ready to see where it would take them.

She barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching until she heard a soft voice calling her name.

"YN."

Turning around, YN’s breath caught in her throat. Standing in front of her was Aggie, her blonde hair falling just right, her outfit more polished than usual but still effortlessly beautiful—she was wearing a sleek black dress, one that hugged her figure perfectly, paired with a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders.

"Hi," Aggie said softly, her voice warm. She smiled shyly, glancing at YN for a moment before looking down at her shoes, a rare moment of vulnerability flashing across her face. "You look… amazing."

YN grinned, feeling her own heart skip a beat. "You don’t look so bad yourself."

Aggie’s smile widened at that, and for a moment, it was as if everything outside of this moment didn’t matter. The last few days—the rivalry, the fight in the supply closet, the teasing from their teammates—it all seemed like distant memories. In front of YN now was a new Aggie, someone who was no longer a stranger, and yet, someone she was only beginning to understand.

"Ready?" Aggie asked, breaking the silence.

YN nodded, a little giddy but trying to play it cool. "Lead the way."

The two of them walked through the quiet streets of Barcelona as the sun dipped below the horizon, the city lights beginning to twinkle above them. The soft hum of the evening felt intimate, like the world had shrunk just for them.

Aggie led YN to a small, cozy restaurant tucked away on a side street. It wasn’t flashy or pretentious, but it had a warmth to it that made YN feel instantly at ease. It was a little Italian place, a nod to Aggie’s own heritage, and YN couldn’t help but feel a little touched that Aggie had chosen something so personal.

As they sat down at a small table in the corner, their conversation naturally flowed. They talked about their childhoods, what it was like growing up in different countries, and the struggles of balancing football with everything else in their lives. They shared laughs, small smiles, and even a few shy glances as their newfound connection began to bloom.

YN found herself relaxing into the date, feeling her walls come down. For once, there was no tension, no bitterness—just the warmth of a woman she was starting to see in a new light.

Aggie, on her part, was just as captivated by YN’s presence. Every time their eyes met, there was a certain energy between them, an understanding that they had been enemies for too long but were now something different. She was learning to appreciate YN in a way she never had before—away from the pitch, away from the competition.

"So," YN said, breaking the comfortable silence between them, "what happens now? I mean, after everything that’s happened… are we still pretending we hate each other?"

Aggie raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I might be ready to start pretending I like you."

YN laughed, shaking her head. "You mean that?"

Aggie’s smirk softened, and for a brief moment, her eyes flickered with something deeper. "I think so. Honestly, I never thought I’d say it, but… I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad you’re here."

The sincerity in her voice caught YN off guard, and for the first time, she allowed herself to fully acknowledge the connection between them. The competitive edge, the rivalry, the fights—it all felt irrelevant now. In front of her was Aggie, a woman who, despite their differences, had shown her something new about herself.

"I’m glad too," YN murmured, her heart racing. She had no idea where this would go, but for once, she wasn’t afraid of it. "I never thought we’d end up here, but I’m glad we did."

Aggie smiled warmly at YN, her gaze lingering a little longer than usual. The air around them shifted again, and suddenly, the walls between them had crumbled entirely.

They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, enjoying the simplicity of being together. There was no pressure, no expectations—just the quiet comfort of two people finally allowing themselves to be vulnerable.

As the night came to a close, Aggie walked YN back to her hotel. They stood outside for a moment, the cool night air brushing against their skin.

"Well," YN said, trying to suppress a smile, "I guess this is goodnight then?"

Aggie nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, I think it is."

And then, in an impulsive move, Aggie leaned in, pressing her lips gently to YN's cheek before pulling away, her cheeks flushed. "Thank you for tonight," she whispered.

YN, completely caught off guard, smiled softly, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her chest. "It was perfect."

As the cool night air surrounded them, Aggie turned to walk away, a slight smile still lingering on her face after the soft kiss to YN's cheek. But before she could take more than a few steps, she heard YN call her name.

"Aggie!" YN's voice was firm, but there was a vulnerability in it that made Aggie pause and turn around.

Aggie raised an eyebrow, wondering if something had shifted in the air once again. "Yeah?"

YN took a deep breath, her heart racing a little faster. She was suddenly aware of how much she had been holding back. The walls, the rivalry—everything that had kept them apart for so long—seemed so irrelevant now. She needed to take the plunge, needed to stop pretending that she wasn't feeling something real, something more than just competition.

Aggie looked at her, and for a moment, there was silence. Then YN took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Aggie's eyes widened slightly, but before she could speak, YN was right there in front of her, their gazes locking for a split second before YN moved in, their lips crashing together.

It was different this time—not tentative or shy, but full of the emotions they’d been hiding for so long. YN's hands found their way to Aggie's waist, pulling her closer, and Aggie responded with equal intensity, her arms winding around YN’s neck as they deepened the kiss. The world around them seemed to blur—there was no rivalry, no Chelsea and Barcelona, no fights or tension. Just them, the heat between them rising with every second, everything building to something they both knew they couldn’t deny.

The kiss was desperate, urgent, and it left both of them breathless when they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other.

"God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long," YN muttered, still catching her breath.

Aggie laughed softly, her chest heaving with the same excitement. "You and me both."

She paused for a moment, looking into YN’s eyes with a look that was almost vulnerable, something she hadn’t shown before. "Are you sure about this?"

YN smiled, the uncertainty from before finally slipping away. "I’m sure."

Aggie chuckled softly, a glint of playfulness returning to her eyes. "Good. Because I’m not letting you go now."

Without another word, they kissed again, slower this time, savoring the closeness and the spark between them. It was no longer about proving something to each other—it was about this moment, the undeniable pull they shared.

As they pulled away again, this time lingering in the embrace, YN smiled softly.

"Stay," YN whispered.

Aggie hesitated for a brief moment but then nodded, her hands sliding up to cup YN's face as she leaned in for one more kiss before they continued walking into the hotel together, leaving the world outside to fade away.

The next morning, YN woke up with a soft smile on her face, still feeling the warmth of the previous night’s kiss lingering on her lips. She wasn’t sure what was happening between her and Aggie, but whatever it was, it felt right. She turned over to see Aggie still sound asleep beside her, her hair tousled and her breathing steady. YN couldn’t help but smile, her heart feeling light for the first time in a long while.

But that peace was quickly shattered by a loud, familiar knock on the door.

"YN! Time to wake up, we’ve got to go back to Barcelona!" Mapi’s voice rang through the door, followed by a few more knocks that were more insistent than necessary.

YN groaned, reluctantly pulling herself out of bed. The last thing she wanted was to deal with Mapi’s teasing—especially not when Aggie was still lying beside her. She glanced over at the bed, making sure Aggie was still asleep, then quietly tiptoed to the door to open it just a crack.

"Mapi, please… Give me five more minutes," YN mumbled, still half asleep.

Mapi, however, was having none of it. She pushed the door open wide, practically barging into the room. The instant her eyes landed on the bed, her eyes widened, and she stifled a laugh.

"Well, well, well," Mapi teased, her grin widening mischievously. "Look who’s been busy."

YN froze, her heart racing as she spun around to see Mapi standing in the doorway, a knowing smirk plastered across her face. She quickly turned back to Aggie, who was still snoozing peacefully, oblivious to Mapi’s intrusion.

"Mapi," YN hissed, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Not right now."

Mapi, however, wasn’t backing down. She leaned casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched YN squirm. "Oh no, I’m not going anywhere," Mapi teased. "I have to make sure this isn’t a dream."

"Seriously," YN groaned, her voice a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You can’t just come barging in like this!"

"Oh, but I can," Mapi said, clearly enjoying herself. "You’ve been keeping secrets, YN. I thought you were the ‘good girl’ of the team."

YN sighed, her face now completely red. She really didn’t need Mapi digging into her right now, especially not with Aggie still in the bed. She gave Mapi an exaggerated look of frustration.

"Mapi, I swear to God, if you don’t get out, I’ll—"

But before YN could finish her threat, Mapi took one last look at the bed, raised an eyebrow, and walked out of the room, throwing a playful parting shot.

"Ingrid! Ingrid!" Mapi’s voice echoed down the hallway. "YN has a girl in her bed!"

YN’s eyes widened, and she sprinted toward the door, ready to shut it before Mapi could cause even more chaos. But of course, it was too late.

"Ingrid, you heard that right?" Mapi continued, her voice getting louder as she made her way down the hall. "YN's been hiding a girlfriend! Oh my God, this is so juicy! We have to talk about this later!"

By now, the entire Barcelona team had likely heard Mapi’s shouting, and YN could only imagine the teasing that was about to ensue. She quickly closed the door with an exaggerated sigh, locking it behind her.

Mapi’s voice rang out once more, this time in a playful shout from the hallway. "I’ll let everyone know what I saw—don’t worry, YN, I’ll make sure the whole team hears about your secret romance!"

YN groaned and walked back to the bed, where Aggie was still sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the storm that had just erupted outside the room. YN sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing her face in embarrassment.

"Great," she muttered. "Now the whole team’s going to know."

Aggie stirred in the bed, blinking her eyes open. She stretched and yawned, and when she finally saw YN’s flushed face, she raised an eyebrow.

"Everything okay?" Aggie asked, clearly still groggy from sleep.

"Well, Mapi just told the entire team that I’ve got a girl in my bed," YN replied, her voice filled with mock frustration.

Aggie’s lips curled into a grin. "Wait, what? That’s hilarious. You know, I think your team’s going to have a lot of questions for you now."

YN gave her a look, but then her face softened, and she leaned in to kiss Aggie on the forehead. "I don’t care what they think. But maybe we should get out of here before Mapi comes back with more gossip."

Aggie chuckled, then pulled YN closer. "Yeah, let’s do that. But after everything, I’m still glad we’re doing this."

YN smiled, her heart fluttering. "Me too."

As they got ready to leave the room, YN couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for Mapi’s teasing, even if it had been embarrassing. It had made the situation feel real, like everything between her and Aggie was no longer a secret.

And as they walked out of the hotel room, YN knew that whatever happened next, the Barcelona team—and probably the rest of the football world—was about to find out that YN wasn’t just a competitor on the pitch, but a woman in love.

YN stood at the entrance of the hotel, her team already gathered and ready to leave. The energy was mixed—some were excited for the upcoming games, others were already chatting about the next training session. YN, however, was distracted, her mind not entirely on the trip back to Barcelona. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Aggie.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Aggie standing at the door, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket. The sight made YN’s heart skip a beat. The whole situation felt surreal—less than a day ago, they’d been enemies, and now here they were, barely able to keep their hands off each other.

"YN," Mapi’s voice cut through the air, and YN turned to see her friend grinning widely, clearly ready to tease her more. "The team’s waiting."

"Yeah, I know," YN said, trying to keep the smile off her face. She took one more look at Aggie, who was still standing there, watching her with those soft, knowing eyes.

Just as YN turned to walk toward the bus, she felt a sudden hand on her arm, pulling her back.

"YN!" Aggie called out softly, her voice making YN’s stomach flip.

She stopped, turning slowly, only to find Aggie right in front of her. The world around them seemed to fade into the background as Aggie cupped YN’s face with both hands.

"I just wanted to say goodbye properly," Aggie said quietly, her eyes filled with a mixture of affection and something deeper, something more real than the rivalry they’d once shared.

Before YN could respond, Aggie leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss. It was slow, tender, and completely unbothered by the chaos happening around them. In that moment, nothing mattered but the two of them.

The kiss was soft, but it lingered, both of them savoring the moment before they had to part ways. YN’s heart raced, her hands finding their way to Aggie’s waist, pulling her closer. She felt the warmth of Aggie’s body against hers, the passion and sincerity of the kiss making her forget the world around them.

But as they finally pulled away, reality hit. The Barcelona team, who had been watching from the windows of the bus, erupted into loud, exaggerated whistles and cheers.

"Oh my God!" Ingrid shouted from inside the bus. "YN’s got herself a girlfriend!"

Mapi, standing nearby, grinned wickedly. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun to tease you about."

YN rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at her lips. She glanced back at Aggie, who was now smirking, clearly enjoying the teasing from her side as much as YN was on hers.

"Well," Aggie said with a playful wink, "I guess this is it for now."

YN nodded, still grinning. "I’ll see you soon."

With one last lingering kiss on the cheek, Aggie stepped back, giving YN the space to climb onto the bus. As she did, the entire team inside greeted her with exaggerated gasps, winks, and even a few catcalls. The teasing was relentless, but YN didn’t mind one bit. She knew exactly what she wanted, and this moment felt like the beginning of something new.

As the bus doors closed, YN settled into her seat, her heart still racing. She caught sight of Mapi across the aisle, who shot her a knowing look.

"So, is that your girlfriend now?" Mapi asked with a smirk.

"Yes," YN answered confidently, not bothering to hide the smile on her face. "And I’m proud of it."

The team around her erupted into laughter and more teasing, but YN didn’t care. She was no longer the girl caught up in a rivalry—she was someone who had found something real, something worth fighting for.

As the bus pulled away from the hotel, heading toward the airport, YN looked out the window at Aggie one last time. Their eyes met, and Aggie gave her a little wave. YN smiled back, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t expected to find.

This was just the beginning.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Pocky game w/ them (Male toon edition)

...excluding the easter toons theyll get their own posts for holidays if i can remember to do it, mains will also get their own post not many requests in the inbox, going to need to go through and purge spam and anons fighting each other- youd think theyd stop/wouldnt bother since i dont post anon crash outs notes: gn toon reader, short and sweet... well as short as it can be given its a LONG post, NO this does not mean character limits are lifted admin just needs to kill some time, pre game, also fun fact didnt know pocky was made in 1966 thats neat- dont know when the game surrounding it started but we can pretend it was around pre gardenview shut down, parts are written out of order + headcanon heavy for some toons in how their mouths work cws: none

Boxten

bro probably accidentally breaks the stick before he even puts it in his mouth, and he will trip over his words as he tries to grab another... and breaks it... hes always so.... hmm... when it comes to romance. he can be clumsy, you know? he doesnt want you to think hes a dweeb or something

let him know its okay to take his time, its not about how quick the game goes by its about whether or not hes having fun. that at least makes him calm down a little

...hes still an awkward kisser though... kind of smacks his face against yours a little too roughly- not enough to hurt but he doesnt know how fast to lean in for it

Cosmo

...sure hes not chocolate but hes a chocolate roll cake, so would this count as cannibalism in some form, or- actually now that you think about it you think youve seen sprout eat strawberries before at least once-

he does end up breaking the stick out of nervousness- youre so up close and the eye contact does get under his skin even if this is far from your first time kissing... it feels different when theres a stick okay! the game makes it feel different!

he does let you have most of the stick though... you have a feeling it wasnt just shyness that made him slowly nibble at his end...

Finn

glass head, youre... not actually sure where his face lies... front back or somewhere in the middle- youve swiped your hand over his face before out of curiosity and you didnt really feel anything but smooth glass

he kind of lets you clack the end of the stick against his mouth- he thinks its a little funny but he is a little sad you guys cant play the game together- he does lighten the mood with some jokes

this does spark a conversation for HOW he eats. does it kind of just. disappear or...? phase through? your head hurts.

Glisten

hes in a similar boat as some of the other toons, his face is kind of... flat.. he can eat but it takes time and chocolate tends to melt after a while and he doesnt like the idea of smearing it all over his glass. nightmare to clean and he just got his make up done

he does at least let you down gently though, hes not going to instantly shoot you down! hes not a jerk!

also he doesnt want to smack his glass against your face- for both of your sakes... itd be awkward at best and mildly painful at worst depending on the force put behind it

Goob

hes almost as bad as yatta when it comes to treats... you have to reel him in before he shoves the entire stick down his throat- seriously how he didnt break, gag, or otherwise choke was a little impressive. he ate it horizontally by the way.

his sharp teeth do increase the odds of the stick snapping in half, the points can be a little awkward but hes fine with you guys using a short and shorter segment until you both make it work

...he does finish his end a lot fast than you do but hes nice enough to wait in the middle for you to meet him instead of nibbling into your half... even if its tempting...

Looey

you need to be careful with him- like all the other toons he can eat but hes... weird about it. you dont like thinking about toon anatomy or how it works for that long but his mouth is almost like... 2D. watching him eat is weird

and pocky is... well its not sharp but he doesnt like the idea of pushing a stick against him. it might not pop him but still! its a risk that hes not really willing to take!

it was worth a shot, though...! maybe you both can find another way to play...!

Razzle

ooooooooh he is so ready to do this with you- the way you word it sounded so fun so of course hes at least going to give it a try! and hes not going to be shy to admit that hes eager about the games end either!

he does dig into your end a little bit though... not out of greed, he just wants to get on with it and give you a little sweetness in the form of a kiss! buuuuuuuuuuut if you really want him to wait in the middle he guesses he can slow down a little... but only a little!

honestly he might ask for more, he seems like the type to really like pocky in general... and this isnt a hint to play more rounds with him! he genuinely does like the candy!

Dazzle

and honestly if it wasnt for razzle going first and you gently encouragement for him to give it a try he would shrink back into his scarf and gently turn you down

its not that he doesnt want to possibly kiss you, its just that it seems so much more... sillier and different- he cant really put it into words for why its got him hesitating

he doesnt hate it but hed much rather kiss you under normal scenarios... also kissing while youre still chewing something really feels weird, he doesnt much care for it... but at least he can say he tried it, even if just for you

Rodger

he has no mouth... he cant really... play with you... sure he can still eat- how he can you still dont know and it hurts your head to wrap your mind around, and youre not sure if asking him could be seen as rude... the food kind of... blips out of sight? its really weird to look at

but youre more than free to share some of the sticks with him, there isnt much for him to do in the kissing department so hes got to rely on other things to make up for the lack of them

Shrimpo

he thinks its stupid... the candy is stupid! the game is stupid! affection is stupid! youre stupid! ...its no surprise that shrimpo is... an acquired taste and its a wonder to everyone else how you put up with him and his rage

assuming you can even convince him to take part of the game hes going to be snapping the stick in half or breaking it under his sharp teeth.... that... might actually crumble it into several pieces. it feels a little redundant to say it... but he doesnt like chocolate or candy. youre not sure he actually likes anything- for someone so open about what he hates he can be hard to read, and its hard to tell when hes sincere

..good luck with him..!

[nizhspo]

saltwater secrets

chapter seven: final set

genre: haikyuu fic, slow burn

pairing: tooru oikawa x reader

links: m.list, next

you get to the courts early.

the breeze is soft, sky a little hazy, and there’s already a crowd forming: teenagers in swimsuits, teams stretching on the sand, a half-broken speaker blasting nelly somewhere in the background. the bracket’s duct-taped to a fold-out table by the concession tent, and the paper already looks sun-warped and water-stained.

you and akaashi are in your pink tie-dye field day champs shirts, already catching a few second glances and muffled laughter. you don’t care. it’s part of the charm now. he adjusts the collar of his shirt, says, “we look ridiculous.”

“we look unforgettable,” you correct.

he hums. lets you have that one.

the first match is nothing. not even a warmup. you’re up against team peaches, two girls from your school’s cheer team who entered just to “try something new for the summer.” they show up in rhinestoned crop tops and lip gloss, their glitter reflecting in the sun like sequins. they spend more time posing for pictures than touching the ball. one of them screams every time her foot hits the sand wrong.

they’re sweet, and to their credit, they don’t quit, but you beat them 25–5, and three of their points are from your own serves going long.

“we’re officially villains,” akaashi says as you walk off.

you grin, but the second match isn’t cute. it’s grueling.

your opponents this time are tsubaki and ryo, both tall, tanned, and silent, in matching black tanks that say twin fang in silver sharpie. they don’t talk. they don’t joke. they just play. hard. sharp hits, tight digs, wicked court awareness. they pick apart your spacing. force you off rhythm. every point feels like dragging your body up a hill with your teeth. sand sticks to your knees, to your shoulders, to the inside of your socks.

after one especially brutal rally, you slam your hands on your thighs and say, “we’re not gonna make it.”

akaashi looks over calmly, handing you your water without hesitation. “yes, we are.”

“we’re dying.”

“it’s just volleyball. and you’re not dying.”

“my legs say otherwise.”

he doesn’t flinch. “then we’ll win before they give out.”

and somehow, you do. 25—23.

last point comes from akaashi digging up a hit that should’ve ended it and you flicking it barely over the net. you fall forward into the sand when it’s over, chest heaving. akaashi offers you a hand. doesn’t say i told you so. just pulls you up.

between rounds, you spot bokuto and kuroo off to the side, sitting under a beach umbrella and eating orange slices like they’ve been here for a picnic.

“we destroyed them,” bokuto says, waving at you.

“you tripped on your own set,” kuroo replies. “it was a close game.”

“strategy,” bokuto insists, wiping his face with a towel.

they’ve been playing like maniacs: wild, chaotic, almost clashing. bokuto’s all explosive swings and emotional spikes, kuroo’s more surgical and sarcastic, but they’re making it work on pure friendship. it’s kind of impressive.

“you guys holding up?” kuroo asks.

“barely,” you mutter.

“see that’s how you know it’s real,” bokuto says, throwing you a half-melted granola bar.

the third match is easier, almost suspiciously so. two guys from aoba johsai in long board shorts and custom visors, calling themselves team beachshift. they’re solid, sure, but you and akaashi have already been through the storm. this is sun after rain. everything clicks again. you’re moving like you’re supposed to. passing sharp, hitting clean, covering each other’s space without even talking about it. the match ends at 25—19.

you don’t say it, but it feels good. like you’re getting it back. like this isn’t just some fun spring moment and you’re still a sophomore on the volleyball court, no injury in sight.

on the way back to the sidelines, you catch a familiar voice.

“you’re doing pretty well for two people who dressed like camp counselors.”

iwaizumi is standing near the bracket table, arms crossed, grinning at you. he looks solid: sun-browned, already sweating through his shirt, expression soft like always.

you laugh. “i’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

“it is one,” he shrugs. “you look good out there.”

oikawa appears beside him a moment later. you can feel it before you see him.

he looks… devastating.

hair tousled and damp. actual sand in his curls. skin golden and sun-warmed. a thin silver chain tucked into his collar, shirt clinging to his back from the heat. there’s a shimmer of sweat on his neck that looks like it belongs in a commercial.

he looks at you, eyes scanning you lazily, then shifts to akaashi just a little too long.

“you and akaashi, huh?”

his tone’s easy. but the words sit sideways in your chest.

“teammates,” you say, cool.

he nods once. “right.”

nothing else. just that single word, right.

he walks off. iwaizumi offers you a small smile and jogs after him, probably to make sure he doesn’t start talking trash to strangers.

akaashi watches the whole thing in silence.

when oikawa’s out of earshot, he says, “…he’s very dramatic.”

you laugh. maybe too loudly. “understatement.”

he glances at you sideways. “he’s also not wrong. we’re a good team.”

you look at him. really look at him: skin flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, face calm like always.

“we are,” you say, bumping your shoulder lightly into his.

you’re stretching at the edge of the court when you see yachi, running across the beach in her platform flip-flops, holding a poster board above her head that says FIELD DAY CHAMPS in bubble letters outlined with glitter gel pen.

you don’t even get a word out before she’s waving it around like it’s a flag. “gooo besties! go you and akaashi!”

akaashi blinks. “we have signage?”

“you have me,” yachi says proudly, spinning to reveal her shirt.

on the front of it, taped, with three visible strips of dollar store scotch tape is a black-and-white printout of bokuto’s face, cut into a heart shape and slightly crinkled.

akaashi stares. “is that… bokuto?”

“yes,” she says. “i’m a multi-fan.”

“we’re honored,” you tell her, fighting a smile.

your opponents this round are team stormshift: two players from a private school just outside town. tomo & hayate. both experienced. both quick. they’re in matching blue tanks with their school’s crest, looking like they’ve been training all year for this.

it’s hard. from the start.

long rallies. smart serves. you dive more than you have all day. akaashi’s voice stays in your ear: low, steady, just loud enough to hear over the wind and the crowd.

the score climbs. point by point.

18-19.

20-22.

22-22.

23–24.

you don’t speak. you just breathe.

akaashi serves. you scramble to dig a short return. you see it float. watch him move. hear the thud of the ball hitting the sand on the far right corner.

25-24.

next serve, you both play like it’s instinct. set, spike, cover.

point. match. 26-24.

you fall backward into the sand, chest heaving, hand on your ribs. akaashi crouches beside you, sweat dripping from his jaw, breath shallow.

you fist bump in silence. yachi’s screaming from the sideline. “you’re going to semis!”

you laugh. maybe cry. it’s hard to tell with the salt in your eyes.

later, you catch a match on the far court: oikawa and iwaizumi. you weren’t planning on watching. you just… stop.

he plays like it’s nothing. like he’s meant to be there.

his serves are precise. clean. fast. the ball curves like it’s been coached into submission. he sets like he’s sketching a line between heaven and earth. doesn’t even have to look sometimes. just flicks his wrist, turns, and iwaizumi is already there.

and the crowd? they’re watching him.

especially the girls.

a whole group of them standing off to the side, cheering every point, some of them literally gasping when he dives. you watch him chase a tip, land in the sand on one arm, pop back up like it didn’t even happen.

he runs a hand through his hair. there’s sand stuck to his skin. his chain slips forward over his collar for a second before he tucks it back in. his shirt’s damp. there’s sweat down the middle of his spine.

he doesn’t look at you. not once.

but your breath still catches. your throat still tightens. and you wonder, does he know how he looks when he plays?

iwaizumi calls the next serve. they win the match two points later.

you leave before oikawa turns your way.

by the time the semifinal rolls around, the sky’s starting to fade from hot blue to gold.

your legs are sore. your shirt’s soaked. but you’re still here.

bokuto and kuroo are waiting at the net, already bouncing on their heels like it’s round one. bokuto’s hair is even more chaotic than usual, salt-stiff and sticking up like he’s just gotten out of the ocean. kuroo has his hands on his hips, already smirking, the sun catching on the chain around his neck and the glint in his eye.

“don’t go easy on us,” kuroo says, voice low and joking.

“who’s going easy?” you mutter, already stepping into the sand.

bokuto claps loudly, eyes bright. “this is gonna be awesome.”

and it is. it really is.

the game starts like a storm.

bokuto and kuroo play hard. power serves, cross-court spikes, sheer dominance—but they make mistakes. little ones. kuroo overshoots a set. bokuto gets too excited and sends a hit long. but when they’re on, they’re on. bokuto nearly knocks the air out of you with one serve, and you hit the sand with a grunt that feels like your lungs folded in half.

akaashi helps you up silently. hand under your arm. no words needed.

you get them back on the next rally, a fake tip turned push, straight to the corner you know kuroo always abandons on his coverage shift. point.

the next play, akaashi reads bokuto’s angle perfectly. you see it: how bokuto shifts his weight just slightly, how his eyes land on that same back corner he always aims for when he’s hyped. akaashi’s already there, crouched, planted. the dig is clean, and the ball stays up.

you spike it into open court.

point.

“that’s no fair!” bokuto shouts, but he’s laughing. “you knew it would go there!”

“of course i did,” akaashi says, totally blank-faced. “i’ve watched you do it for three years.”

the game is tight. back and forth. 18–18. 20–19. 21–21.

your heart is pounding. you feel the sweat dripping into your eyes. your hair’s sticking to the back of your neck. you’re shaking.

but you know them. you know where kuroo’s going to block. you know where bokuto’s going to look before he hits.

and more than anything—

you trust akaashi.

match point comes on a tight rally. bokuto’s spike goes deep. akaashi saves it. you flick it short. kuroo dives for it—misses by an inch.

point. game. win.

bokuto falls back into the sand, arms out. “we lost!”

kuroo drops beside him, huffing. “shocking.”

you’re too tired to celebrate. akaashi just walks over, nudges your shoulder, and says, “you good?”

“no,” you say, breathless. “but we’re in the final.”

and that’s when you hear your name.

not just from the bracket, not from the crowd, but from behind you.

“you’re up,” someone says.

you turn.

and there he is.

oikawa.

sand in his hair, tan sharp across his cheekbones. his shirt’s loose, collar pulled slightly to one side. his necklace is tucked in again, but you saw it earlier. you remember the glint of silver. the sheen of sweat down his throat. the way his eyes don’t really settle on anything: they scan.

he smiles. not big. not bright.

just enough.

“see you on the court,” he says, voice soft like it means something else entirely.

[rubywithecat]

Playing “dress to impress” game with JjK men

Gojo

- Even if it’s his first time or he just started playing just a few days because u force him to, he always ate everyone up. He would judge everyone outfits but will give stars fair and square.

Geto

- He’s so calm at timer. He knows how to manage time well and he also knows what outfit he’s making from start. Very organized and doesn’t judge other that much. He is always on theme but his outfits are more like reality so, basic.

Nanami

- He play it just so u will stop yapping at him to play this game at first. Later, he would be taking so seriously and screaming if he got voted dirty. He would definitely buy vip to slay than other ppl. He would surpass ur outfits once he gets into it.

Toji

-Very very basic cuz he have no clues how to layers and choose patterns. He doesn’t know what he is doing. He doesn’t care about the theme. Would probably give one star to everyone so that he would end wining. But it’s always fun to play with him the way he judging everyone and talking bad as if he isnt also the one with bad outfit. (Sry guys! That’s what I’m feeling with Toji playing this game TT)

Yuuji

- Hes very experienced. He is always the type that would be like either ate or nahh, that just because he’s stressing and panicking at timer. He won’t buy vip cuz he thinks it’s a waste of money. He gets mad when some ppl with trashy outfits won and felt unfair. But he would vote you 5 stars even tho ur outfit is not slaying, he would praise it.

Megumi

- He thought his outfits aren’t slaying but always gets votes from others and always on podium. He seems like doesn’t judge anyone but would secretly do in his mind. He would buy vip but won’t use it that much anyway. He’s so calm at timer too.

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A|N: Hello guys! This idea just pop up on my mind as I’m so into DTI game and always playing at my free time these days. And I just did school interview today and hope it went well. So these are just a lil update! Hope u guys doing well and nice to see y’all back! <33

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