#locker room caption

[selenasgirltiffany21]

[tartt9]

two bisexuals in a room. they might kiss

[valleydolli]

౨ৎ NFLplayer!Toji x WAG!reader ౨ৎ

Authors Note: This is so random it just came to me and I was like oh my goodness let me write it down and then I kept going, and going, and going and here we are... heh... ALSO I did NOT proof read it, because if I did I wouldn't post it cause I'm judgemental! I'm going to watch The Apothecary Diaries now!

NFLplayer!Toji, who spotted you in the crowd at one of his games. Causing him to completely freeze on the field, so captivated by your beauty. The Jumbotron cameras notice who he’s staring at and instantly puts you on the big screen. You have yet to realise because you weren’t paying attention to the game at all. It was your friend who dragged you here. Your friend punches your arm, causing you to wince. “What the hell?” You yell at her. She manually turns your head to look at the jumbotron with your face on it, captioned, “Fushiguro’s future WAG!” Your jaw drops to the floor. The crowd is roaring. The whole game deadass paused just for Toji Fushiguro, THEE Toji Fushiguro, to gawk at you.

What in the Wattpad story is this?!

NFLplayer!Toji, who, as soon as his game ended, yelled at his manager, Shiu, to go look for you. Shiu finds you shuffling your way out of the exit. He quickly runs to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn ready to yell at the stranger touching you, but he’s holding up his badge that says, “Manager” on it. Shiu indicates that you should come with him. You go to say no, but your friend quickly places her hand on your mouth, guiding you to wherever this “Shiu” guy is taking you. 

NFLplayer!Toji, who is patiently waiting for Shiu to bring you into his locker room. Did he find you? Did you say no? So many questions running through his mind until he hears the door click, watching you walk right through. Your eyes scan Toji's personal locker room, before your beautiful eyes land on his green ones. He shoots up, walking to you, offering his hand. You take it, placing your smaller hand into his bigger one. Your eyes widen at how big they are. “Your hands are freakishly big, by the way.” He snorts, “Why do you think I'm the best at this shit?” 

“I don’t really pay attention to this shit. I just got invited by my friend.” You try to slide your hand out of his slowly before he claps it shut, keeping hold of your hand. You stare at him, confused, awkwardly laughing. He really likes holding your hand.

NFLplayer!Toji, who asks you then and there to go on a date with you. You want to say no, but something in you tells you to say yes. And you’re glad you did. The date was a disaster. It was so bad, but so funny and so cute. He really did try his best, but failed miserably. Though it wasn’t really his fault. He wanted to take you on a picnic date, and the weather app said it would be sunny out, but no, the universe decided to rain on his parade… literally. You were both soaked. The food was ruined. The blanket was soggy. Man, how unlucky could he be? He was sure you would never want to see his ass again.

NFLplayer!Toji, who was shocked when you asked if his apartment was nearby, so you both could dry off. It wasn’t, but he didn’t care, as long as he could spend more time with you after the disaster of a date they just had.

NFLplayer!Toji, who takes you back to his, not-so-nearby penthouse, giving you a change of clothes and a hair dryer to dry your hair. “This place is nice… My apartment is probably the size of your bedroom,” You laugh. 

NFLplayer!Toji, who tells you, “Don't worry. When I marry you, we’ll have a bigger place than this.” Your eyes widen, and he doesn’t laugh; he still has a stoic expression on his rugged face. “You’re extremely unserious, Toji. You know that?” 

“I’m being so fucking serious, doll.”

NFLplayer!Toji, who has been seeing you for months now. You’re not dating officially, but he brings you to all his events and football games, bragging about how you’re his wife. Not only skipping the girlfriend part, but just outright lying to people. Do you correct him, though? Of course not.

UpcomingWAG!reader, who has accumulated millions of followers, in the few months that she's been with Toji.

UpcomingWAG!reader, who gets heaps of hate and love comments on her social media.

NFLplayer!Toji, who hates every one of his fangirls and boys who harass you on social media.

NFLplayer!Toji, who made a social media account just to call said fangirls and boys, “pieces of shit” “nowhere near as gorgeous as his girl (you, duh.)” and personally going through your comment section reporting each and every hate comment and going on their profiles to call them ugly in the comments. It really doesn’t get to you, because you barely check your socials anyway. You just post what you want and dip. Whether it’s a photo of a new bag Toji got you, or a breakfast he made you, or just Toji his damn self. You couldn't care less.

NFLplayer!Toji, who asks you to marry him after his Super Bowl win— Oh, he didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend? Yeah, fuck that he had to get straight to the point. No wasting time around here. You better be ready to put on a damn white dress and head to a church. Because obviously you said yes.

NFLplayer!Toji, who fucks you like he hates you, roughly ramming his hips into you every night, holding you close to his body; so tight you wouldn't be able to break free even if you tried your upmost hardest, but it’s not like you would want to be away from him anyway. He kisses you deeply the whole time he's fucking you— no, making love to you. Confessing how much you've changed his life for the better. How no one could even come close to you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who marries you 3 months after proposing to you. A small wedding, but it was enough for you, so it was enough for him.

WAG!reader, who becomes an ICONIC WAG, maybe even more iconic that than Victoria Beckham and Cheryl Cole. You start some of the biggest fashion trends. The paparazzi always need to know where you are. You're gifted almost everything in your life now. You being shown on that Jumbotron really changed your life for the better. Toji, changed your life for the better.

NFLplayer!Toji, who is completely ready to start a family with you. He has been ready for a while, but he cares how you feel about it more. If you don't want kids, he’s okay with that. If you want to adopt, that's more than okay. But if you want him to breed the fuck out of you. Then it’ll be his damn pleasure.

WAG!reader, who lets Toji know that you do want kids with him just not so soon. You're young and you want to enjoy this new WAG status you've just gained.

WAG!reader, who after 2 years of being married, lets Toji know you're ready to start a family with him. He can't speak for a moment, but you straddle him pecking his lips, telling him to take you to your bedroom.

NFLplayer!Toji, who rushes to the bedroom, carefully placing you down on the sheets, kissing every each of your body... Literally. He's cherishing the future mother of his kid-- not kid, sorry, he means kids... PLURAL. You two are about to make a whole new NFL team. He fucked you into the night. Dumping heaps of his hot cum into your fertile womb.

"Toji, hah it's s-so much," you whimper.

He reassures that, you can take it, you have to take it. He straightens your legs, hugging them tightly, pounding into you roughly, but with love too. But fuck every mewl you make, every moan. It's extremely difficult for him to not fuck the shit out of you. But he knows he's much bigger than you, so he'll always be asking you and making sure his wife is okay.

He falls on top of you; the both of you cumming together intensely, trying to catch your breath. You lift his head up off your shoulder kissing him gently, telling how well he did. You both love to give each other praises. He's your hype man and you're his hype girl.

WAG!reader, who a month later takes a pregnancy test seeing those two special lines. You're excited to tell Toji but, he needs to be focused on practice right now. You don't want to shift that focus onto you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who has noticed a change in you but cant quite put his finger on it. Your skin is somehow more glowy than usual. But, you're also way more tired than before. You sleep in so late that you're asleep when he leaves for practice and you're asleep when he gets back.

NFLplayer!Toji, who is shocked to come back from practice, seeing you awake for once, but awake and standing in front of balloons that say "You're going to be a daddy!"

He stays still for a good 30 seconds surprised at what he's reading. He had an inkling that you might be pregnant, but he wasn't so sure. So, seeing this now, makes him the happiest person on this damn planet. He runs to you picking you up spinning you around like a princess before getting on his knees this place kisses on your not so pregnant looking stomach. He pledges to you and your unborn child.

"I promise I'll take good care of you... the both of you. I'll be an amazing Father I swear it.

The two of you decide to keep your pregnancy a secret from the public. You don't need unwarranted stress from not only the media, but fans too.

The following week you both go to your first scan, to take a look at the life you the made and the life you're growing. It's a little to early to find out the gender, but by the time your next appointment rolls by you'll know.

The next appointment comes and you find out you're carrying a boy. Toji, is ecstatic. He didn't mind what gender the baby would be, but he really did hope for a little boy and he got that. You've made his dream come true.

The nine months roll by sooner than anticipated. Your due date is right around the corner; close to Toji's birthday. He honestly hopes Megumi will stay in a little longer so they can share a birthday, but you got mad telling him to not wish further pain on you. Megumi's a big boy, thanks to his father... fatass.

NFLplayer!Toji, who panics when you wake him up abruptly, telling him your waters broke. He shoots out of bed grabbing everything needed to give birth to your little blessing. You’re screaming in the car while making your way to hospital, scaring the fuck out of Toji. Hr wants to cry, he’s never seen you like this and he hates it. It’s his fault, all his fault.

“It’s not your fault, Toji. I’m just going through labour. It’s natural. Just— oh my god, just drive to the fucking hospital!”

Toji may have sped slightly to the hospital, but safely of course…

After 3 hours you gave birth to your beautiful baby boy, Megumi.

NFLplayer!Toji, who cried for the first time since he was a young boy, after hearing the cries of your new born child. He kissed and thanked you profusely for being in his life. You honestly changed him for the better. He doesn’t know where he would be without you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who proudly walks out of the hospital with you in one hand and baby Megumi in the other. Walking out into the many flashing lights of paparazzi, that got some inside information that you just gave birth to a baby boy. You both surf your way through the sea of nosey paps before making it to your car, heading home a new family of three.

:p

© 2025 @valleydolli please don't copy or translate any of my work. all rights reserved. (I will find you if you do.)

[skipppppy]

This is such a minor and specific pet peeve but is anybody else midly incensed anytime this site labels doing fun shit out in nature as “boys stuff.” Like idk how to explain exactly but anytime I see a video of a guy pushing a giant boulder off a cliff to watch it break or digging a massive hole in the sand at the beach or throwing rocks in the water to hear it splash and people caption it shit like “for my male audience” or “wholesome boys will be boys” like…why are we forever burdened by gender essentialism. Do they think women are not also consumed by the desire to dig tunnels and run in the mud and make potions in puddles. I know it’s just a small part of a larger needless gender binary of internet memes a la “girl dinner” and “boys locker room” and “i bet he’s thinking about cheating on me” and whatever but maybe bc I was a little girl who used to love doing all that shit but was routinely told I couldn’t because I had to be pretty and ladylike it just makes me mad sometimes

[666thtoolofhell]

santos creates a new group chat, names it ⛔👑💊⛔ and proceeds to send dozens of innocent looking pics she snaps of kingdon together, in various situations, always with the caption: “langdon who is going to be divorced (in...?)” and several ellipsis come to life as everyone types back with a random timeframe.

it starts a trend. the others follow santos’ lead and start doing the same, playing private eye whenever the flow is calm. it's harmless fun. in the beginning, it's just a joke. really, it is. after a while, it's still a joke. mostly. but then... then langdon actually does separate from his wife. and, eventually, does get divorced. and then dana gets added to the group chat - no one comes clean, but santos is suspecting perlah, and she's known to have a nose for this shit. and that's when the bets start for real.

collins isn't in the group chat - she rejects the invite - but gets regular updates from dana. the pic saga continues, but the default caption changes to: “langdon who is going to remarry.” robby is blissfully unaware of the group chat but he's also been the live slug reaction meme personified the whole time, so there's that.

📱 garcia once sends a screen recording of langdon's phone - that she presumably sent herself first - of his home screen/lock screen that pans from his kids and dog to mel at a park;

🧋 shen once catches them at this new coffee shop downtown, mid bickering, as an annoying langdon attempts to get an annoyed mel to try something other than her usual order;

🎥 mckay goes to the movies with her dad and harrison one fine evening just to see them with mel's sister becca buying tickets and popcorn;

🌙 mohan once forwards what looks suspiciously like a surveillance type of photo abbot sent her of the two of them on the hospital rooftop, at night, gazing at the stars, shoulder to shoulder;

🩺 whitaker once sends a series of hurried blurry shots of them smiling stupidly at eachother as they jog around, in and out of patient rooms during a slower shift;

👀 javadi, as usual, forgets to turn on the flash, so no one really understands the intricacies of the ritual, but they're standing supremely and unnecessarily close as they talk while maintaining intense eye contact;

🧥 donnie clocks them whip quick at the ambulance bay this one time when langdon is insisting on giving mel his jacket because it got cold and she left hers inside her locker and there's no time to go get it before the patient arrives, mel!

🍮 jesse gets a good one of them at the cafeteria around lunch time, eating spoonfuls out if the same pudding cup in the background, with ellis front and center hooking a thumb over her shoulder at them with a knowing smirk;

💤 princess finds them in the break room after a rush, sitting on the couch, sharing ear buds, langdon's head on mel's shoulder, and mel staring at him as he slept instead of at her opened lava lamp app;

🚗 perlah once discreetly records scant seconds of them leaving together in langdon's car at the end of a shift from hell, langdon carrying mel's things and opening the door for her to groggily climb in, then turning the phone to get her own deadpan expression on camera;

🖥️ dana doesn't take any pictures because she's too busy being in charge of both the betting poll, the official excel file with all the pertinent names, dates, and amounts, as well as the photo album they're going to print and gift them with at the wedding, whenever the hell that ends up being.

[naburi]

MY TEAMMATE’S DAUGHTER

SANA X READER

TAGS: DADDY KINK

2.7K WORDS

“There she is! Look at my daughter!” Your teammate points in the stand. He found out that he had an illegitimate child, now a beautiful young woman. He pays her visits occasionally and brings her every game to make up for the time he missed, not knowing that his daughter is already receiving the attention that she needs. “F-fuck me harder daddy!” Sana’s plea echoes through your room.

“You’re such a slut.” You said while you slapped her ass. You are holding Sana by her thin arms as you pound her from behind. Her thin body shakes in every impact. “You want harder?” You said as you tighten your grip in her arms to pound her with more force. You take a pause after pulling it out just to ram your cock again in her now messy wet slit. The sound of her juicy slit getting pounded, the sound of flesh colliding as your hips bumps her meaty ass, Sana’s whales of pleasure. These noise made you fuck your slut even more.

Driving back home, a few notifications pop out on your phone screen. You just know they are from the fans that want to congratulate you after a win. You have no idea that one of those fans will change your life overnight. Finally arrived at your home. You went straight to bed to get some needed rest. Scrolling through the notifications bubble, you notice a familiar display photo, but you didn’t mind it as you thought that you probably saw them in the stadium. You are grateful to receive some encouraging messages from your fans, thus you take your time to read each and every message. After opening the first few bubbles, this notification bubble led you to an instagram story that mentioned you. It’s a picture of you and two of your teammates. “Hold on, is this her daughter?” You said as you went to check her account. You saw some of her posts where she is in the game. “That’s why she mentioned me, I’m with her father in the photo.” You concluded. Sana is laying in her room, waiting for you to notice her story. She smiles as it notifies her that you give it a like.

The next game is concluded in a loss, the locker room is silent. It’s an unspoken rule that nobody should go out or have fun at night after a loss. You went straight home. you quickly drove home to get this night. Fewer notifications pop in your phone. You 're not expecting any good messages with how you lost this game. You saw the name of the daughter of your teammate again in your notification bubbles. You click on it first which brings you to an instagram story again. This time it’s a video of you with a caption “great play!” Attached with your mentioned name. You appreciate her compliment and contemplate if you should send her a message. Thinking about it for a minute, you settle in giving it a like again. Scrolling through the other bubbles, a new notification pops up. Sana followed you on instagram and sent you a direct message. “Hi! You did your best! Let’s win the next one!” You left a chuckle while reading her message. You haven’t heard her voice before but you read it like someone is cheering you on. “Thank you! Father played well today as well!” You responded to her. After sending the message, I saw that she had already seen it. It means she’s waiting for your message all along. “He’s a good player just like you! I want to meet you in person!” She sent another message but you were too tired to look at it. You toss your phone to the side before falling asleep.

You drove to the stadium for an early game today. Walking at the facility, it’s strange that you have not met anybody from your team yet. You continue to look for anyone in your team as you hear a noise coming out of one of the rooms. The whole team and staff are here and they are circling around a woman? “Your daughter is so pretty!”,”this can’t be your kid, she doesn’t look like you!”,”she’s too gorgeous to be your daughter!” The whole team is making fun of her father. Sana is standing on the other side, just smiling with the jokes. Her brunette hair shines from the sunlight behind her. Her silky white skin glows brighter than the light itself. Your teammates take turns shaking the woman before going out to the dugout. As more people leave the room, Sana finally caught a glimpse of you. Her innocent smile widens just enough that it looks seductive. It’s your turn for a handshake. You reach out your hand for sana to hold. Her slim fingers touch the back of your hand, her soft hands graces on your skin so slowly that it gives you chills. Her small hands look small compared to yours. She holds your hand a little longer than the others. “Goodluck!” She said while tightening her grip before finally letting your hands go. This is the first time you heard her voice. It didn’t help that her seductive smile didn’t go away when she held you. You won this game, the coach invited the team to celebrate this win with liquor. Some of your teammates are joking that they should also invite Sana with them but her father and some of the other players say that it should be a team only celebration. It’s still early in the night but you and some of your teammates excuse yourselves to go home to take an early rest.

Driving back home, your phone started to pop off with notifications again. You smile expecting a mentioned story or a message from Sana again. You sit on the sofa before you check your phone. You were baffled that no notification is from Sana. Checking your conversation, you saw that you haven’t responded to her message last night. “Should I message her?” You asked yourself. Sana has been putting you in a story in every game but today. You want to know the reason why you haven’t heard from her today thus finding yourself being the one to message her first. “It’s nice to meet you up close.” You said in your chat. Sana usually responds right away. It’s been 10 minutes now and she still has not read your message. You started to worry that you might have done something wrong that made the woman step away from you.

It’s past 10 pm, and a series of notifications wakes you up. You found yourself sleeping on your sofa, waiting for a response from Sana. You hurriedly sat up as you saw the new notification bubbles. “Hi! I grabbed drinks with a friend!” She said while also sending a picture. It’s a picture of her with her drink beside a drawing on the wall. You may get the hint but you act oblivious. “Have you made it home? Stay safe.” You responded. You are finally at ease knowing that she’s just busy. “Thank you, I’m walking with my friend on the way home. We are just a few houses apart from where she lived.” She quickly responded. “Let’s grab a drink some other time as well :)” she added with a smiling expression. The idea of going out with Sana excites you but the realization that her father might take it the wrong way holds you back. you don’t want to create any distraction with the team. “Your father might have found out,” you responded. “We can grab some drinks and spend some time in your house,” she suggested. You don’t like where this is heading, you know what will happen if the two of you are left alone in your home. “No one will find out” you said to yourself before agreeing with Sana. “Meet me after the game on Friday” you said to her.

In the locker room, the players are doing their pre-game routine and changing clothes. Sana is off your mind as you are focused on winning against your rival team. She didn’t leave your mind that long enough as you saw the woman standing outside of the locker room door. Sana is wearing less than what you are accustomed to. She usually is in jeans while paring it to your team's jersey. The locker room got quiet as they were too stunned with how attractive she is. The woman is wearing a small skirt that exposes her long lean legs paired with a tight folder jersey that shows her midriff. She walked inside the locker room to hand something to her father. She said it’s for good luck as she knows that this game means more as it is against your historically rival team. Sana gives you a long glance with a smirk on her face before she walks out. You both knew that she was not there for her father. She’s in there to give a glimpse of what you will see more tonight.

The game ended in a victory. Your coach invited the whole team to celebrate but you politely declined this one as you said you have a date. Your teammates are making fun of you that what you meant is really that you are going to hook up with someone tonight. It is not further from the truth as your mind gets clouded by how seductive Sana looks at you and how inviting her outfit is. You hurriedly walk your way out of the stadium. You tried to call your date for tonight but you were surprised that she is already in front of your car, waiting for you. “What if someone saw you?”,”I’ll just say I’m looking for my father.” She smirked at you. You look around to see if any player or staff saw the two of you but it seems like they are still inside. “How did you know which one is my car?” You asked in disbelief. Sana just gives you a wide smile. You guide her to the passenger seat and open the door for her. She thanked you as she sat inside.

You drove off to the nearest convenient store to grab drinks and some snacks. Sana is waiting in the car while you buy those items in the store. After returning to your seat. You felt her slim fingers wander on your pants. “What took you so long?” Sana’s voice changed. Her voice became higher pitched than usual, almost acting like a baby that’s waiting for her food. Her left hand is now moving up and downward on top of your forming bulge. You have not said anything as you don’t know how to react to her fast advancement. “I want to feel you now, Daddy,” her voice changed again. From a baby-like voice to a slow and alluring voice. Something clicked into you when she called you “Daddy.” It woke up your instinct for sex. Sana noticed this too as she felt how hard you got just by hearing that. Sana smiled and didn't leave her face as she knows that she will get what she came for. The two of you have now arrived at your home. You bring down the drinks and snacks to a small table in your living room. You sit on your sofa as you are about to open the drinks but Sana has other plans.

“I’ve waited long enough, daddy.” Sana unzips your pants down to your ankles. She smiles when she sees your cock begging to be let out on your underwear. She pulls your underwear slowly as she wants to see it spring back up in total hardness which she saw when she finally let your hard cock out. Sana gives your hard cock a few strokes before she measures it with her forearm. “It’s bigger than my forearm!” Her thin forearm has no match with the girth of your cock. You chuckled as even in this situation she can still look as cute and innocent as ever. Sana laughs with you before she holds your cock and pat her face with it. She let your cock rest on her face. Your hard cock is resting beside her sharp nose bridge, your shaft is on top of her left cheek while she closes one of her eyes as your cock is covering half of her face with your tip on her forehead. Sana smiles as she gets turned on by feeling your big cock on her soft face. She holds your cock again to now pat her tongue with it. She gives the tip a few licks before trying to swallow all of your cock in one go. You groan as your cock is not even lubricated enough for a deepthroat. You can feel her soft inside as she slowly swallows all of your cock. Her sharp nose touches your abdomen before she pulls her head back. Sana gasped some air as she left a chuckle. “You have a big dick, daddy.” She smiles again with her eyes widening from excitement.

You had enough of her gimmicks, you know what she came for and you will give her exact what she wants. You hold Sana’s brown hair in a makeshift pigtail to have something to hold on. Sana even opens her mouth wide as she waits for your movement. You bring down her face again, impaling her mouth with your hard cock. Gagging sounds come out every time you put all of your cock in her mouth but she didn’t care. Sana let you use her mouth for your pleasure. You stand up to give yourself a better angle. You know moving your hips to meet her face every time. Sana looks up at you with tears flowing down her eyes. You fasten your face until Sana’s face turns red due to lack of oxygen. You get worried for a bit as you pause to check on her. She coughs when you finally let go of her face. “Why didn’t you tap out?” You asked. “I want my daddy to use me just as he pleases” Sana gives you a wicked smile even in her messed up face.

You carry Sana to your room, she wraps her legs onto you while she kisses your neck before you carry her down to your bed. You unbutton her small skirt and tossed it on the other end of the room. Sana tried to fasten the process by pulling her underwear on her own but you caught her hand. “Someone is being inpatient.” You said while removing her hand on her underwear. “S-sorry, daddy” she said. You eventually remove her underwear. “Fuck me please, daddy.” “Fuck me now,” she continues to plead before you hold her cheeks to open her mouth. You put her underwear inside her mouth as a consequence of her impatience. You aligned your hard cock on her wet lips before slowly plunging it in. Sana's loud moans are muffled by the underwear inside her mouth. You can feel how her slit stretched out due to your girthy cock. You hold her by her thin legs and start your movement. Sana's muffled moans are still loud. She tried to remove her top while you're on top of her but you slap her hands away. “What did I tell you about being inpatient?” You shouted at her. Sana got turned on with how aggressive you're becoming. You pull up her folded jersey top and her bra in one go, exposing her perky boobs. You slapped her boobs with force until red marks appeared. You squeezed her boobs to hold onto it while you continue to fuck her. Sana can’t take it anymore. She removes her underwear in her mouth and starts to plead more. “Fuck me just like that, daddy!” She shouted as her body arched back in pleasure. “You like getting fucked like a slut?” You shouted back. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me! I’m your slut!” She said before she left out a loud moan. You pulled out your cock and instructed her to bend down. Sana quickly obliged and even spread her ass cheeks in front of you. You hold her thin arms as you continue to plunge your cock inside her again. “F-fuck me harder, daddy!”

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ when they act this way (i know i got 'em) !!

ᝰ.ᐟ kiyoomi sakusa is used to getting what he wants, and what he wants most right now is you. too bad you’re the biggest fucking tease in the world. fine by him, though. because when he gets his hands on you — and he will — you’re going to see what exactly all your thirst traps did for him. ( fem!reader )

pairing kiyoomi sakusa x reader word count 3.6k content contains angry sex/rough sex, overstimulation, semi-public location, pop star!reader, cheeky/bratty to sub!reader 😭, he manhandles you a bit, creampie kinktober masterlist

“What’s his fuckin’ problem?” Atsumu grumbles, tossing his sweaty practice jersey onto one of the benches, mindful of avoiding the bench Sakusa is currently occupying. He takes this extra precaution since he doesn’t want to get yelled at again by Sakusa, who did snap at Atsumu five seconds prior for almost getting his dirty jersey thrown on top of him. 

“Maybe you just stink, ‘Tsumu.” Bokuto’s grinning, but Hinata shakes his head, gesturing for both of his teammates to come closer so he can whisper to them.

“I think Omi’s in a bad mood because he’s mad.” 

“No shit, Ginger!” Atsumu groans. “People who are in bad moods are usually mad. We didn’t need you to spell it out for us.” 

“You didn’t let me finish!” Hinata whisper-shouts. “He’s been looking at [Name] [Surname]’s Instagram since before practice ended.” 

“Who the hell is that?” Atsumu hisses, and Bokuto hits him on the shoulder. 

“Bro! That singer!”

“Yeah, that clears shit up.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, yanking open his locker to find a clean shirt to wear. “Why would Omi be mad at lookin’ at some girl’s Instagram?”

The trio is silent for a moment before a lightbulb practically appears over Bokuto’s head.

“Hey! Maybe she got a boyfriend, and he’s jealous!”

The group ponders this hypothetical. 

“Why would Kiyoomi get jealous, though?” Hinata asks. “It’s not like he’s dating her or anything.”

“Unless they had some weird situationship shit goin’ on.” Atsumu suggests. “Should we ask? Shoyo, go ask him.”

“Why do I have to ask?” 

“Nope. She didn’t post anything with a boyfriend…” Bokuto mumbles, scrolling through your feed. 

“Lemme see.” Atsumu snatches the phone from Bokuto’s hands and lets out a wolf whistle. “She’s hot. No wonder Omi-Omi’s pissed off.” 

“Huh?” Hinata whines. “Let me see, too!”

Atsumu faces the screen towards Hinata. “She’s the type of pretty that makes you mad just ‘cause ya can’t have her.” 

The girl on the screen is you. Posted not even an hour ago but already generating over six hundred thousand likes, Hinata understands what Atsumu means. Your back is turned towards the stage you’re on, but you’re looking back, giving the camera a coy smirk. You’ve got a rhinestone bedazzled microphone in one hand, and you’re wearing the shortest baby-blue minidress in existence; so short, in fact, that because your knees are bent just a bit, the current pose you’re sporting causes the fabric of your dress to rise, giving everyone viewing the image an unfiltered view of the built-in panties of the dress. The caption speaks volumes: too much for you to handle?. 

“You realize I could hear you idiots the whole entire time, right?” Sakusa doesn’t sound very happy, and Atsumu is quick to shove the phone back into Bokuto’s hands. “I’m not in a bad mood, and I’m not mad, and I don’t care about [Name] [Surname].” He grabs his gym bag, making a face at the trio, before storming out of the locker room. 

Sakusa’s upset, and his bad mood only sours more whenever he realizes that his idiotic teammates are more perceptive than he would like. Yes, he was mad at practice the minute he saw your latest post. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s clear that you’re fucking sub-posting him. You would’ve been better off just DM’ing him yourself and asking that stupid question.

Too much for you to handle? 

Fuck you, he thinks bitterly. Before realizing that, yes, that’s exactly what he wants to do to you. 

Everyone knows it, including you, which makes the whole situation even worse. Your mutual friends keep trying to persuade the two of you to finally ease the tension and just get a room, but Sakusa’s always been a touch too prideful. 

The two of you have always been constantly warring with each other; you’ve got the coy, flirty, cocky personality that doesn’t mesh well with his own stoic, cold, perpetually unimpressed one. You always flirt with him, but he’s seen you flirt with everyone — it’s basically your whole brand. It’s precisely what your popstar image is built upon — the fun, flirty idol who’s carefree and the poster girl for no-strings-attached. 

And Sakusa, for what it’s worth, is a very strings-and-all type of man. 

The reason why he won’t pursue you is because you’re the first person to catch him off guard. He can’t get a good read on you. He has no clue what your intentions actually are, and he’s not about to make a fool of himself by asking you if you’re serious when you told him you were.

That stupid fucking party — he knew he shoudn’t have attended. It was another teammate’s birthday, and he was hosting it at his place, and since it wasn’t a nightclub or anything, Sakusa assumed it was safe enough to attend. Too bad he forgot that his teammate was dating some other singer, someone who happens to be one of your friends. 

Everyone there kept pushing the two of you together, and as the night progressed and everyone was getting drunker and drunker, there was intoxicated, slurred commentary on how the two of you just needed to fuck once and get each other out of your systems. 

“It’s true.” Even with heels, you’re still shorter than Sakusa, and you have to get on the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. “You wanna know the reason why we haven’t had sex yet?” 

“Because I’m not interested.” He tells you flatly. He’s lying, and you know it. 

You pout, your plush bottom lip on display. “It’s because I don’t want you out of my system, and I’m hoping you don’t want to get rid of me either.” 

He snorts, even though his heart jumps at the thought. He wants to tell you to quit playing these games and be serious, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps himself guarded. “Like I said. Not interested.” 

“Why won’t you just give in?” You tilt your head. “You scared? Or maybe…” The dress you’re wearing makes your legs look even longer. Every centimeter of bare skin you expose has him spiraling into overdrive. He maintains his facade of nonchalance and looks you in the eyes, looking entirely unimpressed with your antics. “I’m too much for you to handle? Wouldn’t want to go around breaking Japan’s favorite outside hitter, after all.” 

You smile at him, giving a tiny giggle. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly the reason.” 

Sakusa is many things, and you somehow negate everything. He’s blunt; you either leave him speechless or determined to lie to save face. He’s generally unaffected by most people; you get under his skin. He doesn’t like being made out to be a fool; you make him feel like the biggest idiot, and other people know it too. He likes to have everything in his life sorted out properly; you and him have nothing but unfinished business. 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa only came to your concert rehearsal purely because he wanted to get closure. When he walked into the stadium, hands in his pockets, watching you dance on the stage, he did not intend for you to immediately halt practice. He did not intend for you to gesture for him to follow you, and he did not intend to be taken backstage. There’s surprisingly less people back here than he thought, and you explain to him that it’s because rehearsal technically starts two hours later. You just wanted to run through it beforehand, to warm up. 

(Sakusa admires that about you; no one ever seems to acknowledge the hard work you put in, and it’s your work ethic, really, that slowly started to endear you to him.) 

Let it be known that Kiyoomi Sakusa had absolutely no intention of fucking you backstage. Because, in his defense, you have a way of making him act entirely out of character.

The constant teasing, the back and forth, your coy smiles and flirtatious remarks that he can never truly decipher. And here you are, standing all pretty in your sparkly minidress, and you just keep taunting him. Even when he’s trying to have a serious conversation with you, all you do is skate around his questions. It’s like your default mode is set to toying with men. 

“Seriously,” he grits his teeth, backing you into one of the walls. You’re completely cornered by him now. It’s easy to forget how much bigger Sakusa truly is. He towers over you, makes you feel like a little kitten backed into an alleyway by a big dog. “You can’t take me seriously for one fucking second?”

His brows are furrowed, and he’s frowning. Somehow, the sight of him angry only gets you more excited. You like Sakusa. You like him much more than you originally anticipated, and this whole cat-and-mouse charade is just that: a charade. Of course you meant it when you kept flirting with him. But you’re not used to being the one who has to chase after someone, and you refuse to give in now. With both of you having too much of an ego to give in, it’s a battle of individual pride now. 

A battle that you think you might lose once you and him both realize that you’re pressing your thighs together to apply some pressure to the growing need between your legs. 

“Are you—?” He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Fucking slut. You really did want me to fuck you this whole entire time.” He takes another step towards you; there’s no more space for you to back into. You’re already pressed against the wall, and now he’s looming over you, an impossible obstacle to get over. Somehow, you don’t mind being trapped, as long as it’s Kiyoomi Sakusa that’s holding you down. 

“You wish.” You try to sound snarky, but it’s hard when Sakusa is looking down at you like that. Dark eyes, strands of hair hanging down his forehead, a cold, calculating smile on his face as he watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you struggle to breathe normally. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s capable of hearing how fast your heart is beating. 

“So you don’t want me to fuck you?” It should be illegal for his voice to get this low, to sound this husky. He’s leaning down far enough to where he can whisper this question in your ear, and your breath hitches as you feel thick fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. 

Right now, you are backstage, and your employees and team could be coming in any second now, and you don’t care. You don’t care, because all you care about is the fact that Kiyoomi Sakusa has you pressed against the wall, and his hand is up your dress, and he’s about to make his way into your panties. 

You gasp as you feel two of his fingers press directly against your clit, before traveling downwards and toying with your folds. There’s no actual penetration, just the tantalizing touch of his fingers rubbing against you, gathering up your slick. 

You make a tiny noise, and Sakusa chuckles softly. “You’re so wet, it feels like you want me, though.” The tips of his fingers prod at your entrance, only for him to abruptly remove his hand altogether, leaving your needy hole clenching and grasping at nothing. You whine as he examines his fingers, separating his index and middle fingers, allowing the both of you to watch closely as viscous strands of your juices coat his digits. He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning away from you. “I’ll let you get back to your rehearsal.” 

“No!” You shut your eyes, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. You bite down on your lip before opening your eyes, peering up at him through thick lashes. “I-I do want you.” You’re mumbling, but it’s clear Sakusa’s heard you, loud and clear. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

You’re wet, unsatisfied, and absolutely down bad for Kiyoomi. You’ve wanted him for months now, and he has you right where he wants you: so needy that you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you backstage. The thrill of potentially being caught, the excitement of finally just giving in to your desires… 

“I want you, Sakusa. Please.” You beg him, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some sort of friction. “I need you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sakusa might sound cocky, but there’s something equally needy in his touch. He’s back to pressing you against the wall, leaving practically no space between the two of you. He plants his hand right back into your panties, stroking your folds a few times, gathering the slick only to insert two fingers right where you need him most. He watches your expression, the way you try to tilt your head back, your little moans of pleasure as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out. 

“You could’ve had me sooner if you weren’t busy playing coy all the damn time.” Sakusa frowns, as if the memory of how long you’ve had him chasing after you has suddenly been brought back to his attention. When he says this, he picks up speed, pistoning his digits. You’re getting even wetter now, the lewd sound of him toying with your cunt the only noise in this empty backstage. He’s adding a third finger into the mix, now, and your cunt tries to resist, fails to adapt to the thickness of three of his fingers. 

“Mmph — ‘Kusa, slow — fuck!” You whine out, unable to speak properly as your walls clamp down on his digits. He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing rough, unforgiving circles on the nub, never slowing down the pace of his fingers, even when you beg him to take it easy. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum!” You wail out, legs almost failing you from the force of your orgasm. 

The only thing keeping you upright is Sakusa himself. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you steady, but even after watching you fall apart from just his fingers, Sakusa isn’t satisfied. You little brat — you’ve been depriving him of seeing your precious, pretty face you make when you cum, and as a result, you’ve also been depriving yourself of all the pleasure that could’ve been yours, that’s rightfully yours, all because you wanted him to chase after you. 

Well, he’s got you now. 

And he’s going to want to give you both what the two of you have been missing out on, plus interest. 

You’re still recovering from your climax, legs feeling like jelly, vision blurry as you try to blink out the haze of pleasure from your vision, when you feel him shove the fabric of the skirt of your dress into your open mouth. 

“Bite down on this.” He grunts out, and you follow his command as if it’s simply second nature to. “Be a good girl, and keep holding it up, okay?” 

You nod weakly, but it’s easier said than done when you almost let out a gasp as you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your soaked entrance. Your eyes go wide, and he smirks at the sight of the country’s most beloved pop star reduced to nothing but his little slut. Your mouth is shoved with the fabric of your dress, keeping it up so he can continue to admire the sight of your wrecked pussy, still sensitive from when he banged you with his fingers. Your panties are pulled down, a crumpled mess around your ankles, and there’s drool gathering ‘round the corners of your mouth, your lipgloss staining the fabric of your dress. Messy girl. His messy girl.

It’s easy for him to slide into your needy hole, and he hisses when he feels the way your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. There’s no better feeling, he decides, than the feel of your pretty, needy pussy yielding to him with absolutely no resistance. Even your cunt knows who owns it now. 

A soft whine, muffled by the dress occupying your mouth, slips from your lips. Sakusa’s cock is thick. Thicker than anyone else’s you’ve ever taken. It sinks into your snug cunt with a push forward that you feel entirely unprepared for, even though you’re so wet, it’s easy work for him to make himself at home in your pussy. 

His pace is unforgiving. He gives you no time to adjust, and he doesn’t seem to care about the way your pussy is still recovering from his fingers. He wastes no time in pounding into you, and even he’s panting at the exertion he’s exercising. Some tiny strands of his black curls are stuck on his forehead from the sweat, and you can’t help but think that Sakusa is beautiful, even when he’s scowling and fucking into you with a fervor that feels like he’s treating this like the only time he’s going to fuck you. 

You hope that isn’t true. You knew that the minute you’d get a taste of Sakusa, you’d never want to let him go. 

“Fuck.” He hisses, never slowing down his pace. He’s being rough, almost brutal. It’s like he’s chasing after his own pleasure, forcing you to find your release all on your own. But the thing is, it’s so easy to come apart. It’s so easy to come apart when you think about how this is Sakusa’s cock battering into you, how it’s Sakusa that’s panting and groaning from pleasure, how it’s Sakusa that is making your pussy his. You keep clenching down on his length, making it harder for him to continuously thrust in and out of you. “Fuck.” He repeats. “It’s like you don’t want to let me go.” 

You can’t speak, can’t tell him that it’s the truth, that you want him here forever. 

The echoing sound of the entrance of the building opening and then slamming close has your eyes going wide with fear. Someone has just entered. 

You’re now acutely aware of how loud the noises the two of you are making. The constant wet, slapping noises of his skin against yours, your messy pussy making a mess between your thighs and on his dick, his groans, your weak whimpers. All of it is now suddenly amplified as you listen in fear — and excitement — as footsteps echo around the hall. 

“[Name]?” Someone calls out. Your assistant. Fuck. 

You look up at Sakusa, curious as to why he’s still not stopping, but he only holds a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. “I haven’t finished yet.” He whispers into your ear, and you shake your head, panicking. 

“No? You want me to stop?” He buries his cock to the fucking hilt, shoving himself so deeply inside of you, you let out a surprised, pleasured squeal. “I’ll stop if you cum on my cock. For a slut like you, that should be easy.” 

You want to protest, you want to snap back that you are not a slut, but it’s hard to prove him wrong when his words, his cock, only have you tightening around him. He chuckles as he feels the pressure of your pussy clamping down on his dick, and he resumes fucking into you. 

Your hips start to buck needily against his, the pleasure making you feel delirious and reckless. You seem to have ditched all common sense, and as the footsteps continue to echo throughout the building, sounding closer and closer to where the two of you are currently fucking like rabbits in heat, you only succumb to the delirious, delicious heat of pleasure. Legs wrapping around his tight waist, you succumb hopelessly and happily to the pleasure he seems to effortlessly wring out of you, your body needily twisting and pushing against him, needing more of him. Your moan is long and would’ve been drawn out had he not pressed a calloused palm against your mouth. The dress fabric falls from your lips, and your moan is silenced as you stare up at him. He doesn’t look angry, just pleased. 

He’s turned you into such a little fucked out mess that he made you cum on his cock, despite the fact that there is someone else roaming this place, calling out for you. 

If only he got here sooner; then, he could’ve played with you for a bit longer, toy with you the way you’ve been toying with him. You’re lucky that he doesn’t plan on getting caught being balls deep in you, even though the idea of announcing to the world that you’re his gets him off. 

Muffling his own moan of pleasure by biting down on the soft skin between your neck and shoulder, Sakusa finishes deep into your wrecked cunt, letting out ropes and ropes of hot, white spurts of cum. He’s panting, removing his mouth from your skin, licking at the bite he left on your soft skin, as if to apologize. 

Both of your chests are rising and falling, the two of you greedily gulping for more air. He pulls out, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of your cunt. 

“This isn’t over.” He mutters, pulling up your panties, a puddle of his cum starting to pool into the seat of your underwear. He fixes your dress, smooths the fabric, and plants a surprisingly chaste kiss on your spit-slick lips. “Unless this really was a one time thing?” 

“As if this was ever going to be a one time thing.” You’re too tired to roll your eyes, but when he smiles, you find enough energy to smile back. “There’s a backdoor over there that you can leave. No one will see you.” 

“I’ll text you later.” He tells you, straightening his back and walking to the exit you just directed him to. “Like I said, this isn’t over.” 

Everyone on your team is worried when, during rehearsals, you complain that your legs are too sore to do the choreography.

[megapteraurelia]

roommates!osasuna who, before they've agreed to share you, hear you in your room at night, soft gasps, breathy moans and their names escaping your lips as you bring yourself to the brink of insanity, and fuck, now neither of them can sleep.

suna finds himself in osamu's room not long after, his mouth full with cock. one hand of his leisurely drags across his own length, pumping himself against the scratchy sheets of osamu's that he's told him to change countless of times. now, though, it's long past the point of caring when he spills all over it, paints his name across the soft grey; osamu's neck with that one thick vein on display as his hand gripped suna's hair tightly.

suna ends up swallowing all of it.

roommates!osasuna who have incredibly soft spots that you exploit, always. osamu loves when you run your fingers through his hair, and he melts, his eyes half-lidded as they gaze at you with an intensity that you've only known him have when he concentrates on his projects, coming up with different recipes. his cheek weighs heavier in your hand as he sinks into it, and his mouth presses small little kisses on the palm of your hand.

suna is a hair width away from actually purring when you tug on his earrings, gently, just playing with them when you're cuddling. but when you tug, he freezes and his lips part slightly, a pretty little blush unfurling on his skin. his eyelashes flutter and even though he denies it, he leans into your touch a little more.

roommates!osasuna who have a group chat with you, and the things being sent there range from innocent to suggestive to downright pornographic.

day 1

has osamu send a picture of food he's cooked, telling you to come home hungry. (sometimes, though, he likes to push it a little, because then he'll send another text: "if yer good, ya get fed. if yer better, you get bent over the counter first.")

day 2

has suna send a blurry video, half naked, pulling his shorts down, revealing more and more of his dick until it cuts off right before it could spring free, captioned: "your spot's cold."

day 3

has both of them argue over who was able to please you better last night:

sunarin, "trust me, she was already shaking when i kissed her. you literally just got to the finish line."

osamu, "i'd say that too if i were you. doesn't count when i'm the one doin' all the work, huh?"

sunarin, "yeah, well, she moaned my name louder than yours."

osamu, "ya wanna weigh in, sweetheart? who made you cum harder?"

sunarin, "that's a trap, baby. don't answer that."

you shut up their pissing contest with an incoming video call and when they both accepted it, they were met with fingers deep in your glistening pussy, voice already shot from how loud you were moaning. osamu exits the call right away only to enter it again a couple minutes later, and you recognise the change of location — he's moved into the storeroom of onigiri miya, his dark cap pulled deep over his eyes, but you could see the way his teeth dug into the pillow of his lower lip, slick noises echoing through your phone as he fucks his fist.

suna's long-gone, having propped up his phone against his gym bag, head rolled back as he lets spit dribble onto his angry dick, palming himself as it sat pretty over his shorts in the empty locker room. you heard faint knocking and complaints coming through from his side, but you were sure he's locked the door on purpose, and each second, that he's not letting his teammates in, is another second that he's hastily pumping himself.

day 4

has suna sending a picture of you passed out on the couch in osamu's hoodie, "look at baby." and osamu replying with "tell 'er she's cute when she drools. also, seaweed chips?"

day 5

has osamu saving all the little voice notes you send of you laughing, of you talking about your day, and the camera roll is full with suna's cute as shit pictures of you and 'samu.

day 6

has you cry about work and how stressful it is, and osamu's the one who ends up texting you throughout it, sending you messages in quick succession, as if he hasn't a whole restaurant to run, as if he has all the time in the world to focus on you and you only.

hey. breathe f'me a sec, alright? just stop everythin' and take one good deep breath. yer doin' your best and i'm proud of you for pushin' through it. but ya don't gotta carry it all on yer own, sweetheart you come home to us tonight, yeah? we'll take care of ya. you don't hafta be strong. bein' with you makes my day easier so let me do the same f'you.

suna's not the type to text a lot when it's sentimental, but he sends you a heart, and when you come home, your favourite food's already made, a hot bath run and your favourite hoodie of suna's draped on your bed, warm from the dryer, smelling like his cologne. and when you crawl in between both of them, his fingers are right there to travel over your body in a way that grounds you, that tells you this is where you belong, this is where you are loved and doted on and safe.

day 7

has them try to annoy you, rating your reactions like it's a game on a scale from one to ten as you sit amongst friends, enduring their suggestive comments and ignoring the way they had you right in their line of sight whenever you glance down before immediately turning the phone around, a blush burning on your cheeks.

you, "can we not do this tonight. please."

osamu, "do what?"

sunarin, "she's already cracking. that's a 4/10 reaction chat"

when you glance up from your phone, rolling your eyes, osamu's pretending to sip his drink, but suna doesn't even care, staring right at you with that lazy look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked.

another notification comes through a couple of minutes later and when you open it, you choke a little on your spit, awkwardly laughing off the concern of a friend only to look at the picture again. it's a photo from under the table, osamu's hand resting on his thigh, the zipper of his pants pulled down slightly, giving the bulge slightly more room to breathe.

the caption? "thinkin' 'bout where yer mouth should be right now."

sunarin's text isn't far behind, "oh, that face. that's a solid 6.5"

osamu, "mhmm, i give it a 7. she did this cute lip biting thing."

the next ordeal you go through is when suna sends a video half an hour later, and it's just his hand under the table as his fingers imitate the movement he always fucks you with, digits scissoring and stretching out inside an invisible hole as his thumb rubs nothing but thin air. the implication has your breath hitching, your thighs tingling as you pressed them together, any reprieve, oh god.

sunarin, "8/10, she's shifting in her seat."

and osamu takes the cake, he really does, because there's an entire paragraph sitting right before you, and arousal is a familiar concept etched in your very soul as you read it, face growing hotter and hotter, heart stuttering in tandem with the rustling in your ear from how fast your blood seems to run.

gonna make that pretty little face again when we bend ya over the kitchen table later? arms pulled behind yer back, tits all over the counter. bet yer gonna cry and sob for one of us to hurry up and fuck ya already. but ya know us, sweetheart, don'tcha? we'll take our time, i wanna see ya squirm against rin's mouth be good at dinner, we can be as nasty as ya want later

you really do end up hiding your face in your hands.

a message of sunarin coming through, "9.5/10. almost there"

and almost there, you are later once the door slammed shut behind you and their hands are all over you, teeth clinking against each other in a heated kiss. you get shoved forward until your hands hit the kitchen table, tits pressed against the mahogany just like promised, breath ragged as suna tugs your pants down like a dehydrated madman searching for water.

his teeth find your wet panties, stuck to your pussy lips like a second skin and he sucks the juice out with a groan, fingers keeping your thighs spread and steady. osamu's hand is dragging across his length, his cock heavy as it rest in between your ass cheeks, tip leaking, forming a little puddle in the dip of your back.

"been dyin' to get my hands on you all night."

you taste the wood as you pant against it, hands trying to catch even a little bit of osamu, but his grip is relentless, tight on your wrists. he tuts with his tongue, the click close to your ear as he smothers you with his weight, one leg of his pushing yours further out.

"be good for rin, sweetheart, won't ya?"

how were you supposed to be good for anything when suna's mouth latches onto your clit like that? when his jaw moves hard and fast as it suckles on the swollen nub, fingers teasing the quivering hole, dipping into your heat easily, "god, you're so fucking perfect," — your legs buckling, tears pricking at your lash line, biting your lip to keep from crying out, caught between the sting of his force and the pleasure burning through your veins.

how were you supposed to be good for anything when osamu lines up behind you, hard and ready? his head nudges against suna's fingers and really, suna cannot resist, fingers pulling out to tug on osamu's dick, using your slick to coat him as he found the sensitive vein on the underside easily, thumb rubbing the reddened tip.

"ngh, sunarin, yer such, ah, a bastard."

suna spoke against your pussy, and the vibrations have you push against his mouth, "yeah, but 'samu, don't forget that i can feel you throbbing in my hand. so am i a bastard or are you moaning for me?"

osamu's rubbing against your folds, tip catching suna's mouth every so often, and how does that leave you, hm? begging on top of the table, legs trembling, only kept upright because suna likes having you sit above him, stray tears stealing themselves on the wood, as your ass pushes back against osamu's backside.

"please, p-please, fu-hah-fuck me," you mewl, over and over until at least one of them has mercy and urges osamu's dick to finally fill you. his groan when he realises how easy he slips into you is deep and loud, reverberating against you so deliciously. you're so wet, he's bottoming out before he could even register the movement of his hips, and god, the sound of his balls slapping against your drooling pussy lips is heavy, suna's wet noises of sucking on your clit even worse.

really — how were you supposed to be good for anything?

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

TAGLIST | @sodaneko @takes1 @classicalelephant @pomigranit @sugacor3 @boktuoafterdark

sorry not sorry

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon riley x f!reader’s relationship, through the eyes of the fans // sort of smau

i was listening to 5sos’ slsp while writing this so!!! sorry i went bonkers 😔 i just love this au sm

simon riley is obsessed with his girl, and it is maddeningly endearing.

of course he’s in love with you, everyone could see even from a continent away, but there is something clingy, possessive, in the way simon hovers around you. like you’d disappear right before his eyes if he wasn’t pressed close; if his tattooed arm wasn’t looped around your waist or his thick fingers were not twined with yours.

it is new, unheard of, even riley’s loyal fans says so, but it’s just so—

nice.

(the word is inadequate, they know, but there’s nothing close that could describe how heart-fluttering his devotion to you is.)

riley has always been a private person, sharing only sparse details of his life. one can even easily locate his earliest instagram post because there’s just about twenty uploads in his account since its creation—from 2017, and it’s a broken hockey stick. even that throw-away picture continues to amass likes as new fans come scouring whatever of him they can find.

his latest post was during last season’s finals’ celebrations—a series of pictures of the boys carrying the stanley cup. the first few pictures were all professionally taken, but the rest splinters into blurred shots of mactavish and garrick, particularly, drinking from the cup from inside of the locker room.

it said: thank you all.

curt, direct, but not any less meaningful.

cut to this year, mid-regular season (january), and after five months of drought, the simon riley posted a picture. and it wasn’t just any picture, but it was a hard launch of his new partner.

it was a selfie, taken by you, the camera angled just slightly. your back was pressed to his chest, and his chin was hooked to your shoulder, and, cheek-to-cheek, the two of you grin up at the camera. the background was distinctly new york, central park, so it must have been taken after the specgru’s game against the rangers (0-4 for the specgru).

for the caption, he wrote: she’s never been here before.

in an instant, all of the speculations were confirmed—the most eligible bachelor of the franchise is, finally, in an official relationship.

news articles popped up after that, speculations bloating at the shocking news. some people have even said that they’re sure they’ve seen you prior to the announcement—weren’t you that one fan simon riley was flirting with while he was on ice, mid-game?

(you were.

you were even one of the people that was tagged in johnny’s story before it got preemptively taken down; and the same person seen with the other WAGs, sprinkles of your silhouette seen on pictures like the ones that are taken on the days when the franchise flies them for game nights or the countless ones during the unveiling of the season’s WAGs jackets.

you have been a part of their circle even before the world knew who you were and, somehow, that was comforting; how simon riley had not thrown you to the wolves—or vultures, as mactavish snarled when they’ve hounded him about his fiancee’s abrupt end of her season in the FIVB, like her health wasn’t the priority over her career—and instead made sure you were surrounded by people who knew how to survive amidst the scrutiny.)

and, just like that, the dam called simon-riley’s-secret-album-of-you broke.

what had been a sporadic activity in his account exploded into series of posts, one update every week. it was a whirlwind of excitement because no one from the hockey world has ever seen this much of simon riley’s life.

he was always unapproachable, distant, like there’s always a wall between him and the rest of the world. like in exchange of being called the living legend, the guiding star, simon riley gets to shirk away from the public whenever he chooses. and who can fault him for that? riley’s career has always been heavily documented—people knew him even before he was drafted into the league, they had betted on his rookie year, and then had put him in a lonely pedestal. so of course he is fiercely protective of his privacy.

only a select few get to truly know him, only a select few have stories of simon that isn’t about the ice or hockey or his in-the-works legacy. only a select few see him beyond his crown, and now he’s giving a piece of his true self to the world because of you.

because you are worth showing off.

because life with you is worth celebrating.

.

riley41

[it’s a candid image of you standing on the balcony, wearing a too-big of a shirt that is getting ruffled by the wind and pyjama pants, and leaning over the railing as you stare at the scenery. you’re all silhouette because your body is devoured by the orange rays of the sunrise, its tendrils spilling into the wooden floors of the hotel room.]

liked by jmactavish.91, reyenzo14, and others

riley41 ibiza

.

riley41

[it’s a series. the first image is of the two of you on his motorcycle, the picture taken from simon’s bike’s camera. you’re both wearing tinted helmets and leather gears, the background a blur of colours which indicates that this was taken mid-ride. you’re gripping him tightly and your body is almost fully-covered by his bulk, leaving only the top half of your helmet to be seen peering from his shoulders.

the second image is of the beach. it’s dusk, and the sky is an explosion of pinks and purples and blues.

the third image is a selfie with your visors up. you’re looking at the camera with a shy smile, your eyes squinted because of how bright it still is, while simon only has his eyes on you.]

liked by pricejhn2, alexkeller_, and others

riley41 vroom

.

riley41

[it’s a mirror selfie of the two of you, with simon taking the photo. the background is notably his house. your back is facing the mirror, your head tilted to rest on his shoulder, while his arm is curled around your waist. you’re wearing this season’s WAG jacket—it’s black and green, their colours. the pose now makes sense because you’re showing off the back of the jacket that spells out RILEY 41 in white. simon’s wearing their away-jersey.]

liked by kylegarrick, konig_76, and others

riley41 game six let’s go

.

riley41

[it’s a video; the angle shows that it is taken by someone else. you and simon are hugging, and are swaying lightly as the two of you dance to the faint sound of music booming from somewhere behind the camera. simon’s mouthing the lyrics to your ear, his cheeks flushed like he’s buzzed from drinking, while you giggle and softly rub your palm at his back.]

liked by jmactavish.91, kylegarrick, and others

riley41 my favourite person

.

.

yourname

[it’s a candid picture you’ve taken of simon sleeping while he uses your lap as pillow. the angle captures the way your fingers are playing with his hair and scratching his scalp gently. the picture is a little blurry because there’s not enough light to properly focus the lens.]

liked by riley41, jjoanne.spam, and others

yourname im the happiest when im with him

[drfruitcake]

Left On Read

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit / MDNI (language & smut) Word count: ~4,200 Tags: reader insert, no use of y/n, colleagues to lovers, mutual pining, slight age gap (29F and 50M), smut, explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v, oral sex (F receiving), no beta

Summary: You accidentally send Dr. Robby a nude photo. You both spend the day spiraling out over it — and then you spend the night together.

Notes: This is literally just an excuse for some shameless smut. I am not a health care professional, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies.

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

Michael Robinavitch nearly dropped his phone, which could have been a disastrous fumble, given he was presently stepping into the elevator of his apartment building. 

It was nearly 7 a.m. and far too early for a text like that. Especially from you, the fifth-year surgical resident he had grown to know quite well; the one who was sharp and witty, poised and composed, always one of the smartest in the room. Though you were two decades younger than him, he viewed you as a colleague worthy of admiration and respect. 

He certainly did not view you as someone who sent 7 a.m. nudes accompanied by the caption, “You coming tonight?”

Michael stared in disbelief at the text thread, void of any coherent response. His brain seemed to stutter over the erotic image of you, posing in your bedroom mirror, fresh out of the shower with nothing on, your lips curved in a sly smirk as if you knew you were going to inflict absolute chaos that day. Of course, you didn’t know that the senior attending of the ER would be on the receiving end of that chaotic missile you casually dropped with one tap of the Send button. 

Michael blinked in disbelief as the elevator reached the bottom floor, its doors gliding open while his eyes remained glued to the sexuality splayed across his phone screen. It wasn’t until someone stepped into the elevator that Michael snapped from his trance. 

He scrambled to swipe the image from his screen in a clash of guilt and shame before he scurried from the elevator to head to work. 

A sudden tightness surged within his throat as the shame snowballed. Something felt morally wrong about seeing you that way. Sure, Michael had pictured how you looked beneath your scrubs on countless occasions, but that was a secret meant only for the filthiest depths of his private mind. This vision was now a mutual thread between the two of you — one he hadn’t asked for. Not that he was complaining. 

The truth was Michael had a painful attraction to you, and seeing you in your most intimate form wasn’t going to help him overcome it.

But clearly that picture had been meant for someone else, right? The previous texts before you sent that dastardly photo were your brags about beating Michael in your fantasy football league that week. There had been no exchange to prompt such an obscene display of intimacy, no indication of any attraction or desire – though it certainly existed.

Michael dragged a hand over his face as he pocketed his phone with no response. What could he possibly say to that, especially when he couldn’t be sure that photo was meant for him? 

Meanwhile, you strolled into the surgical floor of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center none the wiser to your little mishap. Once you removed your jacket and put your purse in your locker, you decided to check your phone one final time before the start of your shift.

You frowned in disappointment at the blank screen. Surely Rodney, your six-week situationship, would have at least replied to your risqué text with a heart-eyes emoji.

When you opened up your message threads, your stomach sank — and you wanted to sink to your knees, or perhaps all the way into the earth.

“Fuuuuuck,” you hissed as you realized your mistake. The worst part was the “Read 6:55 AM” below your message, sent to the hot senior attending of the ER you’d likely have to face before the day’s end. “No no no,” you groaned as the fear and mortification bloomed throughout your body.

You considered marching up to the roof of the hospital and flinging yourself to the streets below. But the worst part was, if you somehow managed to survive such a fall, Michael would be one of the first people you’d see when they inevitably scraped you off the sidewalk and hauled you into the ER. And then he would have seen you naked and brain dead all in the same day. 

You decided to avoid the ER at all costs.

Of course, that vow was short-lived as soon as Dr. Walsh sent you down there for a consult. You held your breath the entire elevator ride down, your heart rattling within your ribcage as you silently prayed Dr. Robby had the day off. You exhaled and thanked every higher power you didn’t believe in when you didn’t see him at the nurses’ station.

That gratitude was fleeting. Two steps into Room 2 and you damn near stopped dead in your tracks when you spotted Dr. Robby standing behind Dr. Mohan. You locked eyes before you could avert your gaze and the mutual realization of your shared situation sent your nervous system into overdrive. You couldn’t read him, which unnerved you even more. 

What if he thought that photo had been meant for him? What if he thought you were some kind of sexual deviant? What if he’d lost all respect for you? What if he’d shown that photo to your colleagues? 

All of your anxieties mingled until you became acutely aware that there was a wounded patient in front of you.

“What have we got?” you croaked, tearing your eyes from Dr. Robby.

“Gerard Milligan,” Samira answered. “Coworker says he fell about 10 feet off a roof and landed on a fence post. Vitals are good.”

You examined poor Gerard Milligan and ordered the team to take him up for surgery, but it was painfully clear you were distracted. So was Dr. Robby.

You snuck a sideways glance at him, your eyes darting away as soon as you realized he was watching you. You felt certain your skin would catch fire beneath his gaze. Part of you wished it would.

“You alright?” Samira asked with worried eyes as the room cleared out. You watched Dr. Robby return to the desk to chat with Dana before you sucked your top row of teeth.

“I fucked up,” you said quietly, your lips thinning as you tried to decide how to reveal to your friend that you’d mistakenly sent a nude photo to her boss.

“With the patient?”

“No. With Dr. Robby.”

“How so?” Samira studied you with curious eyes.

“I accidentally sent him something,” you continued carefully. “Something he wasn’t meant to see.”

“What are you talking about?”

You heaved a sigh. “I accidentally sent Dr. Robby a nude.”

Samira’s eyes doubled in size. “What?!”

“I meant to send it to Rodney – that guy I told you about – the one I’ve hooked up with a few times,” you explained. “But I accidentally sent it to Dr. Robby this morning.”

“What’d he say?”

“He left me on read – no response!” You could tell Samira was fighting a laugh. “Don’t laugh, this is serious!”

“You probably left the poor guy speechless,” Samira mused. “He probably doesn’t know what to do with all that.”

“It’s not funny! What if he thinks I meant to send it to him?”

“Well, would that be the worst thing?” Samira asked with a pointed stare. You’d been close friends for four years and she’d picked up on your crush on Michael ages ago, not that you ever discussed it.

“Yes!” you hissed. “Because it’s not like he’s into me! He probably thinks I’m a freak.”

“Maybe he’s into freaky shit.”

“Be for real!”

“I am,” Samira said. “Everyone down here in the ER thinks he’s down bad for you.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Think about it,” Samira said matter-of-factly. “He’s always going on about how brilliant you are, and how he wishes you would have considered emergency med. And he’s always eyeing you with that sad, wistful stare. Plus you know more about football than him, and I think that secretly turns him on.”

“Oh, stop!”

 “I’m just saying,” Samira laughed. “I’m sure he’s not upset about receiving that photo.”

“I want to die,” you groaned as you followed Samira from the room.

“Well, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“Avoid the ER for the rest of my life.”

“Or maybe you should just talk to him about it.”

“Or maybe I could quit my job and move across the country.”

“Hey, sweetheart!” Dana called toward you. You swore under your breath before turning to offer Dana a smile, your eyes determined to avoid Dr. Robby. “How you been? Had a good a weekend?”

“It was good,” you offered casually as you strode toward the nurses’ station. “Uneventful.”

“Heard you kicked Dr. Robby’s ass in fantasy football.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Yeah,” you managed with a breathy laugh. “Not like it was hard.”

You could feel Dr. Robby’s eyes fixated on you. Was he thinking about that photo right now? Was he disturbed or disgusted? Was he disappointed in you? Or was there a chance he was turned on?

“Pretty easy to rack up a win when you’ve got Saquon Barkley on your roster,” Michael said. You shrugged a nonchalant shoulder and finally dared to meet his eyes. Their intensity made your breath hitch.

“Draft better next year,” you said simply, praying you could keep your cool. Meanwhile, Dana and Samira were watching your exchange as if it were live theatre.

“I’m okay with you beating me as long as it means you beat Langdon,” Michael said. “I can’t stand another year of his insufferable bragging.”

“I’m sure I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will.” Something flickered in his eyes as he spoke, rendering you immobile. You couldn’t decipher it, and you didn’t dare provoke it in front of your colleagues.

“Well, I’d better get upstairs,” you finally said, tearing your gaze from Michael to smile at Dana. “Catch up with you later, okay?”

As you disappeared behind the elevator doors, Michael disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered after splashing cold water on his face. He wasn’t even halfway through his shift and that image of you had him in a chokehold. Michael gripped the edge of the sink and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ground himself and banish the vision away. Instead, he found himself imagining you in even greater detail.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he hissed as he shook his head. 

He couldn’t continue to work like this, but he also couldn’t possibly broach the subject with you. What would he do, waltz up to you and declare, “Hey, nice photo!” That was a sure trip to human resources. 

He had no choice, he decided, but to continue to pretend as if it hadn’t happened. Eventually, you’d both forget about it, right?

But Michael knew damn well he couldn’t forget about that picture if he tried.

Dr. Walsh didn’t help matters. Despite your protests, she ordered you back down to the ER for another consult in the afternoon. You checked your phone first, expecting to see a reply from Rodney after you sent him the photo, but instead found a message from your best friend from college.

“Check Instagram,” was all her text said. Your heart sank as you opened the app and scrolled through your feed, unsure what you were supposed to be looking for. You stopped mid-scroll when Rodney’s face popped up, your throat tightening as you realized he’d been tagged in a photo by a woman. He stood, smiling with an arm hooked around her waist as she kissed him on the cheek. The caption said, “Celebrating one year with the love of my life!”

“What the fuck,” you groaned in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You tossed your phone into your locker and headed for the ER.

“What have we here?” you asked with feigned composure as you walked into the chaos unfolding within Room 1.

“Two-car MVA,” Samira responded. “The dashboard folded inward and pinned his legs.”

The patient hurled a string of obscenities in pain as he flailed, arms shooting upward. One caught you on the cheek with a closed fist, forcing you backward.

Michael was on you before you could even taste the blood in your mouth. 

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, a hand finding the small of your back. You felt that more than the sting in your jaw.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you sighed, wincing at the raw cut inside your mouth, where your tooth connected with your inner cheek. “I hate the taste of blood, though.”

“Well, that clears up the vampire rumors,” Michael quipped. Your colleagues vacated the room and wheeled the patient out, leaving just the two of you. You offered him an exasperated smile and he leaned in closer to peer at your cheek.

“I’m fine,” you insisted quietly. “Just a small cut in my mouth.”

“Do you need some gauze? You didn’t bite your tongue, did you?”

“For once, no,” you joked. Michael flashed a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, and you knew exactly what he was thinking about.

“Listen,” you sighed before you could stop yourself. “About that text…” Michael held his breath. “That was… a really unfortunate and horrifying mistake.”

“It was… certainly an interesting start to my morning,” Michael said carefully. There was a hint of lighthearted jest in his tone, and while you were grateful for his attempt at softening the situation, you were still humiliated.

“I can’t even imagine,” you continued, a flush settling across your features. “I mean, I really am so, so sorry. It was so completely inappropriate and I swear I never would try to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Michael cut in gently. “Really. Forget it happened.”

You paused to catch your breath, your nerves still screaming in despair. “Okay,” you said with a long exhale. “Thanks for, you know, understanding. And I promise to double-check before sending any more texts like that.”

“Good idea,” Michael replied. “I’m sure your boyfriend would appreciate that.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you responded stupidly, before you could stop yourself. “He’s just a guy I was… seeing.”

“Ah, I see.”

“To be honest, this was all for naught. I found out today he has a girlfriend.”

“Ouch. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You breathed a fake laugh, in disbelief at how your day had managed to devolve into such absurdity as you moved to leave the room. “I’d only been seeing him a few weeks. Not a big deal. Anyway, I apologize if I’ve left you permanently scarred for life.”

“Like I said, forget it happened,” Michael said reassuringly as he held the door open for you.

But any chance of him forgetting evaporated when you’d mentioned you didn’t have a boyfriend, and that things had fallen apart with Rodney. Though it was now clear that picture wasn’t intended for him, Michael realized he’d never look at you the same.

He decided he could either be plagued by the omnipresent vision of you looking like absolute sin incarnate, or he could make an effort to put years of distant, desperate desire to bed.

When he ended up loitering on the front steps of your townhouse, you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“Dr. Robby?” you asked, slowing your pace as you approached with caution – not because you were fearful of him, but because you were stunned he’d seek you out after you’d essentially sexually harassed him via phone.

“Hey,” was his response.

“What are you-”

“I, uh, just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay. You seemed to have had a rough day.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright,” you answered carefully, your dry mouth a stark contrast to your sweaty palms. “Nothing I won’t get over. You know, beyond the lifetime of embarrassment.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” There was a glitch in his tone; much more confident and dominant than you’d expected. It matched his gaze, which was starting to suffocate you with its intensity. Michael no longer felt like the senior attending of the ER or your colleague. He felt like a man you desperately needed to discover at a much deeper level. 

“Do you… do you want to come inside, have a beer?” you asked, silently willing your nerves to develop some semblance of confidence. You wanted to be the fun, sexy version of yourself you’d shown in that photo. But Michael already saw you that way, and he wanted to match it.

“Yeah, alright,” he responded, his voice turning raspier than usual. He stood behind you as you unlocked your front door. You felt idiotic as you nearly fumbled your keys. You were a fucking surgeon, known for your steady hands, and you couldn’t even unlock your goddamn door.

But once inside, Michael gazed at you through heavy lids. You stared back with bedroom eyes and gathered the courage to pull the trigger. 

“You know, that photo was meant for someone else,” you started steadily as you kicked your sneakers off and slid out of your jacket. “But I’m curious to know what you thought.”

You watched the muscles shift inside Michael’s throat as he swallowed. “I thought about it all day,” he rasped. “And I’ll probably think about it for a long time.”

“But what did you think?”

“I think that the guy it was meant for is a fucking fool.”

“Oh yeah? To be honest, I’m not thinking about him at all.”

You stepped toward Michael, and the low embers that smoldered between you surged, igniting in an inferno as you kissed him. Your lips crashed hard and his hands grasped at your waist until he was forcing you backward. The backs of your calves met the staircase and you ended up seated on the third step with Michael on top of you. His cock stirred inside his pants.

His lips found your neck and the ache between your thighs became a scalding heat that left you desperate for relief. You helped Michael out of his hoodie and tugged the hem of his shirt overhead, your greedy hands dragging over his torso. But he was even greedier.

He lifted up your own top and you could feel his hands snaking up your back to unhook your bra. He didn’t hesitate to palm your right breast, his left arm supporting himself above you. You were already shifting beneath him, your hips begging his for more.

Robby’s lips planted a stream of kisses from your collarbone to the swell of your breast until his tongue flattened against your nipple. A low hiss escaped your lips as he sucked against your flesh.

You believed this would go quickly; that years of unspoken lust would culminate in the form of something quick, unsophisticated and needy. But Michael didn’t want this to be a fleeting, singular act. He wanted it to become more permanent, more lasting than that fucking photograph.

His hands curled around the waistband of your pants until you were kicking them off, your panties right behind.

Suddenly, the photo from that morning was forgotten. This was far better than pixels on a screen.

Your own hands moved to help Michael from his pants, but he caught them to stop you. Panic mounted in your chest and your brain, convincing you that he changed his mind. Instead, he lowered himself until his knees met the floorboards and his arms were hooked around your thighs.

The moan you’d been desperately trying to suppress finally made itself known, breathy and short as Michael’s tongue met your clit. It sent a surge of arousal through your nerve endings until you were whimpering in submission.

“Robby,” was all you could manage through pitiful panting. He hummed in response, his eyes drifting upward until they were staring in yours. Your fingers gripped the edge of the step.

More moans left your throat as Michael’s tongue flattened itself against your swollen clit, rolling in waves until you could feel the mounting tension in your nerve endings threatening to collapse. Your nails scraped against the wood step, threatening to snap like the taut string of your climax. It strained tighter and tighter, your hips grinding your cunt against Michael’s tongue until you were on the cusp of your reward. 

You let out a string of curses as the string snapped, your orgasm rippling over your cunt until your back arched and your legs were fully draped over Michael’s shoulders. He continued the pressure until you were pushing him away, your core too sensitive for any more assault.

Michael placed a swift kiss to your thigh and sat back on his heels as he watched your chest rise and fall in recovery. He couldn’t help but palm the bulge in his pants in arousal.

“Let me,” you croaked as you reached for his belt and helped him shed his remaining clothing. 

The wood step was narrow, awkward and painful against Michael’s knees as he settled between your thighs, but he’d rather die than wait another moment to discover how it felt to bury himself within you.

“I can flip over-” you started to offer, but Michael shook his head.

“No,” he commanded. “I want to see you.” You sure as hell weren’t going to protest. “Fuck,” he groaned against your neck as the tip of his cock sank into your slick walls. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

The pressure was dizzying as your walls stretched to accommodate him. You could swear you felt every ridge of his cock until he reached the hilt, igniting your nerve endings into overdrive. You couldn’t help but squeeze your cunt tighter around him, drawing a groan from Michael.

His hips retreated and rocked forward, threatening to send your eyes rolling back into your head. You clamped them shut as you focused on the friction within your core and Michael’s shaft dragged through your walls, his tip pressing into the deepest part of you. He gritted his teeth at your tight heat, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips. 

“Fuck, Robby, don’t stop.” You didn’t like to beg, but you were far too drunk on Michael for any grace or dignity. You’d ask him to drag you through Hell if that’s where he was going, just so you could follow him. 

The way you pleaded, the way your flushed face strained in desperation, the whines that chorused from your lips – it left Michael in a dilemma straight from his dreams; the need to prolong this to commit it to memory, and the desperation to discover how it’d feel to make you fall apart. 

Michael’s rhythm increased, his jaw clenched as he fucked you into the stairs, the step's ledge gouging into your back. It knocked the wind from you and left you gasping and sputtering between broken moans. Michael set a fervid pace, desperate to claim every inch of your inner core. You drove your hips upward until the sounds of smacking skin chorused around you.

“Robby,” you choked again – half plea and half warning. Your nails raked over his shoulders, clawing desperately at a release. His hips drove upward until he was damn near lifting you off the stairs. Your legs locked tighter around Michael as if they were demanding he grant you an orgasm.

He buried his face in your neck. The stairs creaked with each movement in harmonic tandem with the whines from your throat. 

“Don’t hold back,” Michael ordered. “Come for me.”

Your walls began to flutter and you bit down hard on your bottom lip. Your whines became strained and painful as control slipped from your grasp and your core. Finally, you unleashed a resounding wail as your climax sent you trembling around Michael’s cock in euphoric waves.

The adrenaline from your high surged through Michael and pulsed through his cock as it throbbed. He barked a sharp grunt as he spilled himself inside you, his hips ending their assault.

Michael’s body went slack. He used the scant remnants of his energy to prop himself up above you, his eyes scanning yours. Their quiet hunger had been replaced with tender affection as you both caught your breaths.

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Good.” Your unwieldy and uncomfortable position on the stairs settled with more clarity when Michael winced from the pain in his knees. “I’m getting too old for this,” he groaned as he shifted himself to sit next to you. You lifted an amused eyebrow at him and he chuckled softly. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added. He pressed a kiss to your temple for emphasis.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally asked curiously.

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you reply to me earlier? You left me on read.”

Michael offered you a sheepish grin. “I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted. “I mean, I assumed that picture wasn’t for me. And I was afraid if I responded, you’d think I was being a creep.”

“So you instead chose to say nothing and leave me to spiral out all day?”

Michael laughed and rested a hand on your thigh. “If you keep sending me photos like that, I promise I’ll never leave you on read again.”

[postgamevibes]

Sleepy Boyfriend

Couch Cuddles

The evening had been long, but at least it ended with something sweet: a movie night with Luke, tucked in on your couch with a blanket thrown over you both. He’d been absolutely wiped after a tough practice, and as the opening credits rolled on your favorite rom-com, you could feel his exhaustion in the weight of his body next to you.

Luke’s head tilted slightly to the side, and you could hear his soft breathing as you snuggled into the warmth of his chest. The movie started off slow, but the sound of his gentle breaths began to lull you, too, despite your best intentions to stay awake.

A few moments passed, and you glanced over to see Luke’s eyes fluttering. “Luke,” you whispered, nudging him. “Stay awake for the movie.”

But he just muttered a soft, almost unintelligible response, and before you knew it, he was out cold. His head slid down your shoulder, and a gentle snore escaped his lips. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, feeling his body completely relax against you.

With a smirk, you reached for your phone. This was one of those moments you had to document. You took a quick selfie of the two of you Luke, dead asleep, his hair a mess, his lips parted in that cute way he had when he dozed off. You sent the photo to Jack with the caption: “Guess what time it is.”

It only took a few seconds before Jack replied: “Lol, I knew it. He’s like a teddy bear, isn’t he?”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Sighing contentedly, you let him sleep, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be the last time tonight. The movie played on, but you barely paid attention, wrapped up in the warmth of your boyfriend and the comfortable rhythm of his breathing.

***

Locker Room Snooze

The post-game rush had settled, and you found yourself making your way to the locker room to meet Luke. The Devils had pulled off a tight win that night, and you’d been there cheering him on from the stands. Your heart still raced a little from the adrenaline of the game, but you were eager to see him.

When you opened the locker room door, you were greeted with the usual chaos: teammates laughing, shouting, and throwing towels at each other. But among all of them, there was Luke, sitting by his locker with his gear half off and his head propped against the wall.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you approached him. “Luke, you okay?” you asked gently, your voice amused.

He blinked, then gave you a sleepy smile, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Yeah,” he mumbled, but then his head tipped forward, and he was out again.

His body slumped forward slightly, and you caught him before he could fall face-first onto the floor. The boys around him snickered.

“Classic Hughes,” one of the guys said with a grin. “You know, you should get him a pillow for after every game.”

You shot them all a look. “I’ve been telling him that for weeks.”

One of the guys, who had a mischievous glint in his eye, took a towel and draped it over Luke like a blanket. “There, perfect. He’s good now.”

“Thanks,” you said dryly, sitting down beside Luke as you brushed his messy hair back. “I don’t know how you do this every game. You’d think after being a pro, you’d at least stay awake long enough to shower.”

But he didn’t stir. Instead, he let out a tiny snore, and you chuckled. His hand instinctively reached for yours, giving it a light squeeze even in his sleep.

“I’ll let you get away with it this time,” you whispered. “But don’t make a habit of it.”

***

Family Dinner Snooze

You’d been dreading this moment all week. Dinner with your family was always a bit chaotic, but tonight, with Luke tagging along, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous. Your parents were excited to meet him of course, they were but you knew that they’d also be keeping an eye on him, checking for how well he meshed with your family dynamic.

Luke, ever the trooper, agreed to join you without complaint. Yet, by the time the main course was being served, he was already starting to show signs of fading.

At first, you didn’t notice. Your aunt was telling an exaggerated story about her gardening mishap, and you were laughing along with the rest of your family when you glanced over at Luke. To your surprise, he was sitting up straight but barely awake, his eyes blinking in slow motion, then closing entirely.

“Luke?” you whispered, nudging him under the table. “Hey, you good?”

His eyes fluttered open briefly. “I’m good…” he mumbled, but before you could stop him, his head tipped to the side and came to rest on your shoulder.

The table fell silent for a moment, all eyes on Luke. Your little cousin giggled and poked Luke’s arm. “He’s sleeping!”

Your mom, ever the understanding one, gave you a knowing smile. “I see why you like him,” she teased, then returned to her conversation as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Well, I guess that answers the question of whether he fits in with the family,” you muttered under your breath.

Luke didn’t even stir, and your aunt, ever the sweet one, placed a napkin over his lap like a blanket. “Aw, poor guy,” she cooed, “he’s just tired from the game, let him rest.”

By the time dessert was served, Luke was practically curled up next to you, the picture of serenity. You just shook your head, smiling.

***

Bedtime Rest

Later that night, after your family had all said their goodbyes and you were finally back in your apartment, you sat together in your room. Luke had somehow stayed awake through most of the car ride home, but now that you were both in bed, he was starting to fade again.

He tossed and turned for a few moments, his body slowly relaxing against you. You laughed softly as his head came to rest on your pillow, and he mumbled in his sleep.

“Don’t let me fall asleep on you,” he whispered hoarsely.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead gently. “No promises, Sleepy.”

He hummed contentedly in response, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion of the day. You lay there beside him, listening to his steady breathing, your heart full.

It was just another night with your sleepy boyfriend, and honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ilovekkarnolds]

“We been knew”

juju watkins x female!reader

Juju wasn’t hiding you.

You both agreed early on—your love was yours first. Not the world’s. Not for clout. Not for hashtags.

There were subtle things: the way she made sure you always had floor seats but never got caught on camera. The way her captions were vague, but the songs she chose on her stories said more than words ever could. The way her lock screen was you, but turned face-down when she was in the locker room.

You understood it. The world was watching.

And some parts of it? Ugly.

But she still showed you love loud and clear—just in spaces you two could breathe in.

The texts. The playlists. The handwritten notes slipped in your carry-on every road trip.

“Private,” Juju had whispered once while you sat on her lap, her arms wrapped around your waist, “doesn’t mean unloved.”

And she meant it.

But the world was about to see you anyway.

And neither of you were fully ready.

⸻

THE PHOTO

It happened after a win in Phoenix.

You’d flown in, surprised her in the tunnel—matching hoodie, sneakers, her old college chain around your neck—and hugged her so tight her knees buckled. She buried her face in your shoulder and exhaled like she hadn’t breathed in a week.

You didn’t know a fan caught it.

You didn’t know that moment—a hug, her hand lingering at your waist, your soft smile back at her—would go viral 36 hours later.

@WNBAUpdates:

Juju Watkins seen embracing mystery girl after Mercury game.

“She doesn’t do this with anyone. 👀”

🔥 or 🥶?

The comments spiraled.

“That better be her girlfriend or I’m gonna scream.”

“She looks so happy though??”

“OMG is this THE girl from her IG stories???”

“Please let this be real. I love this for her.”

“Y’all see the matching sneakers?? Yeah, that’s her girl.”

“Just say it already, Juju.”

Some were sweet.

Others… weren’t.

⸻

THE NOISE

Your phone blew up first.

Friends. Fans. That cousin who always said she “don’t really follow sports but saw your name on Twitter.”

Then came the DMs. Most were kind. Supportive. Curious.

But a few stung.

“She could do better.”

“Why do studs always pick girls that look like—”

“Not who I pictured for Juju.”

You didn’t cry. You wouldn’t give them that.

But it burned all the same.

Later that night, Juju called you. Her voice was tight.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied.

“Don’t do that.”

Silence.

You heard her sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not… saying it out loud. For letting you be the secret in other people’s eyes. For letting the world talk before I did.”

Your throat tightened.

“I wasn’t ashamed,” she added. “I was scared.”

You waited. Let her find her words.

“Scared that if I gave them this piece of us, they’d try to ruin it. But now I see… they never had it to begin with. We do.”

⸻

THE STATEMENT

Game day. National coverage. Juju walked into the arena in a crisp tan trench coat, black boots, and your name printed on her chain.

The cameras noticed.

But what really shook the world?

Her post-game interview.

After another 30-point performance, the reporter tried to slide it in smooth.

“You’ve been trending lately, off the court this time.

Any comment on the mystery girl from the tunnel?”

Juju smiled.

Calm. Confident. No hesitation.

“Yeah. That’s my girl.

She’s been my peace, my best friend, my biggest fan.

And I didn’t need the world to know to love her loud.

But now that they do?

Just know: she’s not going anywhere.”

The arena crowd—loud.

Twitter—exploded.

Your phone—unusable.

But none of it mattered more than seeing her step off that court, walk straight to you, and kiss you on the cheek in front of everybody.

“Hi,” she murmured, forehead pressed to yours.

“Hi, superstar.”

“You still mine?”

You smiled. “Always.”

⸻

“WE BEEN KNEW”

That night, Juju posted one photo on Instagram:

A blurry pic of you two holding hands at a food truck, laughing. No makeup. No angles. Just joy.

Caption:

been hers.

& she been mine.

love been loud—y’all just catching up. 💫

The comments were flooded:

“I KNEW IT. THE TUNNEL PIC WAS NOT A FLUKE.”

“This the soft launch and the full album drop.”

“They BEEN together huh?? 😭💖”

“I’m not jealous. I’m not. I’m happy for y’all. (lowkey jealous).”

“This is what peace looks like.”

⸻

HOME

Back at her apartment, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by takeout, you looked over at Juju.

“You good?”

She kissed your hand.

“I’m better now. You?”

You nodded. “Still private.”

“But not a secret.”

She smiled. “Never again.”

And when she pulled you into her arms and whispered “I love you” like it was the only thing worth saying, you knew—

The world could say what it wanted.

You and Juju? Solid.

Always had been.

Now everyone just… knew.

hey guys thank you for all the likes on my last one, hope you guys enjoyed this one!💙

[demie90s]

okay so juju and reader where juju is js down bad for this girl, if you look at her tiktok? reader. if she post on her story it has something to do with reader, she’s wiped asf for reader loving her in private and public. bonus if juju follows her around on the basketball court

Whipped Doesn’t Even Cover It

Juju x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Everyone knows JuJu Watkins is that girl on the court—but off the court? She’s completely down bad for you.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Fluff, clingy obsession, public affection, basketball romance, social media vibes

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Mild language, intense thirsting, TikTok-level public displays of affection

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~

I swear, that girl is everywhere.

Every time I turn around, she’s there. Waiting. Watching. Hovering like she’s part of my shadow. Like she’s trying to learn how to move like me, breathe like me, be me. And she makes it look good. Never awkward, never needy—just present. Like I’m gravity and she’s stuck in orbit.

It started slow. I’d catch her glancing during drills, handing me my water bottle when I didn’t ask, offering to rebound for me like it was her life’s mission. Cute, right? Until I scrolled on TikTok one night and found a video of me walking down the tunnel set to slow R&B. Her caption? “She don’t even know I’d ruin my whole life for her.”

Five thousand likes in under an hour.

Then it was the reposts. Every selfie I posted, she shared it. Commented “my girl” like she had a title. One time I posted a gym pic and she tagged it with “this the reason my knees hurt.” I didn’t even respond—I just showed up to practice the next day wearing her hoodie like I was claiming her back. She didn’t say anything about it, but the way she smiled told me I’d just made her whole month.

And don’t let us play against each other in scrimmages. JuJu? She don’t guard me. She trails me. Like a heat-seeking missile. Even when the coaches yell at her to switch, she shrugs it off, eyes locked on me like, “Nah. I got this.” One time I said, “You know I’m not gonna go easy on you.” And she grinned and said, “You never do. That’s why I like it.”

Tell me how I’m supposed to keep a straight face after that?

Today in open gym, she didn’t even try to hide it. Wouldn’t stop staring. Every time I touched the ball, she perked up. When I hit a three, she clapped harder than the whole gym. I jogged past her once and caught her mouthing “goddamn” under her breath. Subtlety? Gone. She follows me around like I’ve got the answers to her soul. And honestly… I kinda do.

She waited for me after, too. I took my time in the locker room just to see if she’d stay. She did. Sat right outside, scrolling through her phone like it didn’t matter that it was already dark and cold as hell. I walked out, hair wet, hoodie half-zipped, and she stood up like she’d just seen a miracle.

“You hungry?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Always.”

She opened the door for me, real quiet. Like we were in a movie. Like I was something delicate. But there’s nothing soft about the way she looks at me. Not sweet. Not innocent. Hungry. Like she’s waiting for permission to love me harder.

And the crazy part?

I haven’t told her no. Not once.

It got worse—or better, depending how you look at it—when we all went out.

Just a few teammates, chill spot, some plates, some laughs. I didn’t even invite her directly. Somebody else mentioned it in the group chat and JuJu just… showed up. Like always. No questions, no hesitation. She pulled up in sweats, slides, and a fitted hat like she’d been ready all day.

I sat down at the table and before I could even take off my jacket, she was already pulling the chair out next to mine. Ordered for herself, then asked if I wanted anything before the waitress left. I didn’t even answer fast enough—she ordered my go-to without blinking. Girl knew my entire menu history like she studied it.

Then came the food. She barely touched her own plate before sliding a piece toward me with her fork. “Taste this. You’ll like it.” I did. Ate it right off her fork, too. No hesitation. No shame. Everyone saw. No one said anything—until my dumbass friend across the table raised a brow and went, “Y’all dating or what?”

I just rolled my eyes and kept chewing. JuJu? She grinned like she won a bet. Wiped the corner of my mouth with her thumb and said, “We just locked in.” And nobody argued.

She paid for my meal. Held the door open on the way out. Took my leftovers in her hand like it was her job. She even offered me her hoodie when the wind picked up, despite the fact that she was wearing a damn tank top underneath. I didn’t ask. She just shrugged and said, “Don’t want you getting cold.”

I let her.

I let her do all of it. Every sweet, extra, clingy, girlfriend-coded thing. Because truth is? I like it. I like the way she moves around me. I like the way she sees me. Like I’m something worth orbiting. Like I’m the only reason she even showed up.

And maybe… I am.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @kajspeaks

[goldfades]

i need to be sidney crosbys controversially young gf… maybe something for that… heh

my new fav concept, hope you enjoy!

It started with whispers.

The kind that curled around the edges of locker rooms and crept into post-game interviews, barely concealed behind tight-lipped smirks and knowing glances. The kind that made headlines in tabloids next to blurry photos of a dinner reservation that should have been private. The kind that weren’t unexpected, not when a 37-year-old hockey legend started dating a 21-year-old who had no business being in his world.

Sidney Crosby was used to the noise. He’d spent two decades as the face of a franchise, his every move dissected and debated. But this? This was different. This was personal.

And you—well, you were the subject of speculation, fascination, and, in some corners, outright disapproval. The girl too young, too fresh, too much of a contrast to the quiet, calculated, carefully managed existence Sidney had built. The age gap was undeniable, a 16-year stretch that gave people ammunition, as if they hadn’t already decided what they thought about you.

It didn’t help that you weren’t some seasoned socialite or a familiar name in hockey circles. You weren’t a sports reporter or a PR darling, not a longtime fixture at games. No, you were something worse in the eyes of his critics—young, new, and entirely yours.

They didn’t know about the late-night conversations, the ones where Sidney’s usual reserve cracked open just enough for you to slip inside. They didn’t see the way he softened when you spoke, or how he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every version of you—the excited, the sleepy, the frustrated, the amused.

They didn’t know that you never sought him out, that he was the one who lingered after your first meeting, the one who texted first, the one who—despite all logic, despite knowing exactly what kind of reaction this would spark—had made it clear he wanted you.

But they knew enough to talk.

"She’s barely old enough to drink."

"What could they possibly have in common?"

"Sid’s having a mid-life crisis."

The comments should have been easy to ignore. Sidney wasn’t the type to entertain gossip, and you’d never cared about the opinions of people who didn’t know you. But still, the weight of it settled into your bones some days, making you wonder if you were an anomaly in his otherwise perfectly controlled life.

Because he was Sidney Crosby—captain, legend, a man whose legacy had been cemented long before you were even in high school. And you? You were just the girl people assumed was temporary.

And maybe that’s what made it all the more exhilarating.

The funniest part? You and Sidney actually found the whole thing hilarious.

The first time you showed him a comment under some sports gossip post—"She’s basically a child. This is so embarrassing for him."—he just blinked at you, unimpressed.

"Didn’t realize I should be embarrassed for enjoying my life," he said dryly, barely looking up from his coffee.

You snorted. "Yeah, well, you should probably start wearing knee braces to dinner so people know how frail you are."

From then on, it became a running joke.

Like when you posted a dimly lit photo of your hand wrapped around a wine glass at a fancy steakhouse, the edge of Sidney’s plate barely in frame, and captioned it: Dinner with my old man 🤍

Or when you caught a candid of him rubbing his temple after a long day and added it to your Instagram story with the text: He’s got a headache from all the whippersnappers in his life.

Or, your personal favorite, when you recorded him tying his skates before practice, zoomed in on his face as he focused, and added: D1 Grandpa Energy.

The chirps were constant, and he took them all in stride. In fact, he played along—leaned into it, even.

"Think I should start stretching before we go out?" he mused one evening as you got ready for dinner. "Maybe bring a heating pad?"

You grinned at him in the mirror. "I already put Icy Hot in your bag. Just in case you pull something walking to the table."

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the twitch of his lips.

Despite the internet losing its collective mind, the reality of your relationship was effortless. Sidney was steady, calm, and deeply private. You, on the other hand, were unbothered, playful, and just reckless enough to make things interesting. You balanced each other out in a way that worked, even if people didn’t understand it.

You loved how Sidney never treated you like you were some silly, naive kid. He respected you—your thoughts, your humor, your way of seeing the world. And you, in turn, loved teasing the hell out of him, keeping him on his toes in a way no one else really dared.

Like the time you went with him to a team dinner, and while everyone was talking hockey, you casually turned to him and went, "Tell me again what it was like growing up without color TV?"

The table went silent for a beat before someone—probably Letang—burst out laughing. Sid just gave you that look, equal parts unimpressed and amused, before shaking his head.

"She’s funny, huh?" he muttered, reaching for his drink.

"A regular comedian," you quipped, clinking your glass against his.

That was the thing—no matter how much outside noise tried to define your relationship, the two of you had already decided what it was.

It was simple. You liked each other.

Sidney didn’t buy you expensive things to impress you. Sure, he could, but he knew that wasn’t why you were here. Instead, he showed up in little ways—the way he always made sure to order your fries extra crispy because that’s how you liked them, or how he’d automatically pull you closer when cameras were around, just to make sure you didn’t get overwhelmed.

And you? You made sure he laughed. Really laughed. The kind of laugh that shook his shoulders and made his eyes crinkle, the kind of laugh he rarely let people see.

You were good together. You fit, even if people couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

And honestly? That just made it more fun.

It was nearly midnight, and the two of you were on the couch, deep in a heated argument over absolutely nothing.

"I'm just saying, people who don’t let the cereal sit in the milk for at least thirty seconds before eating it are a danger to society," you declared, pointing your spoon at him.

Sidney, reclined against the cushions in his sweatpants and a faded Team Canada hoodie, exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "That’s ridiculous. You want it soggy?"

"Not soggy, perfectly saturated," you corrected, scooping another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from your bowl. "It enhances the experience."

Sid shook his head, glancing down at his own bowl—practically dry because, of course, he barely let the milk touch his cereal before shoveling it into his mouth like some kind of barbarian. "There’s no way you actually believe this."

"I do," you said, dramatic as ever, settling further into your spot next to him. "This is a hill I will die on."

Sid sighed, took another bite, and then, without missing a beat, shot back, "Guess you’d better hope I go first then."

You gasped, shoving his shoulder. "Did you just—"

He fought back a smirk, chewing methodically like he didn’t just say something that made your jaw drop. "You’re too young to be making retirement home decisions, anyway," he added, extra casual.

"Wow," you scoffed, setting your bowl down. "Big words for someone whose lower back cracks every time he stands up."

He snorted, finally breaking into that slow, warm smile that made your stomach flip.

It was moments like this that made you realize why, despite the comments and the noise, this relationship worked.

You weren’t intimidated by him. Not by his reputation, not by the weight of who he was. You poked fun at the untouchable Sidney Crosby the way most people wouldn’t dare, but you never disrespected him. You met him as a person, not as a legacy.

And Sid—Sid liked that.

He liked how quick you were, how you made fun of him without ever making him feel small. How you never treated him like some god on skates but also never downplayed how much he meant to people. It was a balance no one had quite figured out before you.

He let out a deep breath, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the ends of your hair.

"You done bullying me for the night?" he asked, amused.

You hummed, considering. "Depends. You gonna admit my cereal method is better?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no."

He chuckled, shaking his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. You melted into his side like it was second nature, warm and easy.

The whole world could talk. The whole world could speculate. But in here, in this quiet moment between bowls of cereal and bad jokes, you fit like you were always meant to.

[wbbobsesserr]

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter one

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

synopsis: azzi fudd transfers from usc into uconn, meeting the one and only, paige bueckers. uconn’s star— confident, cocky, good with girls. but ever since paige laid eyes on the stupidly perfect azzi, she’s unlike herself. nervous, shy. her crush is massive, and only grows as she gets to know her. all paige wants is azzi fudd, and she’s willing to do anything and everything to get her.

notes: kudos to the anon who sent me this. i love you forever, a real angel on earth. i still need chapters four and five, so if you know who has reblogged them, lemme know. and i’ll post the rest later!

wc: 1.7k

“so i heard the new girl’s a total bucket.”

nika grinned as she tossed the ball up toward the ceiling of the uconn gymnasium, catching it without looking. she had that teasing spark in her eye— the one that usually meant she’d been on her phone for the past twenty minutes and had way too much intel.

“a sharpshooter,” lou added, stretching her legs out in front of her as she leaned against the row of lockers. “like, scary efficient. catch-and-shoot, off the dribble, pull-up game— all of it. i looked her up last night.”

aubrey raised an eyebrow, flipping through her phone. “didn’t she play at south carolina last year?”

“usc,” nika corrected, spinning the ball on her finger. “she’s from the east coast but did her freshman year out west. transferring here was a surprise to everybody. guess she wasn’t feeling california.”

“or maybe she just realized where the real hoopers are,” lou said with a smirk, nudging nika’s knee with her own.

“what’s her name again?” aubrey asked.

“azzi,” nika answered, like it was obvious. “azzi fudd. you’ve definitely seen her on instagram. girl’s got handles, shot form like it was built in a lab, and she’s—“

“— like, stupid nice,” lou cut in. “not just good. like, 'picks up your dropped groceries, remembers your dog's birthday, writes thank-you notes' nice.”

the locker room broke into quiet laughter.

paige didn’t laugh, though. she sat at her usual spot in the corner, hoodie pulled low, earbuds in. she wasn’t listening to anything. she didn’t need to. she’d already heard enough.

azzi fudd.

she knew that name.

in fact, she knew too much about that name. too much about her. more than she’d admit to anyone in that room.

because when word first dropped that azzi was transferring to uconn, paige did what any mildly obsessed person with a phone and a decent wifi connection would do— she deep dove. searched her highlights. scrolled through every post. studied her shot mechanics, binged interviews where she’d talk about why she fell in love with the game.

she even watched a 17 minute youtube video of azzi’s ‘day in my life.’ and then watched it again. and again.

so yeah. paige knew who the hell azzi fudd was.

and now she was going to be her teammate.

god help her.

“she’s probably going to be shy at first,” nika was saying. “but i heard she’s really sweet once you get to know her. like— talks soft, always smiling, that type.”

sweet.

yeah, that tracked.

paige had seen enough to know azzi was practically allergic to being rude. there were birthday shout-outs on her feed, family pics with sappy captions, and a suspicious number of reposted compliments from her old teammates— we love you forever, azzi. paige couldn’t find one bad thing about her.

which, of course, only made it worse.

because paige bueckers— the paige bueckers— didn’t get nervous. not on the court, not in interviews, and most definitely not around girls.

until now.

the gym door creaked open.

it wasn’t dramatic. no spotlight or wind machine. just a soft shuffle of sneakers and the sound of a suitcase wheel catching on the edge of the rug. but the room fell quiet anyway.

azzi fudd stepped into the gymnasium like she didn’t want to bother anybody. like she was entering someone else’s house. polite, careful.

she wore a gray uconn hoodie that was a size too big for her and had her brown curls pulled back into a low bun. no makeup. no jewelry. just her, looking impossibly pretty without even trying.

“hi,” she said gently, voice calm and warm like a late summer morning. she offered a small wave, even though half the team was staring like they’d seen a celebrity. “sorry i’m late. there was some traffic.”

nika stood first, of course, grinning like she’d won the lottery. “you’re azzi, right? i’m nika. welcome to the uconn.”

azzi smiled, and the entire energy in the room softened.

lou and aubrey introduced themselves next, voices warm, excited. azzi shook every hand like it mattered. she said thank you too much. she asked people how their summer was. she complimented lou’s sneakers. she laughed at aubrey’s bad joke.

and then—

she turned to paige.

for a split second, the air in her lungs seemed to escape her entirely. forgot to how to breathe.

azzi’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze flickered, just for a moment, like she felt the shift in the air.

“hi,” azzi said, voice still soft but curious now. “you must be paige. i’ve watched you play before. you’re incredible.”

paige’s mouth opened. nothing came out.

her cheeks flushed with heat.

she blinked. swallowed. fumbled for something— anything— to say at all.

all she managed was: “oh. uh. thanks.”

a beat passed.

azzi smiled again, just as gently. she didn’t seem to notice the way paige was blushing under her hoodie. or the way her fingers had curled into fists against her thighs.

“it’s really nice to meet you,” azzi said.

she meant it. of course she did.

because azzi fudd was the nicest girl in the goddamn world.

and paige bueckers was completely, utterly, screwed.

the next day, practice started light. conditioning, walkthroughs, a few sets just to shake off the summer break. coach kept it lowkey— first week energy and all. everyone was still shaking the rust off, laughing through missed layups and sloppy switches. it wasn’t intense. not quite yet. but even with the slower pace, paige felt like she’d already sprinted five miles uphill in combat boots.

because, well, azzi.

she was everywhere. not in a loud, take-up-space kind of way— but in that soft, magnetic way where the gym seemed to subtly tilt toward her. the steady bounce of her curls. her laugh, low and warm. her voice when she called out a screen or told someone “good pass.” the sound of her jumper swishing through the net, again and again and again.

she wasn’t trying to stand out. she just... did. like the game naturally bent around her presence. like she’d always been there.

corner three? swish.

coming off a screen? swish.

pull-up in transition, mid-stride, like she'd barely thought about it? swish. and she did it all with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need to prove anything. her form was perfect, fluid, and calm. paige watched every shot. she couldn’t not. her body turned toward azzi like she didn’t have any other choice.

even when coach split them into position groups, paige found herself sneaking glances across the gym. during water breaks. during free throws. during a rebounding drill that was supposed to be full-contact, but all she could think about was how azzi tucked a loose curl behind her ear before stepping to the line.

there was something about the way azzi moved. like she understood the weight of the gym and carried it gently. she passed with intention, chest-high and clean. she set real screens, not the lazy half-hearted ones some shooters threw out. she encouraged everyone. told nika “nice hustle” even when she missed a rotation. told lou “keep shooting” after she clanked two off the back iron. she treated every single teammate like they mattered.

it was infuriating.

it was also kind of breathtaking.

“paige!”

coach’s voice sliced through her daze.

“huh?” paige blinked, nearly dropping her water bottle.

“you’re up. shooting drill.”

right. focus.

she jogged over to the wing, and there azzi stood already, spinning a ball casually in her hands like she was born with it. her practice jersey was fitted perfectly on her chest, like she was made to wear it. she looked relaxed, ready.

paige’s stomach did a backflip.

“hey,” azzi said with that same soft smile. “you wanna go first?”

“no, you can— i mean, i’ll— uh. doesn’t matter.” paige ran a hand through her hair and immediately regretted it.

azzi tilted her head, eyes curious. “cool. we’re alternating?”

“yep,” paige said, voice slightly too high. “totally normal shooting drill. very chill.”

azzi passed her the ball, and even that— just the way her fingers brushed paige’s— felt like something.

paige missed her first shot off the front of the rim.

smooth.

azzi didn’t say anything. just chased down the ball, stepped up, and hit hers like it was muscle memory. pure net. like always.

paige tracked the ball like it was poetry.

her second shot rimmed out too.

“i think you’re leaning back a little,” azzi said, turning to chase the rebound again. her voice was gentle. helpful. no ego, no teasing.

paige blinked. “what?”

azzi offered a small shrug, almost embarrassed. “sorry, i’ve been watching your game for a while. you’ve got really good touch around the elbow. i just noticed you’re fading a tiny bit here. might be your footwork?”

azzi fudd was watching her game. studying her footwork. complimenting her jumper. paige's brain stalled at the thought.

she nodded slowly. “thanks. i’ll, uh. adjust that.”

she airballed the next shot.

azzi didn’t laugh. didn’t smirk. just rebounded and passed it back, like paige hadn’t just completely embarrassed herself. like she had nothing to prove and all the patience in the world.

paige hated how much she loved that.

by the time practice wrapped up, her legs were shot and her ego had been slowly ground into dust. not because she’d played badly— she hadn’t. she’d been fine. but because she’d spent 90% of her energy trying not to visibly melt every time azzi fudd smiled in her direction.

and now, as they walked off the court, shoulder to shoulder with sweat-soaked shirts and empty gatorade bottles, azzi looked at her like she meant something.

“you really move well without the ball,” she said. “i like how you read the defense. it’s smart.”

paige’s brain screamed. her mouth said, “thanks. i, uh… thanks.”

azzi grinned. “you’re kinda cute when you’re flustered.”

paige nearly choked on air.

“i— what?”

azzi just smiled again, redoing her messy ponytail. “see you tomorrow, paige.”

and then she walked off.

paige stood there frozen, watching her disappear down the tunnel, heart thudding in her chest.

she was doomed. utterly, completely doomed.

© wbbobsesserr

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon x f!reader’s relationship through the eyes of their fans but like smau - sorta like this!!

simon has never really used his socials properly before. hell, he probably still gets his gossip from the grapevine (being their locker room) or something. of course their goaltender, price, isn’t any better, but at least the man is active online. riley? a fucking ghost.

until, of course, his girl starts popping up in people’s posts.

.

emory @.emowysg

just found out that simon riley’s WAG doesn’t know hockey but she still flies to see him play 😭🙏

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.emowysg she’s the sweetest

STREAM TASTE @.bosseysnumber1 to @.riley41 AINT NO WAY YOURE LURKINJ

emory @.emowysg to @.riley41 WHAT IS BRO DOING HERE 😭

bry @.strobrymilf to @.emowysg The way you didn’t even tag them but he still saw this IJBOL

emory @.emowysg to @.strobrymilf IM SAYING 💀

.

sandra @.nightwingsgf

oomf was telling me that simon riley the type to overexplain the sport to his gf (tisming, if you will) and i fucked w that hard

icarizz @.brycelims to @.nightwingsgf tisming 💀

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.nightwingsgf haha no i go caveman when i try explaining it to her but she’s so patient with me anyway

papillon @.breedthatginger to @.riley41 i saw this comment, scrolled away, then audibly went, “PAUSE” yo king what thenrufk 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

sandra @.nightwingsgf to @.riley41 trying to stay nonchalant about simon fucking riley shirsey #41 forward and alternate captain of specgru just casually being in my replies (girl im failing)

.

cigarettes after shrek @.autumnblooms

can simon fight

[it’s a screenshot from simon’s instagram story—the phone is being jostled, leaving people looking like pixelated streaks, but the screenshot does a good job at capturing your wide smile as you hold up a puppy in the air]

huggy @.hghsbros to @.autumnblooms she is so so pretty 🥹

ouroboros @.ayacchi to @.autumnblooms heavy on the caption lmao

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.autumnblooms and win

marie @.mariejayp to @.riley41 what being in love does to a mf

౨ৎ @.persephonessin to @.riley41 shounen ahh reply 😭

jonah @.jonathanmllr to @.persephonessin bro said [image of gojo’s infamous ‘nah. i’d win’ quote/meme]

.

🍂 @.zeekewin

YALL LOOKIT RILEY AND GARRICKS GIRLFRIENDS CHEERING AFTER THAT LAST GOAL

[the first image is a blurry shot of you in the box, your mouth open as you yelled. the background is a mess of specgru’s colours, showing that the rest of the WAGs came in with this season’s WAG jackets.

the second image includes kyle’s girlfriend who is holding your hand while the two of you are mid-jump in celebration.]

hime @.peaxhespie to @.zeekewin are we.. seeing the formation of a new polycule

🍂 @.zeekewin to @.peaxhespie cant even be like “dont ship real ppl!!” bc theyre too cute 🥹

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41 to @.zeekewin is that the clearest picture you have?

🍂 @.zeekewin to @.riley41 KING?????? also, yeah. sorry :(

char-les @.charlatron to @.riley41 shit it’s not a myth - bro really /does/ pop up like bloody mary 😭

.

eren truther @.aotsucks

yall are we about to censor his fucking name because hows he always in our replies 😭

🎀 @.ttius_overkill to @.aotsucks no because he’s so in love on g 😭 “she’s the sweetest” sir stand up!!

eren truther @.aotsucks to @.ttius_overkill NOT STANDIP LMAJDHS

momo @.mrdawcy to @.aotsucks not us knowing who you mean right away 😅

.

louis @.lovingtomlinson

idek who simon riley is or the lore with his girl but that man is smitten as hell. good for him good for him

good luck babe @.stellastic to @.lovingtomlinson one of us one of us one- [screenshot of simon riley’s ‘likes’ on his page, with this post at the current top]

louis @.lovingtomlinson to @.stellastic it hasn’t even been five minutes 💀

.

John Mactavish ✓⃝ @.jmactavish_91

Okay but imagine hearing him in person

[video is of drunk simon, nuzzling his face on kyle’s shoulder, murmuring something too faint for the camera to pick up. there’s a muffled laughter from the person recording, probably johnny from the sounds of it, before they shuffle forward and stick the phone close to simon.

simon blinks at it, looks at the person from behind the screen, and goes, “s’at m’girl?”

video cuts with johnny and kyle laughing at their friend, fond and teasing at the same time.]

samson @.zachob to @.jmactavish_91 GIVE THAT MAN HIS GIRL 😭

susana @.sewswan to @.jmactavish_91 PLEASE WHY’S HE ACTING LIKE THEY ONLY SEE EACH OTHER ONCE EVERY 10 YEARS

baron @.mlawdy to @.jmactavish_91 bro must be winning in life if he’s that in love. lord me when

.

Simon Riley ✓⃝ @.riley41

Me and my baby

[image is of the two of you in the lake house, enjoying the last days of summer. the puppy is curled on your lap, sleeping, while you angled your head up to smile into the camera. simon has his arm looped around your waist, his head resting atop yours.]

sandra @.nightwingsgf to @.riley41 TEARS WERE SHED

emory @.emowysg to @.riley41 GOOD SOUP

cigarettes after shrek @.autumnblooms to @.riley41 TWO PRETTY BEST FRIENDS

i laughed making this fhjefjefw. idk just thinking about how simon fr the type to show off his partner if he can - and he could so here we are!! i also just love making outsider’s pov through SMAU <33