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#EUphoria
fka310 · 17 hours
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Euphoria - Kendrick Lamar (Drake Diss)
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roseforviolet · 1 day
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wh2m · 3 days
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→ Naheem Garcia On Playing Tashi Duncan’s Father In Challengers Starring Zendaya, Josh O’Connor and Mike Faist
“A lot of my young students, when they found out I was doing the film, they were very excited. They said they wanted to be an entrepreneur like Zendaya is. She’s a very warm, very nice young lady, and very about her business.”
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itsexclusive · 15 hours
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"I got a son to raise, but I can see you know nothin' bout that"
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wiha-jun · 13 hours
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ELIAS KACAVAS
by SHANE REYNOLDS for Folie Magazine (May 2024)
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risingpilots · 14 hours
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Drake found dead in Toronto
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90363462 · 12 hours
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YOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭
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chimeetsworld · 17 hours
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after this, every Canadian nigga gotta shut the fuck up for the rest of the year lmfao. 😭
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crysttalsblog · 2 days
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NEVER BE LIKE YOU
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theknightofsolitude · 11 hours
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MAYBE I’m reaching here..
BUT Kendrick starting to say Haley Joel Osment’s name correctly to set up the next lines, but saying Olsteen was adding to the argument of Drake being a fraud.. an accusation that is linked to Televangelists..
i think it was purposefully done.
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venusbyline · 2 days
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Nate Jacobs NSFW Alphabet
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⚠️: Smut, Nate Jacobs x Female Reader, slightly switch!Nate, mention of cnc.
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Nate isn't the aftercare biggest fan, he only cares about it if you're already in real relationship. He'll probably lie in bed with you, watching a random movie on TV while cuddleing you against his chest, or massaging your shoulders and feet before you fall asleep.
B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He's very proud of his muscles. He worked hard to have a body as attractive as that, so he definitely brags about it a lot. He also knows he's lucky to be so tall.
I think Nate's an ass guy. It doesn't matter if your ass size, he loves squeezing and biting your soft skin. But in non-sexual context, I think the part of you he loves most it's your eyes. If you give him that puppy dog eyed... Girl, this man will become even more madly in love. The innocent vibes it's everything to him (even if you're not and he knows it).
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)
Remember what I said about Nate loving your ass? If you're taking it doggy style, you can bet he'll take his cock out first just to cum on your ass.
If you're giving him head, he'll wanna cum on your face. He loves the feeling when he sees your pretty cheeks covered by his cum.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Nate'll never admit it if you ask, but he LOVES being choked and slightly degraded. He'll wanna make you jealous on purpose, just to see you to get on top, riding his cock and grabbing his throat with your little hands, cursing him with anything your angry brain can think of.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
It's kinda obvious, but Nate's VERY experienced. He has already fucked so many girls from that city. Sometimes it gets depressing for you, knowing how many your classmates have already been fucked by your boyfriend in the past.
HOWEVER, you're the first girl who has really able to explore his switched/submissive side. Before Nate dating you, he never let anyone sexually dominate him (even gently).
F = Favorite Position (Pretty self explanatory)
Doggystyle. This guy loves feeling you so small under him, his whole big body covering yours as he fucks your pussy, so rough and listening to you whining. If you start moaning too loud, he might grab your throat or cover your mouth with his hand (we know Nate's hand it's REALLY big, so don't be surprised if he ends up covering your face too much).
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous?)
Well... Nate's very serious. He has anger issues and lives with a dark mind, in addition to having his own character deviations. So let's say that he uses sex as a way to de-stress and let out all his frustrations. Often.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)
No hair. Nate's obsessed with his personal hygiene, to the point where he thinks his own pubic hair it's disgusting. As time goes, maybe you'll be able to convince him this is nonsense, but he'll still get sullen and probably shave it all off the moment the brown hairs starting show up.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)
We know Nate's more aggressive. He's not very romantic during sex and you already knew what you were getting into before you started dating him. But if you have a rough day, maybe he'll take it easy and try to be more soft. However, don't expect the romantic aspect being a routine.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Curiously, Nate doesn't jack off that much. Before he met you, he always got some random girls to distract him. Now he has you, he doesn't have to worry about that. But he keeps some pictures and amateur home videos that you two made so he can use it as motivation for moments when he's alone and needs cumming.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
As I said before: choking, giving and receiving.
Spanking, he loves spanking your ass, your face... Any part of your body you allow.
He really likes degrading you, especially if he's jealous. He calls you an attention whore and says you're just a stupid whore... If he's in a good mood, he's a little less rude or uses a more soft voice (maybe calling you "MY stupid little whore, MY attention whore...)
Breeding kink AS FUCK. Nate fucks you and talks dirty about getting you pregnant. So considering that... he has creampie too, it's obvious. Despite his fucked up Daddy issues, I think he likes being called Daddy in sex.
Things like pulling your hair and spitting on your mouth and face too. Draciphilia's also his kink, your tears flowing while he fucks you and humiliates you make you even hotter.
A light CNC/rapeplay too, but he doesn't know how telling you that, so he'd rather just picturing it for a while. But if he ever tells you and you consent and set your limits, you'll discover an even darker side of your boyfriend.
L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)
Party bathrooms and his truck. He loves taking risks, the idea of someone seeing you in a vulnerable moment like that makes him fucking jealous and turns him on even more.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
The moment Nate starts feeling jealous, he becomes aggressive and horny. AND HE'S ALWAYS JEALOUS!
Your innocent and worried look at him when he's angry about his personal issues their also things that turns him on a lot. He knows he NEEDS to fuck you at that moment.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Nate won't share you. He's been totally against threesomes since he started dating you. Even though he was a huge womanizer, nowadays he still wouldn't feel comfortable seeing a woman touch you either.
Much less a man. He would rather be killed than let another man touch you, his girlfriend, only his.
If you dare suggesting something like this, you can be sure that will cause one of the worst arguments in your entire relationship.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
As good as Nate's at eating you out, I feel like he'd rather you give him head. He loves taking control of this situation, making you kneel and take his cock to the back of your throat. He grabs your hair and forces you trying to fit every inch of his member into your mouth, also controlling the speed.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc)
Nate likes fast and rough thrusts, to the point where the noises of your hips clashing and your loud moans echo throughout his house. Therefore if you're having sex in secret in a public place, he covers your mouth to avoid interruptions and trouble.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)
Nate's the real biggest fan of quickies. Anywhere it's time. Are you at a party? He just drags you to the bathroom and fucks you there.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)
He takes a lot of risks, especially due sex in public places.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)
Because of his athletic body and because he's already used to very rough training routines, Nate can last a long time, so you're sure cumming many times. As for the number of rounds, I think he cums twice. Although he's not really tired and can keeping going if both of you want, it ends up not being so euphoric.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
There aren't so many toys for you two using... Who needs them when you have those huge hands or his own belt spanking you if you're being a brat? But... Let's say that sometimes he likes using some dildos and a Hitachi Magic Wand on you, seeing you crying and overstimulated, dripping for him.
U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)
Nate loves teasing you, he wants seeing you beg for him, begging for his cock. He may deny your orgasms or let you feeling overstimulated until you need to use your safe word.
But don't you dare tease him back when you're on top, it won't end well for you after sex.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
When Nate's dominating you, he barely makes sounds other than dirty talk. Just some low growling and swearing. But when he's punishing you or rapeplaying, he won't mind yelling at you as many times as he wants.
When you're dominating him, he's more vocal and really likes whining for you.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
When Nate loses a football match, he gets angry easily. He pushes himself too hard and ends up taking it out on you, yelling that you distracted him from his goals or something like that. But all of this always ends after angry sex. Once, you were so tired of his explosive behavior that you decided he needed learning to use his mouth to something more useful.
You knew that behind that angry and aggressive facade, your boyfriend was just frustrated with himself, so you needed to show that you weren't disappointed with him. It wasn't long before he was lying on the bed, you on top of his face using it to rub your pussy while he swallowed your juices and jerked off his own cock, rubbing his nose against your clit and whining muffledly, as you moaned loud and called him a good boy.
X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)
I think his cock it's about 7.5 inches, quite rosy and thick enough to always makes you scream by pain and pleasure when he gets inside your pussy roughly. Sometimes you literally can see the shape of his cock marking the soft skin of your stomach as he fucks you.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Very high. He's Nate Jacobs, don't expect anything less that from him.
Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
It takes a while for him to start feeling sleepy, so you can be sure that you'll sleep well before he does.
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x-celebsreposted-x · 3 days
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Sydney Sweeney in Euphoria!😍✨️
Please don't report, just block ✨️
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etherealily · 2 days
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𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.
Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.
Cliffhanger or series? Haven't decided. Repost because of reasons.
You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.
Desc.: You're needed. Now.
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It's not like you even knew Nate.
You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.
Until they did.
Until he started following you on Instagram.
That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.
The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.
You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.
It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.
Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.
The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.
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Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.
She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).
Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-
Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.
Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?
Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.
Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.
Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?
(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)
The story was only text. Text and nothing more.
Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.
What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?
You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.
A picture, along with six other messages.
This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."
"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.
"You should be."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.
"You should be here. Come."
Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.
"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."
"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.
You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.
Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.
So much red.
Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.
He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.
"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."
Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.
But not like this.
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You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-
Nate Jacobs started an audio call.
Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.
"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."
Yup, that sounded about right.
You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?
Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.
"Y/N, please just come."
It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.
"Why?"
"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.
"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"
You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.
If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.
"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"
"I can't. I'm sorry."
Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.
"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"
"Look-"
"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.
"Why?"
"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.
2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.
"I will cut deeper."
"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."
You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.
"I'm cutting."
"Stop."
"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."
A video. SHIT. FUCK.
"What the fuck is your problem?!"
Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.
The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.
The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.
As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.
It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.
Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.
"Let me go , McKay!"
"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.
He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.
"Okay."
He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.
What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'
You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.
"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.
He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."
"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"
"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"
"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"
The other team's captain.
"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."
The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?
"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."
Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.
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Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"
"Yes, Coach?"
"One more, then you can send her in."
"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.
Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?
Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.
Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breach every inch of a dry leaf.
"You came."
"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"
"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."
Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?
"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"
"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."
And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.
No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....
And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.
"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.
Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.
Smiled.
Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.
He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.
Not crack. Probably fent.
Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.
"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.
It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.
Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.
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You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.
You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.
You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'
You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.
"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."
Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.
"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"
You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.
Just a coincidence, right?
You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.
"You catch the touchdown?"
"Yeah. I did."
"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"
"Sure."
His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."
"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"
"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"
"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.
"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.
You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.
"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.
"Small dicks?"
"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."
"Like the hooking up thing."
"How do you know about that?"
"McKay told me."
He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.
"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."
If he was about to say what he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.
"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.
But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.
"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."
"When the fuck did you-"
"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."
Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?
"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"
"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.
"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."
"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"
No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.
"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"
"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.
"Yeah, okay, get out."
"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."
The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.
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"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."
The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.
That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.
He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.
And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.
"Y/N, please."
"Fine."
You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.
The entire football field gasped.
He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.
"Go. Play now."
He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."
"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."
You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.
He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.
You hoped you'd heard wrong.
Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.
Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.
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He won.
He. Fucking. Won.
And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.
You hated yourself for it, but yes.
You wanted him dead.
All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.
Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.
"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."
You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"
"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.
"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."
"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."
"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."
"No chance in hell, Jacobs."
"Stop wounding me. Let me in."
"Or what?"
"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.
"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."
He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffel bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"
"Tell me where to go."
"You don't know where I live?"
"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"
"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."
"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."
He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."
"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."
"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."
"I barely even post anything!"
"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"
He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."
"It was unnecessary."
"Okay, you know what this is?"
He raised a brow.
"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"
And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.
To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."
"You did not just fucking kiss me."
"You want me to do it again?"
"NO."
"Then drive."
This motherfucking bastard of a man!
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"You wanna come in?"
No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.
"I'm good."
He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."
"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."
"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."
"Why? We're never talking after this."
He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.
"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."
He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."
"What? No."
"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"
"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"
But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-
"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."
"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."
The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.
Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.
"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.
"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.
"Not dressing that wound?"
"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."
Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.
And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.
The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.
How it should be.
But then he texted you.
Fuck.
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