#that's when the sport made sense

[batsplat]

Bat……baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttttttttttt. The Casey / vale web weave….oh my got I am unwell 🥲🥹🥲🥹 truly outdid yourself on that one holy hell

:))))) thank youuuu exactly the feeling i'm trying to evoke

obviously this specific topic is one where i could like... go at it again from a completely different angle with plenty of other material, like it's such a rich mine of parallels. i mean the big parallel between agassi and casey is of course the whole 'hating the sport they dedicated their lives to' thing - and we have valentino being baffled at agassi's pov, which!! if you read the quote about valentino going 'well EYE could never hate motorcycle racing' then that has such rich implications for the casey/valentino dynamic, like agassi almost acts as this fun little proxy that allows valentino to say things he wouldn't say directly *about casey*. and pair THAT with valentino thinking casey isn't a romantic rider and all the riders today are too serious and sad..... huh. thinking

anyway that was one thing i barely touched... another bit i was thinking about is that obviously comparing the 1995 us open final with 2008 laguna seca does involve a bit of artistic license in that casey sticks clear from describing the laguna loss in quite such apocalyptic terms. idk if casey was really 'fantasising about retirement', though... i mean, he could have been!! i think one thing that is so special about agassi is that he's actually willing to SAY stuff like that, like i've said this before but his gift is this real vulnerability where he's also willing to kinda make himself look weak, look like an idiot. like emphasising how extremely not seriously he took sampras before the 1990 us open final!! and i don't mean this as a BAD thing, but casey is just not capable of that kind of emotional honesty - certainly not publicly. like agassi is just definitely a lot more self-aware. and... if you're describing this loss as the turning point of your entire career, saying again and again how everything changed... i am still going to do a PROPER laguna post, hopefully in the next few weeks, but i think the more time you spend thinking about that race the more you begin to understand just why it was so emotionally devastating to casey. it doesn't send him on a competitive spiral the way it does with agassi. but you also need to not just pay attention to what casey's literally saying and also how often he's saying it and why he's framing it that way. he has a real morbid fascination with that race that to me did really remind me of the 1995 us open agassi experience. unlike agassi, he doesn't see it as a 'deserved' loss, so the bitterness and frustration is definitely DIFFERENT... but yeah. for both of them it is The Loss. it is valentino's great betrayal

and speaking of laguna 2008, if there was one quote i really would have liked to include but couldn't quite justify sneaking in, it's what valentino's crew chief jb said about that race in 2010 (x):

MM: I remember watching Rossi and Stoner through Turn 1. Rossi would come out of the final corner ahead, Stoner would start catching him and Rossi would slide across leaving Stoner only the outside line around Turn 1. JB: It wasn't a case of offering him anything, that was the only place to pass, it was a case of not giving him the ideal line. So if Casey was going to pass Valentino round a corner, it was going to be the long way round, which is the only place to pass, unless you do it in the braking area. My feeling at the time was that Casey probably only had one game plan, and having watched Casey over the years, he doesn't have a plan B. If it doesn't go his way from the outset, it's probably one of the weaknesses that he had through the youth that he had, through the lack of experience that he had. That's not a criticism of him per se, he was still only 22 at the time. And that was it, it was clearly a tactical race. They both cleared off in the vicinity of 20 seconds ahead of Chris Vermeulen, and Casey was able to pick it up after slipping off at Turn 11 and still finish second.

again this is something that will very much feature when i get around to properly dissecting that race, but to me this is crazy revealing on several levels. i mean, first off, i do always enjoy jb being a bit of a dick about valentino's rivals. i like the slagging off, i like it even more when he basically does some of valentino's psychological warfare *for him* like with jorge in 2009, i think it's a cute relationship and it's just conceptually kinda fun to have valentino's crew chief being so ride-or-die for him on the feuding front. like they quite simply do not make crew chiefs like that any more

secondly, i find the parallels with catalunya 2009 interesting in that jb is basically also calling casey too rigid - cf jorge not thinking anyone could pass at montmelo's final corner. again, it's valentino fighting against opponents who may well be faster than him (especially when it comes to casey) but just having this... creativity, intellectual flexibility going for him. casey needs to have a plan b, casey thought he was going to win that race easily, casey couldn't react when he was challenged

thirdly, obviously this does come round to playing into the whole ambition vs talent theme, where casey is this wild raw inexperienced talent who valentino bests with his brains and grit. keeps coming back to that somehow!! idk i know i've talked about this again and again but i just think it's neat to have what essentially amounts to a 'catchphrase' of a rivalry that also basically provides *the* central theme. and if there is one bit of wildly underappreciated casey/vale lore, it is that casey preempted his most infamous line THREE years earlier. like i swear *nobody* ever talks about this, including the guy who wrote the article where i found the quote, but casey literally says "in laguna he let his ambition to win take control over his technique"!! it's so fascinating!!

it does ofc confirm that jerez 2011 wasn't just some kind of spur of the moment bout of poetic genius. it's something casey had been stewing on for years!! casey feels at laguna 2008 that he *should* have won because he was FASTER, goes on a tear in the media, gets massive backlash, has to apologise to valentino, and then bides his time for several years to get the blow in when he is given the opportunity. in some ways it's so valentino-esque, like he's learning to bide his time from the very best. it's fantastic!! the whole thing's fantastic, it is so revealing. which, idk, to some extent the ambition vs talent thing is obviously a framing casey plays into himself - but to some extent it's a framing he finds deeply frustrating because obviously he does *not* enjoy the flip side of that contrast and the implication he is either less intelligent or less mentally tough. that's why it's so interesting that the one word casey used to describe himself is calculating, which does reject that particular dichotomy!! nyhh

fourthly, i feel like we do need to address the "one of the weaknesses that he had through the youth that he had" line. the jb/casey relationship forms such an interesting backdrop to this rivalry, where obviously they kindaaa knew each other and jb MAYBE would have liked to work with casey if valentino had fucked off to f1 and there was that whole quirky element of casey's italian team vs valentino's australian team and casey feeling a bit territorial over his home race and then casey becoming extremely resentful towards jb in those last few years to the point where jb gets slagged off in casey's autobiography... idk, obviously it's a throwaway line but i can't help it, i can't not be interested in valentino's crew chief basing his psychological profile of casey in part on what casey's childhood/adolescence was like, ofc implying that this is something jb is very much aware of

and if you're saying casey is intellectually rigid and doesn't have a back-up plan because of what his youth was like then that means... what, exactly? idk i think you can read that in several ways - and it really does reveal a certain level of thought being put into casey's psychology!! and if you think about jb's role as valentino's proxy and how they ofc hatched The Laguna Plan together and again that remark valentino made about young riders closing up and becoming serious and sad because they were being put under too much pressure... i mean, look, it's obviously not a big revelation that valentino put some serious thought into casey's psychology, like i reckon you can figure it out if you simply. watch that race. but yeah, just getting these little hints confirming it, of valentino carefully studying casey like the intricate puzzle he was... i might be off-base here but my personal interpretation is that... i think valentino *did* see casey's joylessness as a weakness of sorts, this seriousness born from the pressure casey had been put under as something that limited his creativity. treating racing too much as a profession and not a passion, a struggle to adapt to valentino uprooting the status quo...

idk, i obviously am deeply compelled by both valentino and casey watching and studying each other so closely, even though we have heard way more of the conclusions that casey has drawn than vice versa. i think that's really the magic of laguna 2008 - and by extension the entire rivalry - the specificity of the whole thing. the race would not work so well if it involved any other two riders than valentino and casey, it relies on the build-up, it relies on the precise conclusions valentino has drawn about casey's psyche and where he decides to attack him, it relies on casey's complicated and at times tortured feelings towards valentino. it relies on that dichotomy between wild talent and ruthless cunning, it relies on the faster rider losing the race. it relies on that specific track and its specific character. i kinda feel like that makes the race pretty unique where the whole thing depends... so heavily on the specific contours of their relationship, of how they match up as athletes, like if you altered a single detail you would make the whole thing worse. it's such a rich text!!

even though i don't understand shit about motogp, i am always someone who likes to analyse my sports first and foremost As Sports. like i think you can kinda get rich narratives anywhere, you can get them in plenty of fiction i've been told, but crucially the thing about sports is that it's such a controlled playground with these specific modes of interactions and structures and rules shaping the landscape of the narrative. and when i'm looking at sports rivalries, what i really want to see is how interpersonal relations and even, y'know, Themes TM are expressed through the *fabric* of the sport itself. which obviously is extremely easy for me to do with tennis, and i do think tennis is also kinda ideal for that given how interactional the sport is at its very core - the cliche goes that tennis is a game of match-ups. every single match is a deeply rich text that i can analyse if i am so inclined - though there the sports element is unfortunately often a lot more compelling than any sort of overarching narrative. with motogp, i do need a bit more hand-holding. i think what makes laguna 2008 so great for both new and veteran fans of the sport is that it's so *visceral*. you see this relationship and the emotions behind it play out in front of your eyes with relatively little knowledge of the intricacies of motorcycle racing needed. you are immediately dropped into the narrative, you are immediately presented with these two contrasting characters in violent combat - you immediately learn so much about them. you watch them learning about each other. it's great!! guys, it's so great. they're so great

[martincrushcameback]

What if they got to be a toxic couple before TSFTSR huh what then he really deserves better she's such trouble and he's actually a good guy

But like what if someone mourned for her.... and what if it was him.... what if I was mean and broke his heart and you all thought it was silly because they're both my OCs and she's a real bitch but what if he didn't know that, guys. What if he never saw that unhinged side of her?

[mybreadsmybutters]

university friendslessness so chronic when the “do you want to come join our christain club on campus???” people approached me i unironically considered it for like 20 seconds

[deathbysports]

okay but seriously though. Is there a possibility that bowman has actually done work to make up for his mistakes? yeah. there is always that possibility. Does that mean he should be immediately hired? no. now don't get me wrong, i am all for giving people second chances. we all fuck up at some points. many of our favorites do. however, i will admit, when it comes to situations like sexual assault and abuse (or in this case covering up abuse), it's a bit more complicated (especially as a survivor myself). Now. I will give credit where credit is due; both Bowman and Jackson have been in contact with Beach (With Beach allegedly approving of the hiring) which is good to see. Also worth noting, Sheldon Kennedy, who was abused himself by Graham James, supports Bowman's return.

However, I do think this is something we should hear from Beach himself. Although considering the stress he probably dealt with during the scandal and speaking out, combined with how ruthless some hockey fans can get (especially online), I personally wouldn't blame him for not making a public statement.

Now with that out of the way, none of that changes the fact that Bowman did what he did. It's not going to make what he did okay. Also, keep in mind that there's still another lawsuit Chicago is facing as well, and possibly many more victims out there too, and who knows how they might be feeling right now.

I know people are bringing up the fact that he was also just... really bad as a GM (Which was definitely true, Hawks fans can vouch for this one). But that's not the fucking point here. That's not the problem. The problem is that he ruined a person's life all for the sake of a cup. In terms of forgiveness, that's up to Beach and the other victims, not us. However, we cannot deny that this was a bad decision, especially in the midst of another lawsuit against Chicago, and especially when the OILERS PLAYERS WEREN'T EVEN NOTIFIED ABOUT THIS. Again, I'm all for second chances. And if Beach is okay with this hiring, then great! But even then, we cannot deny the harm he's caused. Just because Beach and Kennedy are okay with the hiring doesn't mean other survivors will feel the same way. And honestly, I feel like in a situation like this, this is something you should give your players a heads up about.

Now, I'm not entirely confident the Oilers will drop Bowman (Keep in mind they still have Evander Kane). However, with the amount of backlash they've gotten, I see no reason why they shouldn't reverse this decision, and there's a slim chance with enough of our rage, we can make them reconsider. (Remember, Boston dropped Miller after both fans and players criticized the signing!). Should Bowman stick around though, we should make sure what he's done is not swept under the rug and forgotten. Nothing will make this okay.

[zaynes-left-chesticle]

72 days....

It took 72 days...

FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Open Orbit 60... YOU HAVE ACTUALLY RUINED MY LIFE. GFY 🖕

Love, Ash (and probably everyone else still playing this game)

[the-physicality]

.

[sheriffofmagic]

polygon related usernames i saved in 2019 for some reason

[shmothman]

Writing a single chapter that I expect to be about 12.5k, making it longer than all but one of the fics I've ever written before 2023 and you getting me into TSP. So. Just wanted to say ty and I am still criminally insane over the fandom you got me into a full year after you posted about the Countdown Ending, I randomly clicked on it, and unbeknownst to me, the rube goldberg machine of hitting TSP fandom like a wrecking ball began. Just thought you'd appreciate :)

OUGH you know I always appreciate hearing about any and all insanity I’ve caused 🥰🥰 your word count astounds me every time you update me 🤣 waving a big foam finger and cheering you on from the stands and leading one of those group cheers and whatever else they do at sports games—

[meat-pvppet]

ok so im gonna infodump under the cut cuz im insane

warning! this all probably makes no sense and is really really messy

so remember this guy?

ive been reworking him actually ever since last year but i just never found a concept design i liked fully

yeah hes the one im gonna be reworking (and who im probably renaming to Lucius Donovan)

and tbh i still dont have one but whatever im gonna blast you all with his lore or what i got so far atleast (if youve been here long enough he might be a wittle familiar)

anyway he's the founder and sole human worker for a tech company focused on manufacturing robots and prosthetics

he was a prodigy whos been building rudimentary robots ever since he was a teenager, his eldest bot and personal assistant having been around since he was 17

when he started his business, he sought to help humanity using his bots, believing that humans were frail and robotic companions helping them would lessen the burden and help humanities chances of not imploding hopefully

once he started making a name for himself, he got into a huge accident (either caused by his own recklessness or a secondary character that ill need to polish up still) that took his legs, arm and a chunk of his face (mostly around the eyes and frontal lobe and a bit of his mouth)

still figuring out the full extent of the damage but just know his torso didn't go unscathed cuz obviously

most of the damage was obviously from the accident itself but also from getting crushed by rubble

its a miracle he even survived, but he was basically half dead so his bots were the ones to revive him using the tech he had already developed

the accident made him more reclusive and paranoid (not that anyone other than his walls know that cuz we love a guy whos really reclusive and paranoid and hides it all behind a mask of confidence), now adding more security measures to every bot he manufactured, even making it so every bot he had sent him the logs of their every action and everything they saw in case they couldnt identify smth properly

also following the accident he became less empathetic than he already was, making it difficult for him to understand more emotional reasonings behind things

also also following the accident, he began using robotic copies of himself to make public appearances whenever he really needs to cuz he thinks with how he is now he's no longer presentable in a way

and also cuz his paranoia and anxiety is so high he genuinely believes something horrible will happen to him or others as soon as he steps out of his factory that basically doubles as his home at this point due to him doing nothing but work all day

there are a few of these clones just

fucking around in his factory though, specifically in the underground facilities, that work as security

And also a way to bait people who do end up reaching the underground facilities looking to kill him or smth

also due to the nature of his prosthetics (and years of trial and error after the accident to improve them) hes kinda got a pseudo immortality thing going on where all this tech is basically gonna keep his body from failing

anyway he can keep adding more and more tech if something goes wrong

but then that makes him think about how disconnected he is from being human at this point

hes more metal than flesh and that makes him anxious

at what point is he just another one of his bots?

[joshuamj]

finally got an autism diagnosis hoooray

[mcmansionhell]

new jersey "19th century" "eclecticism"

It's always funny to me when new wealth tries to imitate old wealth, but in a very specific way: by trying to reproduce old ways of building that are no longer viable via mass produced building materials and contractors who are better than average but still not quite in the legion of the bespoke. It's rarely the case that houses are fully "custom" these days -- the amalgamation of all the different parts in a new formation is the "customization" at work. As we can see in this example, this is a truth that is often covered up by excessive decorating.

This 5 bedroom, 6.5 bathroom house, built in 1997 (shocker) will run you an extremely reasonable $3.5 million big ones, but I say extremely reasonable because it wants to be a $10 million house but doesn't quite get there - after all, it's made with drywall. The architectural style is not really anything in particular -- though the front entrance would like to recall the Tudors. Really it is trying to emulate an existing pastiche style, namely the eclecticism of the 19th century. It also doesn't do this well.

No stately manor is complete without dueling staircases. Also, I don't know how to explain it, but every room in this house longs to be a bathroom. Or a powder room. A really big one. It's probably the floor, and the wallpaper. This is just the appetizer for the main attraction:

Jules Verne larping is so rare in McMansion Hell that you have to commend them for trying. I'm kind of obsessed.

This room is so important to me. It's like if an Olin Mills (dating myself here) set was an entire room. A sense of watching someone in one's own house, performing "dinner." Also I would slay as the swan knight, I have to say, so I get it.

What happened to baskets hanging from the ceiling and powder blue walls and porcelain lined up on the picture rail?

I have seen columns terminating into soffits that would make Scamozzi cry.

In Big America bathing and lavishing is a spectator sport.

Ok, again, the palette of this house is basically The Polar Express mixed with a very bizarre hotel lobby.

The chimney hole is sending me because that does appear to be a working chimney. Like, can you see the smoke come out? Who knows!

Anyway, happy Thanksgiving to everyone, and I'm especially thankful to the folks who sponsor me on Patreon! If you want to see more scenes from this house, that's the place to do it!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[zaynesparadise]

*⃝̥ SWITCHIN’ THE POSITIONS FOR UUUU :3 ── 𝐳 & 𝐜

.ﾟ🪩 ⟡ | brief post about beb & zay’s fav positions- very brief!

pairing. — MDNI (17+) fem!reader (hella freaky) x 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 & 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 (not a threesome unforch) warnings. basically bringing positions & 34+35 to life, sex positions, quick n short smut, drooling :p petnames, anal fingering omg (this one’s for my caleb anal freak believers), FREAKleb, unprotected sex, creampies, zayne uses his evol !! slight temperature play, tit play cuz boobs ♡ :3 horny big cock caleb & horny big cock zayne :3 enjoy wc. 2.1k a,n. this took me so long for NO REASON !!! anywho not proofread, finished this at 5 am when i have a reproductive health assignment for tmrw.. but idgaf THIS is my reproductive health assignment 🙂‍↕️

જ CALEB. the colonel is a man of many talents, including his ability to pull off any and every position you wanted. missionary, doggy, 69, mating press, you name it— he’s in it before you even finish asking for it. if you wanted this six feet two man to do the splits for you in the middle of the bed, believe it or not he wouldn’t even hesitate to do that and more just for you (he values your happiness & pleasure over everything if you couldn’t tell) that being said— one position in particular will always have caleb drooling at the mouth with his eyes crossed: reverse cowgirl.

“fuuuuck yes.. baby— just like that.” caleb babbled on and on behind you, sweat glistening and rolling down his toned skin while his chest rose up and down, up and down rapidly, you noted the wavering in his words, the way his massive hands massaged your hips after gripping onto the supple skin so roughly.

you currently had your boyfriend who was leaking between your thighs rambling uncontrollably behind you, truth was he didn’t even know what the fuck to keep up with. the way your hips were rolling back on his in an unforgiving pace or the way your back arched perfectly from his view or the way your pussy was gushing around his soaking cock— fuck everything was making him completely delirious.

your walls fluttered around him, every movement your pretty little cunt did made his eyes roll to the back of his skull, “s-shit pips..” he mumbled as his harshly bitten, red lips barely moved from the almost-frowning expression he was sporting— all in the hopes of not cumming too soon and ruining your fun.

caleb was close to full on sobbing, the pace you’ve set was divine, pushing him against the edge over and over again when you bounced on his cock to let the most obscene and lewd sounds echo in his room all the while combining them with the prettiest, sweetest whimpers of his name.

you sank down on his length, letting him get engulfed entirely in your warmth as his tip gushed against your cervix. “feels good, hm?” you cheekily glanced at him over his shoulder and oh boy caleb was gone.

your body felt unbelievably hot, blazing and searing while the muscles in your thighs burned. but it was all so, so worth it, to see a blushing caleb with sparkly tears forming along his waterline, swollen pretty red lips all bitten and drooling, so attractive to see your composed, sweet boyfriend throwing his head against the pillow as he held himself back even more.

caleb by now felt himself sinking into a state of frenzy— hands gripping onto the bedsheets, thighs flexing alongside his toned abdomen as his entire body began to twitch, “s’good pips.. such a perfect pussy sucking me in,” he felt the heat practically radiate off of both of your bodies, the air in the room almost suffocating with how thick and heavy it was, everything felt too good and caleb was losing his sense of reality with how overwhelmed he was getting.

“it’s jus’ for me, no?” he babbled, all breathy and husky as his hands began to caress your lower back, “mhm, only for you.” and on instinct when his palm applied the slightest bit of pressure, you arched lower and laid your chest against the mattress, giving caleb the most delicious view of your ass bouncing on him, cunt wrapped all around his pulsing cock, so deep inside of you and so filthy.

the glossy mess between your inner thighs made him groan in need, he began to guide your hips back against his pelvis while he thrusted upwards, meeting each and every one of your thrusts and letting the wet noises of your ass landing on his pelvis resonate against the walls, the sight of your skin jiggling roughly with every thrust making him sigh in ecstasy. “f-fuck, caleb!” you moaned so prettily for him once his cock felt like it was moulding you to his shape, thrusts so powerful and deep.

“yeah, baby? can’t take it?” his cock slid in and out of your drenched folds, the view so arousing it made heat spread throughout his body just like a fever, “your pretty cunt’s telling me otherwise tho..” he grunted, unable to help the way his eyes locked in on your puckered hole, and before he could think more about it— he thrusted his thumb into the tight ring.

“c-caleb!—“ “shhh sweetheart..” he reassured you instantly, picking up the pace of his cock between your tightening walls to distract you from the uncomfortable stretch of your ass, your teeth finding comfort in pulling against the crumpled bedsheets while your legs shook in pleasure.

it was so new, you never expected caleb to suddenly take this route but you were so glad that he did because getting both of your holes stretched out so nicely at the same time made your eyes water.

and before you knew it, you were moaning and pushing your hips back against caleb’s, “like that pips? feels good?” and god it felt like your mind was melting away, “so good, caleb.. s-shit..” you felt the saliva that was pooling in your mouth puddle beneath you, he was so deep inside of you in every way, pulling his cock back merely by a few inches before filling you up again.

you felt so stuffed. almost feeling him in your stomach with how deep he was and how deep he stayed. all the while his large thumb played with your hole, in and out of your tight ring of muscles that accepted his digit easily now.

“such greedy holes taking me in so well..” caleb praised as his pupils were practically heart shaped, and he was right, you were taking him in so well, milking and sucking his cock and thumb in a mouth watering way. he felt his head spin the more you squirted around him each time his cock slipped the slightest bit out.

feeling the heat burn in your lower stomach, the knot of pleasure tightening more and more. it was making you dizzy, nails digging into the mattress while your hand absentmindedly sneaked beneath you, fingers rubbing tight circles around your puffy clit just to send you over the edge.

but oh caleb couldn’t have that, he was in charge of bringing you heavenly pleasure while your only job was to take it, “i’ve got you, pips.” he gently pushed your hand away before replacing it with his own, following the same pattern but quicker and rougher.

“caleb!” you almost screamed at the overwhelming sensation, your nerves feeling electrified as waves of ecstasy washed down on you, “juuusst like that.. f-fuck..” your boyfriend groans while you gushed around him, so tight and so wet. a ring of arousal forming around his base before his entire abdomen became soaked in your squirt.

“s-shit!” and with his tip kissing your cervix, caleb stuffed you full with endless ropes of his warm cum.

ຊ ZAYNE. zayne is a very, very needy man. call it him being touch starved, love-starved, him not indulging in pleasuring himself or others throughout his life so much and instead directing his energy on making himself better education and physical strength wise, and now that he has you, someone he trusts and loves and isn’t holding himself back from pleasing, he’s insatiable. positions, locations— none of that really matter to him, however he’ll always prefer to be in the safety of your home and the comfort of your bed, as close as possible to you no matter how tired or exhausted he is from his work in the hospital, in conclusion: spooning.

“you’re so warm, love.” his sweet voice whispered next to your ear, large and muscular arms wrapped around your middle as his legs nudged yours open. zayne had your back pressed against his chest, his body colder than yours and the freezing contact made your head dizzy.

his frosty ingertips travelled down your night dress, tiny snow particles decorating the satin fabric making you sigh in pleasure, you knew he was using your favourite tricks on you— it was always a different kind of experience whenever he used his evol.

the contrast between his cold hands and the warm blankets had you sweating, whimpering his name in desperation from the pooling heat between your thighs, “what do you want from me, snowflake?” his breath fanned your neck as you closed your eyes, feeling feverish when you replied “need you, zayne. so bad” and gosh who was zayne to refuse you?

“easy now darling..” he chuckled when your legs began to shake the second his frosty fingers slithered between your thighs, he could feel the heat radiating from your panties, icy fingers sneaking beneath the thin lace as your body shuddered against his, “doing so good for me, snowflake.” his voice was low, husky, needy. praising you as much as you wanted just to hear your pretty noises and responses.

his other hand swiftly pushed his sweatpants and boxers down, just enough to have his pulsing cock push between your plush thighs. the sudden, wet contact of his precum coated tip with your slicked thighs made both of you groan, fingers wrapping around his base as he pumped his leaking cock a few times while wrapped around the softness of your skin, the feeling of you around all of his senses was so thrilling. the cardiac surgeon was addicted to the sensation of his heart beating out of his chest.

“zaynie please.. don’t tease me.” you squirmed in his hold, everything felt so lewd and it was driving you insane. the ache between your legs and the fastened rising of your chest— everything was overwhelming and ardent, if zayne didn’t fill you up and fuck you stupid right now- you would literally explode.

“shhhh love, i’ve got you.” he reassured, finally angling his tip along your drenched opening, a shaky breath escaping his throat as he sunk inside of your warmth completely, the sweet stretch making you gasp while he settled inside of you, his length never failed to make you feel so stuffed fully to the brim.

the moment your walls engulfed his soaked cock zayne’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the feeling was so harshly consuming to him, and he loved surrendering his tired and spent body to the dizzying pleasure you’ll always grant him, without any further words exchanged between you, he began to move his hips in a perfect pace, thrusting in and out sloppily, his tip caressing each and every sweet spot inside of you, making you babble praises just for him.

“s’good zay.. f-fuck! so deep..” drool by now was decorating the pillowcase beneath you, mind so foggy with the pleasure of your lover stretching you out so well, zayne’s muffled moans got lost on the side of your neck, bites and kisses being littered all across your skin while your fingers wrapped around the bedsheets.

his tip nudged against your cervix the same moment his frosty fingers slithered beneath your dress, large hands fondling with your breasts as he decreased the temperature of his hands, “zayne!” you couldn’t help but whimper while one of your hands sprang to hold his icy ones, “it’s okay, baby. you can take it.” he gently bit your earlobe as he praised you.

“it’s too c-cold..” you might’ve been complaining but zayne felt the tightening of your cunt around him when his icy fingertips pinched your hardened nipples, he knew you were enjoying this, he always knew what you liked and didn’t like. and he knew that you loved it when he played with you like this.

“but you’re taking it so well, aren’t you snowflake?” he muttered, hips picking up the pace as his cock slipped in and out of you so sensually, you shivered in his hold while nodding, “taking me so well, so perfect for me.” he mumbled against your skin, each word going straight to your pulsing cunt as the heat in your stomach bubbled more, aching for release while zayne kept splitting you open on his length.

“cum for me, baby.. need to feel you.” he sounded drunk absolutely intoxicated on you as he begged you to cum around his cock, “oh fuck—“ you felt the way the tears stung the back of your eyes, one of his hands that toyed with your tit slid downwards to pinch at your pulsating clit, the sensation of his cold fingers rubbing lazy circles on your nub was enough to have your eyes cross.

“c-cumming— shit! zayne- oh my god!” you sobbed his name for him, body shaking in his hold as your back arched against his chest, climax bursting within you as raging waves of euphoria crashed onto you, creaming all over his cock while zayne groaned from the incessant tightening of your walls around him, “b-baby.. oh fuck i’m close.” he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, not when your cunt was practically milking him unforgivingly.

with one final, sloppy thrust, zayne coated your flowing pussy with thick ropes of his milky cum. allowing the carnal pleasure to rapture along his shaking frame.

a,n. WHAT WAS THAT PIPSQUEAKKK !!! 🗣️🗣️

[nadvs]

the power play (part one)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

tags college au. fake dating. grumpy athlete/sunshine tutor. reader is bubbly, talkative, and passionate about literature. very slowburn. he falls first. alcohol use. suggestive moments, but no smut.

power play (noun)

an offensive tactic in a team sport; a deliberate attempt to manipulate someone.

════════

You hoped it wouldn’t feel the way it used to, but as you sit in the stands behind the home bench next to Lyla, it’s all the same.

You’re watching Beck zip across the ice with a painfully familiar sense of longing hammering into your chest. Falling for him always felt inevitable; you just didn’t expect that he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

When you and Lyla became friends in the ninth grade, you quickly grew close to her family, spending more time at their house than your own, tagging along to watch her twin brother’s hockey games.

The more you got to know Beck, the more you fell under his spell, charmed by his warmth, by every part of him that made him the most captivating person you’d ever met.

He stole your heart. Considering the way he treated you, you were sure you’d stolen his, too.

You spent most of last semester helping him with a class, even though you were in the same overwhelming throws of being a college freshman. Every study session in his dorm room drifted by with an undercurrent of certainty that he felt something, too.

It crushed you to realize that it’d all been in your head. A few weeks ago, you’d met him after his final exam, which he said he knew he nailed thanks to you.

You thought he was finally going to make the move that felt like it’d been hanging over you for years. But all he did was pull you into a side-hug and say, “You’re more of a friend to me than my own sister.”

Thinking about it still makes you cringe. You hate how weak you feel ruminating over this, trying to get over someone you were never even with.

It’s a Wednesday night two weeks into the spring semester, and you’re at the first home game you’ve been to in a while. Although you’ve always loved the loud, buzzing atmosphere of a hockey game, you’ve been staying far away from the campus arena and the man who hurt you.

You haven’t spoken to Beck. And he hasn’t reached out. What he did was an indirect rejection, his way of saying, It’s obvious that you like me and I need you to know once and for all that I don’t like you back.

Since then, every time your best friend has asked you to come to games or parties, you’ve told her you’ve been too busy, using your new position in a tutoring program as your excuse.

You prefer a distraction from Beck, and helping other students with a subject you’re passionate about has done the job.

But you can’t blow Lyla off forever, so now, you’re sitting with her in the stands among a small crowd of spectators.

The championship season begins in a month. Every seat will be full then. But you wish more people were around now. You welcome any noise to drown out your thoughts.

Everyone else cheers when Beck smashes the puck against the back of the net, securing the team’s first goal. You find it hard to join the celebration. Even though you’ve always thought of him as kind, you wonder if he could tell how much you liked him. If he consciously led you on.

For years, you’d watched him date other girls, hoping he’d finally realize you were the right one for him all along. You daydreamed far too much about him, imagining that he’d become your first boyfriend and take you on your first date and give you your first kiss.

The alarm blares to signal the end of the second period, pulling you out the haze you’ve fallen into a thousand times since that day in front of his exam room.

“You want to get some snacks?” Lyla asks.

“Sure,” you reply, doing your best impression of a girl with nothing weighing on her.

Once you walk up to the end of one of the arena’s concession stand lines, Lyla recognizes the people standing in front of you, greeting both girls with smiles and hugs.

Through introductions, you learn that Emma and Gabby are friends Lyla made at a party last semester. After some small talk as the line shuffles forward, Lyla points back to the rink.

“The seats next to us are empty if you want to sit with us,” she offers.

Emma and Gabby happily join you as you settle back in your seats soon after. You gaze ahead at the empty rink as they chat, the 3-1 score glaring above the ice in red neon numbers.

“No way the coach isn’t chewing them out right now,” Lyla says with a shake of her head.

“Why do you know on the team again?” Emma asks.

“My brother, Beck,” Lyla says. “You?”

Emma’s mouth twists into a tense smile.

“My ex,” she says, her voice lowering. “I wish he didn’t play, because I actually really love coming to these games.”

“Bad breakup?” you surmise.

“Brutal,” Gabby chimes in. You can tell by her expression that she’d supported her friend through the fallout.

“I just don’t want him to see me here and think it means something,” Emma sighs. “If he thinks that I want to get back together, it’ll be a disaster. We broke up a month ago and he’s still bothering me.”

You hardly know this girl, and you know her ex even less, but your reflex is to feel bad for him. You’re well acquainted with the pain that comes with caring about somebody who doesn’t want you.

“Oh, yeah,” Lyla remembers. “Rafe, right?”

Emma nods.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs.

The three girls share a knowing look, something unsaid passing through them.

You don’t know much about Rafe. On the rink, he’s a strong, aggressive defenseman, a sophomore who spends more time in the penalty box than any other player. You’ve seen him at a couple of parties, too, but never exchanged any words.

You don't understand the girls’ tense reactions to the mention of his name.

“What am I missing?” you half-whisper.

“You’d be missing nothing if you actually came to the parties I invite you to,” Lyla teases.

You can count on one hand how many parties you’ve been to since you started college. But it works for you. A party every few weeks is enough.

“I come when I can,” you reply, nudging her playfully. “Fill me in.”

“He’s a trainwreck,” Emma explains to you. “He has a million red flags that I ignored because I thought he was hot. Literally all we ever did was fight.”

“Yeah,” Lyla huffs, raising her brows. She looks at you. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing you don’t come to every party.”

You consider their words. They must have had a penchant for making a scene, shamelessly arguing in front of a crowd.

“I couldn’t take how mean and moody he was anymore. I dumped him and he won’t let it go.” Emma breathes a laugh. “It’s pathetic. He even called me crying the other night.”

Again, a confusing pang of sympathy for him hits you. It has to be your own heartbreak influencing you. You can’t imagine you’d normally feel bad for a guy described as having a million red flags.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m over it,” Emma says carelessly.

“He’s not,” Gabby murmurs.

The players storm out on the rink again moments later, blades slicing the ice. They’re all so fast and powerful, and knowing that Rafe, the most forceful one of the group, is going through a version of the pain you are is oddly comforting.

A couple of minutes in, he gets thrown into the penalty box for charging an opponent. He skates to the opposite side of the rink, Cameron stitched across the black polyester of his jersey.

He stares at the floor as he waits out his penalty, tense, still. You think that if someone who looks so big and strong can hurt just like you, maybe you’re not as weak as you think.

════════

Rafe swings open the library entrance door with a scowl, irritated as hell that he has to be here. It’s annoying that the athletic department gives this much of a shit about players’ grades. Rafe knows he’s one of the best on the hockey team. He wishes that were enough.

Freshman year was fine, but he barely made it through last semester. He just failed his first assignment in a half-term literature course that was supposed to be an easy A.

Coach wasn’t pleased, saying it could screw up his GPA and deem him ineligible to play. Rafe tried to convince him that he’d do better on the next one, but Coach set him up with a tutor, unwilling to hear him out.

He’s already hardwired into a constant state of anger. Life has always been a storm, and now more than ever, there's no refuge in sight.

He's dealing with a coach who has no hope in him, on top of a painful breakup, on top of a shitty loss last night, on top of the fact that now he’s being forced to talk to a stranger about some boring book.

He can’t catch a break.

He looks at the email on his phone again. Study Room 205. He eventually finds the open door and taps his knuckles on it to get your attention.

You lock eyes with the person you’ve been waiting on for the last ten minutes. You had no idea who was coming up to meet you – just that the athletic department set it up.

But you know him. Or of him, at least.

A second ago, you were thinking about how you’ll have to ask whoever you’re meeting to be on time for future sessions. Now, your mind is consumed by the harsh words you heard about him last night.

“Hi,” you say politely. “Are you here for Lit Arts?”

He nods tersely in confirmation, stepping in. He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs surrounding the square desk in the middle of the small room. You introduce yourself and when he sits down diagonally opposite to you, he murmurs, “Rafe.”

Discomfort swirls in your stomach. You’d heard something so personal about him at the rink, gazed at him in the penalty box from a distance, feeling like he’s a kindred spirit, and now you have to pretend like none of it happened.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” you ask.

He realizes he’s seen you before. He can’t figure out where.

“Yeah.”

“I was at the game last night. Tough loss.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically. You clear your throat, figuring it’s best to skip the small talk.

“I took this class last semester. I know exactly how the prof grades, so you’re lucky to have me in your corner.”

Rafe is many things right now. Lucky isn’t one of them.

“Do you have your laptop?” you ask.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his computer.

“You can go to the course portal,” you tell him. He lets out an exhale as he navigates to the webpage. You lean closer to make sure that the class is currently on the book you brought with you.

You pull out your copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, page edges littered with different colored sticky tabs.

“Did you get a chance to start the book?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He’s not hiding that he really doesn’t want to be here. Nonetheless, you’re determined to crack him.

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, picking up that he planned to coast through the class, not even bothering to buy and read any of the books.

“Do you like reading?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says with a grimace, as if he’s offended you’d assume that.

“You might like some of the books on the syllabus. This class is a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes with a stare that makes him look like he wants to bolt out of the door he just came through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you reply with a smile. “Your idea of fun is skating around and getting slammed into walls. I should be the one judging you.”

He gazes at you like you’re from another planet, blue eyes hard on you. It’s nothing short of amusing.

You pull his laptop closer, hovering the cursor over the ‘My Grades’ tab, and ask, “Do you mind if I check how you did on your last assignment?”

“I bombed it,” he says.

As you gaze at the screen, Rafe clues in on where he’s seen you before. With one of the team’s freshmen.

Varsity athletes who live on campus are lumped together in the same dormitory block, and he’s seen you hanging around with Beck, going in and out of his room.

He wouldn’t consider Beck a friend. He’s a teammate and at best, an acquaintance. The guy’s a kiss-ass to Coach, and does everything by the book, skipping most parties and never drinking.

It makes complete sense that a rule-follower like Beck would date a good girl like you. Who the fuck calls a class fun?

You click to see his failing grade percentage for the first assignment of the semester in bolded red.

“Did you get any feedback on where you went wrong?” you ask. You know he’s going to shake his head before he does it. He doesn’t seem to care at all. “You have a whole semester to get your grade up. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he replies stiffly.

“Well… maybe you should worry a little bit,” you say lightheartedly. “I know your coach is serious about grades.”

Rafe figures you must have heard that from your boyfriend. Maybe Beck took this class, too. It’s popular among busy student athletes because it’s supposed to be an easy way to fulfill a humanities credit.

He could just convince Beck to give him copies of his assignments. He’d have to change stuff around, but at least he’d get out of tutoring.

“Did you help Beck with this class?” he asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden reminder of him, brows knitting together, a shift in your breezy demeanor.

“You’re his girl, right?” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“No. We’re– we’re friends.” You chew on your bottom lip. Tutoring is supposed to be a distraction from Beck, not the topic of conversation. But your curiosity burns in you and there’s no chance of putting it out. “Did he talk about me or something?”

“No,” he says, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I just figured ‘cause you’re with him all the time.”

“Right,” you say. All the time. Like a lost puppy, no doubt. Embarrassment pricks at your skin. “I helped him with another class. We’re friends.”

Rafe cracks his first smirk since he walked into this stuffy little room. You said friends twice, both times with uncertainty.

“You sure?” he chides.

“What?” you say stiffly. “Yes. I am.”

You crack open the book.

“So, A Portrait is about a man named Stephen who navigates the idea of identity,” you say quickly, trying to shake off your nerves. “We should look at the discussion question.”

You shut the book abruptly, then turn your attention to the laptop.

“You need to write a 1,500-word reflection for each book,” you ramble. “You’ll do better if you find a personal connection to the text. Maybe we start there.”

Rafe watches the nervous way your eyes dart around the screen as you scroll. His joke threw you into a tense, awkward panic that he has no interest in being around.

“You can relax,” he says. “I don’t care if you like him.”

You don’t look at him. You thought you were relaxed.

“Well, I don’t.”

You scroll to the question, one word in particular striking you.

What role does Emma play in Stephen’s growth and how he defines himself?

Of course. As if you needed another reason for this to be even more awkward.

Seeing Rafe’s ex’s name makes what she’d told you about him echo through your head again. Despite his teasing, the sympathy you felt for him comes back tenfold.

You know things about him that you shouldn’t. You feel a responsibility to balance the scales, but the air is too tense, the unfamiliarity too uncomfortable.

“Did you take a look at the question?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still slouched back. At this point, his apathy is starting to get to you.

“Listen, I can tell you don’t want to be here, but could you please try to meet me in the middle?” you say.

Rafe’s lips pull into a firm line, but he relents and leans closer to look at the screen. His body goes cold when he sees her name. He’d rather not be reminded of the girl who broke his heart right now.

“Emma is Stephen’s love interest,” you begin, trying to act like you don’t know a thing about his past relationship. “He sees her as something she’s not.”

You leaf through the book, finding a note you’d written in the margin.

“She represents idealization,” you read. You look up at him again. “Stephen sees by the end that she’s just a normal person, not this perfect girl he thought she was for so many years.”

You open a blank document on his laptop.

“We can write up some notes to start us off,” you say. “This prof grades high when you relate to the text. He likes the sentimental stuff, so until you read the book, that’s what we’ll have to work on.”

You chew on your lip again, unsure if you should bring up what you heard in the stands. It feels unethical either way.

“It doesn’t have to be a person,” you say. “It could be a place or an experience. Have you ever thought something was great and then realized it wasn’t?”

Rafe’s stomach is in a knot. The thought of being tutored and having his hand held through a class was bad enough. Now he has to get into his feelings with you?

“I don’t know,” he says.

You look at the blinking cursor, your head cocked in thought.

“Maybe relating it to a person would be easier, then?” you ask.

Nothing can make this easier. Rafe rakes his hair back, gazing down at your hands stalled over his keyboard.

“I get that this is awkward,” you say. “But it doesn’t have to be anything super personal. You could even make something up if you want.”

He only purses his lips, eyes fixed on your hands, as if he hopes you’ll give in and just do his work for him.

You take a deep breath and interlace your fingers on the desk. You figure that if you’re a little vulnerable, he might be, too.

He’s unknowingly feeling the same pain you are and saying the truth out loud to someone who gets it might even be a relief. There’s a risk of it getting back to Beck, but something tells you Rafe’s not much of a gossiper anyway.

“To be honest, yes, I like Beck. I thought he felt the same, but he doesn’t. Between you and me, sometimes I think he took me for granted and led me on. I idealized a friendship and it ended up hurting me. If this were my assignment, I’d relate to the book with that.”

Rafe is thrown off by your sudden honesty. It’s actually refreshing, considering all the bullshit he’s been dealing with lately.

He looks at you wordlessly.

“It’s just an example,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I did well in this class because I found pieces of myself in every book. All you need to do is read the material, find something you can relate to, write a decent report, and you’ll get a good grade. Well, that and prepare for the midterm and the final.”

“This class was supposed to be easy,” he finally says under his breath.

“Can you let me know when you’re going to be done complaining?” you ask playfully, looking up at the clock. “It’s been five minutes and you’re still going.”

Rafe huffs an almost-laugh. He adjusts his posture again, pulling at the collar of his hoodie.

“You really don’t have to be specific,” you reassure him. You tap your fingers over the keyboard again, just light enough to not press any buttons. “If you can relate the character of Emma to someone, you don’t have to say their name.”

Your eyes stay glued to the screen, your shoulders stiff as you wait. You’re acting weird again. The way you said Emma’s name looked like it pained you.

And it dawns on him.

“Should’ve known she’d talk shit,” he realizes. “What’d she tell you?”

“What?” you say, meeting his gaze.

“What did Emma say about me?” Rafe drawls, his deep voice reverberating through you.

Your lips part, but words refuse to form. For a guy that doesn’t like to read, he’s very good at doing it to you.

Rafe leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. You can now see what makes him so intimidating on the ice. Every edge of his face is sharp now, apathy replaced with intensity.

“Nothing,” you reply. “It’s not my business.”

How did he not clue in before? If you run in the hockey team’s social circle, of course you heard about their breakup.

Emma never cared to keep things private. And you’re so willing to share your own personal stuff because you know more about him than you’re letting on. Because you pity him.

“Come on,” he scoffs, frustrated.

“I met her at the rink last night. She just mentioned you used to date.”

He shrugs impatiently, a silent request that you keep talking. You sigh. He’s stubborn.

“She said she likes coming to games, but it’s hard to because her ex is on the team.” You grimace. There’s no way you’d actually tell him all of it, all of the insults she muttered. “It’s not worth repeating, but… basically, she told me she broke things off and you won’t move on.”

Rafe nods, lips twisting. The way she’s been ignoring his texts and his calls to try to fix things stung enough. Talking to strangers to embarrass him hurts on an entirely different level.

He didn’t know Emma could be this cruel. This is mortifying. He’s done trying to make things work with her. No matter how hard the loneliness is hitting him.

You slide the book across the desk towards him, desperate to move past the tension.

“You can start reading,” you say. “And you don’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll just lend you mine. I’ll get some notes down for you to work from and you can do the personal connection part on your own.”

You start to type and immediately wonder if he’ll drop the class. You’ve never had that happen with someone you tutored before, but you wouldn’t blame him.

It must feel crappy to hear from a girl you don’t even know that your ex is saying bad things about you. A girl that you have to see every Thursday afternoon for the next three months.

Rafe cracks open the book in the middle to fan through the pages, a weight sitting on his chest. The pages are worn, words underlined, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You put this through the washing machine or something?” he murmurs.

“I’ve read it a few times,” you say simply. You keep typing.

Emma said he’d called her crying. It’s hard to imagine the man sitting next to you crying. It’s weird knowing something about someone that they wouldn't want you to know.

Rafe’s already bored with the first sentence. It’s long and confusing and completely uninteresting. His eyes drift up, absorbing the way your face softly creases in concentration as you type.

Now that you’re not talking at a thousand words a second, he can actually take you in.

You’re the type of girl he’d approach at a party. There’s no doubt about that. But once you’d start yapping about reading like you just did, about finding pieces of yourself in a book, he’d find a way out of the conversation.

Playing hockey at the college level is demanding; he likes the other things in his life to be fun and easy. Keeping up with a girl like you and pretending he’s interested in whatever you’re rambling about would be neither.

As he studies you, he doesn’t get why Beck friendzoned you. You’re pretty. And you’re the same type of person as Beck: straight-edge and so cheerful it’s annoying.

Rafe is typically one to outright say what he’s thinking, but he has the restraint to keep the idea he just had to himself. He needs to sleep on it. He’s done some crazy shit since Emma broke his heart and he’d rather not add to the tally.

You notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

“You’re not thinking of dropping the class, are you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. His eyes stay on you for another beat, then find the words on the page again.

════════

You thought Rafe came to your first session in a bad mood. Compared to how you feel right now, he was peachy.

Lyla called you on your way to the library and mentioned in passing that her brother asked about you last night. She said Beck seemed like he missed you, all sympathetic when he asked, is she doing okay?

She’s oblivious to the real reason he brought it up. And it’s irritating. Because he doesn’t even ask you himself. Because he’s right. He knows that his passive rejection left a wound.

“You’re on time,” you say in surprise when Rafe saunters into the study room.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in a lecture after you told me not to be late.”

Despite your bad mood, you crack an amused smile. You’d ended last week’s session telling him that tardiness was not only disrespectful to you, but to his own academic success. He rolled his eyes, but he clearly listened.

Rafe settles in the same chair as last time, holding your copy of the book he was supposed to read.

“Did you read it?”

“Mostly.”

“What’d you think?” you say with hope.

“Boring.”

“Fair,” you say. You gesture for his laptop. “Let’s see how far you got on the report.”

Your brows drop in disappointment when you see how much he added to the file. It’s a bunch of pasted summaries and disorganized thoughts, taking up only half the page.

You eventually reach the end of your hour-long session and have him read over the assignment one last time before submitting it. You check the syllabus to confirm what the next book is, then shut his computer.

“Try to have more for us to work with next time,” you tell him. “And you should have the next book totally read by then, too, okay?”

You hand him your copy of Pride and Prejudice and push your seat back, ignoring his frustrated sigh.

“You talk to Beck lately?” he asks after a beat.

“What?” you say, face screwing up. You’re reminded all over again of what Lyla said. “No. Why?”

“You’re still pissed at him,” he says. He’s confident, coming to the conclusion himself instead of waiting for you to admit it.

“Why are you talking about this? We had a perfectly nice hour together,” you try to joke.

Rafe finally gives a voice to what’s been swirling in his mind since last week. He’s used to being mad, to feeling spiteful, but the way his ex broke his heart has never made him want revenge more. He wants to hurt her as badly as she hurt him. He wants to make her regret leaving him.

“We should get back at them,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” you say, your chin dipping as you stare at him.

“Hear me out,” he tells you. “We’re going to keep seeing Beck and Emma around, right? We could make it look like we’re better off without them. Make them jealous.”

You squint, waiting for the details. Rafe draws in a sharp inhale.

“She said I’m not over her, right? And you said he took you for granted. If they think we moved on, I bet at least one of ‘em will realize they fucked up.”

You consider it. Admittedly, making Beck think you’re perfectly fine – no, thriving – after his rejection is enticing.

“Okay, how do we get back at them exactly?” you ask.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck. It’s the first time he seems kind of nervous to you.

“We pretend we’re together,” he says.

“You and…” You look over your shoulder, because he must be talking to somebody else who snuck into the room at some point. “You and me? Together together?”

“I know. It wouldn’t ever happen.”

You can’t even be offended. He’s right. He’s a skilled hockey player and undeniably good-looking, but that’s where the compliments end.

Two afternoons of working together and making small talk have shown you that you have nothing in common. And frankly, while you do laugh off his bad attitude, it gets on your nerves.

A relationship would never work, let alone even begin.

“But they don’t know that,” he continues. “All they’ll see is that someone they lost is happy without them.”

Your mind starts racing. The years of pining over Beck, the pain of his rejection, the frustration over him asking his sister how you’re holding up. They’ve all left cracks in your heart.

The more Rafe thinks about rubbing his happiness into Emma’s face, even if it’s bullshit, the more he hopes you’ll be on board. But you’re not saying a word.

“If you’re not in, fine,” he sighs, pushing his chair back to start to leave. He should have figured you’d be too uptight to do it. “I’m just saying I bet you wouldn’t hate making Beck sweat.”

He stands up, but you hear yourself say, “Wait.”

Then you hold out your hand.

Rafe breathes an amused chuckle, flashing the first sincere smile you’ve seen on his face, when he realizes what you’re doing.

Your hand slips into his, touching for the first time to seal the deal and shake on it.

“This is insane,” you say. “Count me in.”

next >

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[thebdc]

I LOVE THIS VIDEO SO MUCH

I think I can speak for a lot of women when I say, we tend to feel very “out of place” or excluded in areas like sports where it’s typically more male dominated because there’s almost (almost almost) no representation and when there is representation, it’s actively being suppressed or ignored. And when women speak out on this issue, their concerns get reduced to nothing. It’s truly frustrating because sometimes it makes me question, would these drivers even speak out on issues that concern the majority of their fans?

It feels so comforting to know that my favorite driver acknowledges and understands the issues that I face and isn’t afraid to speak out on it. Why would I support a driver that doesn’t think I belong in the sport? Why would I support a guy who excludes women and girls from a sport because he still thinks it’s only for boys? It’s important to me I’m supporting the right people.

ik he heard about laura müller and said it was about damn time

[p1astr81]

friend is just a word

In which: you’re drunk off your ass and accidentally mistake formula one driver for a friend.

Pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

warnings: excessive alcohol consumption, not proofread😵‍💫

an: TYSM FOR 600 FOLLOWERS🥳🥳🥳

The music was blasting, light flares obstructing your vision while you tried to stumble back to your friends on weakening legs. The drink in your hand kissed the rim off the glass every now and then, but you hadn’t spilt any of it.

Your shoulder bumped into another, and you went to apologize, but your thoughts were thrown off by his familiar face.

If his face was familiar, he had to be a friend. Right?

A hand of yours gripped onto his shoulder for stability. He eyed the hand with a raised brow, but neglected to verbally question it.

It felt like your brain was trying to communicate with you, but it couldn’t penetrate the fog caused by the alcohol. “I didn’t know you were here!” His brown hair flopped when he flinched away from you, your voice far too loud for his ears to bare. “How have you been?! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Uh, good. I guess?” You didn’t catch his nervous glances.

“That’s amazing! You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I got that call back about the job with sky sports.”

He raised his brows in interest. “Oh really? What for?” His head cocked to the side.

“A second interview! I didn’t even know they did second interviews. I thought it was just one and done!” You laughed, an irregular high-pitched sound.

By now, Oscar was quite sure you weren’t aware of who he really was. Just that you thought you knew him. “Probably so they know you won’t bother the drivers.”

You feigned offense. “What! I would never do such a thing!”

Ironic, Oscar thought, you’re kind of doing it right now. But he didn’t really care. He actually found it kind of amusing.

He chuckled. “No, I’m sure you’d never bother them.”

You folded over in laughter. He didn’t even know he said anything funny. “Oh, you are too funny, Oscar!” You pretended to wipe a tear.

Strangely, that action might’ve brought you to your senses.

“Piastri.” Was the only word you spoke. It sat on the fringes of inaudible.

The panic that washed over your features was too humorous. He couldn’t not grin.

And then you went white. “I’m so sorry. I thought- oh, god.” You hid your face behind your hand. “I did not mean to bother you. I thought you were one of my friends.”

Oscar only chuckled. “I figured. No worries. It was pretty funny to watch.”

Maybe, just maybe, a part of him was glad it was him and not some other random guy in the bar.

“I’m gonna- yeah I’m gonna go back to my actually friends now.” You rambled. “Sorry!” A squeak.

The conversation didn’t end when you left, because then he had to return to his own party. Lando made fun of him for it.

“Awe! Osco finally found a girlfriend!” He teased, earning a head shake from Oscar.

���She was just drunk.” He waved off.

But lando wouldn’t let up. The whole night, he made off handed comments. He pointed her out anytime he saw her. And at one point,

“I’m gonna go talk to her. Be a wingman.” He flashed Oscar a toothy, mischievous grin and winked at him. Before Oscar could object, he was off.

You were laughing your ass off at something one of your friends said when a slightly slurred, British voice interjected. “Hey girls!” He greeted the group, a bright smile, before turning his gaze to you. “Hi.” He repeated, trying not to laugh at your overly shocked expression. “You see that guy in the blue shirt? Yeah, he wants your number but is too much of a pussy to ask for it himself, so here I am.” He explained with copious amounts of amusement.

Your brain took a minute to catch up with him. “Uh, uhm- yeah. Sure. I guess. Uh.” You scrambled to find something to write on and write with. “I have no paper.”

“Right.” Lando handed you his phone, open to the notes app. He couldn’t stop grinning as your fingers fumbled to type in your number, and when he said his goodbyes, and when he returned to Oscar.

“Got it. You can thank me by making me your best man.” He shrugged, too cocky for how easy the situation was.

“Yeah, whatever.” Oscar dismissed, but he took the number and saved it in his phone anyway.

He made a mental note to call you tomorrow, after your inevitable hangovers faded away.

[jester-lover]

What if the dorm leaders had a clumsy, klutzy, forgetful, and lazy female s/o that somehow knows how to do impossible tasks (like cooking up a feast, repairing a car, play 10 different instruments, getting good grades, etc) without even trying?

Dorm Leaders with a Talented yet Lazy Girlfriend

CWs: a tinge of jealousy, fluff and a little insecurity. Fem! Reader, s/o is basically one of those overpowered anime protags lol.

Riddle

He adores you so much as his girlfriend, but Riddle can’t help but be a little jealous of you. The sheer lack of effort you put into anything and everything you do compared to the overall success you have goes against everything he was raised to believe.

Riddle might push you to be a little more studious but ends up finding it meaningless. You simply have a talent for beating people who’ve put in considerably more effort than you have.

Those miraculous acts of preparation you do, such as preparing full meals and such, come in especially handy when his dorm is in chaos before a tea party.

Seeing you whip up the tea, set the table, and paint all the roses in record time, it was like seeing a phoenix rise from the ashes. He was so bewildered he just stood there, mouth slightly agape.

The klutzy nature you display fits right in with his dorm, so he isn’t put off by it at all.

“S/O, remember you’ve got a history test today…I know you’ll do great…”

Leona

At the start of your relationship, there is a comfort the two of you have in your shared sense of calm. You’re both chill people with slow lives, living comfortably. The second he learns how effortlessly you succeed at life, though? He can’t help but be a little jealous.

Very verbally supportive, but silently fuming until he realizes just how ridiculous he’s being. Then he’s bragging about you to anyone who’s even a little curious. 

Leona’s event planning skills are…unfortunate to say the least. So whenever the two of you have guests over or are hosting some type of event, you take over. 

Clumsiness is also something he isn’t used to; lion beastmen are agile in nature, so he tends to help you in terms of holding things and overall balance. Leona insists you hand over any heavy or easily breakable object to him.

“Do you want me to carry that? Your hands are shaking again…”

Azul

You two definitely met because he deemed you an easy target for one of his contracts, only to be embarrassed and slightly enamored when you broke apart each aspect of it and tried to negotiate a better deal for yourself.

He respects how multifaceted you are, especially when it comes to your talents. Azul might even employ you to play light background music for the lounge. 

If your talents extend to sports, he’s going to beg for advice.

“So you don’t even practice or anything? And you made the team? What do you mean you’ve never played—

On the topic of grades, he gets a little freaked out. You’ve been here for like a month, and you’ve learned all of Twisted Wonderland’s history already? Are you some kind of malfunctioning robot?

Azul also doesn’t care about your lazy nature; nap around his office all you want.

Kalim

You two are quite similar in disposition and overall vibes, but when it comes to grades, you’re way better off than he is.

The amount of stress you both put Jamil in before you locked in and cleaned out that entire dorm was unbelievable. I mean, a full-course dinner that he didn’t have to make; he’s begging you to marry Kalim at this point.

He would be the type to leave you sticky notes reminding you of your tasks and goals, with little encouraging messages.

“Don’t forget you have a presentation today! How’d you do all 20 slides in ten minutes? Who cares? You’ll do great! :)”

Vil

This would be a tricky situation.

Vil believes in pushing yourself to reach your ideal goals; to sweat and tire is to prove your worth to him. So to see you basically lose at every step of the way and still win at life is unbelievable. I mean, you forget every quiz date you get and still score hundreds every single time.

Vil also appreciates your musical skills; he’ll encourage you to play complex melodies as he gets ready in the morning, waking him up for the day ahead.

His own schedule takes time from his studies, but he also scores high on everything. He thinks your grades come from a good sense of intuition.

“Schatz, how could you possibly have scored a hundred on this when you skipped all but 2 classes?”

Laziness is something he dislikes overall, but he can’t help but find you adorable when you drift off to sleep in his dorm room as opposed to getting some job done for Crowley. He likes making you feel safe.

Idia

He thinks you’re a natural good luck charm; I mean, everything you do seems to fall into place! 

Idia is also kind of lazy, so he won’t complain about your work ethic. Your clumsy nature, on the other hand, worries him because of all the one-of-a-kind tech in his room.

Once Idia finds out how good you are at, well, practically everything, he’ll get a little self-conscious. I mean, you don’t even have to try, and you just kinda win? Why stay with a shut-in like him?

You shut that down pretty quick, and he learns to just enjoy your talented self. He’s got a girlfriend; he’s already like, halfway more successful than most of his internet buddies.

Idia would adore it. If you played some type of electric instrument, like a synth or an electric guitar, he’d buy you the best one on the market just to hear some of his favorite intro songs played by you.

“S/O, how does a keytar sound? Of course, you already know how to play that.”

Malleus

Grades and all that don’t really matter to Malleus, as he’s also just naturally talented at everything, similarly to you. It's your clumsy, human nature that enchants him. Fae like him are naturally balanced, elegant, and refined; they don’t just fall over or knock things down like you have a habit of doing.

“You’ve just done what humans call ‘eating dirt,’ did you not, Beastie? Intriguing…”

The concept of laziness is also new to him; he would have fun dragging you along to your tasks and seeing the looks of shock on people’s faces as you come riding into class on the Prince of the Briar Valley’s shoulders.

Malleus is also probably trained in several instruments, and he’d love to play duets or help you acquire more rare, niche musical tools.

People who’ve been around as long as he has don’t often deem things impossible, but the shocking speed at which you managed to fix the decaying Ramshackle dorm, cook dinner each night for Grim and yourself, and deal with everyone’s problems, including your own, has him questioning if you’re human at all.