#the thing is i want better for the players

[itsminjify]

SLOW DOWN ㅤ★ PARK SUNGHOON

𝗦𝗖𝗥𝓲𝗣𝗧──── 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, "𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌," 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, "𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒."

❪ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐒 ❫ ｡ hockey player!sunghoon & fem!rea 1OOOwc. smut, MDNI. unprotected sex, fingering ˊᯅˋ situationship, oneshot

( minji says ) : 6 months since i've posted. i'm back ! i'll post fluff next week! who missed me ㅠㅠ

you don’t really remember what your birthday cake looked like this year. only that your ex broke up with you before it was even lit. said some bullshit about “timing,” and “pressure,” and how “maybe we’re just not meant to be.”

but a few weeks after that, sunghoon came along like a delayed punchline — except he was a better joke than your ex ever was.

park sunghoon. rival team’s golden boy, captain, heartthrob, five penalties this season for fighting — most of them against your ex’s teammates.

you hadn’t meant to kiss him after the game. you really hadn’t.

but maybe the way he’d looked at you that night — smudged eyeliner under his eyes from the team paint, a bloody lip, sweat glistening on his neck — maybe that had meant something. you kissed him anyway.

and then you kept kissing him. after practices. after away games. after your classes. in the backseat of his car. in the stairwell of your dorm. once — recklessly — with his jersey still on.

you don’t know what to call it. not dating. not just fucking either. but it’s been three months. and he’s in your bed again tonight.

"you locked the door, right?" he mumbles against your neck, lips dragging warm and unhurried, tongue flicking at your pulse just to hear your breath stutter.

you roll your eyes, fingers threading through his hair, tugging. "why? scared someone’s gonna see you with me?"

he huffs a soft laugh against your skin, something equal parts amused and fond. "if anyone sees me with you, they'll think i won the fucking lottery."

“you are the captain. shouldn’t you act a little less pathetic?”

“you want me to stop calling you my girl when i’m fucking you?” he murmurs, low against your collarbone. “say the word.”

you don’t say it. you never do.

he climbs over you slowly, his bare chest warm against yours as you sink deeper into the sheets. you’re wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts, and sunghoon’s hand sneaks under the hem with zero shame, gripping your hip like he owns it.

"why do you always do that?" you whisper, breath hitching when his thumb brushes low over your waistband.

"what?"

“act like i belong to you."

his eyes flick up. his hair’s messy from your hands, his lips slightly pink from where you've been kissing them. he looks so annoyingly good it makes you want to scream. or kiss him again. or both.

"because you do," he says simply, shrugging like it’s not a confession.

you narrow your eyes. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” he says lazily, but his hand’s moving again, dragging up your thigh. “don’t say things that make your pretty thighs clamp shut like that?”

“sunghoon.”

he smirks. "what. you want me to lie? pretend this isn’t the best thing i’ve ever had? pretend i don’t want to fuck you stupid every time i see your face?"

you bite your lip, and he notices, of course. his hand slips between your legs then, fingers warm and firm through your underwear.

“you’re soaked,” he mutters, like it’s your fault. “what’d i say that did it, hm? calling you mine? or saying i want to fuck you dumb?”

you gasp when he presses harder, fingers circling gently, but not nearly enough. your hips twitch against his touch, but he pulls back just enough to make you whimper.

“too busy dripping all over my fuckin’ hand, aren’t you?” he mutters, brushing his fingers over your folds, middle and ring finger spreading you open just enough.

“shut up,” you whisper, eyes fluttering.

“make me.”

you don’t. you can’t. not when his fingers finally slip inside, slow and deep, curling instantly like he already knows what makes your toes curl. you arch off the bed with a gasp, grabbing at his shoulder, nails sinking in.

“fuck—sunghoon,”

"that’s it,” he grins, biting gently at your jaw as his fingers start thrusting, unhurried. “say my name like that again."

you do. you say it more than once, breathless and broken and desperate, hips chasing his hand, thighs trembling already.

his thumb finds your clit with unfair ease, circling slow as his fingers keep pumping into you, tight and warm and slick. you hear yourself whining. actually whining.

“shit, baby,” he groans, voice dipping into something lower. “your pussy’s so tight—keep clenching like that and i’ll cum before i’m even inside you.”

“then get inside me,” you choke out, gasping, eyes glassy.

“fuck,” he groans. “you’re gonna kill me.”

he strips the rest of his clothes quickly, tossing them to the side like it doesn’t matter. and when he kneels between your legs, cock heavy in his hand, tip glistening — you swallow hard.

he leans down, kisses your mouth slow.

“you’re so pretty,” he whispers against your lips. “like this. legs spread. eyes glossy. waiting for me.”

he sinks in slow. painfully slow. your breath leaves in a gasp.

“shh,” he murmurs, voice strained. “i got you.”

you whimper under him, fingers clawing at his back, the burn between your legs making your thighs shake. he groans against your shoulder.

“tightest fuckin’ pussy,” he hisses, starting to move. “so wet—fuck, baby, made for me.”

you can’t speak. your mouth falls open, a moan stuck in your throat as he starts to fuck into you harder, hips snapping, cock dragging against your sweet spot again and again until your legs are wrapped around his waist.

his hand cups your cheek, fingers brushing your jaw. he groans low, hips stuttering just slightly.

"you’re mine,” he growls, fucking into you deeper. “doesn’t matter if you say it or not. you’ve always been mine.”

“sunghoon—” your voice cracks, and his thumb finds your clit again, pressing harsh circles as you tighten around him.

"cum for me, baby," he pants. "cum on my cock, fuck—let me feel it."

you do — crashing over the edge with a strangled cry, body spasming, legs shaking as you clamp down around him. he curses loud, fucking you through it, pace turning rough and desperate.

and then he’s pulling you closer, hips jerking, and you feel the warmth flood inside you as he spills deep, groaning your name like a prayer.

the room’s quiet after that. your chest rises and falls fast. his arm wraps around your waist.

“…still mad at me for calling you mine?” he whispers against your ear.

you snort, burying your face in his shoulder.

“no,” you mumble. “good,” he breathes. “’cause i’m not letting you go.”

and he doesn’t. not that night. not ever.

even if you never say it out loud. you’re his. and he’s yours. even when you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

[thebumblebeesworld]

NSFW! • ALPHABET

pearline x fem reader (ft. annie)

summary: ton of gay shit—with pearline x annie x reader at the end ;)

cw: smut obviouslyyy, it’s giving service top readerrrr. pillow princess pearlineeee

a/n: this was so hard to write y’alll. i’m sorry i couldn’t do every letter smfhh. but i’ve given you the best of what i had originally :3. if y’all want an extended version of letter w, y’all better let me know!!! (i’m probably gonna do it anyway cause pearline AND annie??? at the same timeeee??? yea)

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a = aftercare

After sex, Pearline likes to lay back, listening to the soft churn of a record player and the quiet rustle of your breathing. Music eases her body, and being wrapped up in you relaxes her mind after releasing so much energy.

She enjoys running her hands through your hair as your head lays on her bosom. She loves singing and humming along to the music, letting you hear the way the sound rumbles around in her chest.

d = dirty secret

It took Pearline a while to disclose that she prefers to receive mostly—although you had picked up on that fairly early in your relationship. It seemed like you both fell into a natural rhythm of things. You’d simply derive pleasure from seeing her enjoy herself, but she wore herself thin by overthinking too much about it.

“Y/n,” Pearline urges, voice as quiet as a church mouse. She puts her hand on your arm, stopping you from trailing hot, needy kisses down the side of her neck. Y’all are in a compromising position: you on top of her naked, sweat-covered body.

“What’s wrong, babydoll,” you quip, breathing heavy from your previous actions. The apprehension in her tone immediately unsettled you, shifting your mind completely from her body laying under you and to her worried eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! Of course not,” Pearline ensures, biting at her bottom lip and avoiding your gaze. “I just gotta tell you something ‘fore we continue.” Her eyes still refuse to look at you directly, so you grab her chin in a gentle grip and turn her face to you. You give her a short nod as an indication for her to continue with what she has to say.

“W-well, I,” she stumbles over her words, flinging her arms about in search of guidance, “I know we been makin’ love for a li’l bit now. An-and I enjoy every bit of it. I enjoy every bit of you.” You nod your head and hum along to show you’re listening. It’s like her words hang in the air a bit—like she’s confident in what she’s saying but doesn’t want you to feel like she’s being anything but truthful. “But I don’t really know.”

“What don’t you know, doll,” you raise your eyebrows, responding carefully to her anxiety. One of your hands slides down to her thigh, caressing her to ease that tension that has built up in her body. “I’m here with you,” you remind her. “It’s me and you.”

Her bottom lip trembles and her hands go up to shield her eyes from the sight of you. You place a kiss to her exposed collarbone just as a rush of words leave her mouth.

“Idon’tliketogiveIonlywannareceive.”

You blink twice.

Then chuckle.

“I know that, babydoll,” you laugh, smiling at her with such love. You pull her hands from her eyes and kiss the side of her face. You place a warm kiss upon her forehead then her nose and finally her pouted lips.

“You know?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “That’s usually how things go when we have sex, doll.” Pearline huffs, still pouting and eyes beginning to get heavy with tears.

“It’s not that I don’t like to fuck you, because I really do.”

“I understand,” you pause her before she can get going on a rant full of overthinking and overexplaining. You‘ve never once questioned y’all’s sex life. Things work well the way they are because that’s how it’s supposed to be. “I understand ‘cause it’s not that I don’t get pleasure from you fuckin’ me, but it’s far more pleasurable to see the way an orgasm washes over your body. To hear them pretty sounds you be lettin’ out.”

Pearline’s heart flutters, and her face flushes despite her dark skin.

“Stop it,” she swats at your naked chest, trying to push away how flustered you make her. You just smile your happy smile.

“You give me so much pleasure, baby,” you press harder. “I ain’t ever wanted more from you,” you plant kisses down her neck again, pulling her back into the sex-filled atmosphere that you previously had, “except for when I’m makin’ you cum back to back.”

e = experience

When she was married and being a good, little housewife, Pearline was naive to the world of sex. She had been kept locked away and shut in, but the day she met Sammie changed everything for her. Someone she regarded as young and naive himself had opened her up to an entirely new world, which led her to finding you, furthering the experiences she would have to learn from.

You loved watching Pearline step into her sexuality. She was so inherently sensual that if you thought about it too hard, you'd get upset thinking about how her ex-husband had treated her the entirety of their relationship. He treated her like a schoolmarm. Like a being with no needs or desires.

You committed yourself to making sure every one of her needs was met.

f = favorite position

Pearline likes you on your knees between her legs. It doesn’t matter if you’re kneeling on the bed or on the floor, as long as you’re kneeling.

“Oh, shit, baby,” Pearline cries as she attempts to hold her body up against the wall you have her pressed into. You are beneath her, knees close to caving due to the splintered wood floor. Y’all are in a spare room in Club Juke, fucking like it ain’t people walking passed the door, but you can’t seem to care much. All you want is for Pearline to ride out her pleasure and to sing her love from the rooftops when you’re done. “How yo’ tongue feel so good?”

You live for the slow drawl in her voice when you sucking on her clit just right. It’s like her tone mellows out, voice dropping an octave as she sits in that good feeling.

You’re practically gnawing at her body, nose buried in her folds as you swallow all she gives you.

“Yes,” she chants, screaming your name loudly. She’s completely forgotten the world turning outside of the small room y’all are occupying, and you like it that way.

g = goofy

Pearline loves to laugh during sex and adores when y'all talk to each other during. It helps her feel better connected to you, and it reminds her that y’all are in it together.

That you enjoy every minute of it, too.

Sometimes you nip at her thighs just to hear her honey-like sounds—a mix between laughter, moans, and music. Sometimes that’s one of your only goals: to make her body feel good and to make her laugh.

j = jack off

When Pearline realized that she could make her own self feel good, it was like the clouds had opened up. Like the heavens were shining down and singing just for her. Touching herself was like a personal freedom, a reminder that she was in control of her own body and pleasure no matter what.

Sometimes after foreplay and just before you get your hands on her body, you’ll find Pearline with her hands between her thighs. Playing with her clit while watching you undress and stalk her way. Her eyes’ll flutter in ecstasy, envisioning every possible way her body would be wrecked.

“You so beautiful,” you coo in a hushed tone, admiring the way Pearline’s nimble fingers work over her clit. She drags her hand through her folds while holding eye contact, a moan spilling from her lips.

“You want a taste, baby,” she whines. Her back arches slightly as she fingers herself, curling into her soft spot.

You don’t respond.

You climb up the bed on your hands and knees and settle your face directly in front of her open legs. You gawk—mesmerized by the sounds her pussy makes, the sweet smells coming off of her skin, and the lovely sight of her glistening folds.

Everything about your position is downright erotic.

While Pearline continues to fuck herself with a passion, she brings her other hand to circle her clit.

“Fuck, yes,” she groans deeply. You don’t stop her, enjoying that crinkle in her forehead that tells you just how good she’s feeling. Her thighs begin to tremble, and as she attempts to close them, you push them open. You watch as she cums all over her fingers, soaking her thighs and your sheets in her arousal.

Before she can fully calm down, you dive into her, seeking out every possible drop of her that you can get.

“Y/n,” Pearline screams. She tangles her hands in your hair, rutting against your face as she seeks out her second orgasm.

With the high pitch of her voice and the aggression in her movements, you can tell that she’s extremely close. All she needs is that extra push to tip her over the edge.

You dip your tongue into her entrance, fucking her as deep as your anatomy will allow. Within seconds, you feel her clutching around you. You look up to find her eyes screwed shut, her mouth wide open with no sounds escaping, and her chest, arms, and stomach flexed tightly as her orgasm finally hits her.

l = location

Something tells me she would be down with having sex anywhere—as long as there’s a door that locks or a foot to keep it shut.

w = wildcard if pearline and reader both had a thing for annie

“You ready to go, baby,” Pearline asks you, snaking her arms around your torso as you check over your reflection in the mirror. You are beyond nervous. Tonight you and Pearline are visiting Annie for a bit of wine and music. It was nothing serious; The three of you did this quite often actually, but this would be your first time being around Annie since you and Pearline confessed to each other your shared infatuation for the hoodoo woman.

It was an easy conversation for you and Pearline to have. It’s so clear how much you both adore Annie. Whenever you get the chance to be together, the three of you are gossiping, dancing at jukes, laughing at any and everything.

But you are worried that Annie might not feel how y’all do. That your friendship could be ruined.

Pearline turns your head to look at her. She analyzes the deep set look in your eyes—the uncertainty in your stance.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, y/n,” she places a gentle kiss on your lips. “Just let me handle it, ok? I already told her we had somethin’ to talk to her ‘bout.”

You step fully into her embrace, deepening your kiss ever so slightly. Pearline pulls at your clothes, tugging you closer as if you’re not pressed flush against her. She softly whimpers in your mouth as you overtake her, and you swallow every sound that leaves her.

“We gon’ be late if you keep up them sweet sounds, doll,” you admit, trying your damndest to not be pulled fully into Pearline’s orbit. But your woman so easily gets her way.

“You know you can make it quick though,” she persuades you, biting your earlobe. Her hands swiftly remove your clothes, and you let it happen, not once attempting to stop her.

You look over at the clock on the wall, contemplating how quick you can really make this.

“Get on that bed.”

“Took y’all long enough,” Annie shakes her head with a grin as she opens her front door for you. She steps to the side with a hand on her hip, eyeing you both as Pearline walks with a barely noticeable limp.

But Annie notices everything.

You watch as she lifts her eyebrow, looking over your disheveled state that you tried your best to fix before you were too late to the woman’s home.

“Mhm,” she hums. Her eyes are drawn to your neck with an amused expression. She laughs funnily.

“What,” you question, fixing your clothes nervously. “Is it somethin’ on my face or somethin’?” At this point, Pearline and Annie are both chuckling at you, trading sharp smiles and knowing eyes.

Annie walks up on you, placing two fingers under your chin and lifting your face to get a better look at you. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the way she examines you closely. The feeling of her breath on your lips makes your stomach churn softly. You see Pearline smiling wide behind Annie. She bites her lip and stares directly at Annie’s ass—unashamed.

“Look like Pearline kiss the only thang on you, love,” she practically groans, lip caught between in teeth. Annie leans into your ear. “She marked you real good.”

Annie taps your face and turns to walk away, leaving you shook and gripping at your neck like you could rub the reddening kiss mark off. Annie doesn’t spare you another glance, just strolls over to Pearline. Her walk is tantalizing and sensual.

“You said you had somethin’ to tell me, sweetheart,” Annie posits. Her eyes roam over Pearline’s frame, tracing every soft curve, every dip and groove. She leans into her, an evident hunger in the way she looks at her.

Like she’s imagining her naked.

“I, um, w-we,” Pearline trips over her words, intimidated by Annie’s dominant presence. You were nervous and intimidated before as well, but as you watch their interaction, the way Annie devours Pearline with her deep, brown eyes alone, you gain confidence.

You step behind Annie, placing a heavy hand on her waist. You whisper down her neck, sending a shiver through her body.

“You infatuate us, Ann,” you admit. “We want you. Bad.”

“Is that so,” Annie asks, resting her back flush shading your front. Her tone is coated in a ever-growing arousal. The way you grip at her waist makes her want to cave so badly.

Annie grabs Pearline’s hand, pulling her into the both of you. You meet your woman’s gaze, sending a wink her way that causes her to completely crumble. She’s unable to look at you or Annie. Her eyes are stuck to her feet, but Annie tsks at her before speaking, voice smooth and confident again:

“Come on, love. Let us see those pretty eyes.”

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taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @princesstar655 @captaincalypso2 @sleepysquishe @nuttyinternetprincess @lolimblack @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @d1spact @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona

[yanadolls]

KISSIN' AND HOPE THEY CAUGHT US!

||| FEATURING: NAGI SEISHIRO X FEM READER (IMPLIED RELATIONSHIP)

||| 18+, MDNI ── .✦ risky sex, unprotected sex, praising, petnames, messy sex, groping, slight choking, fluff to smut

||| SUMMARY: nagi met you at the beginning of bluelock. now, he's on a team with barou and isagi, and you come to visit his room while the other two are out. secretly, nagi was yearning for you >.<

(btw this is an older version of bluelock- i was trying to aim for like 20 yr old players so ig it's an adult program now? sorry if that's confusing i just loveee the concept of the facility so i wanted to use it 'n the second selection was so silly<3)

ᯓ☆

nagi was playing on his phone, enjoying the couple hours of silence he was finally getting. no more arguing with barou..for now, at least. his mind was blank as he got headshot after headshot in his game, growing tired by the second. just as he was about to take a nap, it was then that he heard the doors open, but to his surprise it wasn't his current teammates returning.

instead, it was you, his lovely girlfriend.

he met you about 5 months back through reo, and overtime the two of you had gotten closer- so close, you even started dating. nagi had never been in a relationship before you, which was what made you even more special to him. at first, he thought relationships were a hassle, but you had proved him wrong and changed his perspective on love entirely. nagi sat up, shutting his phone off and placing it aside while you greeted him with that bright smile of yours that seemed to always make his day a bit better- no matter how shitty it could've been.

"hey babe! isagi told me you were in here, so i thought i would visit you. how's it going?"

"s'going alright."

nagi shrugged lazily as he watched you climb up onto his top bunk, sitting in front of him. even if his nonchalant expression stayed, he was secretly happy to see you. even after dating for a while now, you still made him feel strange. when you were close, his heart raced. when you kissed him, he had the urge to pull you closer and never let go. when you smiled, it made him want to smile back- something he hardly ever did.

nagi had never had a crush in his entire 20 years of living prior to you, so he was shocked when he got feelings for you so quickly. you were just so cute to him, how could he not? not to mention, your affection was too irresistible.

"..are you doing alright? with your new team, 'n stuff. they aren't causing you problems, right?"

you were honestly pretty flattered he asked, since he wasn't really the type to check up on people. you just had the special pass since he liked you so much.

"aww! sei, you're actually asking? how sweet!" you gushed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before replying. "things are decent. i just wish i was on a team with you still, but y'know? maybe it's for the best. i get to see different play styles this way. and no, they're actually pretty respectful."

"mmh, true. glad you aren't having any trouble."

nagi laid back again, but scooted over more so you could crawl beside him. nagi adored your clinginess, smiling just a tiny bit when you instantly attached yourself to him. he let you lean against him as he started playing his game again, trying to ignore your addicting scent filling his nostrils, messing with his senses. he enjoyed having you at his side, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer before placing his hand on his device again.

"to your left, baby. i saw a guy running into the building."

"hm? oh, you're right.. die."

HEADSHOT!

"nice shot! you're so talented, you know that? it's not fair you get to be good at both soccer and video games!"

your praise made his stomach flutter in slight nervousness, but it didn't show on his face. he kept a relaxed and lazy manner as he felt his attention drifting from his game, and more to you.

nagi couldn't help himself. the feeling of your chest against his and your breathing against his neck was starting to really get to him. he shifted awkwardly as he felt a throb in his pants, a sigh escaping his lips. he felt as if he couldn't avoid this situation anymore- he wanted you. nagi wasn't one to get aroused so easily before meeting you, but once again- you had changed that part of him, raising his sex drive. what a hassle..

without even thinking, his hand snaked from your shoulders to the bottom of your tank top, slipping under feeling your bare skin as he trailed his fingers higher.

"uh- sei..?"

your cheeks flushed as one of his hands was still on his phone, but the other was gently groping your breast. it wasn't the first time he had done something like this, of course you both had gotten intimate before, but you weren't expecting him to do it at bluelock. nagi didn't even have a conscious of what he was either doing until you spoke, breaking his focus.

"huh? oh, sorry.. just wanna fuck you now."

"what?!"

his abrupt confession had you shocked- like..shook. nagi just had to be so blunt all the time, huh? your boyfriend's words went straight to your core as his hand rested on your boob, like it was a normal thing to do and not lewd at all. nagi put his phone down, redirecting all his attention to you as he stared into your dolly eyes, slowly tilting his head to the side with a frown.

"what, is it really that shocking? you're my girlfriend and i find you attractive."

"w-well i mean, you just said it so randomly! and.."

nagi interrupted you, "you aren't bothered, right? do you want me to fuck you?"

"..no, i'm not bothered.. and i mean, i wouldn't be against it but-"

nagi took that simple sentence as an okay to lean in and connect your lips with his, moving his hand to the back of your head as his other groped your breast more roughly. you reciprocated almost immediately despite your better will, letting him touch you in whatever way he pleased. nagi had always loved your tits, whether he was sleeping on them for his naps or sucking and biting on them during sex.

he was so lazy, so unmotivated, and yet- you were still utterly charmed by him.

nagi suddenly separated as the kiss was just getting more passionate, your hand tugging at his sweatpants. you couldn't help but pout at the loss of feeling, but nagi found it adorable.

"why did you stop?"

"come. wanna do this on barou's bed."

his words perplexed you. barou's bed? you figured it was for comfortability since the top bunk bed wasn't the most ideal place to fuck, but you were very wrong. the two of you climbed down the ladder as he spoke.

"he's being annoying, you know?" nagi started, gently pushing you onto the single bed and getting on top of you. "always going on about how everything needs to be clean and neat. pissing me off so badly- not to mention he stole this bed from me.."

even in this situation, nagi pouted childishly. he had such an immature reason for swapping beds, but honestly? you couldn't give less a fuck, pulling your tank top over your head and tossing it hastily on the floor. nagi took it into his own hands to strip off your shorts, taking care of his own clothing next.

"gonna make that fraud king regret it. besides, it's a win-win situation since i get to fuck my cute girlfriend during my revenge.."

nagi pressed his lips against yours, hands travelling all over your smaller body as a very obvious heavy bulge was in his boxers. you made out with him, all teeth and tongue clashing together as you tugged at his hair with whines leaving your lips. soon, he pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your tongues together as he pushed your panties aside and tugged his boxers down to his legs, lazily kicking them off.

"sei.." you gasped as he rubbed his dick between your folds, the muscular man shuddering at the friction. you were so wet for him already, and he had hardly touched you yet; it boosted his ego more, knowing he could get you so needy without trying that hard.

"mh.. y'so cute."

he grunted as he pushed his fat tip inside you, slowly beginning to stretch you out so deliciously. the familiar mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming still even after all this time as he filled you up inch by inch, eyes locked on your expressions at all times. nagi felt so connected with you, in more than one way. when he thought back to how he was gonna spend his evening, fucking his girlfriend was not on the list. however, some changes can be hassle free he learned.

nagi was huge- both in length and width. he was was long and thick, and the feeling of his veins rubbing against your gummy walls as he pushed deeper had you breathless. even after having sex with him more than once, you never seemed to get used to how big his dick was.

soon enough, nagi was pounding into your tight hole, holding you down against barou's bed as he shamelessly fucked you in his teammate's group room. it was risky, you both could easily be caught at any moment especially since isagi and barou were already gone for two and a half hours prior to your arrival, so their training and bathing would surely be done any time now. did the lazy man care, though? absolutely not.

"haaah.. s-seiii, feels so good! you're so big..!"

you cried, nails digging into his back as he slammed in and out of you at a pace totally unlike his lazy self. you just happened to bring out new sides of him, one that learned to love and one that become passionate with you. he was determined to make you feel good, determined to make you cum.

"shh, baby.. someone could hear us from outside."

nagi's hand flew to your neck, lightly squeezing. it wasn't enough for you to lose air, but it still had you gasping and it added to the pleasure by a lot. your walls clenched around him, letting him know that what he was doing was affecting you in a way as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull from how good he was fucking you. his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, and you just couldn't stay silent.

the sound of skin slapping and your breathless moaning filled the room, nagi's pace never faltering for even a second. he kept brutally pounding into you, heavy balls smacking against your ass with each slam.

"shit.." he groaned lowly, "so perfect. so happy you're mine.. you're such a good girl f'me, taking me so well."

a twisting feeling in your tummy indicated that you were getting close. your mind was foggy, the only thing you could consciously think about was how good his cock felt ramming into you relentlessly, and how his larger hand covered your entire neck, holding you down. it felt like way too good to stop, way too good to keep quiet.

so what if someone caught you two fucking? it was in nagi's private room, so it's not anyone's business what goes on inside.

"aah, mmhh! seishiro, i-i'm close! so, so close!"

his hand moved from your neck to your cheek, stroking it soothingly as he kissed your forehead. the lazy genius was so gentle with you, despite fucking you so hard at the same time. nagi was getting close too, dick throbbing inside you as a shaky moan escaped his lips.

"g..gonna cum inside, m'kay pretty girl? is that fine? you deserve to be filled up nicely."

"yes! o-oh please baby, need it so badly!"

it was all you had to say before his hips stuttered, cock burying deep inside you as ropes of hot cum filled up your womb while he groaned into your neck. your back arched off the bed as you came all over his length, a loud pornographic moan leaving your lips.

you both breathed heavily as you came down from your highs, looking into each other's eyes with flushed cheeks. nagi slowly pulled out, diverting his attention to the way both of your cum spilled out of your stretched hole, dripping onto the now messy bed.

great! not only was the blankets crinkled up and falling off the bed, one pillow even on the floor, but the sheets were covered in sweat and cum. it was perfect.

"so good, baby. love you so much."

"love you too, sei.."

nagi hummed at your reply as he changed back into his clothes, helping you do the same. he was happy, even if it didn't show. he missed you a lot considering how much time you both have been spending away from each other due to being on different teams, so it was nice to do this with you rather than just texting you from across the building. he gently patted your lower back before giving you a kiss on the head, ushering you out the room before isagi and barou could come back with the promise that you both would hang out and cuddle tomorrow.

then, he crawled back into his own bed, pulling out his phone and opening his game as if nothing happened.

the doors opened 10 minutes later, and in came in barou and isagi. instantly, the pair noticed the mess.

"..what the fuck?"

isagi blurted at the state of barou's bed, cringing at the sight of the cum only half dried on the bed- as if it were being proudly displayed. while his reaction was relatively tame, barou's was..

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO, NASTY HASSLE MAN?! I'LL KILL YOU!"

well, it looked like the self proclaimed king was about to murder him.

"dunno what you mean."

oh yeah, nagi would definitely being doing this with you again.

AN: AHH THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE i lovee nagi sm <3 i can imagine barou trying to force nagi to clean it up himself but he just doesn't listen kekw

[lightsoutmatthews]

Your recents have been sooooo good! Can you do an Auston fic about whatever you want, but a little angsty and a little fluff? Thanks love!💗

Thank you so much for the compliments so, you ask and you shall receive 🤭 Usually I wouldn´t have had time to write today because of class but half of them got cancelled so I got right on it and I hope you like it 😁

6-8 Weeks – Auston Matthews

It was supposed to be a regular home game in the middle of the season. Nothing huge on the line, no bad blood with the other team. Just another night, another game in the row of many. You weren’t even watching that closely, scrolling through your phone, half listening to the conversation Steph Marner and Aryne Taraves were having next to you when you heard the thud. Not from the broadcast but from the way the crowd sucked in air, the entire arena all at once.

The camera cut to him on the ice immediately. Auston wasn’t getting up.

You knew immediately that it wasn’t just a bump or a trip. He wasn’t dramatic like that and certainly wouldn’t risk getting a penalty for it. If he was down and not getting up, it was bad.

You barely heard the announcers say he was helped off when you were already grabbing your stuff and rushed out goodbyes to the other girls.

By the time you got to the locker room entrance, the game was still going and that meant they wouldn’t let you in. That left you pacing in the hallway until one of the trainers came out and gave you a nod. The look in his eyes said everything.

You guessed that it was a sprain in his knee. He told you it wasn’t a full tear, and thank God for that, but it was bad enough.

“He´s still in the exam room,” the trainer said gently, the tone in his voice telling you all you needed to know about Austons mood. “Go slow.”

Auston looked like hell when you walked in. Hair matted down with sweat, his jersey halfway off and his right leg popped on a bench with a wrap already around the knee.

He didn’t look at you when you closed the door, but he spoke as soon as you did. “I´m fine,” rushed out of his mouth before you could say anything or even get close enough to touch him.

“You´re not, Auston.”

“I will be,” he changed.

You walked over and sat next to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into your touch either. You didn’t blame him.

“I´m not mad. I´m just…” he stopped there, and you waited, but he didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to; you could feel it off him. The frustration and the exhaustion, the missing weeks that would come with this injury.

Your heart ached for him. Hockey was everything to him and missing time was the last thing he wanted. You knew he didn’t want to let the team down even though it was not his fault that he was missing games.

“I´m sorry,” you said helplessly. You knew it wouldn’t make it better, but you had to try. When he didn’t say anything, you moved closer and carefully rested your head on his shoulder. An attempt of giving him a little comfort.

He didn’t move for a second but then, slowly, he leaned into you, resting his head on yours.

-------------------

The next day a doctor confirmed the injury. High-grade MCL sprain. Six to eight weeks on the sidelines and that was if everything was healing quickly, he was possibly facing missing even more time.

You had sat next to him in the office. He didn’t ask you to come but since he couldn’t drive you had to. When his head dropped after getting his diagnosis you held his hand under the table, an attempt of saving him from drowning.

Then, he didn’t say much on the ride home. You offered to pick up food, he said no, he wasn’t hungry. You suggested calling his family, letting them know what was going on, he said not yet. You called Ema later that day anyways, knowing she was worried sick about her son.

You offered to stay with him and cancel on having pedicures and dinner with the other wives and girlfriends, that time he didn’t answer at all, so you left.

They told you it happens. That players completely shut down after an injury. They also said that it would get better, you hoped that would happen sooner rather than later.

When you returned home, he laid on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes like he wanted to disappear or like he didn’t want to see anyone or anything.

You brought him water and a plate of the food you picked up on your way home. Then left again and grabbed a fresh icepack.

You sat on the kitchen island until he went to bed, just in case he needed something but at the same time you were giving him space. You hated every second of it but chose to trust the girls and believe that it would get better.

What you didn’t expect was that the distance stayed present for days. He had always been a little quieter and distant when things went bad, but this was different.

He wasn’t just down because of the injury; he was shutting down from everything.

The first few days after it all happened were spent in near silence. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to go outside, not even with Felix, and he didn’t want to answer, no calls, no messages, not even to you when you were speaking right in front of him.

You heard his phone buzz on the couch all the time, teammates were checking in, his family wanted to know if he was okay, he let everything go unanswered.

It went as far as you getting messages from them, telling at least half of the Leafs players that he was doing okay under the circumstances. You texted his sisters and parents what was going on. Ema offered to fly in to help you deal with it. You declined, she understood.

You tried not to take it personally when he didn’t answer you or made no attempt to say anything at all.

It wasn’t like he was cold, or mean, but he was somewhere else.

You wished he would talk to you in any way. Screaming about how unfair it all was would be better than the silence that was now hanging heavy in the living room.

The days went on like that.

You made breakfast and asked how he slept. He gave one-word answers.

You asked if he wanted to sit on the balcony, get some fresh air after being inside for a while, he said no.

You put on his favorite movie, the one hated, just to get him to laugh but it was like he was staring straight through the TV, not noticing what was happening on the screen.

It hurt. Not just because he was shutting you out, not really, it was that he didn’t trust you with the parts of his life that sucked.

All you wanted from him was that he opened out about how he felt, what he was thinking. The silence was defeating. You weren’t sure how long you could take it anymore.

At the same time, you knew that he had to come to terms with it himself before he would be ready to open up to you and as hard as it was to live in a quiet apartment with a man that didn’t talk, you let him. With a heavy heart and the hopes of it turning soon.

Day five was the breaking point.

You found him sitting in the kitchen at 2 am, hunched over the table with a bag of frozen peas on his knee and a half-eaten protein bar on the counter. He looked like a ghost. Pale, massive bags under his eyes, hair all over the place.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, flicking the light on.

He flinched a little at the sound and the sudden brightness, then he looked up. His eyes were tired, like, really tired. Like he had only slept one or two hours in the past few days. He had always told you he had slept fine, right now you didn’t believe any of it.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he replied instead of answering your question.

“You didn’t.”

You sat down across from him, looking at him for a second. “Have you been out here long?”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Another one of those short answers you hated so much.

You paused, looking at his tense facial expression. He was in pain, you could see it, but you were asking about it anyways. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, like hell, but that’s not it.”

You waited, careful not to push.

“I just… I feel like I don’t know what I´m doing when I´m not playing. I wake up and I don’t know what the day is for.”

There it was the actual reason why he shut down over the past few days.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” you mumbled.

“I know,” he replied. “But I also feel like I shouldn’t be dragging you into it. I don’t know how to not be like this.”

You shook your head like he was saying insane things. “You think I´m only here because I expect you to be perfect all the time?” you questioned.

“I think it´s hard to watch someone disappear.”

That hit a little too close, because he had been disappearing, slowly, right in front of your eyes.

“I don’t need you to pretend everything is perfect, but I need you to let me in when it gets bad, okay? You could have screamed for all I cared, and it wouldn’t have been as bad as the silence.”

That made the gears in his head turn.

He looked at you like he wanted to say something but then just nodded.

You didn’t make him talk more that night. Just stood and pulled him to his feet gently, helped him back to the couch and sat with him until he fell asleep with his head on your lap.

------------------

Thigs didn’t magically fix overnight from then on but he slowly started to talk more again. not a lot and not all the time like before the injury but enough for you to not feel alone in a condo with someone anymore.

You woke up to him already on the couch, quietly scrolling through his phone or half-watching Sportsnet.

Sometimes you sat with him, and he leaned into you without saying anything, like he was learning how to be in the same space as you again.

One day, he apologized.

“I´m sorry I shut down. I just didn’t know what to say. Felt like I was trying to breathe through mud.”

You chuckled a little at his comparison, then squeezed his hand. “You don’t owe me to be happy all the time, but I think you owe me to not shut me out when I´m trying to be there for you.”

He nodded slowly. “I´ll try.”

---------------

Things improved from then on. One night, you crawled into bed while he was already half asleep. His back was to you, like it had been many times during this time, and for a second you thought he might not even notice that you were there.

Then he turned, slow and careful with his knee, and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Don’t go,” he whispered groggily.

You tucked your head under his chin and placed a soft kiss to his chest. “I´m not going anywhere.”

Eventually, clearance came, and he could skate again. Just light movement and no contact but you knew he was itching to get back out there.

You drove him to the rink and sat up in the stands with your hoodie pulled over your head and your hands curled in the sleeves.

He took the first laps slowly. You could tell he was testing every push but by the end of the session he looked more alive than he had in weeks.

When he came off, he found you near the glass. His cheeks were pink, and his hair was soaked under his helmet, but he was smiling like he hadn’t since before the injury.

“I didn’t forget how to do it,” he said.

“You looked good.”

He leaned against the boards. “I´m still not 100%”

“That´s okay, but you´re here.”

He nodded, quieted for a second before leaning down and capturing your lips in a soft kiss. “Thanks for staying.”

You smiled. “Thank you for letting me.”

---------------

The first game back was rough. He was slow in the first period. Took a couple of soft hits. Missed a shot that he would usually snap right in. You could see the frustration in how he skated back to the bench, how he clenched his jaw and sat in silence during intermission.

Afterward, when the reporters were done and the team started clearing out, you waited near the back hallway. He came out looking exhausted and a little pissed off.

You opened the arms anyways and he walked right into them like he didn’t know he needed that until it happened. “It´ll come soon,” you whispered into his shoulder.

He nodded into your neck. “Thank you for being here.”

“I´m not going anywhere, I promise.”

[brasteryakintosh]

The internet would be a better place if we all could learn the lesson that sometimes a person can hate a thing, but not because they think it's like "objectively" bad. I remember I watched a playthrough of Undertale where the player just really couldn't get into it and fully acknowledged it's mostly because of discourse surrounding it, tainting their experience. I like any Undertale fan wished he could enjoy it, but I recognized there was nothing I could have told him that would make that possible and came to terms with the fact he probably never would. Likewise, some people will just have different tastes. They'll have different experiences and preferences and sometimes those will line up in a way that makes them hate something that otherwise isn't that bad. And in either case, the more you try to force someone to like it, the more they'll probably hate it.

Like as a furry visual novel fan, I want to like Dawn Chorus. It has an extremely cozy aesthetic with an amazingly chill soundtrack and nice character dynamics. But there's several problems that are minor that just end up tainting my whole experience. The pretty slow pacing, the cumbersome point system in the beginning of the game, and the fact updates erase rollback information, meaning you have to hope your last save wasn't corrupted. If Dawn Chorus had enough of a fandom and I were internet famous enough that they'd constantly pester me to play it this way or insisting I just chose the wrong route or whatever, I'd probably stop even wanting to like it and probably really hate it for reasons completely unrelated to its actual quality

god i fucking hate deltarune

[81emily71]

hey lovelies, this is a frat au written for @sleepy-hyperfixations with the absolutely amazing idea, i actually really loved writing this one lol. anyways, as per, fic under the cut!

warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, established relationship, fluff, attempt at humour

wc: 1030

description: Will has been known to flirt with people and get around previously - being a frat president and all - but some people didn’t get the memo that he is very happy in a loving relationship that he wouldn’t trade for the world, and keep flirting. Mack hates it, although being completely oblivious when someone’s flirting with him, and Will doesn’t get why Mack hates it so much. So when someone flirts with Mack for the first time since they got together, it causes Will to get jealous.

Yes, I’m Miss Possessive

Will didn’t get it.

He didn’t get that Mack would always get so worked up over a barista putting their number on his coffee cup, or a sorority girl batting her eyelashes towards him, and the occasional frat guy telling him he has “nice muscles” and squeezing them - it happened once, Mack was ready to punch someone

Sure, he can admit that he’s an attractive guy, but he never understood why Mack always got so worked up when people hit on him. It’s not like Will ever reciprocated the flirting and touches and stuff, so he never understood the big deal.

Not to mention, being a frat president and all, he sort of had an old reputation of being a tad bit of a player - although he’s reformed now, and only loves the beauty that is his glorious boyfriend Mack. Because of this reputation, though, anyone who wanted to get some, just thought they could.

Will doesn’t want to say he’s against the attention - in reality, he thrives on it - but he does not appreciate people thinking he’s anyone’s other than Mack’s.

Anyone who knew better knew not to hit on Will anymore, not since Mack had a scrap with a guy getting way too touchy on Will’s lower back, even if he hadn’t reciprocated the affection.

Mack’s attitude is at it’s finest whenever a sorority girl thinks they have the chance, with snide remarks about how their shirt looks strange with their shoes, or how he can tell they want a bit of action, or just butting into a conversation in a lame attempt to assert some kind of dominance

But again, Will didn’t get it.

That was until a certain frat party in particular, not one hosted by Will, a different one, one that was housed by a few BU Terriers players at the college over from theirs.

Mack knew the guy hosting, that’s how they got in and managed to snag a few free drinks, and Will didn’t think anything of it at first. The party wasn’t one of those low-key ones you had with, like, 20-30 friends, it was one you needed a specific invite for, it’s was that exclusive.

As soon as they walked in, Will felt the easy thrum of the overdone bass through his feet, making his insides rattle in a near-nauseating way. And just as Will suggested getting drinks for the two of them, Mack was dragged away because he “just had to meet this guy” who was a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend.

Will chuckled and went around to mingle among people, have a few drinks, loosen up, have fun. About an hour and a half later, he spots Mack across the expanse of the living room after not seeing him since he was whisked away.

That’s when Will got it.

There he was, laughing like Mack had said the funniest thing ever, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter and touching Mack’s arm in a way that couldn’t be accidental, or passed off as a friendly action.

The guy, who’s name he doesn’t know, let his hand drop from Mack’s bicep, brushing down his forearm, and finally landing right next to his hand. Mack glanced down to how close they were, and shifted his hand slightly - not enough to be noticeable to the unknowing eye, but enough to put some friendly distance between them.

Will’s jaw clenched, attention now shifted from whatever conversation he was half paying attention to, and to what’s-his-name thinking he had the right to touch Mack like that. He gripped his beer bottle neck so hard his knuckles turned white, and he let out a shaky breath, trying to calm whatever was stirring inside of him.

“Yo, Smitty, you good?” Lane nudged him slightly, diverting his attention from the guy very obviously flirting with Mack.

“Yep.” He mumbled, taking a sip of his beer as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Will placed his beer firmly on the table in front of him with a satisfying clunk, and stood. He walked through the sea of people with a newfound sense of purpose, his feet moving before his head had time to catch up.

He came up behind Mack, snaking his arms around his waist, pulling him back towards himself, and kissed him on the temple.

“Hey babe, I’ve been looking for you for ages, who’s this?” Will asked, loud enough for the other guy to hear

“Oh, hey Will, this is Alex, he runs track for BU. Alex this is Will, my boyfriend.”

“Hey man, nice to meet you.” Alex stuck his hand out for Will to shake, and he just looked at it like it personally offended him, not reaching out to shake it at all.

“Yeah. Mack, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Uhh, yeah, sure, see ya later, Alex.”

“Bye.”

Will didn’t say goodbye, just pulled Mack by the hand and away from the crowded space, and into a near-secluded hallway. Will dragged him until he was against the wall, Will standing over him.

“What the fuck was that?” Will demanded.

“I was talking to him? He’s a nice guy.”

“Oh, he was so nice that you just let him touch you like that?” Will crowded him further into the wall.

“Are you… jealous, Smitty?”

“… No”

Mack laughed, a full chested giggle, teeth showing in his adorable gummy smile. “You so are, you can’t even deny it.”

“I’m not, I’m just… protecting what’s mine.”

“But you can go and flirt with half the people at the party, but I can’t talk to one semi-attractive man? Okay, I see how it is.” Mack smirked, his words laced with sarcasm.

Will rolled his eyes “See, now I get why you get so pissed when girls talk to me all the time.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re mine, and I think you might need a little memory jog.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Mack chuckled as Will leaned down and kissed him, his hand coming up to clutch his jaw, possessively keeping him in place, and Mack’s hands made their way into his messy curls in the way he knows drives Will insane.

“Mine.” Will muttered between kisses.

[mickyschumacher]

[NO, I'M NOT IN LOVE!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: no matter what you do, you just can't seem to get pedri out of your system. and neither can he. or in which after a year of playing cat and mouse, it all comes down to the final blow.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, angst, maybe suggestive if you squint?, avoidant reader who can't emotionally regulate herself, in theory love at first sight (but not really bc i hate the trope ngl), love confessions // proof-read-ish!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: pedro 'pedri' gonzález x f1 driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.3k+

𝐀/𝐍: ugh i'm always thinking about pedri x f1 driver!fem!reader so i had to write about it! AND YES another avoidant reader bc why not?

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Pedri and you were good at this.

The game of cat and mouse.

A year... that's how long you had been playing it.

A year since Pedri had laid eyes on you and instantly knew that you weren't going to be good for him.

Pedri had told everyone. He wasn't going to date. No girlfriend. No set ups. No hook-ups. Just football. That's all he wanted. But perhaps, he had spoken to soon.

You weren't particularly anyone. Only just the most coveted driver in Formula 2 heading over to the big leagues the following year.

It was Spain, round six. You were leading a championship as a rookie that had just won another in the previous rankings. You were only talking to Isack and Paul, trying to pass time before practice started.

That's when Pepe, your closest friend, had loudly greeted you a few metres down the paddock. Behind him, unbeknownst to you was some of Barça's star players. He was giving them a 'tour' since they knew so little about the sport.

You remembered turning as Pepe introduced all of you and you had met Pedri's eyes. The stare was maybe a few seconds too long. But it told you what you both needed to know.

There was a connection. One you thought was too dangerous to explore. One he knew went against everything he said he wanted to do.

You tried to ignore it. Ignore the way you and him got along so easily that it even had Isack raising a brow at you. You tried to stay clear of Pedri. You knew it'd be better to not start something at all. It saved you the pain... the distraction.

But nothing was going according your plan. You had won in Spain (that you had somewhat planned for) and hours later were having dinner with Pepe, Isack, Paul and the whole mob of footballers you had met that day. He had followed you on Instagram that night and you had fought your very being to not to do the same.

But then you stayed in Spain. It was the moment of your undoing. Exploring the unfamiliar place, having some Spanish hot chocolate in the afternoon when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

It was Pedri and an offer to give you a tour of his home country.

How could you ever say no?

And that's how it all started. The longing smiles, the brush of your hands, the good morning texts, the good luck voice messages, the lingering touch on your waist, his flushed cheeks, the evenings where you made dinner with his family, and the days where he took your mother out on a date.

But you were friends.

"Just friends."

That what you said every time someone asked. "I'm single," was your answer to every interview.

Because you were.

Because whatever you and Pedri had... it couldn't possibly go beyond it.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Every championship... you had won every championship you had come across. A part of you knew you couldn't do the same when you got to Formula One. It would be harder. Especially given the piece of shit car you had.

But a part of you was selfish. If you couldn't at least get a podium than what on earth had you worked for the past years? To those who said you couldn't do it... how were you going to prove them wrong?

It was easier said than done.

This whole thing with Pedri was beginning to terrify you. Your feelings... it was getting too much. You couldn't process when the "good luck" calls had turned into "please come out of that car and back to me." Nor when he pleaded for you to attend his matches.

He cared.

And it scared the shit out of you.

This was what you were avoiding. Feeling too much. You had been denying it for months now. But when you stood on those podiums and looked down, a part of you wished you would see his face in midst of the crowd.

You weren't good at this type of thing. The feeling... the caring... the loving. You had never been good at it. It was why you hated it so much.

But Pedri... he was as in tune with his emotions as he was with the ball. He felt everything like an open book. He was a family man down to his very core. He cherished everyone in his life and now you were part of that too.

If there was one thing you knew how to do, it was creating distance. So that when you looked at yourself one last time in your driver's room, you reminded yourself what exactly you were here for.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Pedri knew this would happen. Pepe had told him a few months into well... whatever this was.

You were avoidant. You didn't trust easily. You didn't like being vulnerable. You didn't like investing too much of yourself into something in the case you'd get hurt.

But Pedri also knew it was different when you were with him. He could see you. Really see you.

The secrets you told him, the natural smiles you gave him, when you reluctantly told him what was bothering you and could see your shoulders relax, or when you remembered all the small things about him... even when you told him you didn't have that emotional capacity, it was because you cared.

To be honest it had become so normal in the past couple of months, he had forgotten all about it.

But just when things were going great, you had withdrawn. No texts, leaving him on read, making up excuses to not see him, engaging in only small talk...

You were retreating.

And God, he hated it.

Two months. Pedri hadn't seen you in two months. The conversation between the both of you had been scarce. It even had everyone online wondering what was going on. Because for them it wasn't a matter of if you got together, it was a matter of when.

The last time you talked was a couple days ago, three weeks since the previous message. This year's football season had finished for him and you had congratulated him briefly.

You had strayed away from some of the most important moments of his life and it killed him. So Pedri decided he was going to do something about it.

When you returned from a late evening debrief to your hotel, exhausted with the pressure of potential pole in Spain, you thought you were seeing things at your door. Maybe you were dreaming. Because there was no way in hell, Pedri was leaning on your door.

Pedri blinked, immediately leaning up as he registered you in his brain. "Cariño," he breathed out, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

You swallowed nervously, wishing you weren't aware of the shivers that had travelled down your spine. He was real.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Pedri," you returned, cautiously walked towards him. You pursed your lips. "What are you– uh, what are you going here?"

"You're racing," he simply commented with a small shrug, noticing the flicker of surprise and guilt flashing through those pretty eyes of yours.

You stayed quiet after giving a curt nod. "And in front of my hotel room?" You asked moments later.

Pedri looked away from you momentarily, seemingly gathering up the words he needed to say. He breathed in slowly, eyes reverting back to you. His hands fell out of his hoodie, dangling at the sides, clenching because he didn't really no what else to do. "I think... I think we have to talk about this."

You weren't sure if your slightly widened eyes and the small tip of your brows made your surprise obvious. If it did, Pedri didn't show it.

"I... I'm not sure what you're talking about," you mumbled, keeping a good distance from him as you swiped your keycard on the lock. Pressing down on the door handle, you wondered if you should've made more of an effort to stop Pedri from following after you.

Pedri chewed on his lip, closing the door behind him and watching you take your shoes off before doing the same. "Come on..." he breathed, "I mean... how long are we going to do this?"

"Do what?" You queried, taking a seat on the armchair near your bed quietly.

The tick of Pedri's jaw told you enough about his frustration.

"Pretend," Pedri stated, standing before you. "Pretend that we don't feeling anything for each other. That we shouldn't be together."

You eyed his disheveled hair and his flushed cheeks he usually got from expending too much energy. He had probably just come from the gym. Training when Flick had probably given them the day off because he didn't know how to do anything else.

The feeling was familiar.

"Because we shouldn't," you simply retorted, looking at him briefly enough to catch the surprise in his eyes. "You play. I race. We don't feel anything for each other. End of story."

Pedri stayed silent for a second, processing your words before a laugh fell from his lips. His eyes narrowed. "That's such bullshit," he dispelled.

You raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"You don't feel anything? Is that what you felt that night at the pool?" He asked, stepping closer to you.

Your eyes stilled, skin warming at the memory.

For once, you and Pedri had an off day. A rare one given by Flick that had matched your schedule. When he had offered for you to stop by and take a dip in his pool, you thought why not?

You had spent an hour or so in the water. Gliding on the surface as Pedri recited some of his favourite memories to you, telling you how much Fer, his brother, wished to see you race any time soon, or how he wanted to show you the flowers in Tegueste, where he grew up.

It didn't take too long before you initiated a water fight. And while you were competitive, Pedri was never one to lose. Before you knew it, he was barely millimetres away from you, arms hung around your waist, your back to his chest as he threatened to you throw you in the water.

"I give up, I'm sorry!" You shouted, eyes shut tight to prevent any water from coming in while you could feel Pedri's chest rumble with laughter.

Pedri grinned, turning you around to face him, hands still not letting go of you. The silence between you was enchanting. You could hear his breath while he stared at you, eyes momentarily flicking to your lips.

He took a few steps in the water, closing you towards the wall of the pool. He watched you pull your lip between your teeth as he lifted you up, resting you on the edge.

Pedri's eyes were glued to the rivets of water cascading down your body. The way your wet hair clung to you. Your skin, covered in all the right places, glowing. The uneven rhythm of your chest falling and rising.

"Joder," Pedri swore under his breath, stomach churning and head bending down as his lips skimmed past the top of your inner thigh and to your knee. Slowly, he waded back into the water, eyeing you painfully from afar.

You blinked, still feeling the tingle of his actions down your body. You breathed out slowly. "That doesn't matter."

"But it does," Pedri responded almost instantly, squatting down to look up at you. Taking your hand in his, he tilted his head. "It matters to me. And I know it matters to you. This is right. You felt it when we first met. We're meant to be together," he rasped.

Your eyes shook. Your throat hurt. You pursed your lips, slipping your hand out of his grasp. A part of you wished he stopped talking. You stood from the chair, exhaling nervously. "Pedri... I... I think you should leave."

Pedri sighed, standing up. He stayed, grabbing your arm gently. "I mean I don't get it. What is it? Are you–are you afraid you can't show me your love? Or that you care enough? I... I don't really understand but I promise I see it. I feel it. I feel your care."

Your eyes widened in shock. Taking a step back, you swallowed hard. He had hit the nail on it's head. How? How had he done that? How did he just see you?

"I've had enough of these games," Pedri murmured, tugging you closer. "Because I can't pretend that you don't affect me. I thought I could. But I should've known when I saw your eyes that day," he chuckled softly.

"I like you," he continued, "I'm probably way past that. But I see my future. I look at it all the time and there is not one without you. Whatever you feel, we'll work through it together. But I can't let you go on and pretend that you don't. Because it'll destroy you as much as it'll destroy me."

You weren't sure when the first tear fell. Somewhere around the third or fourth, Pedri had collected it with his thumb. Your cheeks flushed with annoyance and embarrassment. "I'm sorry," you murmured quietly. "I've been an asshole."

Pedri only smiled, holding your face, rubbing away any remaining tears. "Did you know it's been a year since we met?"

"You're not making me feel any better here," you mumbled, gently caressing his arm as you leaned into his touch.

Pedri chuckled slightly, hoping you didn't hear his small sniffle. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he looked at you and smiled. "Te quiero. Para siempre," he confessed. I love you. Forever.

You could feel the tension in your shoulders slowly disappear. You breathed slowly, taking in Pedri's face and committing this moment to your memory. You whispered, barely a centimetre away from his lips. "I love you too. Always."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇����𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[bitchimasnakeagain-sss]

my my, anon, your mind is absolutely DEVIOUS and i love it.

☆ their lil' helper!

── a blue lock fanfiction. // where being the blue lock creator's wife has more than one perk — infact, it has five.

synopsis: your husband ego jinpachi was the creator of blue lock, and you were his little helper —his perfect lil' wife — always checking in on the boys, looking after them, helping them out. oh, how lucky was ego to have you, right? pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, meguru bachira, rensuke kunigami] // every character gets a separate drabble with the same character (reader), and it's implied that the reader has slept with them all. cw: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. [this means the story contains themes one may not be comfortable with. if you find yourself growing uncomfortable, please click away.] NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN CAUSE ITS FUN. MDNI. nsfw concludes: penetration, doin' it raw, cunnilingus, blowjob, teasing, nicknames, slight bimbofication and teasing, overstimulation, praise, marathon sex. please read it whole or i'll hunt you. pretty please :) m.list

you were always so nice to the boys, to all of them.

all they had to do was tell you they wanted to blow off some steam, and you — ego's perfect wife — would present yourself to them. it had started off small, with you giving a quick hand-job to the boys when they needed your help. after all, the future of japanese football couldn't be held off by something as stupid as an erection, right?

but then, slowly, it escalated — the boys got greedier. knowing what a compliant helper you were, so eager to please them, their demands got higher and higher.

first, a simple handjob, then, a blowjob. shit, then it moved to them just barely grazing their throbbing tip against your core, and then, to full good ole fashioned fucking.

at this point, you were more theirs' that you were ego's... but it was okay. this was all because you wanted your husband ego jinpachi to succeed, right? because you were suuuuch a good wife, right?

no other reason.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

★player 01: isagi yoichi! fav position: the seated scissors.

player introduction: isagi yoichi was such a good player — tactile, smart, always evolving to be better and better and better. maybe, that's why he was your one of your favourites — he was always better and better and better.

player position: isagi laid flat on his back, the head supported by the generous pillows that ego jinpachi had been kind enough to give him. his greedy gaze scanned over your back — tendrils of hair clinging onto your perspired skin, your shuddering breath, and your helpless stare as you glanced back at him with a strangled moan.

you straddled his hips in a reverse-cowgirl position but the pro-player had brought up one knee up so that you could support your shuddering frame with it.

your manicured fingers dug onto his pale skin, eyes caught against his as you rut yourself on him — shallow, tepid thrusts as his leaky tip shoved and rubbed against your throbbing, hot core.

truth be told, this position had quickly become one of his favourites. one forlorn night, when he had you all to himself, you were riding him and somehow, mindlessly, he brought up one knee to support you. and then, the absolute vision of you clutching desperately onto him while still moving your hips up and down in a hypnotic dance was enough of a reason to make yoichi do this again 'n again 'n again.

but maybe, just maybe yoichi liked this position more cause he got to avoid looking at you. fucking his mentor's wife in the same bed that his mentor had got him had feeling him all sorts of things — maybe guilt too.

but how could he feel guilty for long with the way you panted out his name, lips drawing into a helpless jitter as you felt his taut skin tease your reddened clit with each undefined thrust?

"y-ichi," you moaned and a sly grin tugging at his lips at your struggle, "'sokay. jus' a lil' more. you can do it, right?"

and isagi yoichi knew the answer to that question before you even nodded at him, looking so utterly wrecked as you tried to keep rocking yourself against his hot core.

as if doing an act of mercy, isagi brought his broad palms and planted them firmly against your pliant waist, guiding you up and down, up and down, up and down his erection even as your gummy walls fluttered and sucked on his tip so dangerously.

you kept swaying your hips over his, even through your second orgasm of the night. toes curling, nails digging into his muscled body, heas thrown back but still rutting on his lap like some common whore. so eager to please that you didn't care for your sensitive cunt anymore or the way it could barely take any more of yoichi's cock before you short-circuited.

"ichii—" you groaned, looking back at him as sweat beaded at your temple, "h-how much longer..?

"jus' a little more." he cooed yet again, flexing his hip muscles to fuck into your sopping cunt from under, "juuus' a lil'."

"ar-are y'gonna— hngh, s-shit... c-um?" you asked so helplessly, holding out for him so deliciously despite falling apart at the whims of his girthy dick.

"y-yeah, keep moving." the man breathed slowly, fucking into your cunt with reckless abandon as he felt his length being milked by your unforgiving cunt. you were clenching around him, and then unclenching so sporadically that isagi yoichi almost found his eyes roll back to his very head, shutting that overworked brain of his with the power of your cute, little cunt.

"h-hurry up," you bit your quivering bottom lip, and that's when isagi remembered of the fact that, "ego's waiting— hah, f'you?"

you nodded, fucked a bit too dumbfounded that isagi yoichi wondered how you could even go back to the room to your husband in this state? ego probably knew but to rub it in his face? to let him know that his own players were fucking his wife? god.

isagi's palms grew sweaty and his breath hitched, especially when he realized that you'd be going back to your husband with his load still filling up your cute cunt—

"—shit." yoichi groaned, his thrusts now shorter and sharper, targeting your cervix with a bruising pace, "s-you're going back to ego like... fuckin' shit— this?"

and you nodded again, so oblivious. did you really not see it as a problem that another man's load would be kissing your womb while you made idle chit-chat with your husband?

your eyes clenched shut, body coughing up a shudder, "wh-what about i-t..?"

and isagi yoichi grinned, a devil, "you're gonna go back with my cum leaking... shit— leaking out of your fucking cunt?"

"i'll c-lean it, ichi," you started your half-delirious ramble but isagi clutched your waist harder, fucking the last bit of his sanity into your pliant pussy, "no. don't you dare."

yoichi panted, maddened with the way your body was sucking the soul out of him. he could feel the ridges of his cock splitting your gummy walls apart so sickly slowly—

"—fuuuck." isagi thrust into you once more before releasing ropes of pearlescent white within your cunt.

heaving, his hazy gaze met your lewd face — looking back at him reddened, sweaty and utterly fucked-out.

isagi yoichi then gave you a simple command, "don't you dare clean yourself off."

well, whatever the boys ask, they get, right?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 02: itoshi rin! fav position: the (kinky) missionary.

player introduction: itoshi rin was by far the most impressive player on the team. always so perceptive, always level-headed and precise. he maintained clear control over everything on that field.

turns out, he controlled everything off that field too — you included.

player position: the handcuffs rattled with each messy thrust into your cunt, the headboard of his bed almost creaking itself to it's death with the force rin itoshi fucked you into.

your helpless, clammy hands clenched and unclenched, trying to grasp onto the heated air as rin groaned, "god, you feel so good."

you two were locked into the classic missionary position, except for the fact that your wrists were bound to rin's headboard by a pair of handcuffs. your legs wrapped around his slender waist, locking him against your core. the sheets under you that were once so neat were now ruined, wrinkled and laden with your sweat.

"ri-in," you whispered, eyes boring into his teal ones as each thrust jolted your entire body, "d-does it feel good?"

rin nodded, chasing the action with his fingers pulling your cheeks into an adorable pout that he could kiss. when he parted, your saliva glistened against his kiss-bitten lips with a forbidden sheen, "s'good."

rin itoshi couldn't hide from the obvious truth — he liked you. he liked his mentor's wife but he fucked you the total opposite. mean fingers tugging your pert nipples, groping the fat of your waist and ass with each calculated shove of his cock into your cunt relentlessly.

but what rin liked more than you was this position. despite being so close, there was such a painful restraint — the kind you clawed against. your breaths intermingled, your eyes locked at each-other in a haze, your ragged breathing synced up and yet, you couldn't touch him. despite being so close, there was so much distance between you two.

"rin." you whispered again, and rin brought his lips against yours in an effort to stop cumming at the very sound of your voice. still, being somewhat on a gentleman, he asked, "w-what?"

"f-fuck me— hngh-harder."

and despite the high-pitched lewd request, rin actually slowed down his hips to a crawl. staying buried in your addictive heat, he asked, "harder, hm?"

and you nodded, chasing your plea with a wettened, wide look that sent a shiver down rin's spine.

he hummed in some sort of twisted delight, "tell me..." kissing down the edge of your lips, he licked a slow stripe down to your jaw, "does... ego fuck you harder than i do?"

"he-um," your breath grew stagnant, words stilling as you didn't really say anything. and at your silence, rin picked himself up to look at your face, "say, does he?"

and you meekly shook your head, chasing the action with a soft, "n-no..."

and that was enough of a stroke of ego for the younger itoshi, because he picked up the pace of his hips. plunging into you balls-deep, he let a smirk cross his lips, "exactly."

"let me," the pro-player brought his hands down to your cunt, spreading your folds lewdly and thumbing your clit as messily as he could in the position, "let me fuck yo-u better— shit — than him."

at his sudden spike in pace, your back arched and pressed against his hard muscles. your heels dug into the dimples of his back, forcing him — begging him to keep up with his inhumane pace. you gulped but your mouth suddenly was far too dry, "ohmygod— r-rin."

"yeah, yeah." and despite being a man of very few words, the younger itoshi babbled, "i know i fuck you better than him—" but the pussydrunk man scrunched his eyebrows, "w-what about the other boys? am- am i better than them?"

and despite asking such a question, the raven-head didn't give you an option of answering back, instead shoving his tongue down your throat as if to soothe your parched throat.

"mmph—" your eyes widened as rin kept pressing messy circles against your clit, still shoving into your gummy walls with no mercy planned for tonight.

he was so sweet even when he was cruel.

"hah," the man pulled away almost reluctantly, a crazed look in his teal eyes, "don' even answer that, i know i-i fuck you good."

but even with all the confidence in the world, the man asked against your wet, wobbling lips, "right?"

and you nodded, because what else was there to do?

"no." the man almost whined, "s-say it."

"you—" your heels dug impossibly tighter against his milky skin, "you fu-ck- fuck me s'good, rin."

"hm." the raven-head nodded as if satisfied, rattling the bed with a newfound vigor, "i'll be the only one who'll fuck you like this—"

"—mhm rin."

and despite knowing that there were a whole lot of boys you needed to take care of, the pro-player nodded in a wicked victory, "i know, i know."

i mean, it's true. nobody loved you as hard as itoshi rin while he re-arranged your guts.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 03: bachira meguru! fav position: the face-off.

player introduction: bachira meguru was as whimsical as you could get in a kind-of depressing place like blue-lock. of course, being part of the program since they were all sixteen or so had hardened them to this vigorous routine, but he was the only one who regularly made you laugh, made you giggle like a girl, and then made you cry with the way he fucked you.

favourite position: bachira meguru was so chatty. so, so chatty — even with his digits throbbing inside your soul-sucking, velvety hole.

"see," the man babbled, boring his wide eyes into your seemingly reddened face, "all i said was that he needed some psychological help, why did barou throw a chair a-at me f'that?!"

why did that devious man what a reply out of you right now? right now when you were in this state?

"hm," you snuck in quick pants through your nose, trying to retain some fraction of your already-fragmenting sanity, "he- gets angry sometimes."

"—so what?" bachira pouted, almost looking childlike with the fit he was throwing, "i was being genuine."

"i know—" your toes curled at the same time bachira's fingers curled inside your pussy. the tip of his digits caressed the gooey spot inside of you for the nth time before he purposefully changed the pace, "it's rude for barou to do that. doesn't he know this is no-fighting zone?"

"i-i'll tell him later, hah— meguru," you tried to speak but your tongue seemed to be too heavy in your mouth, your sense of self fading with each calculated stroke of his fingers inside your cunt.

and listen, maybe bachira meguru was a fucking sadist cause he loved seeing you like this. loved seeing you babble and agree to his nonsense cause you were just so fucked dumb on his fingers or his dick. loved perching you against his bed as he just sent you to heaven over 'n over again.

you looked so goddamn pretty like this too. shit! all heaving breaths, shuddering orgasms and helpless moans of his lips.

another thing bachira meguru enjoyed thoroughly was asking you about his ever-favourite mentor in this fucking state.

"say, say," the tip of his tongue peeked at the edge of his lips, all his concentration aimed at one question, "how's ego doing?"

"huh?" your eyes widened for a second, but then they eased into a strained-yet-polite smile, "f-fine. he's fine."

"hm?" bachira cocked up an eyebrow, "is he satisfied with us—"

and the way your eyes guiltily tangled against his made all the blood flow to his dick. the erection throbbed so dangerously, barely held back with his underwear, "i mean, satisfied with us as a team?"

you nodded, seemingly ignoring all the other implications — or honestly, it could just be that you were too drunk on your own orgasms to really think for yourself.

"that's good, that's good." bachira nodded sincerely before bringing his face closer and closer to your heat. blowing on the throbbing clit once, twice before licking down an experimental lick down your folds and collecting the honeydew on his tip.

"here, have a taste~" he sung as he climbed back up and kissed you. you tasted your sweet essence on your tongue and moaned when the dual-toned athlete curled his digits specifically to bump against your g-spot.

"oh shiiit—" you groaned, digging your manicured nails into his shoulder as he pulled out another orgasm out of you.

your walls clamped down on his digits, and the pro-player grunted at the heavenly feeling against his fingers — almost addicted to the futile resistance your pussy was pretending to give.

"ah, you came?" he pouted again, "you didn't even tell me. how rude."

"'m sorry," you whimpered, half-aware of what was happening as you recovered from your third orgasm of the night, "i-im sorry, me-meguru."

"it's not okay." bachira slowly slipped out his fingers from your still-fluttering core, bringing the digits up to his lips to relish in your taste. even as he hummed against his slender fingers, he kept shaking his head, "so, so rude. did ego not teach you manners?"

"s-sorry." you babbled, but bachira just shushed you, instead just standing up on his knees in front of you.

"see this?" the man hummed, guiding one of your shaky palms up to his wettened underwear, "this— this is a problem, dont'cha think?"

and you looked up at the man even through your hazy vision, "i-it is."

"and i know your pussy's had enough." bachira jutted his bottom lip out in fake sympathy, "so..." bringing his hand up to your face, he cupped your cheek oh-so-sweet, "how aboutt—" he dragged your lips down slowly, "this pretty mouth instead, hn?"

"o-okay." you nodded.

bachira tapped your lips twice and you slacked open your jaw to present it to him. and bachira snickered at how well you behaved, "ego's got you trained or sum'n?"

you shook your head no so sincerely, and that just made the man laugh more.

drawing his boxers down, he whipped his length out and lazily jerked himself, "c'mon, tongue out."

you let the sultry, pink muscle out of your mouth. at your action, bachira put down his hot 'n heavy tip against your tongue and grinned, "you're not tired, right?"

of course not. how could you even deny when he asks you so, so sweetly?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 04: chigiri hyoma! fav position: the cowgirl.

player introduction: chigiri hyoma was a bit hard to maintain, sure. but god, he was ego's perfect track-star. always saving wayward hits and ensuring maximum goals, no matter how high-maintainance, he was worth it.

so why would he be any different in bed?

player position: out of all of the blue-lock boys, chigiri hyoma was the most bossy by far.

no longer was he the well-behaved man who had shyly asked you if you were "actually giving the guys hand-jobs?" when this had first started.

no, no. now he laid with his pretty face against the set of fluffy pillows as you splayed your hands against his chest and tried to gyrate your hips against his erection till you both were pushed over the edge.

"hyoma." you tried to keep up your pace but your thighs burned, the muscles so over-worked that you were sure if it weren't for your death-grip against his skin that you would topple over and fall face-first.

"what?" he bit back lazily, like having you on top of him was no biggie, like he couldn't feel your sensitive cunt just dying to suck his cock dry.

"'m tired." you spelled out the syllables carefully, trying to evoke some sympathy out of the redhead, "'m r-eally tired please."

"tch, i know." the man huffed, his chest rising and falling in accordance to his expressions, "but d'you think i'm not tired when you husband puts us through all that training?"

you almost let out a whine. how was this fair?

"you're mad at e-ego, not... me." you almost pouted, your body coughing up another shudder as you felt chigiri thrust up into you without a warning.

"and is he not your husband?" and something about that malicious glint in hyoma's eyes made your cunt flutter around his length pathetically. dropping your head down in part-guilt, part-shame, you nodded, "he is..."

"i know he is," hyoma cooed, "so do your part, hm?"

god, he was such a meanie.

"jus' a little break," your brought your pelvis to settle over his comfortably, still rocking back and forth to mimic a stimulation while you tried to catch your breath. looking down at the man, you whined, "please..?"

"seriously?" the red-head propped himself up on his elbows just to inch closer and stare at you, "move."

"hyooma—" you tried yet again — but all in vain as chigiri snapped up his hips to thrust into you in a cruel, little stroke. he repeated, his eyes focusing in on your pathetically crumbling figure, "move."

and despite all wayward groans and grunts and pleas, you found yourself moving your lower body up and down in a hypnotic dance yet again.

"good."

but that praise is short-lived, as the redhead huffed out once again when your pace starts faltering, "y'know..."

your shaky gaze crosses over to his face, "wh-what?"

"for how often you do this," he sucked in a breath through his teeth, "you sure don't have the stamina."

"shu-ut up."

and he really should. he really, really should! as someone who has been taking care of him for so many years now, chigiri hyoma should be eternally grateful to you. but instead, he chooses to behave like a brat.

but before you could answer back, he questioned you with a dangerous lilt to his voice, "why should I?"

his broad palms planted themselves against your sweltering, hot body. trapping the perspired skin under his grip, he started snapping his hips against yours.

cock sliding in and out of you— plunging within your cunt so deliciously with every planned gyration of his.

"hy-hyoma." you dug your nails into his chest, leaving the once spotless skin marred with your desperation, "slo-w down..."

and maybe this is why hyoma chigiri loved this position. you were exposed to him. every micro expression, every flutter of your cunt or jitter of your limbs was laid right in front of you. and as you begged him to be nice, to play fair — he couldn't help but be a little more mean.

"why? the old man doesn't fuck you this good?" and each jab of his words is coupled with a jab of his dick inside you.

"good, good." chigiri grunts, grabbing your waist tighter to bring you down on his length.

"—think 'mgonnacum." your words mushed together painfully adorably, and hyoma chigiri couldn't help but mutter, "hm, do it for me."

after all, to show his eternal gratitude towards you for taking care of him all these years — this is the least he could do.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 05: kunigami rensuke! fav position: the butterfly.

player introduction: not everyone was given a second chance in the cruel world of sports, not every one deserved it either. but rensuke kunigami did. he did.

he was clawing for another chance. he was hungry for another chance. he was betting everything for another chance. especially, when it meant he could have you too.

player position: your thighs burned. the limbs outstretched as they were perched on the pro-player's shoulders.

"rensuke." you tried but your head was hazy.

vision blurring, blood rushing straight to your core, and limbs jittering with the coil that was snapping inside your stomach. trying so hard, you whimpered out, "'m gonna cum."

and god, it was almost addictive how good you looked like this. with your limbs pathetically stretched, your snug cunt taking every mean thrust of his, your lips wobbling as your pussy clenched around his aching cock.

rensuke kunigami honestly couldn't tell you why he like this position, other than the fact that it felt like you were immobile under his grasp. whatever inhibitions you possessed were long gone as he thrusted his cock deep within your cunt, teasing your g-spot with each familiar, filthy plunge.

you tried clawing at him, except it felt like you had no energy for that either, "s-stop, rensuke."

and if you were trying to reprimand one of your boys, you should have had some weight to your words. but instead, your syllables were like crumbling with each stroke.

"again?" kunigami didn't have it in him laugh, more focused on the way he was ruining you under his grasp, "it's like only your... second, isn't it?"

he said it like it was your fault you were cumming for only the second time, like it wasn't him who was fucking you till you were all but breaking apart at the length of his weeping cock.

"jus—" you gulped, "just stop, r-rensuke."

the man just sighed, almost bored out of his mind as he pulled you by the fat of your hips and pulled you closer to his pelvis, making it easier for him to fuck you senseless.

you tried kicking your heel, clenching and unclenching your hands and jaw with a pathetic moan tumbling soon afterwards, "ohmygod— i can-t do—"

"—none of that nonsense." the muscled man was quick to cut you off, "why're you so tired?"

and your eyes hesitantly met his, as he threw another question your way, "someone else fuck you today already?"

"mhm, no." you tried saying but the way your body reacted — the way your greedy pussy clawed at his cock so soon made him laugh, "oh yeah, who was it?"

"n-nobody." you tried for you knew how competitive the boys got over you. no matter how many times you reminded them that sharing was caring, they were hell-bent in fighting each other off. well, that was the egoist mindset, you suppose — courtesy of your husband.

"oh, who was it?" his lips twitched dangerously, his jaw tightening as the intensity of his rams inside your pussy increased. hitting the bullseye again and again, he asked again, "who?"

"hy-oma," you gulped, keeping your gaze steady against the calm man. kunigami just smiled at the mention of his close friend, "ah, that bastard got you... first, hm?"

and you knew which question were to follow next, you knew you were done for.

"how many times did he make you cum?"

"only on-once." you tried lying, hoping the answer would be satisfactory enough for the man, but ofcourse he could see through your bullshit, "gimme the real answer."

and you groaned, knowing the competitiveness would come at the cost of your guts being re-arranged, "th-three...?"

"three?" kunigami hummed, slowing down his smacks against your swollen pussy as if to set a neat, little calculation in his head, "okay then, gotta make you cum twice more, right?"

and you knew fighting off this wicked sense of control was of no use, so you nodded, "r-right..."

and no whines of his name, nor your pleas were enough to sway him. the man kept pistoling into your desolate, fluttering cunt. even when your walls were painted white, the muscled man found it in himself to keep fucking you through his own orgasm.

after all, egoists can't be held back, right?

"s-say," the man huffed, sweat drops cascading down his handsome face and dropping down onto your perspired skin, "which orgasm wa-was fuck, that last one?"

"f-fourth," you replied despite your dry mouth and trembling muscles, despite your sense of self that had been crushed to absolute smithereens. but thank god, that was your fourth orgasm! now you're done.

you're done, right...?

almost naively, you asked, "w-we're ngh- done, right..?"

"i dunno... maybe five's better," the pro-player muttered to himself, "can't have that bastard hah— catching up to me, right?"

"wh-what?"

the pro-player nodded more to himself than you, "mhm, yeah. one more."

after all, egoists cannot be swayed once they got their eyes on the goal, right?

a/n: started writing this months ago on my old account and since then, it's just... it's been rotting tbh. i hope this is somewhat good atleast. NAGI AND REO LOVERS, I HAVE ANOTHER FIC COMING FOR THEM WAIT!! tagging: @5hoe1 @scara-simp69 @moodswing101 [hey guyss!]

[kxsagi]

HEYYYY im back, kunigami annon here once again and i got an idea (i thinks idk)

so, post-wc kunigami with fem!reader (preferably as a player in bllk) who is basically like the mirror version of himself prior to wc. hero complex & all. i think it'd be interesting.

if u can, can u PLZZZ do it with platonic undertones? i yearn for platonic reader and bllk characters

“𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐮𝐡?”

a/n: oh this was a challenge to write

you’re everything he used to be. and that’s exactly the problem. 

post wild card! kunigami leans against the wall of the training room, towel draped over his shoulders, sweat still clinging to him like ghosts. the lighting above buzzes faintly, and somewhere in the distance, someone curses at a missed goal. but in front of him, you, blue lock player! reader, stand upright. not slouched, not tired, not bitter. 

still smiling. 

you beam like someone who thinks being a “hero” on the field still means something. and kunigami? he’s too tired to even pretend he doesn’t find that irritating. 

“you dove in front of the ball for him,” he says, arms crossed. “again.” 

you nod proudly, like you’ve just saved a child from a burning building. “yep! it was gonna smack him in the face. i had to.” 

“it’s blue lock,” kunigami deadpans. “you don’t have to do anything. he would've learned to block better next time.” 

you huff, dropping your hands to your hips. “oh, come on, ren. what, i’m supposed to let him get a concussion? we’re still human beings, you know.” 

he doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you. your cheeks are red from training. your knees are scraped. there’s grass stuck in your socks and your grin is stupidly, infuriatingly bright. it hurts a little to look at you for too long. 

you remind him of someone he buried months ago. someone with big dreams and bigger ideals. someone who believed that strength was something you gained to protect others, not to overpower them. someone who thought being good at soccer was the same thing as being a good person. 

someone who didn’t survive the wild card. who didn't need to. 

“you keep pulling crap like that,” he mutters, “and you won’t make it far.” 

you blink at him. “you mean in blue lock?” 

“i mean at all.” his voice sharpens, almost too fast. “this place chews up people like you. and when it spits you out, no one comes to save you. you get that, right?” 

you pause. kunigami watches the smile fade from your face – just a flicker. just a second. 

then you speak, quieter this time. 

“i get it. but that doesn’t mean i’m gonna stop.” 

of course not, he thinks. you’re still too stubborn, too kind, too you. 

“i don’t know what happened to you in the wild card,” you continue, stepping closer. “but if no one was there to save you… i’m sorry. really. but if i ever get thrown in like that… i’d want someone to remember me as the kind of person who tried.” 

that stings more than he expects. it leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. 

you pat his shoulder as you pass, already turning back toward the field. “and anyway,” you add lightly, “someone’s gotta play the hero, right?” 

he doesn’t move. just watches you jog away, hair bouncing, righteous and reckless and stupidly full of heart. 

you’re going to get hurt. maybe not today, maybe not even this year. but blue lock doesn’t care about people like you. it kills people like you. 

and kunigami? kunigami isn’t a hero anymore. he doesn’t save anyone. not even himself. 

but somehow, he still finds himself watching over you anyway. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[alacants]

idk how to word it but ive always felt like novak, deep down, is bitter for the lack of warmth towards him in contrast to fedal. he tries to act unbothered (and to some level he probably is), but the disdain is There. and then theres jannik who at least seems to not make any effort to appear more likable (very funny contrast to carlos but lets not go there yet). anw all this to say im so excited for the novak vs jannik semis rpf implications 😃😃

i wrote 400 words in gdocs on my work computer and then reopened tumblr and realized they weren't even ON TOPIC. ok let's see how much of this i can salvage.

there is an instructive contrast between "has established a persona of not caring what people think" and "actually doesn't care about what people think." novak's case is complicated, right—his problem, for a given value of problem, is that he wants to have his cake and eat it too. he is demonstrably a people person who wants to have friends and be liked and make people laugh. and he is a ruthless competitor who is unwilling to compromise in pursuit of his goals, and by now he knows—must know—how much better he performs when he's not comfortable or happy or liked. so if that means being the bad guy, then he will be THE MOST bad guy you have ever seen. wimbledon_grasseating.mp4.

it's true that i wouldn't be surprised to find out there was an element of cognitive dissonance/wounded innocence at play—why can't you see this is what i'm doing to win. this isn't about me or who i really am or what i really want. (besides the trophies.) i definitely think that the crowd-baiting started out as a defense mechanism, he might care but you won't catch him letting you know that he cares. otoh when you've kept up the act for seventeen years at some point it stops being an act. i do think he's struggling right now with the desire to consolidate the right legacy in his last active years on tour, vs the instinct to fight back against being defanged as some kind of cuddly elder statesman we're just happy to see walk on two legs.

meanwhile jannik. i've talked a little bit about my read on jannik before, which is that there's a distinction between what's emotionally real (family/friends/hometown/hobbies/his personal relationship to the practice of tennis) and what isn't (the greater tennis world/media/celebrity). so… why would you go the trouble of expending all that energy for affection that might not even be real? of course if it comes your way, it's nice—rome, the atp finals, all those davis cup matches and celebrations. but the lack of it isn't something he has to develop a weapon to handle.

like, last year so clearly took a toll—but the psychological burden seems to have been much more about his existential future as a tennis player than about the court of public opinion. for one thing, he seems perfectly willing to forget some of the slights that other players would take to their grave lmao. lehecka and bublik both had things to say about favoritism—so what? he's playing practice sets, he's giving them hugs and smiles and saying nice things at the net. it's fine. it's whatever. (which is why "people i expected to reach out who didn't" is faaaaaaaaaascinating…)

at the same time you've got the people from tennisworld, or celebrityworld, who have become real and important to him—matteo and jack and gianluigi donnaruma, lmao. (and anna, while it lasted.) so it's not like he isn't ready to open up one-on-one, or like he doesn't value closeness, or like being a top ten player is a barrier to that closeness.

i am going to go out on a limb and guess that if novak decided he wanted to be jannik's alpine skiing ac milan-supporting big brother on tour, those overtures would get reciprocated stat. but novak's not going to do that unless jannik makes himself approachable, and jannik isn't going to make himself approachable unless… etc.

and maybe that's for the best. because carlos alcaraz isn't on that list, and maybe that's because their personalities clash or maybe that's because jannik doesn't trust carlos means it or maybe that's because carlos alcaraz is the one player jannik cannot afford to be friends with. 

novak wants and needs to beat jannik more than jannik wants or needs to beat novak. he has to, to prove that he's still a real live threat. whereas if the kid at the top loses to the great novak djokovic—who hasn't? he'll be winning slams long after novak's gone, after all. it's not like how he can't seem to win against carlos alcaraz. 

i doubt novak would enjoy finding out that jannik can't afford to be friend with carlos, but can afford to be friends with him.

[rhyxanwaters]

Now hear me out...Azzi has been making some moves this off-season. Like yes she's been getting in her workouts, and having some fun in between but girlie really has been making some moves on the business end since the summit with Sue and possibly before. Like I know she did the interview or something with Renee Montgomery but they also hung out and talked at the Atlanta vs Dallas game but I'm wanting to say they started linking up after that alumni game celebrating geno and cd. And with Azzi going for her MBA I wonder if she's really been diving into the business side of things she has going on. I know she has talked about wanting to get her camps up to like Steph's level, and I'm sure she's learned some things from him, but who better to learn from than a co-owner of a wnba team and former player who has her own production company and her hands in literally everything and then from Sue with the podcast and etc side of things. As well as using connections from the summit...like I think she may have some big things coming/happening soon. Just my thoughts and random rant.

[krispdreemurr]

ok we're into the "ill post things behind read mores" phase of the spoiler policy. starting with some more coherent(?) thoughts on the whole thing

as you may have guessed from the two posts I couldn't resist making before the embargo ended, I am like... captivated by the whole carol and kris situation in the worst way. apologies to the Carol truthers who i doubted, but I don't think anyone called Kris being manipulated by her into trying to kidnap their mom and a cop, so,

it's just like. so. i had truly thought our presence in Kris' life was the worst thing, but it turns out we're the much more manageable source of overwhelming control.

(sidenote: hey remember all the reasons we already knew spamton triggered Kris? well now consider that spamton was being given phone calls by a mysterious entity w unknown orders and then when it got sick of him he was left to die,)

my current theory on what's up with all the Existentially Dubious Kris things and such btw is that to make room for the soul Kris' dark world self was deliberately killed or deleted or something, leaving a living body and mind that would need an external motivating force. kris can't go to the dark world without us because they don't exist there any more without us to form a dark self. this of course puts them in a worrying situation regarding the prophecy and someone possibly needing to die

but speaking of the prophecy and its ending um. susie. dear God Susie. emotional fucking Heart of the game. her being confronted with the horror aspects of deltarune over and over and every time being like Fuck You I Have My Friends was just beautiful. her relationship with notGerson was incredible. the healing arc and the piano arc and how those intersected in her learning it's ok for her to try and improve and get better even if someone else is better already... (did like Everyone pick the "if Susie plays too" option btw bc I haven't seen anyone say anything else fjkgkgk)

and god of course the Kris and Susie friendship. everything in church. them saving each other again and again tower climbing. the Susie award. kris leaping in against notnotGerson. sitting by the lake together after a long night. wuah

i also did warm up a lot to ralsei, yeah. it turning out that he was so smiley and benign and overprotective because he wanted every moment before the horror to be Nice for the two made him a lot more understandable to me. he's just fucking going through it. im glad kris hugs him willingly

the secrets this time... well. ch3 being "not applicable, but" because you do the whole weird route again but in video game form was pretty fucking ominous. the fact that freedom is now being even more strongly tied to the capacity to break things and do violence isn't ideal. i liked Susie coming in at the end and if Kris says they didn't have fun she's just like "so stop playing?" message to all weird route players: you don't gotta.

(and having seen the ch4 weird scenes I. may not. gotta)

also both the egg rooms were worrying in different ways. kris art therapy moments real

i'm just... so excited to see where things go from here. we already fought a fucking titan and won, what is even left to escalate. is kris going to be okay. is Susie gonna be okay.

and thank God I have only a year to wait!!!

[obvithe-bestsoph]

I'm going for a request:

Eric Garcia - "Why don't you love me?"

Thanks!

No. 04 | "Why don't you love me?" EG24

masterlist requests prompt list (if you request a prompt, please request a player for it as well!) warnings: none.

You don’t mean to stare. But you do. You always do when it’s Eric.

He’s sitting across from you on the edge of the pool chair, one hand propping up his head, the other lazily spinning the bottom of a water bottle like he’s solving a mystery. His shirt’s clinging to him from the humidity, and his hair is a little flatter than usual, but he still somehow looks unfairly perfect, the kind of guy you’d imagine meeting once in your life and thinking, ‘no way he’s real’.

“You gonna get in?” he asks without looking up. He already knows the answer. The water’s freezing.

You shake your head and fold your arms over your knees, pulling your towel tighter around your shoulders. “Not unless I feel like dying.”

Eric finally looks up. Grins. “Dying dramatically, I assume.”

“Obviously.”

He leans back with a dramatic sigh and stretches. “Coward.”

“Sociopath.”

“You wound me.”

“You deserve it.”

He chuckles. The kind of soft, low laugh that gets your heart involved. The worst kind.

The thing about Eric is that he’s always been like this. Teasing and gentle. Easy to talk to. Quick to tease, quicker to check on you afterward. You’ve known him for years, always orbiting close but never quite touching. He’s the friend who never became more, even though it would’ve been so easy to let it. So natural.

And maybe that’s the problem. You know how he is with people. The charming, sweet, reads-your-mind kind of boy. The kind that could fall in love a hundred times in a week and mean it every time.

But not with you. Never with you.

“Are we still going to the market later?” he asks, nudging your leg with his foot. “Or are you gonna back out like you did last week?”

“I didn’t back out. I got food poisoning.”

Eric raises an eyebrow. “Right. From lettuce.”

“It was bad lettuce!”

He laughs again, and this time you can’t help but smile, too. Because it’s so easy, sitting here like this. You could do it forever. You almost wish he’d stop being so nice. It’d make everything a little less complicated.

Later, at the market, he walks just a little too close. Not enough for other people to notice, but enough for you to feel it. His shoulder brushes yours whenever he turns his head. His hand grazes yours when you both reach for the same carton of strawberries.

You pretend not to notice.

“You like these?” he asks, holding the strawberries out to you. “These the food poisoning kind?”

You snort. “I’ll risk it.”

He adds them to your basket like he already knew you’d say yes.

You’re halfway down the next aisle when he stops in front of a flower stall. He picks up a small bouquet of daisies, squints at them like he’s deciphering a code, then turns to you.

“You ever get flowers just because?”

“From who?” you say, too quickly.

He shrugs, handing the daisies to the vendor. “Anyone.”

You shrug. “Not really.”

“Cool. These are yours now.”

You blink. “Eric…”

He pushes them into your arms, casual as anything. “Relax. It’s not weird.”

“Feels weird.”

“Then stop being weird about it.”

You try to keep your expression neutral, but you’re very much failing. Your fingers squeeze the stems tighter than they should.

“You’re gonna make someone think we’re dating,” you mumble.

“Let them think it.”

Your heart stalls.

You want to ask if he means that. But you don’t. Because if he *did*, he would’ve said it better. And if he didn’t, you’d rather pretend for one more day.

The drive back is quiet. He fiddles with the radio while you look out the window, the flowers on your lap still somehow holding warmth from his hands. He hums along to something soft and slow, not even realizing he’s doing it.

By the time you get back to your place, the sun’s already bleeding into the horizon.

“Wanna come in?” you ask, keys jangling in your hand. “I’ve got those stupid cookies you like.”

Eric’s eyes light up. “The rainbow ones?”

“The ones that taste like artificial joy? Yeah.”

“Say less.”

Inside, he kicks off his shoes like he lives here. Throws himself on your couch like he belongs there. And maybe he does. You’ve never let anyone else get this close. You’ve never wanted to.

You come back with the cookies and two glasses of juice, but he’s got this strange look on his face now. Like he’s thinking too hard.

You hand him a cookie and nudge his shoulder. “What’s going on in that dense little brain?”

He takes the cookie but doesn’t eat it. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.”

You freeze. “What about me?”

Eric sets the cookie down and shifts to face you more directly. His knee touches yours.

“You know you’re one of my favorite people, right?”

That’s the kind of sentence that makes your chest tighten and your throat sting. “Yeah.”

“And you know I… care about you. A lot.”

You nod, barely breathing.

“But sometimes I think maybe you don’t believe that,” he says. “Not really. Not when it matters.”

The words come out of your mouth before you even realize they’re there.

“Why don’t you love me?”

It shatters the air.

Eric looks stunned for half a second. Like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. Like you ripped the thought right out of his brain before he could hide it.

Then he exhales. Slowly. Like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

“I do,” he says, voice lower now. “God, I do.”

You blink. “What?”

“I love you. Not in the dumb, casual way. Not the way I love, like, football or sleeping in or whatever. I love *you.* Properly. The way that ruins you for anyone else.”

You blink again. “Then why didn’t you-”

“Because I didn’t want to scare you off. I thought if I said it, you’d pull away. I figured… if I just stayed close, maybe you’d figure it out first.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“You really thought I didn’t love you?” he whispers.

You nod. Because you did. Because it made sense. Because it was safer to assume.

Eric shifts closer, resting his forehead against yours. His hand finds yours like it’s done it a thousand times before. Like it’s muscle memory.

“I love you,” he says again, barely audible.

You don’t reply. You just kiss him.

And it’s not the kiss you imagined in your most dramatic, daydreamy moments. It’s quiet. Soft. Like a beginning, not a finale.

When he pulls back, his smile is smaller. But brighter.

“Still think it’s weird I bought you flowers?”

“Yes,” you say. “But I’m keeping them.”

“Good.”

You lean against his shoulder and exhale for the first time in what feels like years.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Next time, just tell me how you feel, okay?”

You laugh, a little wobbly. “Next time, you tell *me.*”

“Deal.”

And then it’s quiet again.

But it’s the kind of quiet that feels full.

The kind of quiet that sounds like peace.

[nekodatta]

I wanted to get some thoughts out about the ending(s) of Clair Obscure: Expedition 33 and why no matter what you choose, they hit players so hard.

(Obviously, spoilers)

------

For me, the most tragic part of the ending is not if one picks one or the other option, but that the inhabitants of the Canvas were pretty much doomed from the start and they didn't know it. It makes the whole game so unbelievably tragic. Expedition journals were sometimes funny, sometimes silly, sometimes somber, but they always carried this sense of respect for their sacrifice, the idea that they were passing the torch and leaving something so the next Expedition could do better, no matter how small.

Realising that they never pretty much had a chance to succeed makes it... Heartbreaking.

And that's what makes the game such an effective tragedy story. You're left frustrated and in disbelief.

I mourned all the inhabitants of the Canvas at the end of Act 2 as soon as I realised what the true scope of the problem was.

You want there to be a third option, one that saves them. That option is even hinted at in game, first by the letter, then by Verso, when telling Maelle to leave the Canvas now, that she can always come back later, and leave it be.

But that option is not available because both parties involved are human and stubborn and flawed themselves, and each only chooses one extreme solution. Black or white, chiaroscuro, "Clair Obscur". It was right there in the title.

For me the two endings really only change one fundamental thing: if Maelle lives or not.

In the Maelle ending, she decides to spend her life in the canvas even if it will end up killing her, at which point the Canvas will be destroyed anyway.

In the Verso ending, the Canvas gets destroyed immediately and Maelle is forced out.

I won't get into the whole discussion of ethics or about how it's a metaphor to deal about grief and the Dessendres drama and Verso's soul in the canvas, because I want to focus exclusively on the inhabitants of the Canvas.

They were living in a doomed world and didn't realise it. It was a doomed world because the ""gods"" that made them were too flawed to simply leave this world be and instead made it their own way of dealing with grief. Humans didn't even exist before Aline painted literally an entire other sentient species into the Canvas for painted Verso.

It's messed up and tragic and frustrating and they should have never been put in that position to begin with.

But they (the humans at least )still fought for that small possibility of defeating the Paintress and put an end to the Gommage.

You're left saddened and frustrated at the end of the game because you ask yourself:

"What was the point of the Expedition? What was the point of all other Expeditions before them? Why did I spend X amount of hours playing in the shoes of characters that don't get to decide what happens to them?"

Well... what was the point of Gustave reuniting with Sophie in the Prologue mere hours before her Gommage? She was just going to die anyway, no? Why did Gustave even bother?

Because it was important for him that that moment *still happened*. Because "tomorrow comes".

In Esquie's words,

"It's better to have lost a rock than never have had a rock."

And that's why in the end, I chose the Verso ending. Maelle gets out of the Canvas, it gets destroyed, but she brings with her a whole lifetime of memories of the Canvas's world. Memories of Lumiére, of the gestrals, the grandis, every place she saw in the Canvas, of Gustave and Lune and Sciel and Esquie and Monoco and everyone else.

And she will carry those memories with her and honor them, instead of losing herself inside them.

She's the only one in the Dessendre family that truly knows what it means to *live* an entire life inside a Canvas, and maybe she'll bring her unique perspective with her so that a tragedy like that of the Canvas we played in never happens again.

[0viraptoraskblog]

I hope ur health is going better now 🙏🙏❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I hv a question, how do u think fox would comfort the player if they ever cry or vent to him?? Sorry if thats a weird question lol but im curious

Thank you ^^ I am better now, and I appreciate all the support from everyone.

Assuming that you two have a relationship developed enough where he would comfort you, he can be pretty caring. He's dealt with a lot of hard times too, and although he's definitely moved on, he remembers things that help.

To start, he's just being there for you. He gets you a blanket and cuddles up close to you, probably petting your hair and listening to you vent. Whether or not he offers advice depends on what you're upset about— since it could be related to him, after all. If he does, it's subtle, and either a simple or dismissive remedy (“I'm sure you'll feel better after some sleep,” or “You don't have to worry about that anymore,”) or a deeply held belief/lesson, which is actually good to hear, but rare.

Still- he'll stay with you and comfort you by just being there. He’ll also make you dinner and try to get you to eat, while telling you everything’s worse on an empty stomach. Once you calm down a little, maybe the two of you will watch a show you like together; something to get your mind off of it.

This is all assuming you guys are close enough that he cares about your emotions and wants you to feel better; it could be different in another scenario.

[cecilysass]

One Hand Tied (10/13)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Wednesday afternoon

She could have drugged them for the trip, but she chooses not to.

It would have been more sensible—keeping them uncertain of where they were, giving them less information—but Diana doesn’t want to do it. She doesn’t want to see Fox’s body crumple over again, to see the independence she admired in him snuffed out.

Instead, she orders Fox and Scully to sit side by side on the limo seat opposite her. And so they do. For hours.

They’re bound and gagged, so they can’t chit chat. Neither meets her eyes, and their faces are sullen.

Scully spends much of the trip staring listlessly out the car window, where she easily can see the visual detritus of I-95 south. Local billboards and highway signs, scraggly palmetto trees and cheap motels. Best seafood buffet in the South. Oranges, tee shirts, next exit. Welcome to Florida: The Rules Are Different Here.

Fox doesn’t exactly demonstrate his gratitude for the favor of being left conscious. He won’t spare Diana a passing glance, keeping his eyes closed for most of the trip. She notices he does sneak a few peeks at Scully, with an expression Diana could only describe as a starving man looking at a steak. Scully doesn’t seem to be meeting his eyes either.

So, Diana thinks with a tiny smile, folding her hands in her lap, she did manage to do some damage there. She can’t help but feel a little gratified, even if it didn’t work out how it was supposed to. It’s nice to know you have some small modicum of power in an unfortunate situation.

The recent vacancies in the organization have had the effect of a variety of properties suddenly becoming available for Syndicate business. Diana personally likes the penthouse on the upper west side in Manhattan best, but the castle in Delaware, though somewhat dilapidated, has been useful, too. It has a handy facility for keeping prisoners, plenty of space for housing staff and is convenient to metro DC. When she has secured a more powerful position in the organization, she plans to have it renovated and redesigned to be more comfortable. There are worse things than a beach castle.

If Alex hadn’t tried to play his little game of Spy Vs. Spy, they could be having lunch there with Spender now, working out the final details. So much wasted time.

She presses her lips together in frustration, thinking of Alex. He has been a thorn in her side since she arrived back stateside. This new recruit. She isn’t sure why the old men gave him so much responsibility; she thinks it’s painfully clear he’s green and arrogant.

Diana examines a nail thoughtfully. She doesn’t think Alex is the type she could fuck into distraction. Maybe it would have been worth a try. She’s been so absorbed in this Fox project she hasn’t considered using all her usual methods. She’d imprisoned him instead, ready to present Spender with convincing evidence he’s working against them. But it turns out he’s a better player than she’d thought.

So now, at Spender’s request, they’re all headed to this Florida beach property, a place that Diana has never been to. She isn’t especially fond of visiting her home state, and she wouldn’t put it past Spender to choose this particular location just to set her off balance.

The old man had been unimpressed that she’d been outsmarted by Alex. She knows she has to get the upper hand again. And now she has all of them—Alex, his idiot brother, Fox and his beloved partner. Hopefully it will be enough to get Spender back in her corner.

“Ma’am,” the driver says through the window. “The sign says 20 miles to Flagler Beach. I believe it’s not much longer.”

“Thank you,” she says. She turns to Fox and Scully with forced brightness. “That’s good news. I know you’ll be happy to stretch your legs.”

They both turn to her with cold eyes; Agent Scully’s are practically dry ice. Diana wants to squirm under their scrutiny. Instead, she turns to look out the window at the subtropical foliage rushing past.

“We’re in Florida,” she says to the window, projecting a calm confidence she doesn’t quite feel. More quietly: “This is where I’m from, you know.”

***

The limo pulls up a long drive to a stark, white modern house with smooth rounded edges, like a polished shell gleaming in the sun. The second car follows behind, the car that contains Krycek and his brother. Scully assumes they are still unconscious.

When Diana’s men open the door and gesture for Scully to get out, she’s immediately greeted by a faceful of warm, salt-tinged ocean air. Overhead, a single gull makes an unhurried loop, letting the sound of its calls carry away in the breeze.

As she follows one of Diana’s men up the walk to the entrance, Scully observes that the house has an enormous curving deck with high design white pool chairs. They are positioned to face the sun of the wide and windy beach.

In any other situation this would be idyllic. Scully finds herself stopping to stare, momentarily dazed by this change of scenery. She’s aware of Mulder’s steps behind her, and she wonders if he’s thinking the same.

“Keep walking,” the man in black in front of her orders over his shoulder.

“Isn’t it nice?” Diana says, her tone casual and conversational. Scully’s eyes follow as the woman walks past her in that elegant suit. She turns and takes a deep breath as though she’s savoring the sea air.

Diana’s behaving like she’s hosting a goddamned weekend beach getaway.

Scully doesn’t see the point of this kind of charade. Surely she understands that the gig is up. Surely she doesn't think anyone is fooled by this friendly, reasonable persona she puts on. Surely she doesn't think Mulder is softening towards her. Is she actually attempting to win him back?

There's abruptly a bitter taste in Scully's mouth behind the gag. She hopes that’s a ludicrous idea. But Mulder has not been entirely predictable where Diana is concerned.

Is she simply trying to upset them? Maybe she’s trying to specifically raise Scully’s ire. In that case, the affected attitude is working, although it also is unnecessary. Scully couldn’t possibly be filled with more loathing for this mercenary woman than she already is.

How could Diana do it to Mulder—playact at an entirely false relationship, an apparently serious one? He’d obviously truly loved Diana. Perhaps he still does. Mulder, who in his life had so few people to believe in him. Mulder who deserved to be loved—authentically loved. To be treated with care and respect and kindness.

Scully watches Diana enter a code into a keypad to get into the house, and she feels anger bubble through her whole body, like the blood in her veins is at a low boil.

She turns and glances quickly at Mulder, standing slightly behind her. He was so desperately trying to tell her something right before his gag was put back on. It seemed like he was saying that the condom in his bedroom was faked evidence—that it was set up by Diana. That her assumptions about the nature of their current relationship were wrong.

Scully has been considering this possibility on the drive. It still wouldn’t explain Diana spending the night, or his strange continued faith in her. And she knows it’s possible she’s simply interpreting his statement how she most wants to hear it.

But maybe it’s the truth. Maybe Scully has been manipulated into believing a lie. Frohike thought so all along.

She feels Mulder’s eyes on her as they walk inside.

The interior of the house is the same painful bright white, with large abstract paintings in muted shades of gray and white hanging on the walls. Two men stand with Scully and Mulder in the large living area while Diana walks from room to room to survey the premises, her heels clicking on marble floors.

She emerges again with a thoughtful expression on her face, her sunglasses now perched on her head. She walks to the large glass window and peers at the two limos parked outside, her other men standing around awaiting orders.

“We’ll need to carry Alex and his brother from the car inside,” she instructs. “Put Alex’s brother in the room with the bunk beds, and bring Alex in here to the sofa.” She regards the living room. “I’d like to have a little chat with him before Mr. Spender arrives.”

Mulder makes an angry sound through his gag, and it attracts Diana’s attention. She walks to him, a tiny, perturbed scowl on her forehead. As she reaches out and cups Mulder’s face, Scully can see him straighten his posture.

“Fox, I’m truly sorry,” she says in a honeyed voice. “I didn’t like lying to you. And … often I wasn’t lying. I mean that.”

Mulder glowers at her, his neck and jaw muscles tensing. Scully wants to shove this lying woman away from him. She doesn’t realize that in her anger she’s taking faster breaths through her nose, but Diana does.

“You can stand down, Agent Scully,” she says, throwing her a knowing smile. “I’m not going to hurt him. Or you, for that matter.”

Scully exchanges a fast, embarrassed look with Mulder.

“Put these two in one of the bedrooms,” she says to her men. “The one with the mirrored walls.”

***

Once again they are cuffed to a bed. This time, it’s a king size bed with a white satin duvet and a pile of gray and silver pillows. Scully despises the faux glitzy Miami Vice interior design of this house.

They’re positioned so they’re sitting on the bed with their wrists behind them, somehow secured to the headboard. As soon as he’s locked the door behind him, she squirms to try to see exactly how the cuffs are affixed, but her back is too close to the headboard to see.

Movement across the room catches her attention abruptly. The mirrored wall. It’s only their reflection: she and Mulder, bound and gagged side by side on an all-white bed in dirty clothes with tired eyes. Like some sad parody of kinky 1980s porn, she thinks morosely.

At least the mirror gives her some vantage point to see if she ducks her head. In the reflection it looks like they are both cuffed to a single metal crossbar, part of some jagged abstract design of metal bars arranged in interlocking triangles.

Mulder hasn’t moved the whole time. He sits with his eyes downcast, like he is thinking hard, probably still processing Diana’s betrayal. Scully hurts for him despite herself. She decides she will give him a few minutes of mourning before he’s going to have to focus on more practical matters.

At least it’s a good chance to work off the gag. She hasn’t had an opportunity to since she loosened it in the restroom, all those miles back. She bends her knee, drawing her bare leg to her face, trying to use her knee to knock the fabric out of her mouth. It’s like some awkward variation on a yoga pose. She knows she’s showing a lot of leg and ass as she does, but she figures Mulder is distracted by his grief or shock or heartbreak or whatever and must be used to this by now.

When she finally manages to free the loosened gag from her mouth, she lowers her leg and pushes it out further with her tongue.

“There,” she whispers as it falls down her chin. Mulder may not have been distracted enough not to watch her expose herself in this process. His eyes are definitely on her now, his gaze on the hem of her shorts. The idea that he could possibly be ogling her at this exact moment seems kind of ridiculous, though. She stretches her mouth out, moving her chin back and forth gingerly. “I’m tired of gags.”

He nods seriously, not looking away.

“Do you want help with yours?” she asks tremulously. His eyes meet hers. “Or did you want to try to get your hands free first?”

He nods again, humming a little. Then he tugs a little on the headboard with his hands, not quite as violently as he did at the motel. She can tell he is trying not to make a lot of noise, going for strong, sharp movements. It rattles promisingly, but it doesn’t budge. He seems to deflate.

“We’ll keep trying.” She bites her lip, calming her nerves. “Should I… your gag? I can…? Like you did?”

His eyes lock back on her, instantly alert.

“Right. It’s fine. Just, um, don’t move,” she says softly.

Then she leans towards him, her heart pounding, and bites the gag that lies flush against his prickly cheek. It is hard to get a grip on the fabric, so her mouth takes little nips against his skin and facial hair as she attempts to grab it. She feels him suck in air fast as she does.

Finally she catches the fabric in her teeth, and she stays there a moment, the puffs of her breath against his face. He doesn’t move a muscle.

She’d been undeniably aroused when he did this for her before. This feels somehow even more intimate. Waves of heat run through her.

Slowly she drags her head downward, trying to tug on the gag, but unable to separate the gesture from the image of intentionally trailing her mouth down his cheek and jaw.

When she has made it over his jaw bone, the gag falls and he releases a breath. She pulls away from him quickly, her heart racing, and sees that his eyes are now closed.

“Is that… good?” she asks hurriedly.

“Yes,” he croaks, blinking his eyes open. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“Well, you did it for me,” she breathes.

He nods again, like he is composing his thoughts. “Scully,” he says, his voice still hoarse, “about Diana. About … the condom you found.”

She shakes her head. “Mulder. Please. I want to get out of here,” she whispers. “No more cuffs and bathtubs and vans. Once we’re on our way home, we can talk about … whatever we need to. Can’t we? It’s just a distraction now.”

He’s obviously reluctant, but he nods slowly. “Okay. Let’s get out of here first.” He looks around, then begins to peer over his shoulder at the bed frame. “I think if we both worked at it, we could break off this fragment of the headboard,” he says. “This bed isn’t as sturdy as the one at the motel.”

“Good, yes,” she agrees. “But we have to stay quiet. We don’t know how close they are.”

***

It takes a good half hour of coordinated, nearly silent tugging on their cuffs—which is painful on their already chafed wrists—but they manage to pry a bar in the headboard forward far enough to slide their cuffs off. Mulder slides his off first, slipping off the bed, hopping up and down like an athlete warming up. It feels empowering, the first break they’ve had in forever.

“Yes,” he proclaims in a joyful whisper. “Freedom. Amazing work, Scully.”

“Not too loud,” whispers Scully anxiously. “And let’s make sure we keep some pillows piled up in front of the broken headboard, in case we have to quickly jump back in bed to pretend to be restrained.”

He wants to make an off-color joke, but he’s thrown off when she performs a high kick to push pillows back across the bed with her foot, once again exposing a dance hall girl stretch of her leg. This whole situation is going to kill him.

Mulder walks around the room, staring at the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “You can see yourself from every angle in here, can’t you? This sort of reminds me of something,” he whispers over to her.

She shoots him a look.

“No,” he says, “it actually does remind me of something. A case I worked on in the VCU, a drug case. We once had a victim in a house with mirrors like this.”

She lowers her leg and looks at him, then at the walls. “Oh? Two way mirrors?”

“Yeah,” Mulder says. “Everywhere in the house.” He looks around the walls. “I think there was some kind of, uh, secret panel. You know, like in a murder mystery. Maybe there’s—”

The sound of voices, faintly, outside the door. He and Scully stare at one another in alarm, then quickly rush back to the bed, scooting to the middle of Scully’s pile of pillows, pressing their hands back against the broken headboard like they’re still cuffed.

If someone comes inside, Mulder thinks, hopefully they will just not look closely. Hopefully they will leave fast. They can’t do anything to disguise their missing gags.

The voices outside seem closer: Diana, probably. A male voice. Krycek? Is Diana now making small talk with him? He turns his head to look at Scully, and her intense blue eyes press back into his.

Just as he’s convinced himself they’re about to walk in, just as his muscles have tensed for fight or flight, the voices seem to grow more distant and move past the door.

Mulder releases a breath. Somewhere in the hall another door opens and closes.

Scully closes her eyes in relief. “Good.”

Mulder leans in to whisper to her. “We might not have long. Let’s go over the perimeter of the room. Each wall.”

She nods. They climb off the bed again, and they choose opposite sides of the room, looking up and down the mirrored panels from the floor to the ceiling.

“Hmm,” Mulder says, critically studying a mirrored dressing table. He spots a bobby pin sitting on the counter and maneuvers himself backwards so that he can grab it with his left hand. Might come in handy, he decides, thinking of the cuffs.

“Looking for panels to press would be easier with my hands free,” Scully sighs, looking at the floor to ceiling mirror helplessly. “It seems like one could use one’s hands to push the wall square inch by square inch. You could be more efficient.”

“Use your body,” Mulder says, pressing his entire body flush against the mirror. “See, I now know there’s no trap door anywhere in this particular Mulder-shaped area.”

He’d been joking around. But he sees Scully attempt it more seriously across the room, crushing her own body flat against the surface, as though her nose or her knees or tits would discover a secret passage. It’s funny—and, embarrassingly, kind of a turn on.

Jesus Christ, he needs to get home so that he can take care of himself privately. This is too long of a stretch under difficult conditions. He’s like a teenager right now.

He kicks the wall a little in repressed frustration, and his toe hits an electrical outlet. This hurts. It also seems to give way a little with a click, which makes him think he has broken it. But then he sees the modern white bureau adjacent to the bed has very slightly popped out of the wall, revealing a small and subtle entrance to a hallway. Scully suppresses a delighted gasp.

“Mulder, it’s just like in Nancy Drew or something,” she says excitedly, walking over to peer closer. “Do you think Diana knows it’s here?”

“She doesn’t seem to know the house very well.” Mulder says. “When we came in, she was looking around the place like she’d never been here.”

“You’re right,” Scully agrees. “But it sounds like Spender’s arriving soon. For all we know it’s his house.”

“Then we should get a move on, Miss Drew,” Mulder says with a shrug, gripping the filched bobby pin tight in his palm. “Ladies first?”

She rolls her eyes and nods, and he follows her into a small, very narrow hallway. He can soon see it’s lined by a long window with a view directly into the bedroom—a two-way mirror. The bed with the pile of pillows and the bent headboard is clearly visible right in front of them

He knows he should close the door behind them, and for a moment he worries how he’ll do it with his hands bound. When he taps it a little with his foot, it clicks shut easily of its own accord.

It becomes immediately darker. The passage is lit only by the light coming in from the bedroom, which is gray and pallid through the two-way mirror. Scully is staring at it in horrified fascination.

“Unsettling to have a two-way mirror in a bedroom,” she whispers. “I can think of no good reason for it.”

Mulder looks at her and raises his eyebrows. She just looks back at him with a silent sigh, not even bothering with an eye roll, and turns to walk the length of the room. On the other side she comes to a sharp turn in the passage.

“We must be behind the wall of the adjacent room now,” Mulder whispers. She nods. They turn another corner, the passage getting claustrophobically dim and small. There are no two way mirrors here. He squints at the walls, noting they seem to be unfinished, with bulges of insulation peeking through wooden frames.

As they walk it gets darker and darker. He’s been keeping intentionally close to Scully so he can keep track of exactly where she is, but when she reaches the end of this passage, he bumps into her.

“Shit,” she hisses.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s the end of the line,” she says glumly. “No more passage. Just a wall.” There is a pause. “No. Wait.”

“It’s safe to say I’m waiting.”

“‘Maybe it’s not the end,” she says. “I feel something in the wall. I think it might be another door.”

“Like another secret door?”

“Maybe,” Scully whispers. “I think this is a little door handle. I could … open it and see?”

They both are quiet, realizing the dilemma. They have no way of knowing where the door opens. If they open a door in plain view of their captors, their escape plan is abruptly over.

“I wish I knew the layout of the house better,” Mulder says. He frowns into the dark. “Can you hear anything? Outside the door? Let’s listen a second.”

They wait to hear any sound coming from the other side of the wall, but there is nothing. Mulder thinks he might hear the vibrations of some voice slightly muffled, but it is hard not to let his imagination go wild.

“I say we try,” Scully says. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

He exhales. “You’re probably right, but I don’t currently share your fearless attitude, Scully.”

“I’m going to pull the handle,” she says resolutely.

Mulder worries his lip with his teeth. She tugs. The door comes open with the faintest creak and a puff of stale air.

To his faint surprise, they are not overwhelmed with bright light. The other side of the door is even darker than their current location. In fact, Mulder can’t make out a single thing inside as he strains to see over Scully’s head.

She pokes her head all the way through the door to look around, then turns back to speak to him.

“It’s the inside of a cabinet,” she says. “I’d say a … freestanding closet sort of thing.”

“A wardrobe?” Mulder says.

“Something for hanging up clothing items on hangers,” Scully clarifies.

“They call that a wardrobe, Scully.” She turns to give him what he assumes is a beleaguered look, but it’s too dark to say for sure. “What?” he adds. “We’re obviously en route to Narnia now.”

“That would make us currently in Narnia,” Scully corrects, “because we are standing on the opposite side of a little door in the back wall of the wardrobe.” She experimentally sticks a foot through the door, tapping her toe on the floor within. “I’m going through, Mulder.”

“Really? Okay,” Mulder says nervously. “Careful.”

“You’re awfully anxious for the man who jumps on top of moving trains,” she comments.

Well, yes, he thinks. Because you’re going first. His chest constricts as she ducks through the short door and steps gingerly into the adjacent space.

“It’s just an empty cabinet,” Scully reports back. “Wardrobe, I mean. A few bathrobes or something hanging in here. It’s decently tall—I can almost stand up full height, but it’s fairly narrow.”

“Can you see out the front?” He squats down to try to see her through the little doorway. “Make out what room you’re in?”

There is quiet as Scully evidently tries to peer through the crack in the front wardrobe door. “I can’t see much,” she whispers. “I think it’s an office? Another bedroom, maybe? I don’t see anyone out there.”

“Is there room for me to enter the wardrobe, too?”

“Yes,” she says, after a moment. “I think so. It will be tight, but come on in.”

He stoops and ducks through the little doorway, finding himself immediately in a much more cramped space, surrounded by hanging fabric that must be items of clothing. It’s impossible for him to stand up completely, and as he tries to get his footing, he stumbles a little, reaching with his right hand behind him to steady himself. He inadvertently grabs hold of the tiny handle of the door and pulls it shut behind him with a slam.

“Shit,” Scully whispers in a tiny hiss.

They don’t move, standing uncomfortably frozen. He is wedged against the rear of the wardrobe—the now closed door—his legs akimbo, trying to hold himself up. She is standing in between his legs, her back and bound hands pressed against his abdomen.

There is no sound, no reaction from the room.

“No one’s out there,” Mulder comments in a whisper.

“So we should step out?”

He doesn’t answer, considering. He’s stupidly distracted by the simple, caveman sensation of her body pressed against his; Scully’s bound hands are perilously close to his dick and there is nothing either one of them can do about it.

“I guess so,” he decides. “Let’s—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the door of the room opening. There are muffled, shuffling footsteps against a carpeted floor, and then and a deep, dramatic sigh.

Again he and Scully freeze, afraid even to draw breath.

“I’ll say one thing. It’s more fucking civilized than your Delaware dungeon.” Krycek’s voice.

“Sit, please,” Diana’s voice is curt. “When Spender arrives, we’ll have drinks on the patio where he can smoke.”

“Drinks.” Krycek sounds amused. “So fancy. Are you sure these cuffs are necessary?”

“I assume that’s a joke.”

“You and I could come to an understanding. We have common interests.”

“Alex, you’re lucky I’ve even left you alive.” Diana sounds contemptuous. “Prone, as you are, to self-aggrandizement and sloppy mistakes.”

Krycek’s laugh. “Now that’s textbook projection, Diana.”

“We’ll have to wait to see what Spender says,” she says airily. “I’ll have quite a tale to tell. I suspect he wouldn’t consider you a great loss.”

“So sure. So confident. Are you sure you have all the facts?”

There’s a pause. Mulder wishes he could see Diana’s face, to see her reaction to that.

“I don’t want you destroyed, Diana. Personally, I thought our best move all along was to be allies,” Krycek says conversationally. “When it comes down to it, you and I are the same.”

“Hardly a compliment,” she says coldly.

“We’re not about any cause. We look out for ourselves first. We’ll fuck people—and fuck people over—to get to the top. We do what we have to because these old men left no room in their kingdom for anyone younger.”

“If this is a ploy to win my sympathy,” Diana says, “I assure you it won’t work.”

“No?” Krycek says.

“No,” she answers.

Mulder hears Krycek snort. There is another pause.

“I can’t quite figure you out, Diana. Whether you have a convincing front going, or whether you’re just a much colder whore than I am.”

“I’m a much smarter whore than you, Alex.”

He chuckles. “Maybe.” He makes a thoughtful humming sound. “But the thing is, you really did love Mulder, and here you are serving him up on a platter like a stone cold bitch.”

“What makes you think I loved him?”

Her words are devastatingly casual. Mulder feels them like a blow. His muscles tense like he’s absorbing a hit.

So many lies.

In front of him, Scully has stiffened. It’s humiliating, he thinks, that she’s hearing this, too. It’s worse to have Scully know all the details. After all, she saw through Diana all along. She must be wondering how he could be such an easy dupe. She’s right to wonder.

He’s suddenly hyperaware of the heat produced by Scully’s body, so close to his.

What kind of a fucking idiot am I, he thinks.

Krycek laughs again. “Come on, Diana. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have had so much fun trying to crush Scully.”

Scully abruptly squirms, causing her hands to brush dangerously in front of his pelvis.

What does she think, hearing Diana’s motives confirmed like that? He wishes he could ask. He wishes he could put his hands on her shoulders and just pull her ear to his mouth to whisper directly. Actually he wishes he could drag her closer and kiss all doubts away.

“You wanted her to know you’d won back your man,” Krycek adds, a smirk in his tone. “You wanted it to hurt.”

Scully standing round-eyed in his bedroom, staring at that faked condom.

White hot anger flashes through Mulder suddenly, cutting through his inappropriate flares of desire. This whole situation makes him angry. He’s so tired of both of them being lied to, tired of being manipulated, so tired of being held back from his wants, so ridiculously tired of these cuffs.

In frustration his fingers begin to bend and mold the stolen bobby pin. Maybe he can create a lock pick. Maybe he can find the right angle to insert it into the lock on his cuffs.

“You ascribe all these petty motives to me, Alex,” Diana says. Her voice is filled with a bravado Mulder doesn’t quite buy. “It’s insulting. My only priority here is the work. You’d do well to think along the same lines.”

Miraculously the pin slips into the cuff lock. He releases a breath through his nose. Now he only needs to keep trying to wedge the piece of metal the right way to coax the pins of the lock.

“Aw, come on, Diana,” Krycek says, ever the provocateur. “You liked trying to blow up the little romance. But it didn’t work, huh? It must make you crazy that they’re not even fucking and he’d still choose to be with her every time.”

Mulder stops picking the lock, freezing for a moment in mortification. This truth—his truth—spoken so plainly, even by Krycek, feels like a shock of exposure. Somewhat equivalent to being pantsed in junior high school. Your ass hanging out in the breeze.

He closes his eyes. Scully doesn’t move in front of him.

What can he do? He can’t do anything but focus on the task at hand. Wincing in the dark, he begins picking the lock again.

“You know, Alex,” Diana says. Her tone sounds intentionally pitched to be casual, but with an edge. “I’ve always thought you had a bit of a soft spot for Fox yourself. Are you jealous?”

“Oh, I’m jealous that it wasn’t me assigned to seduce him at Quantico,” Krycek says. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have fucked it up so badly. And I’m jealous it wasn’t me who was assigned to be his partner and spy on the X-files. If they had sent me instead of Scully, this would’ve been over years and years ago.”

Diana laughs now, brittle and false. “Didn’t they assign you to be his partner and spy on the X-files? I recall hearing that didn’t end particularly well.”

“They never listen to me,” Krycek replies, his tone turning suddenly pitch black. “I told them Scully was a problem, and they handled that problem in the worst way possible.”

“I told them she was a problem, too,” Diana replies. “They never listen to me either.”

They both fall silent.

Tiny hairs rise on the back of Mulder’s neck as he continues to maneuver the pin in the lock. He knew some version of this kind of conversation must have happened, but it terrifies to think about Scully being discussed in this way. As a problem, by people who like to make their problems vanish.

And those people apparently include Diana.

It still rankles. All those times he spoke casually with Diana the last few months—when they had lunch at the Greek place near work to talk about a case, when she stopped by the bullpen to run an idea by him—she had been having simultaneous conversations with the Syndicate. Reporting everything he said, no doubt. About him. About Scully.

Again he feels his anger surging through every part of his body almost uncontrollably. He feels his muscles tighten everywhere; his limbs begin to tremble slightly.

The fingers gripping the bobby pin pick shake, too. And to his surprise, the last pins in the lock shift into place.

He feels the cuffs open. Very carefully, he slides them off.

***