#we need to be talking more about this scene

[nhlclover]

FALLING FOR YOU WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x marleau!daughter!reader

summary: a visit to the guest house, in an attempt to comfort will after a grueling loss, brings you two closer together than ever.

warnings: friends to lovers, pretty detailed make out scene, talks of being insecure

wc: 2.02k

notes: !!IMPORTANT!! i absolutely do not agree with the politics of the marleau family, they are simply being used as a plot device in this. pretend for the sake of this that the family are not bigots.

The house is silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old wood settling in the night. Shadows stretch long and languid across the hallway, cast by the dim glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. You move with practiced stealth, each step careful. Years of navigating this house have taught you exactly which floorboards creak under a footstep, which door hinges squeak in protest when nudged too far. Even still, your breath stills in your chest as you slip past your parent's bedroom door, past your brothers' rooms, your heart beating a steady rhythm of anticipation. The guest house isn’t far — just across the backyard — but trying to tiptoe in absolute silence past your parents' bedroom door and past your brothers' doors makes it feel like an eternity away.

Will had looked wrecked when he came home. The Sharks game had been brutal, a 7-2 loss to Florida, and not even his highlight-reel goal could shift the dejection that settled over him like a heavy coat. You saw it in his posture the moment he stepped off the rink: the slump of his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth, the way he avoided the gaze of everyone in the locker room. You had seen it in the post-game debrief he always did with your dad, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh. You didn’t have to ask to know what was running through his mind. You felt like you knew his thoughts as though they were your own.

It wasn’t always like this. When Will first moved in, things had been awkward. He was polite — too polite. He made his bed with military precision, thanked your mom after every meal, and practically sprinted out of the room whenever he sensed he might be intruding on family time. You weren’t sure if it was out of respect or if he was just trying to survive in an unfamiliar house. Either way, it took weeks before he loosened up, before the sharp edges of his formality softened into something more comfortable.

Somewhere along the way, he had become your closest friend. He was the person you whispered late-night confessions to, the one who could tell when you needed someone to listen rather than someone to talk. And it went both ways. You had spent hours sprawled across the couch in the guest house, talking about everything and nothing. You told him about school, about how you weren’t sure if biology was what you actually wanted to study. It was supposed to be the safe, responsible choice, the thing that made sense. But the more you immersed yourself in it, the more it felt like wearing a sweater that didn’t quite fit. He listened, really listened, in a way that made you feel like you weren’t overthinking things. And in return, he let you see the parts of himself he hid from the world.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he had admitted one night, voice rough with exhaustion. “I mean, I know what I should be doing. I know what’s expected of me. But every time we lose, every time I don’t produce, it feels like — I don’t know. Like I’m letting everyone down.”

You had seen the articles, heard the analysts questioning whether he was adjusting well enough to the NHL, whether he was living up to expectations. You knew he heard them, too, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Will knew he was living with Patrick Marleau so he could be moulded into a better player, something like what the Sharks legend once was. But some nights, it felt like you had done more for Will than your father ever had.

The guest house is dark except for the thin sliver of light spilling beneath the door. You knock, softly. A pause. Then the rustling of movement before the door swings open, revealing Will standing in the dim glow of the lamp inside. His hair is damp from a shower, curling at the edges, and he’s wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before he steps aside to let you in.

“You should be asleep,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion.

“So should you.” You cross the room, your socked feet near silent against the hardwood. “But we both know that’s not happening.”

He exhales, a ghost of a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He collapses onto the couch, the television murmuring in the background showing a post-game analysis droning on about the Sharks’ mistakes. He doesn’t mute it, but his focus is entirely on you as you settle beside him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

The room is heavy with unspoken words, the kind that settles in the air and refuses to dissipate. Will’s eyes flick to the television, then back to you, his jaw tight.

“Tough game,” you say softly.

Will’s jaw tightens. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know I played like shit.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “I don’t think you did.”

Will shakes his head, eyes dark with frustration. “We lost by five. Doesn’t matter if I scored, doesn’t matter if I had the best shift of my life. We still lost.”

Your heart clenches. “Will, the team is rebuilding. You knew that coming in.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be a part of the problem.”

“You’re not.”

He shakes his head, jaw tight. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans back, tilting his head against the couch cushions, eyes slipping shut. His breathing evens out, slow and measured, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade.

You shift slightly, resting your chin on your knees. “You’re a rookie in the NHL. You’re playing against the best in the world every night. No one expects you to carry this team, least of all yourself.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. “You’re getting better every game,” you continue, voice gentle but firm. “And the guys in that locker room? They know that. This season isn’t about wins, it’s about building something. And you’re a part of that foundation.”

Will lifts his head and shifts slightly, angling his body toward you. His eyes search yours, dark and unreadable. “How do you always know what to say?”

You shrug, offering a small smile. “I pay attention.”

A beat of silence. Then you notice it — the way his gaze lingers on your face, tracing over your features with something heavy and intent. You suddenly feel warm, hyper-aware of the fact that he’s shirtless, toned torso on full display, and the way his breathing has changed, now slightly uneven.

“What?” you ask, your own voice quieter now.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and his head tilts slightly. His gaze lingers, sweeping over your face with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. The air between you shifts, thickens, as if something unspoken has settled into the space, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Will,” you say softly, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “What?”

He exhales slowly, shaking his head with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Spell what out?”

His eyes darken, and his fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his thigh. He leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of clean soap and something undeniably him.

“You know I want you.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. He watches you, waiting, giving you a moment to react, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

Because you want him too.

The realization hits you with startling clarity, and before you can second-guess it, you close the space between you. It’s tentative at first, a brush of lips, a question unspoken. But the moment his mouth moves against yours, the hesitation dissolves. His hand comes up, cupping the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone as he deepens the kiss.

Your fingers settle against his bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch making your head spin. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it just as much as you have. There’s something desperate in the way he pulls you closer, something that tells you he’s afraid this might not be real.

You pull back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Will.”

His forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. “Yeah?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. “I want you too.”

His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you again, slow and deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth against his. Will pulls away, but barely, his eyes searching yours.

“You sure about this?” Will’s voice is rough, barely more than a whisper, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you.

You nod, barely, but it’s enough. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and then he’s kissing you again. This time, there’s nothing hesitant about it. It’s deep and slow and intoxicating, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s afraid to rush something he’s wanted for so long.

His hands find your waist, warm and firm, fingers flexing as if grounding himself in the moment. You shift instinctively, moving closer until your knees are brushing his solid thigh, until there’s no space left between you. Your hands slide over his shoulders, tracing down to his chest, resting on him as you lean closer. He shivers under your cold fingers, just barely, and the realization that you affect him just as much as he affects you sends a thrill through your veins.

Will’s hands move down to the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion, his strength effortless. You let out a surprised gasp, breaking the kiss for just a second, but his hands splayed against your back, holding you close. He grins, eyes dark with something wickedly fond.

“Better?” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement.

Your lips curl into a grin, but your heart is racing. “Shut up.”

His laughter is quiet, a vibration against your chest, but it fades as his gaze dips to your lips again. He kisses you like he means it, like he’s wanted to do this forever. His hands trace slow, soothing patterns against your back, anchoring you to him.

The television drones on in the background, forgotten, the post-game analysis long past. The only thing that exists at this moment is the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something precious. He kisses you with an aching sort of tenderness like he’s memorizing you, like he never wants to forget what this feels like.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you properly, his expression is unreadable — something caught between wonder and disbelief. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he admits, voice rough with emotion.

You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the damp curls away from his forehead. “I can.”

Will's lips curve into a slow, lopsided smile, something soft and unguarded. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, like he’s committing the moment to memory.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, brushing your nose against his. “Yeah.”

For the first time all night, the weight of the loss seems to ease off his shoulders. He exhales, a quiet, content sound, and lets his forehead rest against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “With me… tonight?”

You don’t hesitate. “Always.”

And as he pulls you closer, the Sharks' loss feels like a distant memory — because for once, in this tiny, quiet moment, Will Smith isn’t thinking about hockey at all.

[hellhunde]

This was an illustration requested on my patreon for $5! This was the illustration for December!

homunculushound on Patreon requested "Something About Condor and Crane". There's not a lot I can show without dipping into spoiler territory, so I decided to just go with their meeting!

Instead of a long winded explanation under the cut this time, I wrote a little scene to go with it! My prose isn't the best, but I thought that would likely be more fun than just hearing me talk about it! I'd honestly love to write more little scenes for these illustrations, but we'll see!

--------

Crane was still lost on what to do without her mother. The flock had only lost Goose a couple of days ago to wounds caused by that supposed King. Watching the life drain from her mother’s eyes, hearing her final words rasp out of her mouth—”Keep the colony safe”—it all weighed heavy in Crane’s mind. Crane had been trained and groomed to take Goose’s place since she was a kitten. But now that the time was finally here….

Crane wasn't a fighter. Not many in the Flock really were. While Goose had made the judgement to allow refugees fleeing the King’s conquest to join the Flock’s ranks, many were not battle hardened either. The majority were widowed mothers and fathers with kittens to raise, the elderly, and the already injured. Not much to be able to honor her mother’s dying wish.

The Flock were sitting ducks if she couldn't get her colony in a place to actually defend themselves. She wasn't going to roll over and let that barbarian wipe out Goose's Flock—Crane’s flock—for his own gain. 

“Mother Crane?” Crane’s ear twitched at being called leader’s title. She still was not used to being called it. It was only the original Flock members that used the Mother honorific anyway. She sensed it often made the refugees too uncomfortable. She tilted her head around to see Blackbird, her medic. 

“Yes?” Crane answered.

“Uh,” Blackbird stammered out. “That cat is awake.”

Crane's ears perked. After her mother's passing, she’d taken a walk to clear her head. How convenient then had she instead found the broken body of a muscular cat in a ditch. She thought he had been a corpse, until she saw his body twitch and his eyes train on her. She sent for the medics to treat him only as insurance. She hadn't expected him to actually live. 

“Oh, good.” Crane wrapped her hairless tail around her paws. “What has he said?”

“Nothing,” Blackbird said. “Nothing at all. He just…stares. I think he might be incompetent.”

“Incompetent or not, he must be a strong soul to survive with those terrible wounds,” she said. “And the Flock needs more of those. Take me to him, maybe I can get him to talk.”

Blackbird scoffed. “Don't see what you could do that we haven't already tried.

“You should never doubt the feminine wiles, Blackbird.”

---

Blackbird was right about one thing. This cat sure did like to stare.

His head sat flat with the floor, paws on either side sheltering his muzzle. Without all the blood coating his body, Crane could more easily see the other scars that littered his huge body. This wasn’t his first tussle clearly. Crane winced as she saw the red bandages on the underside of his belly and neck. 

She spared a glance at Blackbird before she walked towards him. His large amber eyes stayed glued on her. In the morning light they showed almost red. 

“Hello, there,” Crane said soothingly, her mother had taught her. He blinked. “I’m Crane and this is the Flock’s base. Or at least a makeshift base. Our old home got ransacked and destroyed by the King’s army.”

The tom blinked again. Crane shot a look over her shoulder at Blackbird. He shrugged. 

“What's your name?” She tried instead, turning back to the tom.

Still no response. In fact, no indication he had understood her at all. Just those same large red eyes looking at her. They reminded Crane of a kitten’s: innocent, curious, scared. What a ridiculous thought. This tom must’ve been several months her senior. 

“See, Mother Crane?” Blackbird called from the entrance. “Incompetent. Can’t understand a word you say to him. We might as well throw him with kittens for all the good he would do in a fighting force.”

Crane sighed. She was about to open her mouth to sadly agree when the tom lifted his head. 

“...mother?” He said, in a raspy voice. His eyes were still blown out wide and staring at her. 

“He can talk—” Blackbird said, trotting inside to stand beside Crane. “Well, why didn’t you speak up before?”

At Blackbird’s scolding, the tom put his head down again. Crane smiled for a moment, thinking it looked like a turtle retreating into its shell with all the neck fluff he had.

Blackbird gave an aggravated huff. Crame ran her tail down his back. 

“Let me speak with him alone,” she said. “Maybe he’ll respond better to me. I’ll report anything he says back to you, okay?”

Blackbird hesitated. He eyed the tom once more before nodding. He leaped back out through the entrance, leaving Crane alone with the strange cat. Crane watched his eyes follow Blackbird out of the den, unblinking.

“Now,” she said, sitting down in front of him and getting comfortable. “how about you tell me your name?”

He took several moments to answer. Crane was beginning to worry he had gone mute again when his mouth opened.

“Tiny,” he said. Crane couldn't help but huff a laugh. She was glad to see whoever his mother was clearly had a sense of humor. Tiny’s ears perked at the sound of it. 

“Well, Tiny,” Crane said, laughter still in her voice. “This is my colony, The Flock. We’re the ones who saved you. Can I ask what happened?”

“Got ambushed.” Crane watched Tiny’s claws sheath and unsheath. 

“Now why would they do that?”

“I killed some of them.” The frankness at which he said the words sent a shiver through Crane. That had not been what she expected to come out of Tiny’s mouth. He pouted. “It's not fair to get ganged up on though. It’s mean!”

Something is seriously wrong with this cat, Crane thought. She considered for a moment speaking with Blackbird and maybe killing Tiny themselves. Something painless. That's what Goose would've done. With so many mothers and kittens joining the colony, he might be more of a liability than anything. Though, Goose wouldn't have dragged a shambled almost-corpse back to their base during this desperate time in the first place. 

But something kept her from making that call. For one, Blackbird and the other medics had used so many resources on helping this cat, it would be a waste to just kill him now. And for two… the way he looked at her. While before he had been staring at her non-stop, now he seemed to find anywhere else but her face much more interesting. He spared shy glances at her, seeming to gauge her reaction. 

She’d done the same with Goose several times. Whenever she’d come back with prey after a long day for them to share. Whenever she made an order around the colony that her mother had taught her. Whenever she’d brought Scout back to her mother, claiming him as her mate.

Approval. 

But Goose wasn't around anymore. Crane didn't need to get approval from anyone.

She fixed Tiny with a warm smile, a purr escaping her throat. “That isn't fair. We’re in that same situation now.”

“Really?” Tiny said, genuinely surprised. 

“Yes,” Crane continued. “See, the King’s Army is bullying us small colony cats, it's just not fair. We need as many cats in our corner to hold them back. You seem like a strong fighter, you can join us if you’d like.”

“I can?” Tiny said excitedly. He pushed himself up, before wincing at the pain of his injuries. “I’ve never been in a colony before!”

“Yup. All you have to do is change your name to a bird. That's all.”

Tiny thought for a moment, his lips pursed like an overactive kitten being asked some history fact. While his demeanor was definitely odd, Crane was becoming more charmed by it as the moments passed. Tiny was handsome. His build was much different than Scout’s, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. She felt the burning shame of what her mother would think, but Goose didn’t have a say over her life anymore. Lost it the moment life had faded from her eyes.

“That cat called you mother,” Tiny said, pointing with his muzzle towards the entrance. “A mother is the one that names kittens, so you should name me!”

“Oh, I’m not—” she began before cutting herself off. She didn't think it was worth it to explain to this cat that ‘mother’ was just the Flock leader’s honorific. She wasn't sure he would be fully able to understand it anyway. “...Whatever, sure. I’ll name you. Hmmm, how about Condor? We found you in a bloody heap of yourself afterall.”

At that Tiny—Condor—finally cracked a smile, all teeth. Crane wasn't scared by the sight of them. 

“I love it!” Condor said.

[eeboyysworld]

Hello! Hope you're having a nice day. If you're taking requests, could i ask for Dae-Ho x male reader? Thank you! :)

“ I know you wanna kiss me-“

—⋆. 𐙚⋆.˚

Genre: Smut

Kang Dae-ho X Male!Reader

Cautions/Warnings: Praise kink, Enemies to (not) lovers, Teasing, Hair pulling, hand job, Dae-ho pops a boner and you’re the most decent person to help.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Pain swirled inside your ankle, a purple mark forming there. You just had to twist it , didn’t you.

the previous game left a huge mark on you, a large turning compartment in the middle of the room.

Mingle, that’s what it was called.

People fighting for their life’s, shoving and pushing innocent (or not) people into the ground, that includes you. Getting slammed to the hard ground froze you on the spot, the pain coming in waves.

You would had died. If it wasn’t for the man , whom you had bothered the past days of being in this hell hole, saved you.

Getting out of his own way to drag your limp body into the blood covered room.

Dae-ho, Cheery despite the situation, cracking jokes but remains serious when needed. You didn’t know him outside these games, but being divided into two groups, ‘x and o’ , you had no choice but to dislike them.

You voted to stay inside the games, the debt and reality of the outside world crashing down on you. It was stupid , voting for your own death.

You had every reason to thank him endlessly for giving you another chance at life, bowing towards him.

Despite the brawls the two of you got in, he shook the past aside , reassuring that ‘you would do the same for him.’

———

The bed you resided on was comfortable enough to rest on, the metal underneath the thin material digging into you.

The state your foot was left in wasn’t half bad , considering it had been a couple hours since then.

The bruise still contrast to your skin.

Rice mushing around your mouth, the flavour dull as you could taste the fork more than the food.

Swashing it down with a bottle of milk.

Your bottom became sore after sitting on it for the past hours , during the time passing you had been accept into this little group.

Diverse people combined into one alliance, to stop the games. The new faces marking a memory in your head.

A few of them offering their bread and milk towards you and another young girl.

Flustered under their gazes, smiling accepting the offer with a thanks.

Sluggishly nibbling the crust, zoning in and out of conversations. You tried your best to not get attached to them, dreadfully knowing sooner or later you’ll all die.

Despite the Traumatic scenes that unfolded Infront of all of you, one person lifted the mood.

The smiling marine kept making advances towards you, keeping you company.It was sweet, the two of you talking about the past and hopes for whatever future you could get.

Guilt crept at you, apologizing for the harm you caused.

“This place can make a person crazy.” Patting your upper thigh as he spoke,” I don’t blame you, we were on different sides only trying to survive.” His gaze felt heavy, lowering your own head, attention drifting to the ,used to be, white shoes.

“If I could..” stammering the words out,” In any way- I would repay you.” Your leg involuntary bouncing.

He paid no response, staring off into the distance, eyes glinting with uncertainty.

The silence between you guys hadn’t flatter, even with the voices and shouts in the background.

You guys sat like that until an announcement rang, lights dimming as the hallway lights shined through, casting a glow just enough to navigate.

Having the need to stay up, you accepted the challenge of fighting sleep to keep watch. Nestling yourself in between two bunk beds.

The night rolling on , countless snores and conversations could be heard.

An hour in of keeping guard, flinching when a hand slapped your shoulder, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings.

Dramatically exhaling as the familiar face appeared before you. “Ah..you scared me.”

A nervous chuckle left him, slotting himself beside you. He felt off, energy leeching off of him.

You had notice the way he slumped, eyes twitching to get a glimpse of you, fingers digging into his pants.

Neither of you spoke, stealing ‘risky’ glances towards each other. It went on like that , before he finally got the courage to voice his thoughts.

“I .. have a problem..” concern adorned you, had he been hurt last game? , whispering your question.

Getting a shake of a head left you wondering what happened. “I was just thinking..you were the only one who could help.”

Biting his lip, gulping as he muttered.

Barely hearing it, kindly asking him to speak up a bit.

Locking his eyes onto you, “ It’s.. uhm-“ cutting himself off, licking his lips as a habit.

Letting the quietness settle before speaking, “ D-down..theree.” Dragging the ‘e’ to a halt.

Huh.. taking a peak downwards, curiosity getting the better of you. Eyes slightly widening, catching the bulge between his legs. Wow.

Now..what would a rational person do in this situation. Kindly turn down the offer. But you were not rational.

Turning your body to the side, bringing your gaze to his face, making eye contact.

It had suddenly become too hot in this place. Feeling your face tingling from his attention.

“Oh..” there was practically butterflies swooning inside you, he wants you to help him.

He was quick to apologize for making you uncomfortable, steadily getting up, bowing towards you. He knew he shouldn’t have asked..

But before he could get away , a hand grabbed onto his loose shirt, pulling the other closer to you.

The feeling of arousal pooling inside you, whispering so that no one but you two could hear.

“I would love to help you.” Was it the fact you pitted him for popping a boner out of all places, maybe , he was rather cute, a perfect face to be ruined by you.

He was shocked to say the least, trying to regain composure only to be pushed to the bed farthest away.

You kept on your feet , despite just recovering from the injury you endured,while he was seated.

Greedy hands exploring his body, flushed face inches away from you. He was so close to your lips he can feel your breath.

It was awkward in the moment, as he never was this close to you, he shyly thanked you for doing this for him.

You could only smile, the soft lights shining both of you, silhouettes dancing on the walls.

muttering , “I told you I would repay you..” eyes wandering across his face, noticing every detail you could drink up.

Becoming shy under such gaze, the other melted into the comfort of the bed.

Trailing your hands downwards, ruffling the stained tracksuit. Your body moving with your hands, dropping to your knees.

The soft thud bouncing off the arena, the rough floor digging into the your flesh.

He was like jelly under your touch, folding as skilled hands gripped his waist, every touch riling him up more.

Breathe fawning his clothed bulge, it was like you were examining him. He peered at you, mouth agape.

He nearly yelped as you lunged frontwards, throwing his palm to silence the sounds.

You sat there knees spread slightly aprat, mouthing the fabric, saliva seeping through the material, the warm wetness lubricating himself.

His other hand shakily made its way to your head, softly resting on the head of hair. You didn’t want it just sitting there.

Roughly grabbing his fingers to thread the locks, swapping your tongue out to cause a reaction out of him, the sensation made his fingers grip.

Muffled apologies hidden behind his palm, neck tense from how he contained himself.

You continued to torment the poor guy, keeping his junk in his pants. He was frustrated and sensitive to the touch.

Mouth kept working towards him, pants dark from the amount of spit on it, outlining his length.

He couldn’t even do anything about it, he couldn’t scream and beg you to touch him, that would end bad.

Left to squirm and whine in his seat.

After you felt decent about your work, pulling yourself away, admiring him.

“Try to be quiet, ay?” It was a statement, you couldn’t have him moaning into the air, not when you knew the other people now.

Shoving your hand into the tracksuit, slipping through the others boxers,

Feeling the pre-cum drip down along with your spit, creating the perfect natural lube.

Steadily dragging downwards and up, purring sweet nothings, “ Aw, hold on a little longer..” slipping up and down, fastening the pace. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your words went straight to his head, not the one on-top his shoulders.

The hand he chose to mouth on had a red mark, the other settled into your locks of hair, tightening and letting loose.

Sounds of desperation could be heard if someone listened too intently.

It was too much , the soft padding of your hand left him a mess. You kept reducing the speed before fastening it up, the stimulation was overbearing.

Finger playing with his angry tip, the touch as light as a feather, yet it had him stuttering. “Mm- m-more..”

He was heavy in your hand, was practically throbbing.

“ You deserve it ..don’t you?” You were playing with him, watching the desperate head nods.

Continuing to stoke him, leading him to Chase his high , thrusting into your hand.

Bed ever so slightly squeaking with the weight of his body moving up and down.

You let him rut into you like a dog, his hair tie loosening up, hair pieces flowing out.

You let him rock his hips in your hold, only choosing to add pressure back and forth.

Dick twitching, incoherent words stammering into the air. “Please.. I’m so c-close..”

Taking pity, you began to move with him, lining the timing perfectly.

He basically humped your hand, gripping your hair , moving you along with him. Letting him to use your body.

His stomach held a pit that kept growing, throwing his head backwards, biting his hand to keep silent.

The body movement he made told you he was close, moving your hand the fastest you can, the sounds encouraging you onward.

He spoke your name like a prayer, face flushed with the amount of heat he felt, the urge to just say fuck it and throw you onto the bed.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wanna do that, despite all the people. Images flashed through him, he didn’t think he could imagine such things.

Your mouth on him as he fucked your face, he would be the one setting the pace, not you.

He could feel himself twitch.

Breathe ragged as he let himself spill into you, pulsing in your hand, body becoming limp in the hold.

Sitting there before slowly moving, long breaths leaving him.

The feeling of your hand leaving, taking the warmth with you. He whimpered from lost of contact like a kicked puppy.

Instead of wiping the evidence away, you decided to lick at it, swirling the liquid away into your warm mouth.

He was left agape , eyes focused on the way your tongue came out to lap it up, head tilted towards him, fluttering your eyes at him.

That’s one way to get rid of it.

The saltiness was bittersweet.

Latching off with a pop, moving to your feet, legs sore from sitting down. Guiding the other into you, lips finding his.

Nipping at him, slotting your tongue inside , letting the taste of bitterness sweep all over.

Moans vibrated through the both of you, hands finding what it can to ground into.

A shout had you yanking away, fearing you had hurt the other man.

“I didn’t see anything.” Slowly turning to the side, making eye contact you didn’t want to make with the most nonchalant man you ever met.

Greeting him with a ,”Good morning Young-il..”

You didn’t expect that scream to lead to that face.

———

I did not finish this when i said i would ❤️

[themultifanshipper]

i am ovulating so bad but can I request a franco x reader x ollie smut where they were fighting over the reader like that one fight scene from bridget jones' diary, and the reader was like... why not both??

To say the start of the 2025 season had been eventful was an understatement. 

Or at least from Franco and Ollie’s points of view. 

Warnings: smut, threesome, blowjob (the return of Franco's dick sucking lips), mention of quickies, also a lot of alcohol, Yukierre being little shits, Ted kravitz once again making an appearance, very plot heavy ngl there's not much smut

At some point during the winter break, you had struck up a situationship with Franco. And you’d managed to keep it a secret for about a week. 

There was no such thing as privacy in Monaco, so of course it was inevitable that someone would eventually snap a pic of him leaving your house, and that was it. 

Ollie had been planning on asking you out at the start of the season, given that he now had a full-time seat and you'd be seeing a lot more of each other. 

And he didn’t really consider Franco much of a threat, so he decided to ask him during testing. 

The two of them were gazing at you from across the pitlane. 

“Are you and her like... an official thing?”  

Franco scoffed “What is that supposed to mean?”  

“You know... do you love her?” 

Franco frowned at him.  

“No, I don’t. But just because we aren’t in a relationship, do not think for a second that I will let you have her” 

Ollie raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say I wanted to. I’m just curious.” 

Franco didn’t believe him. And Ollie didn’t believe Franco.  

And they were both right. 

Because the truth was that Franco was in love with you, but he was too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So he was fine with just sex, until he could muster the courage to confess to you.  

And the truth was that Ollie was going to do everything he could to have you. He did have feelings for you, that had been brewing for a while, but the added element of competition made him hungry. 

Ollie was nothing if not proactive. He took every opportunity to talk to you, and flirt shamelessly with you. 

And at first, you were reticent. 

You’d been waiting for Franco to make a move. You liked him, a lot. And you knew he liked you. So any day now, right? 

Except weeks went by, and still no indication that Franco was going to make any kind of commitment to you. Not even a drunk phonecall, or a proper date... 

So eventually, Ollie's advances started getting to you. You were only human.  

You had no idea that the two drivers were in any kind of altercation in Melbourne. 

Someone had spotted them having a heated argument and a blurry video was circulating around the more remote spots of the internet, so you missed it completely. 

In China, you got your first indication that something was going on. 

Before FP3, Ollie had come to you saying he wanted to talk to you about something important. 

You told him to meet you in your drivers room after the session, and that you had something to talk to him about as well. 

His heart swelled with hope. Perhaps you also had feelings for him and he was finally going to beat Franco. 

But then, Franco was there, in your drivers room, waiting for you after the session.  

“I’m waiting for someone, you need to get out before someone sees-” 

“I don’t care about Ollie, I need you so bad right now” he groaned into your neck while his hands worked to get your suit off. 

He’d never done anything so bold before. And as soon as his hands and lips were on you, you caved. He had his way with you on the massage table, doing his best to get the sweetest, and loudest, noises out of you in an effort to ward any lurkers away. 

One of said lurkers, Ollie, froze when he heard the noises coming from your room.  

His heart sank, Franco had gotten to you first.  

This time. 

You and Ollie both did terribly on sunday. You weren’t expecting a podium, but some points would have been nice. And Ollie DNF’d thanks to one of the Alpines (in his mind he blamed Franco, even though the Argentine wasn’t even in a car) crashing into him in turn 2. 

So you and him did the only thing you knew would lift your spirits. You went out drinking. 

You ended up in some club, and you knew Yuki and Pierre were there as well. 

You drank, and danced with the three men. Forgetting your worries for a night. You hadn’t had that much fun in a while, Yuki and Pierre were absolutely unhinged when you got a bit of alcohol down them. 

Ollie stuck by your side the whole night, and eventually your mind went back to the FP3 session. 

You dragged him outside to talk (the club was stifling, and loud as fuck), and he wondered briefly if there was something wrong because of the haste with which you’d grabbed him. 

“Ollie, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about Friday. I got... distracted”  a blush crept over your cheeks. 

Ollie found it adorable. 

“That’s okay” he pulled you into a drunken hug “At least you were making so much noise there was no chance of me walking in on you” 

You giggled shyly, nuzzling into his chest.  

“Oh my god... that’s so embarrassing” 

“Well, I suppose that was Franco’s way of staking his claim” there was an undertone of something almost bitter in the way he said his name. 

That was a very odd thing to say. Why would Franco even need to stake a claim? Unless... 

“Let’s go inside, I’m cold” you muttered, and Ollie led you back to the booth where Pierre and Yuki were arguing over whether Mijiu or Baijiu tasted better. 

You had no idea what either of them were, so you ordered a round of both for everyone to do a taste test. 

They were both awful in your opinion, so you ordered a round of shots of tequila to wash them down. 

It didn't take long before all of you made your way to the dance floor, inhibitions completely obliterated. 

In the back of your mind, you had a plan. Granted you were on the edge of blackout drunk, but it still made sense to you. 

When the song changed to something a bit slower and more... sensual, you shuffled closer to Ollie.  

If Franco had been trying to stop Ollie from talking to you, there had to be a reason, right? 

So you moved to the beat, rolling your hips enticingly as you sang along to the words. 

Ollie lifted an eyebrow in question, his lips curving into a drunken smirk. 

You bit your lip and got closer, hooking your fingers into his belt loops to pull him in. 

He got into the rhythm very quickly, and slid a hand around your lower back to hold you close while you danced. 

The tension was palpable, but the chemistry was undeniable as you moved in sync, rolling your hips to the heavy bass pumping through the speakers. 

Your faces were inches apart, separated only by your mingling breaths, and the rapidly dwindling amount of restraint you two had. 

“Kiss mee” you slurred, smiling up at him. You needed to know whether he wanted you as much as you wanted him. As if the way you were grinding on each other wasn’t enough. 

“What?!” 

“Kiss me!” you said, louder. 

His mouth opened, hesitation written all over his face, but he glanced down at your lips. 

Between the alcohol and the noise of the club, it was impossible to hear anything, so you mistook his hesitation for misunderstanding. 

You decided to get your point across by curling a hand into his hair and pulling him down to crash your lips together. 

He quickly got over the shock of it and cupped your face with his hands to deepen the kiss. 

You didn’t know how long you stood there making out, but it was long enough for Yuki to come and tell you that he and Pierre were leaving and that you could all share an uber if you wanted. 

The miniscule part of your brain that was still rational decided that you and Ollie should go with them, so you did. 

You had what you wanted anyway. Confirmation that you had two boys that wanted you. 

Japan is where you realised just how badly. 

You didn’t know about their arguments over the weekend, you just knew that Franco was trying to have sex with you every minute of every day, and that Ollie had a smug smirk on his face constantly. 

It was unnerving, really. 

On sunday morning, your team made you aware that pictures were circulating, of two blurry figures kissing in a club in China, next to two people who looked suspiciously like Pierre and Yuki. 

It was impossible to confirm who the people kissing were so you had nothing to worry about, but your PR manager asked you to please, for the love of god, be more careful. 

The race came and went, and you and Ollie both finished in the points. 

Yuki was taking Pierre to a karaoke bar that night, and in true Yuki fashion, invited you, Ollie, and Franco. 

The little shit- stirrer. And of course you knew the idea was probably a Yuki-Pierre collaboration. 

It was a bit awkward at first, both Ollie and Franco were trying to get your attention under the table with wandering hands, but you quickly shut that down. 

You and Pierre were up. You were singing a duet version of ‘My Way’ but Pierre sang his parts in french. It was hilarious. 

Yuki jumped onto the table and joined in within seconds. 

You were so into it that you didn’t notice Ollie and Franco slip out.  

Until the song finished and you looked down to see that the leather seats were unoccupied.  

You decided to go and look for them, and it didn't take you long to find them. 

The shouting could be heard as soon as you shut the door to the private room. 

You followed the voices all the way to the men's toilets, in which the two were arguing. 

You pushed the door open and couldn't help but laugh at the sight in front of you. 

Ollie had Franco in what seemed to be an attempt at a headlock, but while one of his arms was around Franco's throat, the other was pinned under Franco's weight against the wall. 

“Oi!” you hollered at them and they immediately let each other go, attempting to straighten themselves out. 

Ollie had a swollen lip and Franco looked like he'd had an altercation with a plug socket. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” 

“Nothing” “He started it!” “He said-“ 

“I don't care!” you shouted “get your asses back in there and behave!” 

You pointed towards the room sternly, and they quickly shuffled down the corridor with their tails between their legs. 

You managed to finish the karaoke without another incident, but you could feel the tension between them. 

The walls were closing in. It was becoming all too real to you all of a sudden. They both wanted you, and you didn’t want to choose, but you couldn’t exactly let them keep tearing each other to shreds over you. 

Shit hit the fan in Bahrain. 

They were behaving like animals. 

You couldn't speak to either of them without the other one getting jealous and pissing you off. 

Ollie didn't do FP1 because Haas had gave his car to a rookie for the session, which meant that both he and Franco were in the paddock during the session. Unsupervised. 

It came as a shock to everyone but you when they started openly brawling. 

You'd just got out of the car, and were getting weighed when you heard the commotion. 

“DON'T YOU DARE!”  

Crash. 

“MOTHERF-“ 

“YOU TWO STOP I-  OW!” 

You ran towards the two dickheads. Who were fighting in your garage. 

These two could not fight to save their lives. It was the stupidest brawl you'd ever seen. 

Your mechanics sort were hesitant to intervene, sort of standing around ready to step in as soon as there was any risk of them doing actual damage to each other. 

You didn't know who threw the first punch. You didn't care. 

The adrenaline was coursing through you so you went straight in, pushing the two struggling men down to the ground to destabilize them, then grabbed the shirt of the first one you could get your hands on. 

Which happened to be Franco. 

Someone next to you shouted “Yeah! Get your boyfriend!” 

“He is not my boyfriend, fuck off!” you shouted back. 

Your words had different effects. Franco’s heart broke a little, despite it being true, and Ollie now knew he had an undeniable chance. 

And everyone around you went “ouch” 

You dragged Franco away and threw him to the side, allowing Ollie to get back up and lunge at him. 

You blocked him, and slapped him, hard. 

You turned around and slapped Franco even harder. 

“Out of my garage, now!” you spat at them. 

They looked like they wanted to argue but you didn't even give them the chance. 

“I said, OUT!” you bellowed, and they looked at the crowd sheepishly before making their way out, in opposite directions. 

You didn't even entertain the small mass of people that were staring at you. You strutted to the back of the garage and made your way through the corridors to find a quiet place to think. 

You thought things couldn't get any worse, but of course, you quickly found out that a camera had wormed its way into the crowd and had broadcasted live the moment where you intervened and shouted at the person (who turned out to be Ted Kravitz) to ‘fuck off’. 

You were in your hotel room, looking through tweets about the footage, when a message popped up on your screen. 

“I'm sorry about earlier, can we talk?” 

It was Franco. 

“No” 

You left every subsequent message on read. 

About 10 minutes later a knock at the door interrupted you once again. 

It was probably your PR manager, coming to give you the 7th speech of the day about how “for the record, this is not what I meant when I told you to be more careful!” 

You looked through the peep hole and cursed loudly. 

It was Oliver fucking Bearman. 

You wrenched the door open. 

“What the fuck are you doing here? If anyone on my team sees you here we are both dead!” 

You dragged him inside and slammed the door shut behind him. 

“I wanted to come and explain-“ 

“No!” you whisper-yelled “There is nothing to explain! You and Franco have humiliated me, and yourselves today!” 

“But-“  

“There is no ‘but'! This shit stops now, I can't have my name dragged through the mud because you two wankstains decided it was a good idea to start fighting in my garage! Do you realise how that looks?” 

He looked at you guiltily and hung his head in shame. He looked almost small while sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“This whole thing has been a mess from the beginning! Because the truth is I like you both and I don't want to-“ 

You were interrupted by another knock at the door. 

Oh hell no. 

You stormed over to the door and wrenched it open again, revealing Franco in gray sweats and a dark hoodie. 

His attire told you everything you needed to know about his intentions right now. 

“Go away!” you hissed. “I told you I didn't want to talk” 

Franco glanced at Ollie still sitting on the bed and frowned. 

“So I am not allowed to be here but you invited him? That is not fair” 

“Oh for god's sake!” 

You dragged him inside, like you did Ollie, and motioned for him to sit on the bed. 

“You two are idiots!” You hissed. “What was that, today?” 

“We both wanted to go to your driver’s room to talk to you” 

“Yeah? And then you started fucking fighting!” 

“Because we love you!” 

“I can fucking see that, dipshit” you flicked Ollie's forehead “And thanks to you every motherfucker who watches Formula One also saw it, because you fought on live fucking television!” 

Ollie scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and Franco stared at the floor. 

And as if the universe hadn't punished you enough. Another knock rattled against the door. 

You turned around and watched in horror as your PR manager let herself in, and upon seeing the two men on the bed, stared daggers at them. 

“You two just don't know when to quit do you?” 

“I'm sorry about this, I didn't know either of them were coming they just turned up” you muttered. 

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Well at least this all seems a bit more mature than whatever the fuck happened in the garage earlier” 

She turned to you. “I've smoothed it over for you, given that you'd just come out of the car, and according to the footage you actually stopped the fight, so you won't be getting any fines or penalties. Although I would refrain from telling any Skysports presenters to fuck off anytime soon. No matter how much they deserve it” 

She turned to the other two. “I however do not have the power to save either of you, so my guess is you will be informed by your teams of any fines you may be getting.” 

She eyed you all sadly. 

“Please sort your shit out. What you do, or do not do behind closed doors is none of my business, but please stop being idiots in public, it makes my job so much harder, and I am not paid extra.” 

The two drivers had the decency to look ashamed as they apologised to her. 

“On that note, I wish you all good night, and please don't break any furniture” 

And with that she smiled softly and left, leaving the three of you in silence. 

“You heard the woman” you sat on the chair next to the bed and crossed your arms defiantly “Let's sort it out.” 

They looked at each other helplessly and you rolled your eyes.  

“Come on, what do you want?” 

Franco piped up first. 

“I want you. All of you. I have been in love with you for months but I’ve been a coward…” 

You nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at his confession. 

You looked at Ollie. 

“I was planning on asking you out. But I got jealous when I found out you were with Franco… and then I uhhh… kind of made it into a competition. Trying to get you to like me back before Franco had the guts to tell you.” 

You hummed, not quite knowing what to say. 

“What about you?” Franco asked. “What do you want?” 

“I uhh…” you were almost intimidated by the two men staring at you. “Well… I like you both, so… either you can learn to share, or neither of you can have me” 

They looked at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation as they glanced back and forth between you and each other. 

The fact that they seemed to be entertaining the idea of sharing you was doing funny things to your brain. 

You imagined having them both at your mercy. Then your mind wandered to all the possibilities. 

The image of them making out briefly flashed in your mind.  

The butterflies returned to your stomach and you let your mind wander even further, Franco on his knees for Ollie.  

A voice suddenly pulled you from your thoughts. 

“Are you okay?” Franco asked, and you stared at his lips. They would look so perfect wrapped around- 

“Yeah, you look a bit flustered” Ollie chuckled. “What are you thinking about?” 

You bit your lip. 

“The two of you. Together.” 

A small blush crept up their necks and they squirmed uncomfortably. 

“We can share” Franco muttered, eyes darkening slightly. 

“Good” you smiled, standing up and slowly making your way towards them. “I want you both naked in the next 15 seconds…” 

They glanced at each other with wide eyes before hurriedly taking their clothes off. 

Once they were fully bare, they looked up at you expectantly. 

You grinned and swiftly sat down in between them. 

You pulled Franco in for a kiss, hands inching their way up the two men's thighs. 

You could feel Ollie's gaze on you so you turned your head and smiled at him before leaning in to kiss him. 

One of your hands went to touch Ollie's cock, which was half hard, and your other was met with Franco's hand, that he had already wrapped around himself while watching you make out with Ollie. 

You swapped again, Ollie's cock hardening at your touch, and at the sight of Franco pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

Then Ollie's turn came again, and he was fully hard by now, so you swept your thumb over his tip to make his hips twitch. 

You then stopped touching them altogether and leaned back on your elbows on the bed. 

“Now you two” you smirked. 

They looked at each other breathlessly, blush high on their cheeks and eyes lidded. 

They were hesitant, Ollie's hand weaved its way into Franco's hair to pull him in.  

It started out chaste, but still, the sight of it was truly something. 

You wriggled out from in between them and they looked at you in question. 

“Gonna lock the door” you muttered, jogging over to it. 

You heard a muffled “good idea” and turned to see them back at it, and this time with gusto. 

Their eyes were closed, so you undressed silently and climbed back on the bed. 

Ollie gasped into the kiss when Franco's hand made its way around his cock, squeezing gently before setting a slow, almost teasing pace. 

Franco trailed kisses along his jaw, making his way down Ollie’s chest, and the latter looked at you. 

His eyebrows jumped when he saw your state of undress. And went even higher when he noticed you were touching yourself. 

But it was quickly wiped from his mind when Franco’s lips suddenly made contact with his tip. 

He gasped, head whipping down to look at where Franco was kissing up and down his length.  

One of his hands once again found itself weaved into Franco's dark locks when the absolute tease decided to lick his cock from base to tip, while staring straight up at him through his lashes. 

“Jesus” he muttered “You've done this before haven't you?” 

Franco just winked, and took his cock halfway down into his mouth and sucked. 

The two of them looked ethereal, Ollie gasping for air while Franco sucked him down as far as he could go. 

Apparently Franco was doing something with his tongue, because Ollie kept throwing his head back and hissing. 

“Fuck- I'm not going to last long if you keep doing that.” 

Franco pulled off with a pop and smirked at him, pulling him in for another sloppy makeout. 

You were sitting there, two fingers deep inside yourself, and they were completely ignoring you. 

The irony of the situation made you scoff. 

“Guys… is either of you going to fuck me or…?” 

Ollie laughed and Franco started crawling up the bed towards you. 

“It would be my pleasure” he smiled. 

Ollie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Actually, I think you have fucked her enough, it's my turn now” 

He crawled up to you, and kissed you sweetly, pulling your hand away from your cunt and replacing it with his own. 

“God, watching us got you this excited?” 

You nodded shyly. “You two look really fucking hot together” 

He laughed, gummy smile making a brief appearance as he lined himself up, sliding his tip up and down your folds to tease you. 

“You ready?”  

“Of course” 

He slid home in one gentle thrust, and you moaned into his mouth when he leaned down to kiss you. 

Franco came to kneel next to your head and waited for you to take a breather before asking you to open your mouth for him. 

He slapped his cock against your tongue teasingly, and the wet noise caught Ollie's attention, who had been mouthing at your tits absentmindedly. 

Franco fucked you mouth in earnest, and when he noticed the pther man looking at him heatedly, leaned over to capture his lips in a bruising kiss... 

It was all over far too quickly, but the exciting novelty of the situation had gotten to them and they came together with a muffled whine. 

You then made them clean you up with their tongues, and the sight of both of their faces between your legs, taking turns lapping up your juices, just felt right. 

If they could share, and not be too obvious about it, then the rest of the season should be a breeze. 

You sent your PR manager a hefty check, with a note. 

“Thank you for putting up with our shit. It's been sorted <3” 

[intheupside]

Crosby to be Canada's 'security blanket' as captain at 4 Nations Face-Off

Indeed, is anyone more deserving of the title of Captain Canada?

“He’s up there,” Tocchet said. “And look, I don’t want to embarrass Sid. But from sitting in the locker room across from Wayne Gretzky, the way Wayne’s demeanor is, the way he acted around his teammates, the way he acted in front of the public, Sid’s got that.

“And then you’ve got the Mark Messier type, not afraid to say things to your teammates if needed at the right time. And I’ve seen Sid do that too, using his voice to let them know something is unacceptable. He’s willing to do that. That to me is a great leader. In all facets. One hundred percent.

“The bottom line: When he puts that jersey on, you can sense the calmness come over the entire country of Canada. It’s almost like he’s our security blanket.”

“From the time I first met him, it’s just the way he always looks to raise the bar,” Bergeron said. “We’ve been teammates and linemates in a lot of these tournaments, and he’s never satisfied. He’s always looking to the next thing. He’s able to enjoy the success but at the same time wanting more. It’s his drive, his determination, there’s a lot of reasons why he’s been so clutch and so important in, what you could say, [is] history.

“He commands respect. I think the country is proud of who he is as a person and how he represents us on the international stage. There’s no missteps. It’s been going on since he’s been 14 years old when they started aiming cameras on him. He’s never had a misstep.”

Bergeron is considered one of the top leaders of his era and won the Mark Messier NHL Leadership Award in 2021, an honor Crosby received in 2010.

“I accomplished a lot in my career,” Bergeron said. “But I have to say, I’m so proud that in my time playing, that Sidney was the face of our league and for Canadian hockey. Well deserved.”

Crosby already had his eyes on the 4 Nations prize five months ago, long before he would officially be given the “C” for Team Canada.

Back in early September, Crosby helped organize an unofficial training camp of sorts under the watchful eye of Andy O’Brien, his longtime trainer, in Vail, Colorado. Among those invited to the event were some of Canada’s top players, including Avalanche center Nathan MacKinnon, who like Crosby is from Cole Harbour; Edmonton Oilers center Connor McDavid; and Toronto Maple Leafs forward Mitch Marner.

Crosby insists it wasn’t an official Canada team-bonding exercise, pointing out that there were players from other countries there as well. At the same time, he admits it was productive for some of the Canadians on hand to get the opportunity to develop chemistry and play together, something that could come in handy at the 4 Nations and the 2026 Olympics.

Marner, for one, was appreciative of the invite extended him by Crosby and O’Brien.

“It was great,” he said. “Getting to know Sid and some of those guys both on and off the ice, well, I was grateful that they asked me to join them.

“You get to know them on and off the ice a bit. Such great guys. And so much talent out there with guys like Sid, MacKinnon and McDavid.”

And, according to Team Canada and Tampa Bay Lightning coach Jon Cooper, it was just another example of Crosby’s leadership ability to bring players together for a common goal.

“It’s what he does,” Cooper said. “It’s who he is.

“Look at what he did [last] month when we were in Pittsburgh.”

Cooper was referring to a postgame scene after his team had defeated Crosby and the Penguins 5-2 on Jan. 12, a game in which Tampa Bay scored three goals in the final 3:03 to break a 2-2 tie. The uber-competitive Crosby was upset that victory had eluded the Penguins, but still took time to see Cooper afterward to chat about the 4 Nations.

At one point, Crosby asked Cooper to bring out Lightning forwards Brayden Point, Brandon Hagel and Anthony Cirelli, his future 4 Nations teammates, to talk about the upcoming tournament.

“He here is, angry that his team had just lost a game, and he put that aside to talk Team Canada with them,” Cooper said. “They sat there for 20 minutes. They were like kids in a candy store.

“That right there is what true leadership is.”

And, according to Tocchet, what Crosby is all about.

“It’s unbelievable,” Tocchet said. “He’s a guy that carries the torch, and is willing to pass the torch on when he’s done.

“That’s what he’s doing with Cirelli, Hagel, those guys. He basically comes in and says, ‘Hey, you guys are my teammates in a month, I just want to get to know you real quick and let you know what’s at stake.’ He’s done it with other players. I just think it goes so far with his teammates. They legitimately badly want to play with him, to be his teammate.”

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

The morning sun spilled through the sheer curtains, my head was still heavy from last night, and my body feeling sheer exhaustion of what had happened. I had barely slept, replaying the scene at the restaurant over and over in my mind. The embarrassment, the sting of Matt’s words, the way I had to walk away while holding back tears.

A soft knock at my door made me wake that bit more. "Hey, you awake?" I hear Nick’s voice from through the door. 

I remembered I locked it once Matt left last night so I pulled myself from my bed and unlocked the door letting Nick to come in. I turned and walked back to my bed, sitting up against the headboard, pulling the covers around me. Nick closed the door behind him before standing at the end of the bed. "Alright, spill. What the hell happened last night? You left, and then Matt stormed in looking like he just saw a ghost."

I exhaled, rubbing my temples before looking at him. "Your mom asked Nate if he was seeing anyone, and he said no, which was fine, right? But Matt decided to make it seem like that was some kind of rejection for me, like I was meant to be upset about it. Then, out of nowhere, he brings up to your mom and dad that Nate and I went on a ‘date’, which you know yourself wasn’t even a date, so then Nate tried to clarify that we were just friends, but Matt just kept pushing it. Then he said that I was a quick fuck and then friend zoned. Right in front of your parents." I swallowed, feeling the embarrassment all over again. 

Nick’s eyes widened slightly, but his expression darkened. "What the fuck?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Yeah and I’m so embarrassed if your parents heard that last part because first of all, I had just met them, and second of all, it’s just not even true. It made me look bad, it made Nate uncomfortable, and Matt acted like he had some right to embarrass me like that."

Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No I get why you’re upset like he was way out of line. But listen, when Chris and I came back in, our parents said you were lovely and that they hoped you felt better soon. I’m telling you they didn’t hear that part."

I let out a slow breath of relief. "Really?"

"Really" Nick nodded. "They just thought you weren’t feeling well and needed to leave early."

I sank back into my pillows, finally feeling like I could breathe a little easier. "Good. Because I swear, I was ready to dig a hole and disappear forever."

Nick laughed. "Nah, no disappearing allowed. But are you gonna talk to Matt about it?"

I frowned, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "We did last night kinda, but I’m still so angry. And the worst part is, I don’t even know why he acted like that. It was like he wanted to embarrass me."

Nick shrugged. "Matt’s an idiot. He says dumb shit, but he also knows when he’s messed up. I guarantee you, he feels like shit about it right now."

"Good" I muttered, still unwilling to entertain the idea of forgiving him just yet.

Nick sighed again but didn’t push it further. "Alright, well, the four of us are going out with my parents for the day. You coming?"

I shook my head. "I think I’m just gonna stay back here today, I just want things to die down."

"Thats cool." He stood up, stretching. "Try not to overthink it too much, alright?"

I gave a half smile. "Easier said than done."

As Nick left the room, I rolled onto my side, staring out the window at the pool below. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just brush this off, but at least, for now, I could breathe a little easier knowing that Nick’s parents didn’t hear Matt’s words. Still, the anger remained, simmering just beneath the surface. Eventually, I decided I needed some air, some sun, some quiet, and a break from all the tension.

I slipped out of bed and grabbed my swimsuit, opting for a tiny bikini that I knew would be perfect for lounging by the pool. The straps sat snug against my skin, the warm morning air already filtering through the open balcony doors as I pulled my hair up out of my face. After tossing on a loose cover up, I slid into my sliders and grabbed a towel before heading downstairs.

As I reached the foyer, the others were gathered, chatting and getting ready to head out for the day. The energy in the room was light, filled with laughter and the occasional clatter of sunglasses being thrown into bags. As soon as they spotted me, they greeted me, well everyone except Matt, who didn’t even glance in my direction.

Chris was the first to speak. “You coming with us?” His tone was casual, but his eyes scanned my face like he was checking in.

I shook my head, adjusting my towel over my arm. “Nah, I think I’m going to take it easy today. Just chill by the pool and relax.”

Nate nodded approvingly. “Honestly? Probably the smarter move.”

Chris shot me a small smile. “Enjoy the sun. We’ll be back later.”

I returned the smile, forcing the tension from last night out of my mind. “You guys have fun.”

With that, they all filed out the front door, their voices fading as they disappeared down the steps. The villa was suddenly silent, the only sound being the faint rustling of palm trees outside.

I exhaled slowly before grabbing an ice tea from the fridge and making my way out to the pool, letting the warm sun wrap around me as I laid my towel down on one of the lounge chairs. Finally, peace and quiet.

I stretched out on the lounge chair, letting the sun soak into my skin as I sipped on the cold drink. I had left the villa door open, wanting to hear when everyone got back, but after a while, another sound caught my attention. 

A knock.

Frowning, I sat up, adjusting my bikini top before grabbing my cover up and slipping it over my hips. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the guys wouldn’t have knocked, they had keys.

As I rushed barefoot across the cold tile floor, I hesitated for a second before pulling the door open. 

A mailman stood there, holding a large box. He barely glanced up before handing it over. “Delivery for Fresh Love.”

I furrowed my brows but took the package, feeling the weight of it in my arms. “Oh, thanks.”

With a nod, he turned and walked back down the driveway. I shut the door with my foot and carried the box to the kitchen counter, setting it down with a small thud.  I smirked, realizing this must be the personalized samples Chris had mentioned, the ones he ordered for all of us.  I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick picture of the box before opening up my messages with Chris.

Me: Personalised samples just got delivered.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Chris: Sick! You check ‘em out yet?

I glanced at the box, debating if I should wait for him or just open it now.

Me: Not yet. Was gonna let you do the honours.

Chris: Okay cool. We can do a shoot with them at sunset later.

I bring the box up to Chris’ room and set it on the bed so he can see everything when we get back in. If we’re doing a shoot I want to look extra radiant and glowy, and that won’t happen from standing inside the villa. I grabbed one of the body oils in my room before making my way back out to the pool. I poured a little into my palm, rubbing it over my legs as I stretched back out on the lounge chair.

Matt’s POV

We were halfway through the guided tour when Chris suddenly checked his phone and said, “Oh, the personalized samples came in. Y/n just texted me.”

Hearing her name wasn’t helpful. Not when I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind since last night, and god how she looked in that bikini earlier didn't help. I kept my eyes straight ahead, pretending I didn’t care, but my mom didn’t let it slide. “Oh, Y/n is such a lovely girl” she said with a warm smile, then turned to me. “Is she feeling better now, sweetheart?”

Before I could even begin to answer, Nick cut in smoothly. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just needed a bit of sleep.” His tone was light, brushing off the question like it wasn’t worth pressing. He knew me well enough to know that I didn’t want to talk about it, especially not here, not in front of everyone.

I kept my mouth shut and just nodded in agreement, though the truth was, I felt far from fine. Guilt sat heavy in my chest, chipping away at me. Last night, I had let my emotions get the best of me. I let jealousy, because let’s be honest, that’s exactly what it was, take control, and I lashed out in the worst way possible. I had said something cruel, something I couldn’t take back. And knowing Y/n, she wasn’t the type to just let it roll off her shoulders. She put up walls, and I had given her every reason to keep me on the other side of them.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got. I had no right to be mad at her, no right to act like what she did or didn’t do with Nate, or anyone else for that matter, was any of my business. But that hadn’t stopped me from taking a low blow, from making her feel small in front of people who barely even knew her. If she had done that to me, I’d be furious. So what did that say about me?

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair as I barely registered the tour guide’s voice. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

I had to make this right.

I knew I had a way to make it up to her, it was something I should've done ages ago. And now, I could only hope it wasn’t too late for her to forgive me.

Y/n’s POV

I was sitting outside on the patio, a plate of food in my lap as I watched the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange, the kind of sunset that made everything feel a little quieter, a little more peaceful. It was one of those moments I wished I could freeze in time, just me, the sunset, and the distant sound of waves hitting onto the shore.

But then, the front door swung open, breaking the stillness.

The familiar sounds of shuffling feet and tired voices filled the villa as the guys returned. I set my plate aside and stood up, making my way inside to greet them.

“Hey” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter as they walked in.

They all looked exhausted, Chris, Nate, Matt, and Nick, their faces slightly sunburnt, their hair tousled from the slight breeze and even though they didn’t say much at first, their body language said it all.

Chris let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he took his cap off. “Long day,” he muttered. “We were out in the sun for way too long, and I think it’s catching up to everyone.”

Nate groaned in agreement, tossing his sunglasses onto the counter. “I need, like, ten hours of sleep.”

Matt didn’t say much, just nodded, his jaw tight. He looked at me for half a second before glancing away, like he was trying to avoid something, most likely me. I ignored the sting in my chest and forced a small smile.

“Yeah, we’re all wiped” Nick added, stretching his arms above his head. “Think we’ll just stay in tonight, order some takeout, crash early.”

“That’s fine with me” I said, realizing I was more drained than I thought. Between being in the sun all day and everything that happened last night, I could use a quiet night too. “I left that box in your room” I say turning to Chris.

“Cool I’ll have a look now, we can take pictures tomorrow evening instead, when everyones a bit more awake”

And with that, Chris, Nate, and Matt didn’t waste any time disappearing into their rooms, clearly eager to knock out for a bit.

Nick lingered behind, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna shower first, but after that, I’ll come to your room? We can just chill for a bit, a movie maybe?.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

I walk up to my room, kicking the door shut behind me as I switch on the TV. The smart TV mounted on the wall was a lifesaver, especially on nights like this when there wasn’t much going on. I sink onto the bed, remote in hand, sifting through Netflix, too see if theres anything both Nick and I would like. The knock on the door wasn’t enough to pull my attention from the screen since I assume it’s Nick, I don’t even think twice before calling out, “Come in.”

But it’s not Nick.

It’s Matt.

He stands there in the doorway, looking uncertain, a silver metallic gift bag dangling from his fingers. Looking like the same one I spotted in his room next to my ‘Thank You’ card. For a moment, neither of us speak. We just stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words thick in the space between us.

My tone is blunt when I finally ask, “Are you alright?”

Matt doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts the bag slightly, as if offering it to me. His expression is unreadable, something between nervousness and determination.

“What is it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Just look in it” he says quietly.

I hesitate for a second before reaching out, taking the metallic bag from his grasp. Peeling back the layers of tissue paper inside, my breath catches in my throat.

It’s my locket.

The delicate chain pools in my palm, the pendant glinting from the sunset shining in my balcony window. My fingers tighten around it as I snap my gaze back up to Matt, my heart pounding.

“Where did you get this?” I demand, my voice barely above a whisper.

a/n : most of this is a bit of a filler soz

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[oldsoul007]

7 summers

joel miller x reader

summary: After seven years apart, you see Joel Miller again, and what once felt like a fleeting teenage fling comes rushing back, forcing you to confront the love you never truly let go.

a/n: suggestive scenes, kissing, angstyish, fluff

joel miller masterlist

The summer I was eighteen, I fell in love with Joel Miller.

Not that I ever admitted it—not to him, not to myself, and certainly not to Tommy. Joel was Tommy’s older brother, and Tommy was my best friend. He was the one person in my life who knew everything about me, who’d always been there when I needed him. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin that. So, when Joel and I started sneaking off together that summer, I convinced myself it was just a fling, a secret I could lock away and never think about again.

But it wasn’t.

That summer was everything. Stolen kisses by the lake, his rough hands trailing down my arms, the way his voice turned soft when he called me “darlin’.” He wasn’t just my first love; he was my whole world, even if I couldn’t say it out loud. I wanted to. God, I wanted to tell him. But every time I opened my mouth, the fear of what would happen—the fallout with Tommy—kept the words stuck in my throat.

By the end of the summer, I was gone. Off to work, off to whatever life waited for me outside of our small Texas town. I swore to myself I’d move on, forget him, and never let myself feel that way again.

But some loves don’t fade.

Seven summers later, I was doing just fine—at least, that’s what I told myself. Then I ran into Tommy at a bar. Same grin, same easy laugh. For a second, it felt like we were kids again, back when everything was simple.

“y/n l/n,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Where the hell have you been hiding?”

We talked for hours, catching up, reminiscing about all the trouble we used to get into. By the end of the night, he’d convinced me to come over for dinner. “It’s been too damn long,” he said. “You gotta come by. I’ll cook, just like old times.”

I didn’t think twice about it. I should have.

When I walked into Tommy’s house two nights later, I saw him. Joel.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a beer in his hand, looking exactly like I remembered��but somehow more. Broader, older, rougher around the edges in a way that made my stomach twist. The second he saw me, he froze, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Y/n,” he said, my name soft on his lips.

“Joel,” I whispered, my heart hammering in my chest.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, waltzed into the room and clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “You two know each other, right? Y/n used to hang out all the time when we were kids.”

Joel glanced at me, waiting, and I knew he was asking me to hold the line. To keep the secret we’d buried all those years ago. Somehow, I found my voice. “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “We’ve met.”

seven summers ago

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon streaming through the thin curtains. It painted faint shadows across the walls, moving slightly with the breeze that didn’t quite reach us. The night was warm and heavy, the air clinging to my skin, and the constant chirp of crickets outside filled the silence. I lay flat on my back, my head sinking into the flat pillow of the old, creaky bed in my family’s lakehouse.

Joel was beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His shoulder brushed against mine every time one of us moved, a gentle reminder of how little space there was between us. We hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy. Dense with the weight of things neither of us wanted to say.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at him. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, his jawline sharp and his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was trying to untangle some thought that wouldn’t let him go. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fidgeted with the frayed edge of the blanket resting around our waists, trying to quiet the thoughts spinning in my head.

“What do you think you’ll be doing in ten years?” I asked, my voice soft. It felt like the kind of question that belonged in a moment like this, one that could break the silence without shattering it.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, like I’d caught him off guard. He turned his head to look at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that small, shy smile he did so well. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and easy. “Probably still workin’ construction, maybe startin’ my own business if I’m lucky.”

I smiled at the thought of it—of Joel running his own business. It felt so… right. “You’d be good at that,” I said, meaning it. “You’re good with your hands.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head like he didn’t believe me, but his gaze lingered. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “What’s y/n gonna be doing in ten years?”

I bit my lip, my smile faltering as I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” I said after a pause. “Just something far away from here.”

I felt Joel shift beside me, his voice hesitant when he repeated my words. “Far away?”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. “I just… I’ve always felt like there’s something out there, you know? Something bigger. I don’t want to stay stuck in one place forever.”

There was a long pause, and I could feel his gaze on me even though I didn’t look at him. Then, slowly, I felt his hand brush against mine. My breath caught as his fingers tentatively laced with mine, his palm warm and a little rough.

“You won’t be stuck,” he said softly, his voice sure but carrying something else—something deeper.

I turned my head to look at him, our hands still tangled between us. “How do you know?” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

His eyes didn’t waver as they held mine, dark and steady. “’Cause you’re different, y/n. You’ve got somethin’—a spark or somethin’. You’re meant for more than this little town.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for, filling me with equal parts hope and fear. I wanted to believe him—to believe that I was different, that I was meant for something more. But the thought of leaving, of leaving him, made my chest ache.

“What if I don’t want to leave everything behind?” I asked, my voice so soft I wasn’t sure he’d hear it.

Joel’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “But don’t let anyone hold you back, either. Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

His words settled over me, heavy and full of meaning. He was giving me permission, I realized—not that I needed it, but it still felt like he was handing me something. Something I wasn’t sure I could take.

I turned my gaze back to the ceiling, my throat tight and my heart pounding. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to him, things I couldn’t untangle from the knot of feelings twisting inside me. I didn’t want to leave him. He was the one thing that made staying feel worth it.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead, I squeezed his hand, letting the silence take over again. It stretched between us, thick with everything we weren’t saying, everything we might never say.

Joel didn’t pull away, and neither did I. We just lay there, our hands still tangled together, the weight of the moment pressing down on us as the warm summer night carried on.

The smell of grilled steak and warm buttered rolls filled Tommy’s kitchen, a scent so familiar it made my chest ache. It was the kind of meal I’d had a hundred times at the Miller house, back when summer nights were spent on their back porch, laughing over cold beers and fireflies.

I hadn’t expected to feel so at home here after all these years. But I also hadn’t expected Joel to be sitting across the table from me, looking at me like I was some kind of ghost from his past.

It had been seven summers since I last saw him—since I left. Seven years of growing up, of moving on, or at least trying to. But sitting here now, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“So,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair as he nursed a beer. “Y/n, what the hell have you been up to? Feels like forever since we’ve seen you.”

I smiled, shrugging slightly. “Oh, you know. Work, life. Moved around a little, but I’m back now.”

Joel, who had been quiet most of the night, finally spoke up. His voice was lower, rougher than I remembered, like time had left its mark on him. “Didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

His words weren’t harsh, but there was something underneath them—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Neither did I,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “Guess life doesn’t always go the way you think it will.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he cut into his steak. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Tommy grinned, oblivious to the tension thickening between us. “Well, now that you’re back, maybe we can finally convince you to stick around for good this time.”

I gave a small laugh, but before I could answer, Joel spoke again. “Surprised you ain’t married yet.”

I blinked, caught off guard. His tone wasn’t teasing—if anything, he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Tommy chimed in, smirking. “I figured some poor guy would’ve snatched you up by now.”

I rolled my eyes at Tommy’s comment, but it was Joel’s reaction I was focused on. His fork was still in his hand, his knuckles just a little too tight around it, his eyes steady on me like he was waiting for an answer.

“Guess I just haven’t found the right guy,” I said finally, keeping my voice light.

Joel’s jaw tightened slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just nodded, his gaze flickering away as he took a slow sip of his beer.

I felt my stomach twist. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask him, a hundred things I wanted to say, but none of them felt safe—not here, not with Tommy sitting between us, completely unaware of the unspoken history filling the room.

“So what about you?” I asked, tilting my head. “Married yet?”

Joel let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Nope”

I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

And just like that, the conversation moved on, Tommy rambling about something from work, and I forced myself to laugh along, to pretend like my heart wasn’t pounding, like Joel’s words—and the look in his eyes—hadn’t completely thrown me off balance.

But I could feel it.

That pull. That thing between us that had never really gone away.

And by the way Joel kept sneaking glances at me across the table, I knew he felt it too.

Dinner stretched on, filled with Tommy’s easy conversation and the occasional laugh, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on Joel—on the way he kept glancing at me, on the weight behind his words, on the tension that hummed between us like a live wire.

It felt like the past was pressing in on us, slipping through the cracks of time as if the last seven years had been nothing more than a breath between moments.

When the plates were cleared and Tommy started rambling about a game he wanted to watch, Joel stood, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He hesitated for a second, then looked over at me.

“Come out back with me?” His voice was casual, but his eyes told a different story.

I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve made an excuse, said my goodbyes, and walked out that door before I let myself slip any further into something I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But I nodded anyway.

I followed him through the screen door onto the back porch, the night air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and warm summer air. The old wooden planks creaked under our weight as we stepped out, the sound familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

Joel leaned against the railing, taking a slow sip of his beer as he looked out at the yard. I stood beside him, hands gripping the edge of the wood, waiting for him to speak.

After a long pause, he exhaled and said, “Didn’t think I’d ever see you sittin’ at our dinner table again.”

His voice was softer now, quieter—just for me.

I swallowed, staring down at my hands. “Didn’t think I would be, either.”

He was quiet again, then he asked, “Why’d you come back?”

I let out a slow breath, watching the way the fireflies blinked lazily across the yard. “Needed a reset,” I admitted. “Life didn’t exactly turn out how I thought it would.”

Joel hummed, like he understood that better than he wanted to admit. “You runnin’ from somethin’?”

I hesitated before answering, because maybe, deep down, I was. But not in the way he thought.

“Not running,” I said carefully. “Just… trying to figure things out.”

Joel nodded like he got it, his fingers tapping absently against the neck of his beer bottle. He looked over at me then, his eyes dark under the dim glow of the porch light. “Seven years, y/n. That’s a long fucking time.”

I met his gaze, my throat tightening. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It is.”

Another pause stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, Joel said, “I missed you.”

The words knocked the breath right out of me.

I turned to fully face him, my heart hammering in my chest. “Joel…”

He shook his head, setting his beer down on the railing before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You don’t gotta say anything. Just—” He exhaled sharply, like he was fighting some internal battle. “Hell… It’s just… weird, you know? Havin’ you here again.”

I nodded, because it was weird. It was terrifying. It was everything I hadn’t let myself feel in years rushing back all at once.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s eyes flickered with something—something deep and unreadable. His fingers curled around the railing, his knuckles flexing like he was holding something back.

I should’ve walked away then. I should’ve let the moment pass before it became something bigger, something neither of us could take back.

But I didn’t.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to.

And judging by the way Joel was looking at me, like he was seconds away from breaking, neither did he.

The night stretched thick between us, heavy with words we weren’t saying, with memories pressing in like ghosts we couldn’t shake. Joel was still gripping the railing, his fingers tightening and loosening like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” he finally murmured, eyes still locked on me. “You and me. Sneakin’ around, swearin’ we weren’t—” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “—feelin’ things we both knew damn well we were.”

His words hit deep, settling somewhere behind my ribs. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? We had never admitted what we were, never spoken those words out loud, and yet, we both had known.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We were just kids.”

Joel turned toward me then, slow and deliberate. “That what you tell yourself?”

I didn’t answer, because we both knew the truth. We hadn’t been just kids. Maybe we were young, maybe we didn’t know how to say it back then, but it had been real. As real as anything I’d ever felt.

Joel took a step closer, not enough to touch me, but enough that I could feel the warmth of him, could smell the mix of beer and cedarwood that clung to his skin.

“You happy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more careful.

The question caught me off guard, not because it was unexpected, but because I wasn’t sure how to answer it.

I looked up at him, at the way the years had settled into him—lines at the corners of his eyes, a little more weight in his stance, a quiet kind of tiredness in his gaze. But underneath it all, he was still Joel. Still the boy who once laid beside me on a summer night, our fingers laced together, talking about the future like it was something we had all the time in the world to figure out.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Are you?”

Joel exhaled, his jaw clenching just slightly before he shook his head. “No”

The word settled between us, bare and unguarded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the night filled the silence—distant laughter from inside, the low hum of crickets, the creak of the porch as Joel shifted closer.

Then, softly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask, he said, “You ever think about it?”

I knew exactly what he meant.

I wet my lips, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “Think about what?”

Joel’s gaze dipped down to my mouth for half a second before coming back up. His voice was lower now, rougher.

“Us.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Joel took another step, and this time, he was close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could see the way his breathing had slowed like he was holding something back.

“I think about it all the damn time,” he admitted. “What it would’ve been like if you stayed. If I—” He stopped himself, his hand flexing at his side before he finally met my gaze again. “If I hadn’t let you leave without sayin’ somethin’ real.”

I felt my breath hitch.

seven summers ago

The morning air was crisp for late August, the kind of cool that hinted at the coming fall. The sun hadn’t quite broken through the haze yet, and the lake behind Tommy’s house was still and gray, like it was holding its breath. My car was packed, the trunk stuffed to the brim with clothes, books, and the small reminders of home I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

Tommy leaned against the side of my car, his arms crossed and his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him look this serious. His dark hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it, and his shirt was wrinkled from where he’d probably pulled it off the floor.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and unusually hesitant.

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice wavered. “I think so.”

He shook his head, a small smile breaking through. “You’ve been talking about leaving since we were ten. If anyone’s ready, it’s you.”

I tried to smile back, but my chest ached too much to manage it. “Doesn’t make it any easier,” I admitted.

Tommy’s grin softened, and he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug that was tighter than I expected. He smelled like summer—grass, lake water, and a hint of the cheap cologne he always overused.

“Don’t forget about us little people when you’re out there changing the world, alright?” he said, his voice muffled against my hair.

I laughed, but it came out watery. “I could never forget you, Tommy. You wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn right,” he said, pulling back. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, but he blinked fast and didn’t let it show. “Call me, okay? I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. I wanna hear about everything—college parties, classes, annoying roommates, all of it.”

“Promise,” I said, my voice thick.

He stepped back, giving me a mock salute before wandering toward the house. And that’s when I saw Joel.

He was standing on the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams like he’d been there the whole time. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t moving, just watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. His dark eyes locked on mine, and for a second, it felt like the whole world had gone still.

I hesitated, my chest tightening as I took a shaky breath and forced myself to walk toward him. The porch creaked under my weight, and when I stopped in front of him, he straightened, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d come say goodbye,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, staring out at the lake like it held the answer to whatever he was struggling with. “’Course I’d come,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and rough. “Wouldn’t let you leave without it.”

I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for him. “I’ll miss you,” I said, the words barely above a whisper.

His gaze snapped back to mine, and for a second, I thought he might say something—something I’d been waiting to hear for what felt like forever. His mouth opened, but then he closed it, his shoulders stiffening as if he’d talked himself out of it.

“Don’t let anyone hold you back,” he said instead, his voice steady but distant. “Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. They were the same ones he’d said to me that night at the lake house, the same ones that had stayed with me long after the summer ended.

I wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to tell him that he wasn’t holding me back—he was the only thing making it hard to leave. But I couldn’t. The words stuck in my throat, too tangled up in everything I felt for him to come out right.

Instead, I nodded, blinking hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Take care of Tommy for me,” I said, my voice trembling.

Joel’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched so long it felt unbearable. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

For a moment, he didn’t move, and I thought he might pull away. But then his arms came around me, strong and steady, holding me tighter than I’d expected. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in—sawdust, sweat, and the faint trace of cologne he only wore when he had to.

I wanted to stay there forever, to let the rest of the world disappear, but I couldn’t. I pulled back, my hands lingering on his arms for just a moment before I let them fall to my sides.

“Goodbye, Joel,” I said, my voice barely steady.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded, his dark eyes heavy with something I couldn’t name.

I turned and walked to my car, my chest aching with every step. As I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Joel was still standing on the porch, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching me drive away.

I didn’t look back again. If I had, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.

“You think it would’ve changed anything?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s throat bobbed. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He ran a hand over his face, letting out a breath like he was fighting with himself. “But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

He lifted his hand, hesitant at first, then finally brushed his fingers along my arm, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver up my spine.

“I ain’t ever felt nothin’ like I felt with you,” he murmured. “Not before. Not after.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, my body swaying toward his before I could stop it.

“Joel…”

He shook his head, his hand trailing down my arm until his fingers barely skimmed mine. “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he said, voice rough and strained. “Tell me you don’t feel like we lost somethin’ we weren’t supposed to.”

I wanted to lie. Wanted to say that I had moved on, that whatever we had back then was just young and reckless, something that wasn't meant to last.

But I couldn't.

Because I did feel it.

I felt it in the way my chest ached just looking at him, in the way his touch still sent a shiver down my spine, in the way every moment we spent apart felt like time wasted.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling slightly under his. "I can't tell you that," | whispered.

Joel's breath caught, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around mine, like he was holding onto something he wasn't ready to let go of.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us was thick, humming with something too strong to ignore, too real to pretend wasn't there.

The air between Joel and I crackled with so much unspoken tension, it was almost unbearable. My heart pounded against my chest, every nerve alight with the pull between us, but neither of us moved. We were so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his hands lingering on my waist as if he were just waiting for me to make the next move. And I almost did.

But before I could, the sound of the screen door creaked behind us.

“Hey, you guys coming back in?” Tommy called out from the doorway, his voice loud and clueless as ever. “I got that game on, and I’m not drinking alone out here.”

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, and for a split second, it felt like the world had just stopped. Joel pulled back, almost imperceptibly, his hands still resting on my waist but no longer holding me so tightly. We both turned toward the door, where Tommy was standing with a grin, completely unaware of what had almost happened.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he took a half step back. “Yeah, we’ll be right in,” he called back to Tommy, his voice rough, like he was trying to hide the tension that had just exploded between us.

Tommy, oblivious to everything that had just passed between us, gave a lazy wave and turned back inside. “Don’t take too long, man! You know I need company for the game.”

I watched him disappear into the house, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud. A long, silent moment passed between Joel and me, and I could almost hear the words that neither of us was willing to say. But we both knew it—what had just happened. What had almost happened. It hung between us like a heavy fog, and yet, neither of us moved to bridge the gap.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and rough. “Guess that’s our cue.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to process everything. The heat between us hadn’t gone away, not even with Tommy’s interruption. If anything, it only made it stronger. But now, standing here with Joel so close, with everything hanging in the air, I wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“Yeah,” I managed to say, my voice shaky. “Guess it is.”

Joel let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture that always made him look like the same guy from years ago. He didn’t seem as certain as he had just moments before. There was hesitation now, uncertainty.

He gave a short nod, turning toward the door. “Come on. Let’s not keep Tommy waiting.”

I followed him back inside, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me. The door swung shut behind us, and we both slipped back into the routine of being around Tommy, pretending like nothing had changed.

But it had.

I could feel it in the way Joel’s eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, in the way my chest tightened every time he spoke, like I was trying to hold myself together while something deeper, something real, threatened to spill out.

I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle this. How we were supposed to go back to the way things were. But for now, we were both content to pretend. Pretend that everything was fine, that Tommy hadn’t just unknowingly interrupted something that could change everything.

I stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air brushing against my skin, but my body still felt warm from the tension that lingered between us. I hadn’t expected things to go the way they had tonight—especially not after so much time had passed. But there was no denying it. The pull I felt toward Joel had never truly gone away.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he stepped up beside me. His voice was low, a little gravelly, and there was something in his eyes—something that made my heart race.

I hesitated for a moment, looking back toward the door, knowing I should just leave and get some space to clear my head. But the desire to be close to him again, even just for a little longer, was stronger than any of the reasons I told myself I should go.

“Yeah,” I said, finally giving in, “okay.”

We walked to his truck, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between us. The night felt different now, charged with something neither of us wanted to acknowledge—at least, not yet. When we got to the truck, Joel opened the door for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I climbed in. The truck door shut with a soft thud, and I settled in, trying to steady my breathing.

The drive was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. But the air between us was thick with everything unsaid—the years apart, the memories we couldn’t forget.

When we finally pulled up to my place, I felt a lump form in my throat. I didn’t want to say goodbye—not yet, not like this. But what else was there to say?

Joel’s truck rumbled to a stop outside my house, but neither of us moved immediately. The air felt thicker now, heavier, charged with all the things we hadn’t said. My heart was racing in my chest, the silence between us louder than any words could’ve been.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said quietly, trying to force some kind of normalcy into the situation. But my voice trembled, betraying everything I was trying to hide.

Joel didn’t answer at first, just stared at me for a moment. His brow furrowed, his jaw tense, like he was struggling to keep control. Without another word, he climbed out of the truck and walked around to my side, his movements slow but purposeful.

I froze for a second, wondering what he was doing. But when he reached the passenger door, he opened it, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. “Let me walk you to your door,” he said softly, as though it was a question, though neither of us needed permission.

I nodded, my throat tight, and stepped out of the truck, trying to steady myself as I moved toward him. His presence was magnetic, pulling me in as we walked together, side by side, toward the porch.

The night was quiet around us, but everything felt loud—our footsteps echoing, the rush of my pulse in my ears, the space between us that felt far too small for both of us to be standing in. My mind raced, but my body seemed to know exactly what it wanted, gravitating toward him with every step.

When we reached the front door, Joel stopped, turning to face me. There was something in his eyes, something raw and desperate, like he couldn’t stand to let go of this moment. The weight of the unspoken hung between us, and for a split second, I almost thought he would say something, but he didn’t. He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine, a quiet, gentle touch that sent a shock through my body.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hand lifted to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he took another step closer. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked up at him, barely able to hold his gaze.

The moment felt too fragile, and I couldn’t make myself say anything else. Slowly, I turned toward the door, my hand reaching for the handle. “Goodnight, Joel,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t speak as I opened the door, stepping back just enough to let me through. I kept my gaze focused ahead, not trusting myself to look back at him, afraid of what I might see, afraid of what I might feel.

The door clicked shut behind me as I walked into my house, the weight of the night settling around me. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I'd told myself I wasn't going to give in, that I was going to walk away and let things be, but Joel's words, his touch, had made it impossible to ignore the truth l'd buried for so long.

I slipped out of my shoes and made my way into the living room, my heart still racing from everything that had happened. As I sank into the couch, the silence in the house felt suffocating. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Joel-his face, his hands on me, his kiss.

I was trying to talk myself down, to convince myself that I could move on. That I should. But just as I was about to stand, I heard a knock on the door.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

I walked slowly to the door, trying to calm the rush of emotions flooding my chest. When I opened it, there he was— Joel. Standing in the dark, his posture tense, but his eyes searching mine like he had to say something, like he couldn't leave without it.

“I can’t walk away from you again,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Before I could even respond, his hand reached out to gently tug me closer, and his lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was fierce, urgent, as if he was trying to make up for the years apart, as if he couldn't stand the space between us anymore. I gasped, my hands coming up to clutch at his shirt as I kissed him back, my body pressed against his, needing him as much as he needed me.

He pulled me fully into the doorway, his hands moving to my waist, guiding me backward into the house. The door closed behind us with a soft thud, but neither of us paid attention to it.

All that mattered was the way his lips moved against mine, the way his touch made me feel like I was finally coming home.

Joel's kiss deepened, his hands sliding up my back to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer until there wasn't an inch of space between us.

I felt the heat of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he held me, the way his breath caught when I tugged him.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. His forehead rested against mine, both of us struggling to catch our breath, to make sense of what had just happened.

My fingers curling into his shirt as I pulled him back to me, not wanting to let go, not wanting to fight this anymore. Neither of us was ready to say goodbye—not yet, not when the night was still young and the truth was finally out in the open.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only us in this moment, the only sound the rush of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts in sync.

He pulled away briefly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath shaky.

"I can't pretend anymore," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never stopped wanting you, y/n. Not for a second."

My heart twisted in my chest, and I didn't care anymore about what we had to lose. "Neither did I," I whispered, before closing the space between us again, kissing him with everything I had left to give.

This time, there was no holding back. We were finally done running from the truth.

[samhadjblog2]

Yes stories are about character's confronting one another however the confrontation wasn't some "Uniting against a common enemy" fight. And more like it was character's going of on there own moral values and how a lot of these values clashes with one another. Sometime they agree on things other times they clash with one another. However the show was never going into a direction where they all unite to fight a common enemy.

To say it was always going to end that is far from the truth. It was in the direction of all of these characters.We don't even get the"Uniting against a common enemy" as the main focus of the show until EP.8 while the first seven episodes were (more or less) character focused.

Silco and Jayce's deal wasn't built on "Noxian" invaders it was built on Jayce wanting to reach after he saw how his own violent actions led to a child getting killed. Yes he talked about "the threats of the rune-wars" and how it "brought the city together". However its not a form of "Foreshadowing" its a means of saying this city is built on "Progress" and that they should reach out for peace. I remember what happened. I also remember that the peace Silco wasn't some easy thing and in turn was only going to lead to more conflict. Also its just "one scene". And we get no other scene like this before the "Final fight" that indicates the cities will unite against a common foe.

Vi's comment about "Oil and Water" its only referring to her Caitlyn. Yes there is a lot of class implications towards it however the implication alone didn't mean that it foreshadowed Piltover and Zaun 'Unite against a common foe". Because every-time two characters work together its through the means of a common "Interpersonal goal". Vi and Caitlyn they both had different goals "Caitlyn" wanted to figure out what happened during the progress day attack meanwhile "Vi" wanted to go in and find her sister and get back at Silco. And as the story went on they gradually built a on bond. Viktor and Jayce worked together to use Hex-tech to help people, although they had various different ideas of "how" to use Hex-tech. Vi and Jinx unite to get Warwick, while at the same time salvaging there broken relationship. And that's not something that can be replicated with "Two cities" because that's too large scale to unite through "Interpersonal goals" (More on that later).

Also yes I'm aware of "What could've been" its a sad moment and something more beautiful and poignant then what the Season 2 finale ever was. However It's also important to note that the peace wasn't perfect and Silco had a lot of second thoughts on trying to go through with it. And that the council also were very much against this whole deal. And that's the tragedy of "What could've been" its a dead deal, Piltover and Zaun aren't able to reunite and there will be long term fractures. Similar to how Jinx cut ties with Vi and that there is no going back to there family. That is what S1 sets up, that there is no going back.

Now the show didn't have to end with Piltover and Zaun holding hands and making peace immediately however having the characters come against a common enemy is such a cheap way to end the show. It means that the conflict doesn't resolve by having all that what happened between Piltover and Zaun being acknowledge or addressed. So while yes the epilogue "Alludes to" the work needing to be done. However the politics stop being relevant after episode 4 and then suddenly in episode 8 we have this "Big world ending threat" that just has the character's put aside there differences. And that's just not compelling.

And this is something that the writers acknowledge as un-engaging. Here's a statement from Christian Linke.

"Many writers talk about being "character driven" without actually writing character driven stories. If you ask your hero whether or not they well help save the world from an alien invasion, the answer always is "yes duh". Thus the character doesn't REALLY have a decision to make. The sole question that remains is "HOW are they gonna overcome their obstacles?"--which is entertaining, but it really doesn't drive the story forward with full autonomy. I think Alex and I gravitate towards stories that leave characters with or even impossible choices."

Here's another quote from Amanda Overton.

"I think of this in terms of what a character hopes and fears. You have to know what these are (and make sure the audience knows too) and them to tug a character towards impossible decisions. I also think you have to be able to relate to these hopes and fears. As Christian mentioned, the fear of dying in an alien invasion isn't relatable. Neither is the hope of winning a civil war (for most people), what made Silco's quest for Zaun's freedom relatable is that it was rooted in the his hope that he could win back his brother Vander's resect. And without his respect, Silco feared he was the "dirty little thing" his station in life always ascribed to him. Fearing you aren't good enough, and craving respect from family are deeply relatable emotions, This is what a "character driven story" means to me.

Source: https://old.reddit.com/r/arcane/comments/yp9d4b/s1_spoilers_were_christian_linke_and_alex_yee/ivnapve/?context=3

So this here is why so many people have issue with this finale. It removes all meaningful choice from the two cities and "forces them" to work together. So nothing about this finale of "Two cities uniting against a common enemy" have any of the character's make any meaningful goals in the end and more like their working together out of moral obligation. This has been a huge problem with season 2

It introduces big grand out their things such as grand-time loops, alternate realities/multiverse, the Black Rose,Hive minds ,end of the world stakes all of which takes away from the more grounded interpersonal stakes that were established in the first season. On top of that you can't really juggle all of these plot points in 9 episode season without feeling bloated.

I get the whole "I'm the dirt under your nails" comment and how they are saying "There is still work to be done". However the finale had nothing to do with the "Class conflict", the only "real reference to the cities moving forward is Sevika having a seat on the council." Thats just too brief and is the only reference to the conflict between Piltover and Zaun we get after they were dropped in episode 4. And so it feels less like a meaningful step forward and more like a weak resolution. Yes 'No one wins wars". However this really isn't "A war" its just a copy of"Avenger's age of Ultron" generic and un-engaging.

“What happened to rebel Vi? Season 2 destroyed her character!”

“What happened to rebel Vi” is that Vander took her to the bridge where her parents died in his revolution and asked her what she was willing to lose. Then she meets Cait who is gentle and kind while still being tough and it makes her rethink how she sees topside. When Jinx tells her she changed too, that’s what she’s talking about.

I’m sorry if you thought Vi was going to be a topside-hating revolutionary in Season 2, but that’s clearly not where her character arc was going. Remember how she forced her way between Ekko and Cait? It seemed very straightforward that was the role her character was taking on.

I feel similar about people who act like the show was betraying its premise because it ended with reconciliation/Zaun and Piltover working together. Again, the fact that two of the most important relationships were between characters from both sides and that they made a point of talking about Zaun and Piltover first coming together against a common enemy was a pretty clear indicator that was the plan.

Now, I get being annoyed that that was what they chose to do. You don’t have to love the creative decisions of media, just like media doesn’t have to compromise its creative direction to satisfy you. But not liking that they went that direction is not the same as the show having bad writing or engaging in character assassination.

Everything Vi did in season 2 was very much in character with how she changed and who she became throughout Season 1. Hell, she used enforcers and Hextech to raid Shimmer facilities before Commander Kiramman ever threw on a beret. So, yes, actually wearing the uniform was a huge and complicated decision that she was definitely not happy about, but it also fell in line with what she had been doing.

There’s meat for another post at some point about the three different Zaun/enforcer partnerships we see in the show: Vander/Greyson, Silco/Marcus, and Cait/Vi; but I’m not going to go into that now.

TLDR: “Rebel Vi” who wants to fight all of topside hasn’t existed since the end of the second episode of the show.

Editing to add that Vi doesn’t see attacking Chem Barons as attacking Zaun; she’s taking down the people who are destroying Zaun.

[respectthepetty]

I wanna talk about the toe

You know, the scene where Fujisawa squeezed Sei's injured toe!

In the first episode, Kaori stated that a broken nail was actually a simple fracture and really just needed a little care to strengthen it.

Which is exactly what she did for Sei

But just like everything else in this show, this discussion isn't about a toe. The toe could be about the embarrassment we feel, so we continue to suffer even when an easy fix exists.

And it could also be about the true source of pain.

Kaori and Fujisawa are not bad people, and the show hasn't presented them as such, but Sei questioned if Kaori was aware of how upset Hagiwara was about the growing distance in their relationship.

Then the show immediately answered that question through Ayako's testimony. Kaori isn't just aware; she's happy about their situation.

Sei also asked what Kaori didn't like about Hagiwara.

And the show answered that as well. Kaori doesn't like that he is a man.

They aren't broken. It could just be a fracture. And there is an easy fix. But instead, they continue to suffer.

Then there is the actual toe, which is Sei's toe. He hit his foot on the table, in the house of a man who designs furniture.

Yet Fujisawa is rarely home.

Sei hurt his foot after Fujisawa avoided their conversation, and Fujisawa hadn't been home or spoken to Sei since, which is why he barely found out that Sei had hurt his foot after dinner. Then, he immediately squeezed the toe.

Regardless if Fujisawa designed the table that Sei accidentally walked into, he was part of the reason Sei was in pain. And at first, I felt he wasn't to blame and thought he didn't even notice. But just like with Kairo, he is aware. And he keeps doing it. He squeezed Sei's toe. He just heard the story about how it was hurt. He was looking directly at the toe. And. He. Squeezed. It. He wasn't even gentle when taking off Sei's sock.

Sei excuses the behavior and tells him it doesn't even hurt anymore, but this is the basis of their entire relationship it seems. Fujisawa does something that hurts Sei, and Sei lets it go. It's a vicious little cycle.

Once again, the show hasn't painted anyone as the villain, yet Sei has specifically stated multiple times who he thinks is a "good man," and it isn't Fujisawa.

During this scene, Hagiwara questions Sei about what Fujisawa does for him that makes Sei want to be nice back to him, and the only thing of substance Sei offers is that Fujisawa agreed to live with him.

He states Fujisawa is patient with him, but Fujisawa also demands he never meet up with his pen pal. Sei also states that Fujisawa concedes often, yet the friend they just encountered stated that if anyone wanted to speak to Sei, they had to go through Fujisawa.

It's all very normal behavior due to the circumstances. None of it seems malevolent. And yet Fujisawa wasn't interested in Sei's foot until Sei mentioned that he spoke to his co-worker who asked his girlfriend to look at his foot. Then, he squeezed the toe, which is an odd reaction. Or is it all very normal behavior due to the circumstances?

Sei doesn't have friends. He never attended the work dinners before. Yet now he is going out for dinners, has a co-worker whose girlfriend helped him, has another co-worker who is a bit afraid of him and he finds it funny, and a pen pal who has a girlfriend who he chats with through an email account that just happens to be Fujisawa's name and birthday.

Which reminds me of this co-worker and her wild story.

The woman is in a bad relationship. She is aware that she is in a bad relationship. There is an easy fix. But she doesn't leave.

Everyone, including Kairo and Fujisawa, are very aware of the situation that is unraveling in their relationships, but nobody wants to apply the easy fix. They are avoiding the issues and causing more suffering. Which is strange because Sei and Hagiwara have been shown to take responsibility and fix problems.

So why doesn't Kairo tell Hagiwara that she isn't sexually attracted to him anymore when he tries to initiate sex? Why doesn't Fujisawa tell Sei about his feelings (of jealously) instead of squeezing his toe? Because the easy fixes require communication, and they refuse to communicate, which is why this entire relationship between Hagiwara and Sei extended beyond one email.

Because it was never about the toe.

[h-sleepingirl]

Dolly in the Art Gallery: A Charmed 2025 Scene Log/Recap

“Art is how we decorate space, and music is how we decorate time.”

I first heard this Jean-Michel Basquiat quote in a rope class from Barkas, in the context of how we play within both space and time in a kink scene. I think about it frequently, especially as I feel more and more passionately about the brutally human impulse to create art.

I have been coming to hypnosis events since 2013, before Charmed existed -- my first event was packed with my own manic energy, held in a dungeon where people could hypnotize me basically at will. No hotel staff, no sneaking back to a private room. I developed a reputation as an aesthetically pleasing subject, often put on display in subtle and overt ways.

I have grown up in this community. Essentially my entire adult life has been spent involved in going to events and cons. I'm 33 now, and as Charmed celebrates its 10th year I've perhaps been unconsciously influenced to reflect on myself aging.

I feel so much older than that 21 year old exhibitionist. I'm more reserved, quieter, more selective, and certainly smarter. I like who I'm becoming, but I do miss parts of who I used to be -- that confidence, that energy. 

On Friday evening I looked at the schedule and saw there was going to be a Gallery of Living Art -- it's been a staple at Charmed for a number of years, but I'd never done more than peek inside.

I thought to myself: “Why not try to get in touch with that playful younger self? Why not show everyone who I am nowadays? Why not live out a fantasy?” 

Surely I’m not too old. Surely I haven’t grown out of this.

The time comes and I connect with my partner about it. He knows that one of my absolute favorite things is being totally frozen. We decide against anything complicated. No one will touch me or trigger me or anything like that. It’s the most “negotiating” we've maybe ever done, but I still leave all details to him. I tell him: “I was really just thinking this is an opportunity for me to sit blank and still for a long time.”

We walk into the room, and it’s overwhelming. People are setting up intricate exhibits with lots of creative interactions. There is a sheet we need to fill out to describe what our “art” is, which my partner writes on cryptically.

“Dolly can't talk. Duh…”

“Dolly is precious -- don't touch!”

Under “Artist”, where he is meant to put his name, he writes a question mark.

I am so in love with him, watching his mind work on the spot.

We find a place in the loud room and look at each other. We are a fluid force of nature in a bed together, spontaneous and wild. This planning doesn't feel like us. This hypnosis isn't a formality, per se, but it just feels sort of like “We both know how this is going to end on some level -- so how do we spend this time?”

He gingerly removes my name tag and starts murmuring to me. 

Being a dolly is such a luxurious treat that the moment he suggests it, I crumble, gripping his shirt with my weak little fingers, moaning too softly to be heard by anyone but him.

He poses me. He fixes my gaze blank and forward. He lets me practice standing and sitting. This kind of rehearsal is unfamiliar for us, and I almost relish doing something that feels a little awkward.

I am a dolly when he leaves me, frozen and posed, but I know it is going to take a couple minutes to settle in. I am a dolly getting comfortable, a dolly with twinges of self-consciousness. After a couple minutes he walks me over to a different chair, one that is highlighted by empty space around it, and I sit, and I know this is truly where I am supposed to be on display.

Finally, total stillness rushes over me like pure relief. 

I sit, and I stare, and I don’t do anything else. My mind is blank, and sometimes all there is inside my head is “I’m a dolly, I’m a dolly,” in my little dolly voice. It is pure, simple bliss.

People begin to come up to me to look at me. I am a good dolly and I am silent and I do not move even my eyes. They patiently read my sign and then observe me. I cannot change my body position to be any more or less appealing to them, I cannot hide nor flaunt myself.

Some people say things to me, little compliments and appreciations, and I can’t really process their words. The little dolly voice in my head screams in pleasure when I’m spoken to and given attention.

I have ADHD, I’m addicted to my phone, I’m a fidgeter. But there is nothing that carries the unique pleasure of being frozen and still. It reminds me of Quaker meetings, of spiritual silence and meditation that makes one feel time itself as though it has a sensory texture.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel talks about the Jewish sabbath as proof that it is not intuitive for us to sanctify time. But nevertheless as Jews we must learn to do it to make shabbat holy every week. Shabbat is “a cathedral in time,” he says, and I’ve been thinking about how much that applies to my experience of hypnosis. Hypnosis is not a physical object. We may sometimes have props but we cannot touch trance and it leaves no marks. It is time that is the sacred dimension in hypnosis, the time that we set aside (“kadosh” in Hebrew) with another human being.

Heschel says we are slaves to space and material things. And in this moment I feel like I have gotten as close as I can to releasing that. I am not even moving my physical body within the physical world. I am just relishing each passing second of stillness, building my cathedral in time.

Of course, sometimes I think sacred space and objects are very important. After all, I am in a space that is incredibly rare, that only exists very briefly, that I had to travel at length to get to.

And I am an object -- art -- inside of it. I am literally decorating the space, as Basquiat would say.

Am I thinking all of this as I sit there motionless? No, not with any sophistication. I truly feel blank. But I am feeling flashes of this as abstract mental sensations that I will untangle later.

Something else strikes me very quickly that I observe within. When people walk up to look at me, something inside me tenses up. I realize that I am unconsciously preparing myself to talk to them. I have been coming to cons for so long, and especially since beginning to write books I always meet a ton of new people every year who come up to me to talk, which I adore. But right now I am in a space where I literally cannot have a conversation with anyone. I don’t even have my nametag on anymore -- my partner was so clever to remove it.

It is the opposite of vending books, where I sit in a chair and am helpless in the sense that I must engage in conversation with the people who come up to meet me. Now, I literally cannot talk to anyone, and they cannot talk to me, and most people may not even know who I am.

It is a hit of extreme objectification, more real than it has ever felt. I am not sleepingirl -- I am a dolly. “Who” I am doesn’t matter. I am art.

My partner also is not sitting there receiving compliments for me. He is nearby, in eyesight, just watching. But he’s anonymous too. And there is something about this mutual anonymity that makes me feel even prouder about us as a couple. There is no performance of who we are. I don’t know how to describe it, but obviously it feels more authentic than public play usually ever does. Like a little secret we are sharing a corner of.

And he looks ever the artist, sitting back and watching me. I feel very strongly that this little scene isn’t the art -- it’s me. Our relationship is what’s really on display. All the work he’s done over 7 years of brainwashing me, real work on my personality and identity, my wardrobe, every single way I express myself and who I am. The people coming by are seeing his bimbo, his dolly, his [x] -- without necessarily knowing who either of us are.

The rhythm is addicting. My mind babbles my self-given dolly mantra over and over, I luxuriate in the stillness, and I stare. I only can sort of half-see with darkened vision, though my eyes are wide. I love when people notice me sitting there -- their expressions change as they observe me. They step into my metaphorical space, which is eerily silent compared to the revelry of the creative demonstrations that fill the room. They are no longer “being entertained,” and no one can communicate to them what I am doing -- they must engage with me out of their own curiosity.

Sometimes they decide to talk to me. I can’t process most of it, but I remember a few interactions.

Someone says, “What an excellent dolly.”

Someone else notices that I’m wearing a bracelet that says “bimbo,” and says, “Even the details on this one are exquisite.”

Someone else says, “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen sleepingirl play before.”

That last one hits me in the gut with memories of a time now long past: Play in public spaces was universal at cons; I couldn’t move from one place to another without someone dropping me into trance; absolutely everyone knew what I looked like when hypnotized.

Even now as I am on display, I have a mask on, and the people can’t see my gently parted lips.

It is a rush of emotion that is very complex for my simple little dolly head, but it goes away.

For a long while, I just exist as a thing in bliss while the room -- the whole world -- bubbles with activity around me. 

Eventually even as I sit frozen and blank, a little timer starts ticking in my head -- I could sit here for much longer, but I don’t want to make him wait for me, and I have other things I want to do tonight.

Reading Heschel has been helping me release some of that odd panic that bubbles up when I awaken from trance -- the feeling that magic is slipping through my fingers, memories are slipping out of my mind, and I can take no memento from it. I sometimes write, draw, or make music to try to capture the things I feel in hypnosis with my partner. I think it is from that impulse to be able to touch and hold hypnosis, to make it a “thing” in space as opposed to something of time.

But I do think there is something else, just a human drive to create art about this transcendent experience that we engage in together. I need to create art to try to communicate the perfect way I don’t move and my eyes go glassy. I need to express my emotions, my desires, my dreams, my love. I am only human, a human blown away by this very human thing we do that we call hypnosis.

Only my partner sees it, and he does see so much into the soul of it for me. But this is exactly what I have wanted -- a chance to publicly communicate the beauty of what he and I do. To make this art by performing it, living it. To engage in a human act of creativity by having my humanity stripped away from me.

I am a bimbo, a dolly, I am art -- and that doesn’t go away when I get up to tell him I am done sitting here. I am his art. I am a manifestation of his creativity in this world, and he has a beautifully creative mind which I love so dearly.

This is serious for me, this is real for me, this is so highly personal and jealously guarded as my own precious identity.

Ten years ago I laid my head on his lap and he transformed my eyes into dolly eyes and told me that someday he would turn my whole body into a dolly body. And as we laid together in a bed after the Gallery on Friday he talked about how I had those dolly eyes again in that room. But to me, it’s not about being a dolly, or even being a bimbo. It’s about creating art together, art with a power imbalance. And fucking respecting that as sacred and exciting.

I don’t have much else to say except extreme heartfelt gratitude to Mazirian for running the Gallery, and everyone who came by to look at me and said nice things to me and joined me in my world for just a little while. 

(If you’re curious, I was sitting there for about 30 minutes.)

[imliterallyf7ckin9crazy]

“ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔶𝔢𝔱, ℑ’𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢”

Squid game season 2

In-ho x f!reader

Warnings: in ho is obsessive, stalking, poverty, cannon violence, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, loss of sanity, reader is an absurdist, childhood abuse, obsession, sad stuff.

NOT PROOF READ OR EDITED. This will also be a THREE PART SERIES bc quite honestly I can’t write much at one time smh. Also do not take reader too seriously she crazy as hell.

Also sorry reader and in-ho barely interact this chapter bc I needed to set the scene so you know what I’m talking abt. Pls read still tho bc I think it’s cool :3 you’ll need it for part two and part three.

TLDR: this is gonna be long af. So basically the reader is previous winner like gi hun only she went kinda crazy after her first game. So she gets like mentally locked in the games so to speak and so after she wins she doesn’t pay any of her debts and actually tried to accumulate more so she can be recruited again. She gets her card and when she talks to in ho he is like “why would u do this” and she’s like “bro bc i think I understand you and shi” and he’s like “if you can win again we can talk lol” and she is like bet. Only he tries to rig it against her. But she is dead set on winning.

A/N: am I projecting? Maybe. Also this shit is LONG sorry it took so long

————

Sometimes, when you find yourself winding through random back alleys or when you lie your head to rest at night, you can still hear the screams..

You can still feel the reverberation of each gunshot fired into the innocent flesh of desperate people. The wetness of the blood that splatters your face as others die before your eyes and you can’t quite tell if the screaming your were hearing was theirs or yours.

And sometimes you can still make out all the promises that were made in the dormitory. The faint memories of the voices of friends you made. The exact sound of their voices lost to time, but the faces of their lifeless bodies remained unchanged in your mind. Some of them were at the hands of players and some of pink soldiers.

And one at your hands.

Life had been cruel to you long before being convinced to risk it all. To say your early life was messy would be an understatement. Years of falling to sleep bloody and bruised, countless hours of begging for basic needs, and endless attempts to run away and make it better. Trying anything to make you feel whole. Like nothing ever happened at all. Once you got a job your parents kicked you out and left you to fend for yourself. At first it was great, you didn’t feel like you were being suffocated anymore. Until you got fired.

The place you worked at was shut down due to the owner embezzling the money and getting caught. The business soon went down at for lack of funds. And the reality of life became clear to you once again. Over time the hope you had to escape your parents and live the life you dreamed of as a young girl was drained from your soul. Ever since then you’ve been doing this. Wandering the streets aimlessly, almost as if you had never been in your home city a day in your life. You can’t even see the faces of those around you. Every face is replaced by one of four faces… ever since then that is.

The first face is younger you, battered and bruised to all hell. You see her face on usually younger people. No matter what they’re saying or doing the expression she gives is always the same. Glosses over eyes and facial features set in a way that screams both “why would this happen to me” and “what the hell became of us”. You cant even begin to answer those questions.

The second is the face of your father. Almost every man looks like him now. Though you haven’t seen him in years, since the game he’s come back to haunt you. To remind you there’s more wrong with you than what happened in those couple days. That there’s more broken about you. His expression stays angry. Tense like he’s going to hit you. For this you almost never interact with men and if you do it always end poorly.

The third is the one drives you insane most.

There was this beautiful, kind girl you once knew. Growing up she was the only thing that made living worth it. You were picked on quite a bit at school, be it because you never really spoke or because you had to be such a goodie two shoes to stay out of trouble at home. But she always stepped in at just the right time to save you. Even though her own home situation was much less than desirable she still found time to comfort you when you were in shambles or got into trouble to defend you. You both told each other everything, both pillars in the other’s lives. But after being kicked out you were forced to lose contact, solely because you couldn’t contact her or get to her part of town. That was until you joined the games at your lowest possible time to try and get some money to keep your loaners from finding you and gutting you for profit. Guess who you saw.

The girl that meant everything to you was suddenly standing before you. Deep You both scolded each other for getting into so much debt you had to meet here. Giving each other shit, like you used to. Looking back you almost chuckle at that for the nativity you both had. You watched people die together. Sprayed and stained with so much blood you didn’t now who’s it was. She kept you alive in there, with out her keeping you calm you probably would have died or quite frankly killed yourself. Against all odds you made it to the final three together against a man who needed the money for his family. She told you it was “okay “to take his life in his sleep after the final dinner because he would have done the same if either of you if you had fallen asleep. That morals in this situation would only get you both stuffed into a gift box. And so you both took his life for the sake of yours. You can still feel your stomach dropping as he pleaded for his life while you and your friend stared down at him cruelly, begging falling on deaf ears as you tore him to shreds with dirty steak knives.

Of course after that it was final two. When the last game was revealed, squid game, you remembered only one could leave. Actually, the both of you used to play squid game in school. Even if it’s typically a “boys game”, she was great defense and you were quick enough for easy offense. Genuinely, those were one of your fondest memories. Of course you’d be pinned against each other for the last time. Though you didn’t know it, the VIPs plans were to be able to watch an animalistic death match. However, you and your friend came to an agreement. No weapons, no fist fights to the death. You both knew you couldn’t kill each other, so you decided to simply play the game for the last time. The loser would take their lives themselves, with honor. And so you did. It became your last good memory. You were laughing for the last time, giggling like you were back to being school girls beating the popular boys at their favorite game. You still roughed each other up, nearing the end you both couldn’t ignore you were fighting for the death. That one of your lives hinged on this moment.

At the end, it was you who had won. You told her that you could both just back down and go home. You tried to convince her but she was set on this being the end, regardless how much you cry. You still remember what she told you before she slit her own throat clean open with her steak knife right before you, blood mixing with the mud and rain of the arena.

She said “I can’t go back there. Not without that money. I’ve had more fun here with you than I ever did my whole life. I got to be a little girl again with you. I can’t go back. This is the way I want to go, y/n.” And gave you a smile with tears turned invisible because of the rain. But you knew she was crying. “I love you”

then she was gone. As you rushed to her side, screaming her name until your throat was raw and starting to bleed you noticed her face. This look of bliss on her face, this twisted look of satisfaction graced her features as she bled from her self inflicted wound and stained your clothes and soul forever. You see that face on almost every woman. Eyes wide in ecstasy, faint smile and whole face covered in bright red blood. How badly you wished it was you instead of her, how badly you wanted to feel the contentment in life she had in those final not. That day you decided when you died it would be like her on that day.

Lastly, the fourth one you weren’t sure if it really counted as a face. It was the black geometric mask of the man who supposedly put you there. After you won you got to speak with him on the way home. Blindfold sure, but you found a tiny sliver where you were able to make out what he looked like. It was less soulless than the pink guards you had seen. It actually looked like a face, only it was made of many shapes. No one ever has his face, but you see him everywhere, more than any of the others. He’s always in the corner of your eye, you can make out his mask in the shadows of buildings, swearing you can see him watching you through your house window at night. No matter where you are you feel him watching.

For those reasons you almost never go out during the day, preferring to slink around and waste your hard earned murder money on stupid shit or alcohol. After all, why not? It goes without saying you were never the same after the games. It became all you thought about, every waking hour became ‘how was that possible? Who was really behind it? Why would they do this?’ So many questions swirled in your mind. You had theories for each of those questions already sure, but physically no way to know for certain. That not knowing sunk so deeply into your blood and poisoned your mind you came up with a new question to silence the voices that screamed at you and the faces you saw.

‘How do I get back?’

You became obsessed with many insane schemes and ploys to get yourself back in. Countless hours poured into the optimum plan to weasel a way inside the game again and truly figure this shit out. So you went back to the basics

Question: how where the games possible? Answer: clearly it was a high budget operation, meaning the money was coming from somewhere. But I mean come on-that’s too much money for just one person not even including the cash prize! So it has to be multiple people funding the whole thing. Thats theory #1

Question: who is really behind it? Answer: Ties into previous theory. If it’s multiple people, then who? Who’s setting it up and then who’s paying? Clearly that masked man is the leader or else he wouldn’t be so reclusive… but who is he throwing these games for? He said it’s just to give people a second chance but that just can’t be true but it can’t be just for him. There has to be people watching, that’s theory #2.

Question: why would they do this? Answer: clearly it’s not just for helping the poor- that much is obvious. Now here’s the theory you have that will be impossible to prove without going back. You were thinking about the games…. Kids games and team games. Like ones you would see on tv. Then you remembered how many cameras were everywhere. LITERALLY everywhere. Could just be security but it feels like more. Then the amount of cash and not everyone has that much money. What if there was a couple people paying to watch? Honestly you couldn’t tell if you were onto something or on something but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched by something bigger. Theory #3

And lastly and the most important question.

“How are you getting back?”

Why did they pick everyone? Because you had crazy amounts of debt. How did they get you there? Played games in train stations, then got picked up in a car and gassed out.

After months of speculation and planing this was what you could come up with. You had already paid off all of your debt and had so much left over money. You started spending recklessly, at one point just handing out money. People looked at you crazy but you didn’t even know it. You were in your own world let alone had the courage to look at their faces…

You began taking out extremely large loans with no intentions of paying anything. You were going out of your way to accumulate as much debt as possible. Consciously double crossing dangerous people. You kinda hoped sometimes that all these people would be able to find you and put you out of your misery but you were just too good at playing life threatening games. As the year went on you continued to pour so much money into the drain in hopes to be put back on the list for the games. Until that fated time of year came, when you remember being kidnapped.

You eventually realized no matter what you did you’d probably never run out of cash. One very late night after a particularly rough day you decided to gather all your money and dump it into your fire pit and set it all on fire. The tears running down your face contrasting with the wide smile on your face. It was a very bittersweet feeling to watch all the money you killed and almost died for burn in front of your eyes. The money 455 people fought and were slaughtered like animals for being reduced to ashes. But it also felt so good to lose it all and return to at least one about your old life. The time of recruitment was drawing near. You kept wasting money and hiding for your life until you gained even more debt than you had the first time. Honestly you were kind of impressed with yourself- think about it! You were able to accrue more debt in one year than you did your whole life up to this point.

It did briefly cross your mind that if this doesn’t work you literally burned all your money and multiple gangs and organizations wanting to harvest your organs for a quick paycheck. If you don’t get back in this year the chances of you trying again next year before one of many catch and kill you are extremely low. Oddly enough you didn’t mind living on the edge anymore, living within an inch of losing your life daily became so normal to you it almost felt fun. You started to see the world much differently the closer it came to hunt for that elusive recruiter. You think you’re starting understand the whole point of the games themselves.

The more you lived the way you did the more of humanity you saw. The lows of the human experience and the ugliness that controlled the heart of every person alive. And you noticed that the grand majority of these horrors revolved around money. Now that money had lost all value to you it became silly to see all these people just like you were so desperate for just enough money to save them to come along. To be fair it gets to a point where all you can do is pray it will work itself out.

But you watched people run themselves in circles for cash. Kill and be killed for cash. Lie, cheat, betray all for money. You see that no amount of money can take away the wrongs you did for it. All it really is is paper with no actual value. That money doesn’t really mean anything, it’s all an imaginary system people made themselves. All people do to become rich means nothing but they are greedy enough to put money before life. The money means nothing, the actions mean everything.

So then what’s the point of living? If it’s all based off a make believe value system built to extort and corrupt. If everything is rendered meaningless because people put values in the wrong things. If humanity is rotten to the core and unable to see what really matters then what the fuck is the reason to exist?

There is none. Isn’t that beautiful? All that you strive to do in life will not matter once you die. At death a successful man is as poor as a homeless man. In 100 years whatever you did in your small, insignificant life will be forgotten. There’s no point!! You could go and burn all your money, kill someone, lie and cheat and you’d STILL be on the same level as the richest person in the world. That revelation changed your whole view of the world and yourself.

Then the same day came again. The same exact day a year ago when you were suddenly approached by a man with a suitcase full of money and two pieces of paper. You went to the same train station at around the same time as you did before. Your mind was completely fogged with anticipation as your heart raced. You could barely walk straight or hear anything. You had to actually look at people to see if you could see that man, and every face was one you always tried to run from.

You breathed heavily and tears started to prick your eyes as they darted from person to person. You, your dad, your friend. You, your dad, your friend. They were everywhere. You felt as though you were going faint or throw up or both? You knew the people in the station had to be judging you even if you couldn’t quite see them. You felt like a fish In the ocean wandering without a reason. Eventually after you didn’t even know how long you chose to sit down on a bench and you just started to cry into your hands. You heard people mumble about if they should help you or not. Unsurprisingly no one did.

This wasn’t working and you were so fucked. But even as you cried you still believed this suffering was just a drop in the bucket. It didn’t really matter. Not anymore

Just as you were about to call it quits and go back home and hide until you couldn’t anymore you heard a voice so familiar it sent a shock through your whole body. Your head snapped up and a gasp was ripped from your throat

“Ms.(last name). I hoped we’d never have to meet here again”

Your eyes widened as you saw his face. It was the same man who came to you a year ago. You could actually see his face, the first real face you’ve seen on a person since you’ve gotten back since the game. All you could do is look up at him from your spot on the bench with wide delusional looking eyes.

“May I sit here?” He asks politely, to which you responded with a fast nod. He looked at you with this look of… pity? You figured you must look pretty pathetic nowadays. You have maybe 3 outfits total and you really haven’t been eating well. He smiled. before speaking again.

“Your debt has increased since the last time we met, but you knew that correct?” He asks. You nod again. You planned everything but what to say. “Why haven’t you payed it off?”

“Well I uh… kinda did? Most of it now is all new” you said with a shaky voice. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled a bit, finding it at least amusing. You knew it was an impressive feat. “I also set all my money on fire maybe a month or two ago? I’m actually not sure when…” you trailed off, trying to pinpoint the time when it dawned on you that you actually have had no true concept of time. You just know it’s been a year since you returned home. You can only really remember events but the time not so much.

“Ah, grown bored have we?” He mused. You knew that wasn’t quite it but seeing as you didn’t really know what’s made you do everything you have so far, only you knew you had to do it. You gave him another nod. He kept the same customer service type smile as he reached over and opened his case. It was set just as you remembered with the money and the ddakji. You sighed a bit before speaking “do I have to play again? I already know what happens and I don’t really want to be hit right now” you said, not really thinking. You didn’t know if you were in a place to be making requests but here you are.

You got another laugh from him, you didn’t know you were just so passively comical. “You dont have to, no. But maybe it will bring you back to your senses and you’ll live life how you were supposed to”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. ‘Live life like I was supposed to’. Is there any way someone is supposed to live? You didn’t think that way. You weren’t supposed to live any type of way, you should have died in that arena and-

“Are you sure this is what you want to do. What are you trying to gain?” His voice sounded pressed now, clearly trying to guide you into walking away. But if that was going to work you would have kept your money and moved far far away. You didn’t like being talked to like you didn’t know what’s made you were doing. You knew better than anyone you had lost your mind. You knew the things you were thinking, feeling, and thinking were most likely wrong. But you had no other option. No treatment for whatever illness is controlling your life.

“Im not trying to gain anything. I lost what I lost and I want it to stay gone…Please, just give me the card” your eyes were looking dead into his, voice wobbly with both terror and excitement. You held your hand out and you couldn’t even tell it was shaking. You couldn’t tell anything from anything. He lightly shook his head before reaching into his suits breast pocket and pulls out a brown business card. Upon seeing it you almost felt as if you were going to throw up right there. Your throat itched to scream and your legs twitched as if you were about to run away.

However when he placed the card into your hand all you did was close your fingers around it. Whole body shaking as you thanked him for the opportunity, just as you did when he gave it to you the first time. You both stood up and got ready to part ways for the second time. Right as you were about to bow your head he stopped you.

“Don’t become too full of yourself. Just because you won before means nothing the second time. I’ve seen many winners over the years, you will be no different than the other pieces of trash when you die in there. Is that really what you want?”

You opened your mouth to retaliate when he lifted his hand to stop you. “Have a great life, young miss. I hope you make the right decision” he says with his signature smirk and bow he walked in the direction opposite of the way you had to go. Presumably off to recruit more clueless individuals down on their luck. You had to hurry home now, you’d been out far too long and you knew people had people looking out for you. Waiting to catch you and make you pay. You quickly got out of the train station and started on your way back to the shitty, cheap hotel you’ve been hiding in. You’d been in that danm station for so long the sun had began to rise. The sky looked more pigmented, the air felt cleaner and you could actually think without hearing stray gunshots or phantom screams. You looked down at the small card in your clutches and flipped it over, revealing the number you had to call.

For the first time you hesitated in your plan. You were really about to go back to the place that ruined you. You missed the old version of you, when your real personality existed and you had a life. All you do all day is cry and shake and bang your head until you can form a thought. You were nothing like you remember being.

Maybe that’s what pulled you back there. The old you bringing you back to the last place she existed. A part of you actually did die in there, the part that still believed in people. She died right there with your friend, you left your soul in that dirt plot. And maybe you could find her again.

Once you got to the door of your room and got yourself inside you dialed up the number on your card and hit call. It rung a few times and when it picked up the automated voice command the same statement as before.

“If you wish to participate please state your full name and date of birth”

The words got stuck in your throat as you held the phone up to your mouth. This was your last chance to find something within you to back away.

“Y/n, D/O/B” you barely got it out fully as your stomach sank. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for. Nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing-

“Player 444.” That’s him. That man with the black mask, that’s his voice. Hearing your number made you hold your breath and lose your balance. It’s been so long since you’ve been called that name. You knew it was him because his voice changer was a slightly different pitch than the other workers. “What is the point of this?” He asked with a serious voice, bordering threatening. You had an answer for this. “There is none. Get it? If there’s no reason to do it there’s no reason not to.”

He only hummed in response. Seemingly understanding at least a bit of what you said. “I have questions for you” you continued. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This was the point. You just needed to know

“questions?” He repeated. You guess he’s never been pressed by someone before. Small amounts of amusement was in his voice as if shocked anyone would speak to him like that

“Yes questions that’s what I said. Who are you and how are you able to get our information. Where did you take me. What is the point of-“

“I’ll tell you what” he cut you off in the middle of your frantic questioning. It’s probably for the best of you would never had stopped talking for him to even answer. You waited on bated breath, hanging on his words as you kept the phone pressed flush against your skin. Compartmentalizing his voice and how he talks into a file in your mind. “You want to play again because you want to know if your right, is that correct”

what he said caught you so off guard you didn’t even reply when he gave you a chance to respond. Every word got stuck in your throat to the point all that came out was strangled starts of a sentence. “You must have many theories in that little mind of yours. You’re coming because you think you’re smart enough to figure everything out, don’t you?”

Well… like kinda yeah that is what you think. You didn’t really know what to say, he hit it right on the head. You did think you could figure it out, actually you think you already have most of it. Not even his taunting could pull you out of that.

“Let’s play a game. If you can win again we can have a talk and I’ll tell you all you need to know. Only if you’re the last one standing.”

You knew it could never be that easy. With an operation of this scale and price you knew you would never get an offer so open. ‘If you can win again I’ll tell you anything’ they must believe you lost your brains when you lost your mind. Suddenly you did feel like you really didn’t know what you were getting into. It feels like a trap has already been set for you, it feels like they knew you were going to return all along. You struggled to breathe until you manged to force out a “okay”.

There was a muffled chuckle you could barely hear. There was something different now. You weren’t so sure about your plan anymore. He hadn’t said anything out right threatening or scary yet you knew he had something in store for you or else he never would put so much on the line. You just made a deal with the devil.

The original phone opera voice came back to tell you where to be picked up and that it would be this night. The phone hung up after that. All that remained was a deafening silence. It was done. You got what you had so badly wanted. But why doesn’t it feel as good as you wanted. Why don’t you feel fixed? Why hasn’t the old you come back to fix everything? That sinking feeling started bubbling over as you stood there with your phone in your hand. Beginning to hyperventilate you make your way to the crumby hotel bathroom and splash water in your face. You keep from looking in the mirror because you know what you’ll see. It will either be your friend or younger you. It used to be a huge problem when you first got out. Every time you’d forget and see them staring back at you you’d have another break down. Now it just puts you on edge, but it would be best if you just refrained from looking. You keep telling yourself that you can figure it out, you keep telling yourself it doesn’t matter if you live or die in there, you keep believing there’s no point in running from what would free you of your pain. Something deep inside tells you that you are close to seeing what the people who run this game do. That the epiphany they had to come up with this would make it all worth it. All you wanted was to see the bigger picture.

You could die happy and content dying just like your dear friend if it meant you could understand what it was all for. It’s on the tip of your tongue waiting to said and recognized.

You spend hours mulling over thoughts similar to these ones while you counted down the time before being relocated to what might as well be hell. You knew at this point you were walking into a death trap made just for you. You were going to either be granted the privilege of seeing the greater purpose of your suffering. You believed there had to be a reason, someone had to have figured out something huge to make them come to this.

Finally the fateful time reared its ugly head and you tugged on your coat. You looked at your room for the last time. You stood in the door way as your eyes brushed over all you had been. Papers scattered about, bottles of alcohol strewn about and random belongings resting in odd spots. It was time to say good bye once again. You are willing to leave it all behind and relive everything if it meant finding a purpose.

Eventually you arrived to you meet spot, an extremely expensive looking limousine was parked and waiting for you exactly where the phone operator said it would be. It was shiny and black with completely tinted windows. The anxiety you felt caused you to raggedly pant as you approached the car with unsteady steps. You gently opened the car door and stepped inside. The interior was white and luxurious and in front of your seat laid a golden pig. You sighed and closed your eyes waiting for the gas to kick in and claim your consciousness. Tears rolled slowly down your face as every even that happened in the games flash before your eyes. The blood, the screaming, the bits of brains and guts dried onto your clothes, and most of all the severed neck of the only friend you ever had. And to even your surprise you began to smile and giggle as you saw what happened to you play out like a movie in your minds eye. The gas started to be deployed into your enclosed car as your giggles became louder and more deranged. Sobs and laughter being mixed together as everything became hazy and burred.

Right before you black out you hear the masked man’s voice come from the little pigs speaker, loud and clear

“Welcome back, player 444. I hope you are happy with your decision”

_______

Sorry the friend is gonna remain nameless so you can imagine whoever. But next chapter when you get in the games there will be named characters. Again sorry you and in ho barely talked I just needed to get the exposition out before writing the main bits. Thank you sm gang and the next part will be out soon.

Also sorry end is kinda rushed I’m tired

[chilledstrawberrysoda]

I think one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the kings men and possibly all of all for the game is when Neil and Kevin are arguing in the locker room after the win against UT because Neil was talking shit about the Ravens and Riko. I think it's the only time before Jackson and Romero come for him after the Belmont Binghamton game that the weight of what Neil knows is going to happen to him and the heartbreak he is experiencing in slow motion comes to the surface and is outwardly visible and even then the only person that picked up on it was Andrew and it didn't help because there was nothing anyone could do.

Kevin is angry about Neil antagonizing Riko publicly because he knows there will be backlash and he is rightfully afraid but this is the first time since Kevin found out who Neil is that he realizes Neil is afraid too. He appears fearless to Kevin so Kevin assumes it's hubris that makes Neil willing to stand his ground over and over again but it's not.

Neil had accepted his fate at that point, and instead of turning tail and getting himself the hell out of there, his only motivation is that if he can't have this at least Kevin will survive it.

At least Kevin gets to live on and play exy and be the best player.

When they talk about it again after Baltimore in the cabin Kevin asks him outright "how do you do it?" He asks "why aren't you afraid?" But Neil admits he IS afraid but he thinks willfully giving up the best thing that has ever happened to him (i.e. exy, the foxes, Andrew) would be worse than death.

There's a popular quote by choreographer Martha Graham that goes like this

A dancer dies twice — once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful

This sentiment is echoed by Neil in the kings men but also implied throughout the series. Giving up the things and the people he loves would be more painful than his actual death. That's why he drops his duffle and phone when he is taken as a signal to Andrew and Kevin. He needs them to know; he did not run, he did not give up, he did not leave them willingly. He accepted death to protect them but his last act before he let go of Neil Josten was to let them know in the only way he could that he would have held on forever if he were given the chance.

Neil's action throughout the books start to shift Kevin's mindset. Neil tells Kevin he stayed for him. Before Neil and Andrew's not nothing ever began, Neil stayed because he believed in Kevin and he wants so badly for Kevin to try. Because before Neil literally came back from the dead after Baltimore, the only thing he could hope was that after the dust settles Kevin would be on top. The first time Kevin gets any hint at that is in that locker room in Texas. I would love to read this scene from Kevin's perspective. As soon as he realizes how desperate Neil is, he stops fighting him. I think it might be the first time Kevin sees Neil as the scared kid he is and not just the partner that is willing to put himself in the line of fire for others.

I feel like that scene is always read as just Neil being kinda mean and calling Kevin a coward again but it's so complex and I wish it went on for longer. It's one of the few insights we get into Neil's crumbling psyche as his demise approaches and one of the few times he is fully honest with anyone before Baltimore and it's just so important to how his character is viewed for the remainder of the novel.

[rosedustdreams]

if you do angst, could you do walker and you having a miscommunication (him thinking you rejected his confession or are dating someone else) and dont talk for a bit but then make up?

Only You

Walker’s confession had hit you like a lightning bolt on a clear day. You’d been standing together during a break on set, joking about how much Percy Jackson seemed to mirror him in real life. But then he’d suddenly gone quiet, shuffling nervously before blurting it out.

“I like you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like… more than a friend.”

You froze. Completely blindsided, your mind raced to catch up with his words. Walker Scobell, the guy who could make you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, liked you? You opened your mouth to respond, but your brain failed to produce anything coherent.

Before you could figure out what to say, a crew member appeared, calling your name and gesturing that you were needed for the next scene.

“I—uh—” you stammered, glancing between Walker and the person waiting for you. “I gotta—”

“Go,” Walker said quickly, stepping back with a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

You wanted to stay, to explain, but the urgency in the crew member’s voice pulled you away. You didn’t look back as you rushed off, though the weight of Walker’s words clung to you the entire day.

----

The days that followed were agonising. Walker wasn’t just avoiding you—he was practically a ghost. The easy banter you’d shared was gone, replaced with stiff nods and short, polite answers when you tried to talk to him.

You tried to corner him during lunch one day, only for him to grab his food and walk off before you could even sit down. Another time, you found him at craft services, sipping on a bottle of water.

“Walker, can we talk?” you asked, your voice hesitant but hopeful.

“Sorry, can’t,” he mumbled, not even glancing your way. “Busy.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you feeling like the ground had crumbled beneath you.

You didn’t understand. Sure, you hadn’t given him an answer, but it wasn’t because you didn’t like him. You just needed time to process, to figure out how to tell him how much he meant to you.

The breaking point came a few days later when you overheard him talking to Leah in a quiet corner of the set.

“It’s fine,” Walker said, leaning against a chair with his arms crossed. His voice was bitter, a tone you’d never heard from him before. “She’s obviously into someone else. Why else would she just leave after I told her how I felt?”

Leah frowned, clearly trying to console him. “Are you sure? Maybe she was just caught off guard.”

“She didn’t even answer me,” Walker said with a dry laugh. “That’s answer enough, right? And I get it. She’s amazing—way out of my league. I never should’ve said anything.”

Your heart shattered at his words. He thought you didn’t like him back. He thought you’d rejected him.

The next morning, you decided you couldn’t let this go on any longer. You found Walker sitting alone in a quiet corner of the set, scrolling through his phone. He looked up briefly when you walked over but quickly averted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly, sitting down beside him.

“Not much to say,” he replied, his tone cool. “I get it.”

“Walker.” You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t get it. I overheard what you said to Leah.”

His eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “You… you heard that?”

“Yes,” you admitted. “And you’ve got it all wrong.”

He frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t leave that day because I didn’t like you,” you explained, your voice trembling slightly. “I left because I was shocked. You caught me completely off guard, and then I got pulled away before I could say anything. And after that, I didn’t know how to bring it up again.”

Walker’s brow furrowed as he processed your words. “So… you’re not into someone else?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m not. Walker, I like you too. I’ve liked you for a while now. I just never thought you’d feel the same way.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe you. Then his face softened, and the corners of his mouth lifted into the boyish grin you’d missed so much.

“You like me?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief and cautious hope.

“Yes,” you said, smiling despite the nerves swirling in your chest. “I like you.”

His grin widened, and he let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. I… I really thought I’d blown it.”

“You didn’t blow it,” you assured him. “But I swear, if you avoid me like that again, we’re gonna have problems.”

Walker laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made your chest feel warm. “Deal. No more ghosting, I promise.”

“Good,” you said, nudging him playfully.

“So,” he said, his tone turning shy again. “Does this mean I can officially ask you out?”

“You’d better,” you teased, your smile growing.

“Okay,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. “Would you like to go out with me?”

“Yes, Walker,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’d love to.”

And just like that, the tension of the past few days melted away, replaced with something warm and hopeful. It wasn’t perfect it never is but as Walker smiled at you, you knew it was the start of something amazing.

A/N: love this so much my first kinda angst thanks for the request

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092, @shellsarepretty, @cheoriemoawa, @prettiesteyess,  @vintagewntr10, @hecallmebigpurrr420, @killualovbot, @iloveneilperry

[sylussflower]

Let's talk about Sylus's recent secret time, "Heatwave."

Sylus—the man who lived his life all alone, who never received comfort or warmth when he was sick, and who is at constant risk of showing vulnerability because of his many enemies. He has always been a hyper-independent person, believing he can handle everything on his own. Imagine living a lonely and dangerous life, yet deep down, there’s an unhealed inner child secretly longing for comfort and warmth when sick. It’s heartbreakingly tragic.

When he says, "No one is allowed here," it’s because he doesn’t want to show his vulnerable state. He’s convinced he won’t receive any comfort, but then he sees MC. That’s when he realizes—she is the exception. She can give him the warmth and care he’s always needed.

And the way he asks, "Let me use your lap as a pillow," "Be gentle," and "Hold me"—it’s as if he transforms into a needy and clingy person, allowing his wounded inner child to seek healing. When he refuses to take medicine because it's bitter, it's like he's finally letting himself act stubborn, just like a child who wants to be taken care of. Gosh, I will never get over the fact that he acted like a baby! This is such a rare and beautiful side of our beloved Onychinus leader.

Then, we see his possessive side emerge:

He asks, "What's on your neck? You were putting on lipstick, and it accidentally got here." Then he kisses her neck and says, "I won’t believe that."

The way he questions the lipstick—almost as if he’s making an excuse for why her neck is marked—shows how much it bothers him to think of someone else being close to her. Even if she says it was an accident, he chooses not to believe her, because deep down, he wants to believe there’s something more—something his.

And the kiss? That’s both a possessive act and a desperate attempt to feel connected to her. It’s as if he’s silently saying, “You’re mine,” even though he refuses to acknowledge how much he truly cares.

This scene captures Sylus fighting so hard to maintain control while unknowingly revealing his feelings—his jealousy, his possessiveness, his desire for her. He’s caught between protecting himself and letting his emotions slip through the cracks. It’s raw, messy, and powerful.

And then, he calls her "Ice pack."

That’s such a soft Sylus moment! He’s still holding on to his tough persona, but his tenderness seeps through. Calling her "Ice pack" is his way of keeping things casual, but it also shows how much he craves her care. And when he asks her to hold him—that’s a huge step. He’s letting go of his usual control to let her in.

Finally, when he says, "We should have done this earlier," it feels like he’s realizing, maybe for the first time, that it’s okay to be vulnerable with her.

Our Sylus is finally allowing himself to be open, little by little.❤️

[blushingbubbles]

last-orgasm storytime -- sorry it took me a bit to write but it is...long

Sooo last night (1/31) was the last orgasm i’ll have for likely all of 2025, and i’m still fuzzy from it.

Still. It’s *checks clock* 6pm as im writing this. Still fuzzy. It happened like 18 hours ago.

The last free orgasm I had was on January 10th, and I didn’t even like it. It was rushed and short and unearned.

On February 1st, I entered long-term denial, and I wanted to cum one last time before it started.

In fact, I wanted to cum so badly that in exchange, I added 180 days to my denial. But because I added those 180 days, I started to fear that the orgasm wasn’t going to be worth it.

The last free orgasm i had sucked. I panicked that this next one would suck too, that I’d traded 180 days of denial just to regret it.

and hahahaha

i would trade 1800 days of denial for what i got on 1/31.

wc: 2600 (lol) | *exempt from forbidden words rules, and if u try to punish me for this post that i worked very hard on i will block you*

⊹₊⟡⋆ leading up ⊹₊⟡⋆

Sir & I talked on the phone for two days prior to the 31st. The first night we just talked, which got me used to his voice in my ear. The second night we talked a bit and played a bit, which made me more comfortable with his instructions & flow in a scene, which was wonderful. I would’ve had a difficult time relaxing with him if it’d been our first time speaking. But it wasn’t. It was our third, so I felt really safe & comfortable going into our call. 

The morning of the 31st I told him about my dream that centered around worshipping his cock. I told him how needy it’d made me. Sent him a picture of how wet I was. He praised me for it...and then told me I wasn’t allowed to touch until he called that night. At all.

Rude. (i kid)

To make matters worse, he sent some incredible nudes with an instruction to look at them once an hour every hour. This left my imaginative mind with some wild running fantasies. Excerpts from our messages started with “god im like whining” /  “you look so soft” end devolved to “it’d be so fuckimg easy for you to breed me” / “wanna be so full of ur cock i struggle breathing Sir” 

Believe it or not, I actually had no problem with not touching – it was like a given. He told me to not touch so even though I was feverishly horny, touching was out of the question.

The thing I had a problem with was the anxiety. It kept trying to convince me that he was going to forget or get distracted or cancel (he touched base about once every other hour to humor my feral messages, which curbed that anxiety well).

When I was making dinner though, the fact i was going to cum for the last time in 2025 that night started to get to me.

The anticipation became too much to sweep under the rug and I decided to tell him. The convo looked like this:

hi | my heart's beating really really fast In a good way I hope! i think im just excited but it does feel like anxiety It's a lot of anticipation. i dont knowwwwni dont know | It's a lot of anticipation Don't worry bubbles, I'm going take good care of you. | I'm adaptable | We'll get you what you need | You needn't worry about it, I'll be there with you and for you

 (i totally cried happy tears)

⊹₊⟡⋆ the beginning ⊹₊⟡⋆

im all fuzzy again lol. Sir called. We chatted about our days and how I was feeling. He asked what I’d laid out (a vibrating egg, a dildo, a clit suction toy). I made a joke about having a hairbrush on my bed, but it was strictly for brushing my hair before he called. He laughed and agreed there was no need for the hairbrush because we’re not in high school anymore.

First, he asked me to spread my legs to the corners of the mattress. Because of my anxiety, he knew without me asking to go really really slowly, and I'm grateful for it. He took time warming me up and talking to me in the first minutes.

He told me to repeat lines back to him -- repeating lines makes me very pliable, and that night was no exception. I might've repeated I like to show off for Sir 20 times. Afterward, Sir wanted me to spread my pussy for him too, so I did.

But then he said, "little more," which made me think he had cameras in my room. I told him this and he reassured me that he didn't. Instead, he's just inside my head. <3

The night is very hazy. I wrote this with a lot of assistance from him, but this is one thing I remember clearly: everything Sir said was a specific instruction.

He didn’t say “I want you to tease yourself” and then wait for me to explain how I teased myself. He said “take your left hand and drag it up the inside of your left thigh. Slower. I’ll give you the rhythm.”

There’s a time and subject for the “I want you to tease yourself.”

I am not the subject. So it's never the time. I’m always afraid I’m doing something wrong, so I ask clarifying questions – “like ___? Or should I _____?”

But each of Sir's instructions were to-the-letter. Because of that, I never had to worry about doing something right or wrong. There was no ambiguity, there was just the instruction.

I'd already surrendered to his dominance, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to turn my brain off entirely.

At first, he didn’t incorporate the toys. It was nails on thighs and fingers spreading wetness around.

In his words, he was playing with his food.

Eventually, eventually, I was allowed to focus on my clit. Even longer after that, I was permitted to insert my fingers. By this point, with the lengths to which he was dragging it out, I started to whine (which was exactly where he wanted me).

After that, the vibrating egg came into play.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the middle ⊹₊⟡⋆

I’d told him the day prior what countdowns do to me and why, and he incorporated them at every milestone of the night.

With the toy still off, Sir told me to run it up and down my slit. Then I had to hold it at my entrance, adding pressure without allowing it inside. He counted me down and allowed me to insert the toy, then counted me down again to turn it on.

I don’t know how it happened. I sincerely – I don’t know. After a while he gave me a break, and I checked my phone to make sure its battery was still alright and found that an hour and a half had passed. He thought my surprise was cute.

In his words: “I'm glad you're having such a good time, but this night is FAR from over."

Sir told me to get my clit suction toy out and lay it on the bed in front of me, as if to tease me. Keeping the toy turned off, he told me to press it where I usually liked it the most. Then he told me to lift it off. Then place it back on.

Once I had a grasp on exactly how to move, he told me once the toy was turned on, he would give me a number, and I'd have to hold the toy on my clit for that many seconds--but he had me do the counting.

We started on low -- the toy has like 8 settings, so the first setting is usually never enough for me to even really feel? But after all the teasing and build up, I thought for a while I might've been able to hit an edge with it.

He made me hold it on for 3 seconds. 7. 15. Between every number, the toy hovered over my clit so I could hear it and feel a whisper of it, but it wasn't enough to give me any sensation or pleasure.

According to him: I demonstrated incredible self control. Despite how good the toy felt, I always put it down when he told me to, and only when he told me to.

He had me turn it up 2 notches, and I'm pretty sure this is where the last of my comprehensive thought left me.

I literally -- it's so hazy after this, I have no idea. I know he toyed with me just like that -- making me count up to 5, 12, then 7, then 3. He continually reminded me that I wasn't allowed to cum. He also reassured me I absolutely wouldn't be punished for pulling the toy off before reaching the requested number.

The most important rule was to wait for him to give me the orgasm--everything else came second.

There was a stretch of time that I was hitting an edge by 1 -- like the moment the vibrator got too close I was chanting I can't, I can't, I can't.

It felt like an eternity of me going absolutely stupid while teetering on the edge of orgasm.

He gave me a water break after the "I can't," chanting, and this was approximately our conversation:

"You can't?" no Sir, I can't "Why can't you?" bc i don't have permission "And you need permission, don't you?" yes Sir i do i need it "You need it because you don't have a choice, isn't that right?" yes Sir that's right, I don't have a choice "Say that again." i don't have a choice, Sir

That last line was repeated 10+ times

It was incredible. He had me edge myself for him. over. and over. and over.

and over.

and over again.

In his words: It was about 38 edges in just as many minutes.

I remember going nonverbal. I remember him telling me to be clear with the numbers, and I recall that being the hardest part -- because my lips and tongue no longer wanted to work. 

Babygirl, you're mumbling again! I need you to speak very clearly into your mic.Yes Sir, i understand

I started to get fuzzy. If you remember the old-school televisions -- whenever you would turn them off, that collection of static hovered across the screen. You could collect the static in your hands?

I felt like I'd swallowed it. That static blanketed my mind. My tongue was numb. My mind was buzzing. I was incoherent. I've never felt anything like it.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the end ⊹₊⟡⋆

From beginning of the call to the orgasm was over 2 hours. 2 hours he teased me. Denied me. Played with me until I was on the edge and made me wait there. I felt what was left of my brain disintegrate. turn to mush. slip out between my thighs.

(thank you Sir for helping me to recall this part)

Babygirl, you've been perfectly obedient for me tonight. (a long drawn-out whine) I'm very proud of you, of your self control. Are you sufficiently fucked out? Is your head all fuzzy now sweet girl? Can you even understand what i'm saying or are you too much of a brainless whore? (generally affirmative and giggly slut noises) I think you've earned your orgasm. *voice cracking* really? You have my permission to cum. We are going to change the rules of play now. Do you understand?  Yes Sir, I understand, thank you.

There was more in there, but I can't remember when -- he asked me if I still wanted it, and i didn't know the answer anymore. I wanted to say yes -- i wanted it so badly, but I was so fuzzy all i could think was only if you want me to.

Like I was no longer in a space that needed the orgasm - i only needed to make him happy.

it was the same game. hold the vibrator on the clit for the number of seconds he wanted. But the rules had changed. This time he would do the counting ( i loved the counting )

and this time, I was allowed to cum.

however -- the count didn't end when I orgasmed. the count ended when the count ended, and I had to keep the vibrator on until then.

he started with 3 seconds. Before this, I'd been hitting the edge in 3 seconds. But knowing I had permission to cum it felt different -- stronger of an edge almost?

The count ended.

Sir stressed again that I was allowed to cum. Then he counted down from 5 seconds? Or maybe it was 10?

The edge was right there, but the orgasm still felt so far away. The release was being stubborn. Maybe my body didn't feel like it was real?

He said again

Babygirl, you're allowed to cum. Sincerely.

Then he counted down from 20, dragging each number out to his liking.

Maybe I was scared of cumming too soon and overstimulating myself? I'm not sure. But my orgasm held and held and held. It did not want to release.

It sat like a boulder on a cliff, just one breath from falling off and giving me what he ordered. But it didn't budge, and there wasn't anything I could do. I was getting upset with myself by the time he hit 12.

When he hit 10, I discovered the issue.

It wasn't enough for him to give me permission to cum beforehand. I needed it while I was on the edge. The realization hit me so hard I would've fallen over had I been standing. With the time counting down, the pleading spilled from me. I don't even remember what came out of my mouth. He told me it was very very pretty though.

He had reached 6.

Please Sir i need your permission, I need you to give me permission again. I need it I need it.

Cum for me babygirl.

Relief was simultaneously like lightning and a flood through me, and it shoved the stubborn boulder right off the cliff.

There were 2 waves to the orgasm. The first wave was on the "5," the second was when he said "2."

After the second one I kind of blacked out a bit.

But I sincerely don't.....recall...all I know was it was (bar none) the most powerful and most perfect orgasm I've ever had <3

⊹₊⟡⋆ after/care ⊹₊⟡⋆

I cried. i had a feeling i would -- the anticipation + my anxiety + the orgasm was a huge release. my tears slipped into my headphones and they started to fizzle and crack out on me. He told me to stay in bed, but I wanted to find my other pair.

He was right to tell me to stay lying down -- I got dizzy when I stood up.  

He praised me for how good of a job I did which made me want to cry even more. I thanked him like a million times. He thanked me a million times, and he told me to drink my juice.

We talked about all 2 hours of the call. From the teasing to the egg to the counting to the vibrator to the permission to the begging. He filled in some hazy spots I'd already forgotten in my edged-out state.

I stressed that I wouldn't have changed a single thing about it. I had a lollipop, and i fell asleep talking to him on the phone. IT WAS PERFECT AND IM SO GLAD I TRADED 180 DAYS OF DENIAL FOR IT I'D DO IT AGAIN IN A HEARTBEAT.

[agentpeggycartering]

12, B and the bedside of someone who doesn’t want you there ? If it inspires, you can use not everything

Here you go. Diana! This went a bit off the prompt, but I think you’ll enjoy it! 🥰

This is sort of a sequel to Nora Verse, based off of what we were talking about the other day!

CW: mpreg, discussion of abortion

“Evan, come on baby, you need to eat something.” Tommy said, holding the pudding cup out towards Evan.

“I don’t want to speak to you right now, Thomas.” Evan said, crossing his arms and turning away from his husband.

“I get that you’re mad at me, but, baby, you need to eat something, they won’t let you go home until you do. Please, baby, you collapsed on a scene. Eat the damn pudding.” Tommy pleaded, holding the pudding cup out to his husband. Evan reached out for the pudding cup, but kept his back turned to Tommy as he ate it.

The room was silent save for the sound of Evan eating the pudding. When he was finished he dropped the cup onto the bed and picked up a discarded paper.

“Twins!” Evan exclaimed, waving around the sonogram. “We said no more and now they tell me it’s twins!” Evan wails, placing his hands on his still smooth stomach. Tommy knows he's thinking about the last time he was pregnant.

“I know, baby.” Tommy soothes. "We'll figure it out."

"I should have made you get a vasectomy after Nico. Especially when I caved about bottoming." Evan says, glaring at Tommy.

"You should have. I'll get one now, baby." Tommy said, reaching out for Evan's hand. His husband holds it out of reach for a moment, before he gives in and lets Tommy hold it. He brings it up to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it, before bringing it back down again. He strokes his thumb across the back of Evan's hand soothingly.

"You better." Evan says, before sighing. "This wasn't the plan."

"I know." Tommy says, taking a deep breath. He holds it for a count of five and exhales. "It doesn't have to be, if you don't want it to." Tommy says gently. Evan looks at him, confused. "I know that your pregnancy with Domenico was really hard on you, and if you don't want to have another pregnancy, you don't have to." He rubs his thumb along the back of Evan's hand as he speaks.

"You- you don't want them?"

"I never said that, Evan. But like you said, this wasn't the plan. We planned to be done after Nico, after your pregnancy was so rough on you. I love the life that we have, I love the family that we have. I'd love to expand our family, if that's what you want. But I care more about you and your comfort."

"I'm scared." Evan admits, and Tommy feels his heart breaking. "I-I want this. I do. But I'm worried. Everything was so easy with Nora, we didn't even know she was there. But everything was awful with Nico. I love him and I'm so glad to have him, but I don't know I could go through that again. And with two babies?"

"I know. It's your choice and I'll back you no matter what." Tommy reassures.

"I know, and that's one of the things I love about you. I want this, I want to have a big family with you. It wasn't in the plan, but neither was Nora. But, I'm scared."

"That's okay. We still have some time to decide. We can talk to your doctor before we make any decisions, okay?" Tommy brings Evan's hand up and kisses it again.

"Okay." Evan agrees.