#i think. the worst thing about this is. it feels like they still have a hold on me.

[itneverendshere]

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle. Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you. This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. But tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus. You weren’t here for Rafe, not anymore. You loved hockey. You loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace.

Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth. The game was just about to start, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

And then, as if the universe was personally trying to screw with you, you saw him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

He always had to be in charge, on and off the ice.

He still had that same cocky swagger that made you wanna scream… for entirely different reasons now.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

His number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, sure. But you loved Rafe a little more. Or, you used to. Or, well, maybe that was still complicated.

The puck dropped, and the game started. For a while, you tried to focus on the action. Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he thought he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, like he knew you were there. And maybe he did

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up. That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And then, just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen. Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but this was... awkward. 

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, could see his lips getting closer, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat. He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. The look on Rafe’s face as he stood on the other side of the glass?

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

And you hated that you still kind of liked it.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words. Silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew exactly how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working. He wasn’t just playing hockey—he was playing with you.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him.

He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was almost infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, with his stupid intense eyes, all but daring you to move on. Why did he have to look at you like that—like he knew you were still his.

The breakup had been brutal, the kind of messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful. And now here you were, months later, still dealing with the fallout. 

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you. The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but all you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore. You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. You could practically hear Rafe’s teeth grinding from across the glass. Good. If he thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned the place—and you—then he deserved to stew in it a little.

But, of course, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, like he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah. His shoulders were tense, movements a little too aggressive, like he was about to snap.

You tried to focus on the game again, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You hated this. You hated that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him. Why was it so hard to let him go?

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Every hit was harder, every pass sharper. It was like he was playing angry. And you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

But then, with less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated. He slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off. He stood over the guy, glaring down at him like he was ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer. You knew exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at Rafe, but his eyes weren’t on the ref. They were still on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet. The arena was buzzing, the crowd getting rowdy, and for a second, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched, jaw set—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face. Your heart was racing, your body tense. Elijah had leaned back in his seat, totally unaware about everything.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

You didn’t answer. Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t just about murder a guy on the ice. You could feel his eyes on you, even from all the way across the rink. You hated it. You hated that he could still get to you like this.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, not to the score, not to the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, about the way he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers. Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the tension building in your chest. It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe.

And you knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, still clueless. But you were distracted, scanning the crowd without even realizing it.

And then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight. He didn’t even pretend to care about the people around him—his gaze was dark, intense, like a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your gaze, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was low, casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring Elijah completely. "Didn’t even stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool. "It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He took a step closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably. "You didn’t used to leave so soon," he said, voice dripping with that familiar cockiness. "Used to be the last one out."

Because you’d always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, trying to stand his ground. "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes flicked to him for the briefest second, before landing back on you.

"Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

He glanced at Elijah briefly, his gaze cold and dismissive, then back at you. “You sure about that?” he asked, “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now. Not with Elijah here. Not after everything.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at Elijah’s arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated. But Rafe wasn’t having it.

He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. “Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut him off quickly, your voice tight. “Let’s just go.”

But Rafe wasn’t about to let it go. 

“Yeah, Elijah,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.” His eyes flicked to you, dark and daring, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with the same fire.

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway, your body practically vibrating.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door. 

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the anger, the unresolved pull between you two. And maybe it was the way he still had that stupid hold on you, the way your body responded when you shouldn’t want it to.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the dimly lit hallway that led to the locker room. The second the door closed, you spun around, shoving him in the chest hard. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe barely flinched, his gaze smoldering as he crowded you against the wall. 

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, and not just because Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did— God, why did he have to be so damn close? The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the game, sending your mind spiraling. He was overwhelming, and you hated it. You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended. The way his blue eyes were boring into yours, like he could see through all your bullshit, wasn’t helping.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.” 

He stepped closer, caging you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away. And he knew it.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him. But even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them. The truth was, part of you had always been his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he could read every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin’ about me all night.” His breath was hot on your skin, and you hated how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin. The way his body hovered over yours—it was like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t spent the last few months trying to forget him.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your stomach. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had. But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Don’t—”

But he was already kissing you, hard and rough like he owned you, like you were his and his alone.

And the worst part? You kissed him back. His hands were on you, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, to slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans. 

This was so wrong, on so many levels. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Rafe didn’t back off. He was staring down at you like you were his next meal, like he’d been starving without you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

Rafe’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did.

“Oh, you will.”

And God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You wanted to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face. But instead, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, and it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing soft or sweet about this. It was all heat and frustration, months of unresolved anger bursting out in one chaotic, messy kiss.

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you yanked him down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, rough, and you hated how much you craved him, like you were still his.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be.

But every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head back as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart, and it pissed you off that he still had that power.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so damn wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again. Like you hadn’t been apart at all.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe muttered against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. You did want this. You hated that you did, but fuck, you couldn’t lie—not to him, not to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, and for a split second, you thought maybe you’d find some kind of resolve, some way to pull yourself back from him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to break free of him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still tangled in his hair. It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

You could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was suffocating in the best way, and you hated yourself for how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, your breath hitching when his mouth moved down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was rough, low in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “But I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and whatever you were going to say was swallowed by the heat rushing through you. You hated that he still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—” Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body. You clutched at his shirt.

“This what?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes intense. “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath. You hated that he was right. Again.

Always.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart was racing, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving. Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. You knew that. 

“Last chance,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again—harder this time, angrier, like you needed to prove something to yourself. And maybe you did.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one rough motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were everywhere—on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same reckless urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing you down on the bench, his body heavy against yours.

Everything was messy, and rushed, like neither of you could get enough. Like you were trying to erase the months of distance, of frustration, in the way you kissed him back, bit his lip, tugged at his hair.

 You hated how much you needed this. 

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathless and wild.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

Rafe’s mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. And body, traitorous and weak, responded like it always had.

You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made it all hotter, more intense.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, teasing, barely touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched. 

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch. Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, deep and slow.

You gasped, your head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the right way. Your body responded immediately, hips jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed slow circles over your clit, making your legs tremble beneath him.

He sped up, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, his fingers driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. The tension inside you was coiled so tightly, so close to snapping. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, until your body gave in completely. You hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months. Nothing could get you off properly. Your walls clenched around his fingers the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your nails leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you trembled beneath him, lost in the sensation.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed down just enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you—hard, hot, and ready—and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment. He lined himself up, teasing you just enough to drive you crazy.

Before you could respond, he pushed into you in one hard, deliberate thrust. Your gasp turned into a low, breathless moan as your back arched, your hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, was overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless, gasping for air. 

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you who you belonged to.

And you hated how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body was betraying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night since we ended.”

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but instead, a moan escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched against his, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, every nerve in your body on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe growled, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, the way his body pressed into yours so perfectly, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you. 

“I fucking hate you,” you managed to gasp out between breaths.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn, sworn, you were done with him.

You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him. That was the part that pissed you off the most.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast your knees hit the bench before you could react.

“Rafe—mmh,” you gasped, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood of the bench. You barely had a second to brace yourself before his hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He was already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, hating how desperate you felt, hating how your body responded to him like this. “Fuck, Rafe, stop teasing—”

“You want more?” he cut you off, voice dark and dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, just enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “You’re gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

 “You can act tough all you want, but I know how much you want this,” he gritted out, his cock sliding against your folds again, torturously slow. “I know how much you need it.”

Before you could snap back, he thrust into you hard, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench, and Rafe didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, faster this time, deeper.

The angle had you seeing stars. The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter, more intense. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips moving back to meet his thrusts even though your mind was screaming at you to get a grip.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, his voice low and rough as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your legs tremble. “So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you on the edge in seconds. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep some control, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt the pleasure rising fast, threatening to consume you.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, and Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, relentless, brutal, until your entire body was trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in. 

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.” 

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you." 

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in. 

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

[lubdubology]

Soft Edges

SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)

WC: 2K

WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3

You wake with a jolt to the sound of Logan’s alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Logan’s low, “Ah, fuck,” before silence reclaims the room. 

It’s early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans. 

“I thought you were off today,” you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders. 

He looks back at you with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, continuing to dress. “Picked up an extra shift at the yard.”

Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful. 

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and it’s these soft moments about him you love the most. “Do you even know how to relax?” you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets. 

“I relax,” he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes from you. “Name one thing you to do relax,” you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots. 

Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. “You.”

He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. “Relaxing really ain’t my style, sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it though,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesn’t respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be. 

+++

You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. You’re just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Logan’s keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak. 

“In here, babe!” you call from the kitchen. 

“I could smell this all the way downstairs,” he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s this for?”

Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek. 

You savor these moments with him. When you’d first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like this—where he’s soft and affectionate—have become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

“I thought you could use a nice dinner,” you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. “Long day?”

Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “One of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. 

You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. “Well, you’re home now and I’ve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“You try and help me, and I’ll beat you with this spoon,” you tease. 

Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. “Promise?”

You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. “Alright, alright,” he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just go wash up.” 

As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans. 

“Come eat, Lo.”

He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. “This smells incredible.”

You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. “Fuck, this is good.”

A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. “I experimented with the cast iron skillet,” you comment as you watch him. “Looks like it was a solid impulse purchase.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, his voice low and warm. 

“I wanted to,” you reply simply. “And, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.”

There’s a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know he’s not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice is gruff but there’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache. 

“A good something?”

He smiles. “The best somethin’.”

You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. “Care to indulge me once more?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

+++

Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a bath, Logan.”

He eyes the tub as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t do baths,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. “Yeah, and you don’t relax either. Just humor me.”

Logan gives you a look—half amused, half reluctant—as he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but only if you join me.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “Tough bargain, but I accept.”

You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Logan’s posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like he’s not entirely sure what comes next. 

Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. “Okay, now strip.”

Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so this is what you really wanted.”

“You’re not that hard to get naked, Logan,” you say with a laugh. 

He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you can’t help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare. 

You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him.  Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles. 

“See?” you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. “Isn’t this nice?”

Logan peeks up at you and smirks. “The naked woman helps.”

You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. “You’re basically a wet noodle in my arms.”

He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles. 

You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Logan’s chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. “You do, Logan. Despite your past, you’re a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.” Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or least help you relax every once in a while.”

You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. He’s already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesn’t even let you grab your own before pulling you close. 

A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss. 

You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go. 

“So,” he starts slowly, “Now that you’ve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?”

A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesn’t give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, “My turn.”

[yunwangja]

undercurrents | signal no. 17

masterlist

"i’m alisa. i was kuroo’s partner for his project."

you freeze. this is her. the girl from the date. your heart sinks as you picture them together, imagining all the worst possibilities.

did he leave his phone? why was she the one who picked up the call? is he still there? your mind begins to spiral, creating scenarios you can't control, each more painful than the last.

"oh," you manage to say, struggling to keep your voice steady. your throat feels tight, and your words come out slower than usual. "can i ask for kuroo?"

"uh, actually, kuroo left his phone here with me," she replies, "it’s a good thing you called - i couldn't open his phone on my own because it's password protected. i was thinking how to get it back to him. im at my place right now."

her place. your thoughts race, filling in the blanks with every worst-case scenario.

what does this mean? what the hell is happening? and what happened before this? and how could kuroo possibly accidentally leave his phone with her? the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to breathe.

"i can let his friends know," you force out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. "they can come get it from you."

alisa agrees without hesitation, without ending the call, you quickly message the others, your fingers trembling slightly as you type.

after alisa says yes to the arrangement, you both settle to the conclusion that she'll call you back when she's arrived at the campus lobby where bo would be meeting her.

you sit in silence after the call ends, staring at your phone, thoughts swirling in your head. the quiet of your room seems louder now, every second stretching longer than it should.

where is kuroo right now? since she picked up the call at her place, was kuroo there before he left his phone? if they did, what did they do? does this mean he was that interested in her?

you try to shake off the uneasy thoughts, but they linger. you tell yourself not to jump to conclusions, but that’s easier said than done. your mind can’t help but imagine things of what might’ve happened after their date. it’s a battle between rationality and your emotions, and right now, the latter is winning.

then, your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. kuroo's name appear on the caller id, and you assume it's alisa calling back, just as she promised.

“hello?” you answer, your voice a bit shaky but still composed.

“hey, i’m in the campus lobby,” alisa says. “bokuto isn’t here yet, but i’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

“thanks for letting me know.”

the silence stretches for a moment. it feels awkward, hanging between the two of you, and you can’t help but feel like you should say something - anything - to fill the void.

you fidget with your fingers, unsure of what to talk about. after all, you barely know this girl, and under any other circumstances, you wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

alisa breaks the silence first. “so... are you and kuroo close?”

her question catches you off guard. “uh, yeah, i guess you could say that. we’ve known each other for a while.”

“that’s nice!" alisa replies, her tone friendly. “he’s been super focused on this project. it’s kept him really busy, huh?”

you nod again, though the weight of her words makes your chest feel tight. “yeah, he’s been juggling a lot.”

the conversation stalls again, leaving you with your thoughts. you’ve known kuroo’s been busy, but hearing it from her, someone who's been spending that time with him, feels like a punch in the gut. you hesitate before asking, “where is he, by the way?”

“oh, he didn’t say,” alisa responds casually. “he just told me he had to go and left. i noticed his phone when he was gone already, and i was going to chase after him but it was too late...”

you thought nothing suspicious about her answer, but nothing that assured you that nothing happened between them. the quiet between you both stretches again, heavy and uncomfortable, and you find yourself scrambling for something else - anything - to fill the silence.

“how’s the project been for you guys?” you ask, trying to make small talk.

“oh, it went really well!” she says brightly. “we worked hard, but it all paid off. i think kuroo was really happy with how it turned out.”

you try to smile at her words, but your curiosity is eating away at you. you feel the urge to ask more, even though a part of you is scared of what the answers might be.

your thoughts drift back to earlier, to the idea of them spending time together after their date, and your stomach knots with unease. but you have to know, even if the answer hurts.

desperate to distract yourself from the silence and your spiraling thoughts, you finally blurt out, “so... did you guys have a good time?”

it feels like a casual question, but the weight behind it is unmistakable to you.

alisa chuckles softly, "oh, it was nice. he’s really sweet, isn’t he?"

you force a smile, even though she can’t see it. the words feel like a punch to the gut, as if someone else is confirming how amazing kuroo is. "yeah, he is."

there’s a brief pause, and the silence returns uncomfortably. your mind is racing as you struggle to keep the conversation going.

"i’m glad you were with him while he was so busy. as i said earlier, he seems to take on a lot by himself." you say, trying to fill the void, but the words come out weaker than you intended.

"he really does," alisa agrees, her voice light, as if she’s completely unaware of the storm raging inside you. "we ended up spending a lot of time together because of it. it’s been fun. and he really knows how to make you feel at ease, doesn’t he?"

the words twist in your gut, and you have to bite your lip to keep from letting out a sound of distress. you know exactly what she means. you’ve felt it too; the way kuroo can make you feel seen and heard.

and now, to hear someone else describe it, to know that she experienced it too, feels like a betrayal, even though you know it’s not.

"yeah," you manage to say. "he’s always been good at that."

the conversation drags on, each passing moment feeling like a slow unraveling of everything you thought you knew. your heart sinks deeper, weighed down by the uncertainty, the fear that maybe you’re too late. the realization that someone else has shared in those moments with him, that she knows things about him you might never know, is almost too much to bear.

"i’m happy you guys enjoyed your date," you say, trying to sound normal, but there’s a slight tremor in your voice.

alisa laughs again, this time with more amusement. "he told you it was a date too, huh?"

you blink, caught off guard by her response. "wasn’t it?"

"no, not really," alisa explains, her tone light as if it’s no big deal. "i just asked him out to coffee because of the success of our project, nothing more. he thought it was a date until he thanked me and mentioned it. so i cleared things up."

you don’t know what to say, the relief washing over you in waves, but mingling with confusion. before you can ask what happened after, alisa interrupts.

"oh, bokuto’s here," she says, her tone signaling the end of the conversation. "i’ll give him the phone. thanks a lot,"

"okay," you reply, still dazed, your mind racing with all the things you didn’t get to say or ask. bo takes the phone and tells you everything’s good, but his words barely register. you nod, barely listening, too caught up in your own thoughts.

you’re left with a thousand questions, but no answers. you want to know more, to ask her what happened next, but you guess you won’t get to know anymore.

did they talk about you? was kuroo relieved when she clarified it wasn’t a date, or was he disappointed? the uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you with nothing but doubts.

all of a sudden, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. your heart jumps into your throat. you hesitate, then get up to answer it. you bid bo goodbye on the other line and end the call as you approach closer.

maybe it was one of your roommates checking up on your or asking for an update about what has happened. you wondered who it might be as you opened the door.

and there he was.

kuroo, breathless and panting, his hair slightly disheveled as if he ran the whole way. his eyes lock onto yours, wide with urgency.

"kuroo," you begin, confused. "what are you doing-"

"i want you, y/n."

notes

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

next signal will be LOADED also bc we will see kuroo's pov !!

idk if this was a long update or not (than usual) but yeah

i had to edit this a lot of times bc i had to make sure that everything would be laid out well

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover @akirqx @cupidsblonde @kukkurookkoo@emotiandon @urslytherin

[allmoshnobrain]

You're a short girl, and sometimes that messes with your confidence. Your boyfriend doesn't seem to care at all, though.

✦ on this fic: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, fluff, reader is short and it makes her a bit insecure

✦ a/n: this is my first time writing for anything other than metallica/megadeth/venom which is what i usually write for but i've been daydreaming a lot about this man and needed to get this out of my system 😭 also it was a great way to warm up and start writing again after my break!! hope u guys enjoy it 💖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It takes him a while to pick up on your insecurity.

It's subtle, and honestly, he’s not exactly great with subtle. He fails, at first, to catch the way you pout, the way you frown whenever you see a hot actress who’s taller than you, or a long dress you think would look better on someone with a few more inches.

He finally catches on, though, one night when you’re cooking dinner. It’s kind of a slip up, really — a tiring day and your period cramps the worst they’ve been in the last few hours just making it easier for you to get upset over the smallest thing. So when you can’t reach one of the trays on the top shelf and have to ask him to grab it, he turns around to see you teary-eyed and upset, which is not how this usually goes.

“Love?” he asks, his brow furrowing when he sees your state “What’s wrong?” He glances at the glass tray in his hands. “Did I grab the wrong one?”

“What? No, no, it’s fine,” you mutter, his confused look quickly shifting into worry when he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Hey,” he quickly puts the tray down and gently grabs your chin. “Talk to me. What is it?”

He’s firm, straightforward but not harsh, which just makes you feel even more ridiculous for almost crying over something so dumb.

“I’m being silly,” you say, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t say that,” he mutters. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

That last part sounds almost like a command, his voice all firm and serious — something that would probably annoy you if he didn’t sound so genuinely concerned. You sigh.

“I wish I was taller,” you whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but he does. Of course he does.

“You wish you were taller?” he repeats, now more confused than worried. “Why?”

“I just don’t want to feel useless, always needing your help,” you half-lie, because that’s not really it.  And of course, Simon knows — he always does. You can tell by the way he raises his eyebrow slightly at you, disarming you instantly. “I wish I was prettier,” you finally mutter.

“You are pretty,” he says slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out where all this is coming from. “You’re beautiful. And I like helping you.”

“But tall girls are… More beautiful,” you sniffle, and he snorts.

“Who said that?”

“I said,” you frown. “Like, every time I see a cute dress that’s too long, I just think I can’t wear it. It won’t look right on me. I always feel like I can only look cute, but sometimes I want to look, I don’t know, gorgeous. Tall girls just always seem to look gorgeous to me, and I...”

“Oh, shush,” Simon grumbles, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. He tilts your chin up gently so you’re looking at him. “You are gorgeous. And you’re beautiful, and you’re mine. And I like you small — easier to hold.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s shaky, and you try to hold it back, wanting to stay in your little pity party a bit longer. I mean, seriously, what does he mean by "you’re gorgeous" when you feel the exact opposite?

"Easier to hold?" you say, trying to sound offended but failing as a giggle slips out.

"There she is," he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’re smiling. "My girl. Don’t be upset, love. You don’t need to be taller to be pretty. And if you ever need to reach for something, well, that’s what I’m here for."

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you tease. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Goddammit, woman. Will you quit trying to convince me you’re not beautiful? It’s not happening,” he frowns, then leans in, pressing a small, tender kiss to your lips. His arms wrapped around you are comfortable, warm and firm and feel like home.

It never fails to disarm you, how soft he can be. Out of the blue, always when you’re not really expecting it. Just when you think you’ve finally managed to annoy him or maybe this is the time he’s gonna get tired of you. He never fails to prove you wrong. 

He never fails to prove that he loves you, just the way you are.

[topguncortez]

f you’re still doing prompts : jake and shy wifey !

please. make me feel good. no one else can like you.

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

Body Love || Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey

opposites attract masterlist || main masterlist

synopsis: Y/N has been having a hard time feeling confident since the births of her twins. Jake is determined to make her remember how beautiful she is.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smutty-ish, cursing, negative self talk, mentions of c-sections

note: lmao not me going back to my graduation challenge requests. but think of this as a soft launch before whumptober gets started

She was doing it again. Jake had caught her doing it several times in the past couple of days. That look in her eye told him that what she was looking at, she didn’t like what she was seeing in the mirror. She furrowed her eyebrows as she touched her cheeks gently, poking at the skin on her face. Jake tried his hardest to stay out of sight to watch her. 

Y/N was gorgeous. She was the most gorgeous girl that Jake had ever laid eyes on. Her body had changed a lot over the years from age, and carrying five of the most beautiful kids that Jake had ever seen in his life. Her thighs were a bit bigger, her stomach not as flat as it used to be, her breasts weren’t as perky, and her hair had some grays in it, all small changes of age and being a mother. But the scar that sat on her lower abdomen was the most noticeable to her. The scar wasn’t there a year ago, but it was now a permanent reminder of probably the worst day of her life. 

The pregnancy and birth of Jasper and Maxwell Seresin had been anything but easy. Throughout the whole thing, Y/N was having problems with her blood pressure. One moment it was too high, and the next it would be too low. She had tried her best to remain as stress-free as possible, but it was hard with a naval aviator for a husband and three other kids running around the house. A c-section was the last thing she wanted, but when it came down to a life-or-death situation, Y/N agreed to it. The scar reminded her of the moment when she almost lost her babies. She didn’t like it, but Jake loved it. 

He loved every single mark on her tummy. Whenever they were intimate, Jake would kiss every single stretch mark on her tummy, sending flutters through her body. But they hadn’t been that intimate since Jasper and Maxwell were born nearly a year ago. Y/N never liked to take her shirt off anymore when they would have sex. She would hardly show herself when they would get dressed in the morning, she’d either step into the closet or the bathroom. They didn’t shower or bathe together like they once did, in fact, she went as far as locking the door whenever she did to deter Jake from entering. 

Jake didn’t like being iced out like this. He had spent years trying to break down her walls, to get her to let him. She slowly opened up to him, and gradually built up that confidence to let him know everything about her, to let him truly see her. But now, it felt like he had moved ten steps backward. 

He sighed and pushed off the wall he was leaning on, as he watched Y/N lift her shirt gently and run her fingertips over the scar. She looked at the reflection of the scar in the mirror and frowned at it. Jake walked up behind her, and placed his hands on her hips, causing her to jump at the action. Y/N tried to push her shirt back down to cover the scar, but he stopped her. 

“Why do you hide this from me?” Jake asked, looking at the scar in the mirror. He gently ran his thumb over the skin and leaned his head into the crook of her neck. 

“I don’t like it,” She answered, “I hate seeing it. It’s ugly.” 

“Yeah, but it reminds you of how much of a champion you are,” Jake said, and placed his lips on her skin, “Shows the sacrifice that you made to bring your babies into the world.” 

“They were cut out of me,” She sniffled and looked away from the scar. “My last babies and I didn’t even actually give birth to them.” 

“Stop that, yes you did,” Jake turned her body, so she was facing him. He gently lifted her head up, “You gave birth to Jasper and Maxwell. It wasn’t how you wanted it to be, but you still did it. It still means something.” 

“Why have you stayed with me?” Y/N asked him honestly, looking up at his big green eyes. She could see the heartbreak in his eyes the moment the words left her mouth, “I-I’m not as pretty, or as confident or as smart as some of the girls you used to bring around the Hard Deck. So, why did you choose me? Why did you stay with me?” 

“I stayed with you because you didn’t throw yourself at me, or any of the other pilots that walked into there. I chose you because you are a kind, gentle, old soul, who would rather stay home and eat strawberry cupcakes and watch Bob Ross paint ‘happy little trees’ instead of going out and getting piss drunk,” Jake explained, “I chose you, because when I saw you. . . I saw my whole future. I saw our wedding, I saw our first house, our first deployment, our kids, that huge ass flower garden you made me plant and sat by sipping on lemonade looking as good as a Sin on Sunday,” Y/N chuckled at his words. Jake caressed her cheek, and kissed both of them, before grabbing both her hands, 

“If I could go back in time to the night that we first met, I would choose you, over and over,” Jake said and kissed her lips. 

“Even though I look like this now,” She gestured to her body. 

“Especially when you look like this,” Jake said. Y/N let out a gasp as Jake quickly turned them, and placed her on the bed. He climbed on top of her, and looked down at her body, “God damn, you look so fucking sexy. You looked sexy then, and you look sexy now. Your body has changed in the most delicious ways.” Jake pressed his hips into hers, and her eyes widened at the feeling of his semi-hard cock, “I get hard just thinking about you. Thinking about your ass, your thighs, your tits, your tummy.” 

He moaned as his hands grazed the sides of her stomach, “Your tummy. . . fuck, it has to be my favorite place. I love it. I love seeing it stretch and grow with my kids.” Jake pushed the shirt that she was wearing up underneath her boobs, and started placing kisses down her sternum, to her belly.

“Please Jake,” Y/N panted. 

“You don’t realize how crazy you drive me,” Jake shook his head, climbing back up her body, and placing kisses on her neck, “Fuck sometimes I feel like a fucking teenager, getting instantly hard when you walk into a room.” He pushed his hips against hers, his hard-on straining against his joggers. 

“Show me,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his face in her hands, “Show me what I do to you. Make me feel good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, green eyes peering down at her, a hint of mischief in them, “You want me to make you feel good?” Jake’s hand slowly worked down her body, until he was cupping her covered pussy in his hand. Y/N nodded her head frantically, shamelessly grinding against his hand. He was hardly even touching her, and she was begging for him, “What do you want from me, Y/N? Tell me.” 

“Your fingers, in me.” 

“Like this?” Jake asked, feigning innocence as he slipped his hand down the front of the boxer shorts she was wearing. His fingers expertly parted her, sliding through her slick and gently into her. Y/N’s head tilted back with a loud moan. 

“Yes,” Y/N moaned as Jake’s fingers curled in and out of her, his lips sucking gently at her neck, “No one else can make me feel good like you do.” Jake nodded his head, pulling his fingers out of her and gently circling her clit, “Fuck, Jake.” 

“So naughty for me,” Jake chuckled against her skin, “I love it when you curse.” 

“I love it when you touch me,” Y/N said back, her hand reaching down to palm him through his pants. She pressed her lips against his, her free hand gripping the back of his neck and playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. Jake’s hips bucked into her hand, as his tongue slipped into her mouth. 

“Jake,” Y/N cried out, as his fingers slipped back into her, curling them against that sweet spot, “Make me cum, please.” “Don’t worry baby,” Jake cooed, grabbing her hand and pinning it above her. She whined at the loss of pleasure from him, “You’re mine and I take care of what belongs to me.”

taglist: @damrlova @phoenix138 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @justenoughmadnesss @sagittarius-flowerchild @hardballoonlove @harrysgothicbitch @hookslove1592 @noonenuts @marvellouscroissant @senawashere @bradshawsprincess @alwayshave-faith

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[carmenberzattosgf]

You’ve mentioned this before but cockwarming is 10000% Carmy’s favourite physical thing to do. It can be a part of sex or just something on its own but either way it makes him feel safer than anything else. He literally never feels safer than when he’s just inside reader, it lulls him into this state of comfort that he’s never experienced before like the ceiling could fall in and he would barely notice. He asks for it whenever he’s particularly stressed and at first he feels bad and that’s selfish because he thinks reader isn’t getting anything out of it but after a while she can teach him that that’s not true. Bonus hc that sometimes during cockwarming he comes he can’t explain it and he always feels embarrassed but it happens

Cockwarming making Carmy feel safe is the perfect way to put it, actually.

You’re just so warm and snug around him. Seriously, he could have the worst day at work ever, but it would all be forgotten about the second you sit on his dick.

I think it becomes a routine in all honesty. Carmy comes home from work, gets showered, and you both snuggle up on the couch to watch some tv. More often than not it ends up with him inside of you.

The way he initiates it is always gentle, carefully pulling you into his lap so you can feel his hard-on through his shorts. “Can you, baby? Please?” His voice is soft in your ear.

“Mhm—of course,” you reply instantly, sitting up to push down your pants and underwear. Carmy holds you close as you straddle him, groaning into your lips when you sink down onto his cock.

His arms wrap around your body as soon as you bottom out. Carmy holds you like his life depends on it, keeping your skin flush with his own. Carefully, he shifts down so he can lean back against the arm of the couch, keeping you on top of him. He’ll rub at your back with his fingertips, relishing in your warmth all over him.

Carmy tends to feel bad about asking you to do this for him, because he doesn’t want to be a bother. He also doesn’t want you to think he just wants your body all the time. It takes a hot second to unwire his brain from thinking so negatively about it, and that you enjoy the comfort just as much as he does.

About your bonus thought… YES.

The first time it happens is after he’s been inside you for nearly an hour. Out of nowhere, a breathy, broken groan leaves his mouth while he has his face buried in the crook of your neck. Next, you feel the tell-tale warmness deep inside of you. A series of whimpers falls from his lips before he finally stills.

“Carm? You okay?” You ask with a gentle voice.

“Shit—s-sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to—“ His face is completely pink when he raises up from the crook of your neck.

“Hey, Bear. S’okay. You have nothing to apologize for—nothing at all.” You cup his face and bring him in for a deep kiss to stop him from trying to apologize again.

Once the kiss breaks, you settle back down on top of him, and he holds you even closer to try and prevent any of his cum from spilling out.

It’s safe to say you both fall asleep on the couch that night. At some point during the night, Carmy wakes up and reaches for the blanket that stays on the back of the couch, covering you and him up.

[writeriguess]

katsuki x reader where the reader is pregnant but in like the early stage and doesnt know she is pregnant yet, she is experiencing morning sickness AGAIN and katsuki takes care of her. she goes to take a test and is positive but doesnt know how to tell him

You wake up feeling that all-too-familiar nausea bubbling in your stomach again. For the past week, mornings had become your worst enemy. At first, you thought it was a bad batch of food or a stomach bug, but this was the fifth day in a row you had sprinted to the bathroom the moment you opened your eyes.

Slumping over the toilet, you groaned, head resting against the cool ceramic. Your body felt drained, and your stomach was still queasy.

"Oi, you in here?" Katsuki’s voice came from behind you.

You barely lifted your head as he walked into the bathroom. His eyes softened, concern immediately washing over his face.

"Again?" he muttered, kneeling down beside you. He gently pulled your hair back and rubbed slow circles on your back. “I thought you were over this crap. Been almost a week now.”

You nodded weakly. “I don’t know… maybe it’s something I ate? But nothing’s off… I don’t know what’s wrong.”

He let out a grunt, not entirely convinced. Katsuki wasn’t exactly the type to freak out, but you could tell he didn’t like seeing you like this. His hands lingered on your back, trying to provide you some comfort.

"You think you should go see a doctor?" he asked, his voice lower now.

You shook your head. "I’ll be fine. Maybe it’ll pass today."

Katsuki was silent for a moment before helping you up. "Here, drink some water. Get yourself together. If this doesn’t stop, I’m dragging your ass to the doctor tomorrow." His tone was gruff but filled with genuine worry.

You chuckled softly, taking the glass of water from him. "Thanks, Katsuki. You’re sweet when you want to be."

He clicked his tongue. "Yeah, whatever."

As the morning went on, you felt slightly better, but something about it kept gnawing at you. The sudden sickness, the fatigue, the strange cravings you’d been having the past week. You weren’t one to jump to conclusions, but there was one thing that kept crossing your mind.

Could I be… pregnant?

The thought alone sent a jolt through your body. You and Katsuki hadn’t exactly been trying, but you hadn’t been overly cautious either.

You excused yourself and slipped out to the drugstore nearby, your heart racing as you picked up a pregnancy test. Back home, you took a deep breath, staring down at the little plastic device. Waiting for those couple of minutes felt like an eternity.

Then, there it was. Positive.

You stared at the result, blinking rapidly, trying to process it.

Pregnant. I’m… pregnant.

The excitement and fear clashed within you. Your mind raced, wondering how Katsuki would react. He wasn’t the most expressive person when it came to emotions, but you knew how much he loved you. Would he be ready for this? Were you ready for this?

You sat on the edge of the bed, holding the test in your hands, trying to think of how to tell him. You couldn’t just blurt it out. Your heart pounded as you imagined his reaction.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Katsuki stepped in, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Why the hell are you just sitting there like that?" he asked, crossing his arms. “You’re all weird today.”

You bit your lip, your hands trembling slightly as you hid the test behind your back. "Katsuki, I… I have something to tell you.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What is it? You’re being all weird again. What the hell is going on?”

You took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage you had. Slowly, you revealed the test, holding it out to him. His eyes flicked from you to the test, his face going from confusion to shock in a matter of seconds.

Katsuki stared at it, his mouth slightly open. "Wait… are you serious?" he asked, his voice much softer than usual.

You nodded, your own emotions threatening to overflow. “Yeah… I think I’m pregnant.”

He remained silent for a moment, just staring at the test as if he couldn’t believe it. Then, slowly, a smile began to form on his face—a real, genuine smile, the kind you didn’t get to see often. He knelt down in front of you, resting his forehead against your stomach gently.

"You’re pregnant," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "We’re gonna have a kid."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you placed your hands on his head. You nodded, your heart swelling with love and joy. "Yeah, we’re gonna have a kid."

For the first time, Katsuki’s tough exterior cracked, and you could see the pure happiness in his eyes. His hand rested on your stomach, and he looked up at you, his expression soft and full of emotion.

"You’re amazing, you know that?" he said, his voice low. "I’m gonna take care of you… both of you."

And just like that, you knew that everything was going to be okay. You were both in this together, and no matter what, Katsuki would be by your side, ready to face this new chapter with you.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[ninyard]

do you perhaps have any thoughts on kevin telling wymack about kayleigh's letter? it's just so interesting to me and i'm so sad we didn't get to see it :(

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG <33 I wanted to do this justice and although i feel like there's a different way it could've gone, I feel like this is... one of the options at least

-

Kevin's hands shook so badly when he knocked on his coach's office door, that the first knock of knuckles on wood hardly made a sound at all. That could've been a sign to walk away, but instead he knocked again. David looked up from whatever papers he was rummaging through to see Kevin in the doorway, and he sat back, waiting for him to explain his presence.

It was an age before Kevin found his voice, "Do you have a minute?"

"Am I going to regret it?" Wymack crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his chair over to get a better look at him, while he shut the door behind him.

"Are you busy?" Kevin asked instead, and stepped into the room so slowly he felt like he was barely moving at all.

"I'm always busy," He answered, his eyes following Kevin as he sat down. "But right now, no, I'm not. Everything okay?"

Kevin looked at the floor, his cheeks burning with an unyielding anxiety that he couldn't control, worse for every second longer that he looked into Wymack's eyes without telling him the truth.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Kevin tried, sitting forward in the chair across from his desk. "But I don't know where to start."

"Are you quitting?"

Kevin exhaled through his nose. "No."

"Is it Edgar Allan related?"

"No, it's not."

"Is anyone dying?"

"No, Coach."

Wymack held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders with a pout, "So, what's there to be worried about?"

Kevin hesitated before looking up at him. He really has no idea. Guilt burnt it's way up his throat, guilt for what he was about to say, for what he was about to do.

Do or die. Now or never.

Kevin took another deep breath and prepared himself for the worst.

"It's about my mom."

David paused for a second before shifting in his chair, a twitch in his eyebrows as he tried to read Kevin's face.

"Okay,” Wymack said. “What do you want to know?”

“No, it’s…” Kevin sighed in frustration. A part of him wished he'd written a script, or perhaps left the letter anonymously on his desk for him to find later. Anything that would save him from having this conversation unprepared. Unprepared still, even after he'd spent years thinking about how he would say it. But that wasn't fair, and the longer he waited, the worse it would be.

At least it was easy to forgive his silence when he didn't physically have the letter in South Carolina, but Neil had pulled away the safety net of distance by delivering him the letter, and he couldn't put it off any longer..

“I actually want to tell you something.”

Wymack didn’t understand, and it was written all over his face - he knew that Kevin never really knew his mom, and what he knew he hardly remembered, and what he remembered only existed in flashes and feelings. What could Kevin possibly tell him that he didn't already know?

It was a moment before he made any movement, but looking at Kevin, he held a hand up and raised his eyebrows, "Well?"

"My mom wrote me a letter," Kevin started, as Wymack slowly leaned back into his seat. "I don't know when, or if I was supposed to even see it, or..." Kevin reminded himself to breathe. "She wrote about you."

David exhales a short laugh from his nose, "And what did she say?"

He smiled like he was waiting for a joke to come, like he knew exactly what she could've said. Kevin wasn't sure if there was something in the look on his face, but as he felt every drop of blood in his body draining down into his shoes, David's small smile faded.

"Can I just give it to you?" Kevin said, after another agonising minute of trying to find the right thing to say. "And I don't know how I want you to react, David, I don't know how you're going to feel or what you're going to think. You don't have to say anything, okay? Please don't."

Wymack straightened up again, his smile gone and replaced with an uncomfortable frown. He repeated Kevin, an inquisitive statement, "You don't want me to say anything?"

"Or do, I don't know." Kevin took the letter from his pocket, and it was only then that he realised just how badly he was shaking. David's eyes flickered down to the practically vibrating piece of paper in his hands. "Just... Don't feel like you have to, I guess."

David extended his hand Kevin's way again, but Kevin felt frozen in place. His heart was pounding in his throat, like this was one of the biggest secrets he'd ever kept being spilled out, right in front of his eyes. And it was just that, really, something he'd kept buried deep. This secret was his mother's, not his, and perhaps that made it worse. She decided to keep David in the dark, her burden to bear that he was left out of the loop, but now, Kevin sat there, the truth in his hands, doing his mother's dirty work.

There was no going back once he handed that letter over. There was no pretending he didn't know, there was no more blissful ignorance. Kevin knew that handing over that letter would change Wymack's life - it would turn everything he knew about himself, and Kayleigh, and Kevin on it's head. In just a minute or two more, he would be a father. It would change his relationship with Abby, his relationship with Kevin. It would posthumously change his relationship with Kayleigh, because once Kevin handed it over, he would be a dad, and she had kept that from him. But right then, before the paper left Kevin's hands, he wasn't. For a moment more, he had no idea what the words trembling in Kevin's hands said. It was hard to soak that in when he could barely focus at all.

"You're freaking me out now, kid." David leaned forward, an awkward laugh behind his smile. He was just about able to reach the paper that Kevin held, but he hovered his hand over it instead. "May I?"

When Kevin meekly nodded, he took the letter, and Kevin's stomach finally gave out. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cover the gag that threatened to leave his lunch on the floor. David didn't notice. He sat back instead, smiling as he read the writing that he recognised, the tone just like how she used to speak, presumably.

"She-" He started, a joke or a memory on the tip of his tongue, and Kevin knew where in the letter he was. He knew where he had gotten to, because David's smile was quickly wiped away as he froze, still like a mannequin, exhaling a breath through his now open lips. His eyes were frantic as they skimmed over words that were almost meaningless after what he'd just read.

He flipped the page over, probably waiting to find "Just kidding!" written on the back. But it wasn't there, and he wouldn't find it, and the words wouldn't change no matter how many times he reread them to make sure. Kevin already knew that to be true.

After far too long, he quietly asked, "Where did you get this?"

"She left it with the Master." Kevin swallowed, his mouth dry. "I found it a few years ago."

"A few-" David said, like he'd been punched in the stomach. His words were cut off in his throat as he tried to find something to say. "Who..."

Kevin shoved his shaking hands under his thighs, and bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from crying. He could feel all of these bottled up feelings bubbling in his chest, but when he said he didn't know how he wanted David to react, he meant it. That didn't mean that he wasn't hurt by the silence that fell over the room, that he wasn't hurt by the worry that painted over his face. David wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry. He wasn't happy, or upset, either. His face was unreadable. Maybe it would be easier if his feelings were clear. Maybe rage would be easier to swallow than shock.

"Jesus," David sighed, and ran a hand down his face. He dropped the letter on the desk, shutting his eyes for a moment.

"You don't have to say anything," Kevin said again, his voice shaking now too, and finally he looked up. Finally he looked into Kevin's eyes, only visible for just a second until they filled with tears that he couldn't hold back. "I just... thought you deserved to know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," He nodded and looked up at the ceiling. Kevin wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He didn't look back at Kevin when he quietly asked, "Who else knows?"

"Jean, Riko," Kevin put a hand on his chest. Any longer and his heart would be on the table in between them. "And... Neil. But he hasn't told anyone, I promise."

"You told Neil?" It was almost angry, but more tired than anything else. Like all his energy had been sucked out of him by reading just a few words on a page.

"No, Coach, I didn't," Kevin was quick to clear up the assumption. He sniffed, and David pursed his lips as Kevin tried to talk through the tears that spilled down his cheeks, unstoppable, guilt filled. "He found the letter over the holidays and he brought it back here with him. I'm sorry."

David sighed again, and after a long and terrible pause, he said, "Kevin, I need a minute."

Kevin tried to find just an ounce of something in his words, a speck of relief, or reassurance, or anything that would make Kevin feel even just a little bit better about the decision he'd made. His hand was forced, in a way, twisted behind his back as Neil pushed him into Wymack's office to tell him the truth.

"Okay," Kevin agreed, and picked the letter up to replace it back into his pocket. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that," David clicked his tongue and waved him off. "I just need time to think."

Kevin nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get up. He crossed the room, the weight of the conversation left unspoken pulling him back, begging to be understood and spoken about and explained over and over. But he had to go. David needed space, and he needed time. It wasn't fair to expect anything else from him.

The door had just about closed before he had sighed again.

"Kev," He crossed his arms, and Kevin turned to look at him, holding the door open with an outstretched hand. "We'll talk later."

"Sure." He nodded with a teary exhale. He wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or not, but it was something, as it always was. Perhaps it was just the reassurance of a conversation to be had, instead of a topic that would be buried and forgotten, living on through his mother's faded handwriting and the very few people who knew.

"Just not right now," David clarified with a weak and desperate smile.

"Okay." Kevin's lip trembled. "Thank you, Coach."

David looked between Kevin's eyes for a moment longer before he gestured to him that that was all. He reached for the phone in front of him as Kevin quietly shut the door. The door was too thick and the ringing in his ears too loud for him to eavesdrop on what was being said or who he was talking to. Kevin used the collar of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes again.

They'd talk about it later.

Kevin did the only thing that he knew he could do, and he jogged down to the court. Andrew would kill him for being on the court without gear, a practice racquet in his hands that hadn't been stored away earlier. Coach would kill him for firing shots without a helmet on, but still Kevin dropped a ball in his net, and with his left hand, he fired towards the goal until it lit up red, until all that was left in his head was red lights and loud buzzers, and the bouncing of a ball against plexiglass.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You clean your leg again. The wound looks and feels little better than the night before. The pulsing ripple of pain is a constant reminder, not that you can get that man out of your mind. Or your life. 

You get ready for work numbly. You’re just going through the motions. You don’t know what else you can do. 

Colin never returned your call. None of them. The window is broken. You don’t care. The window doesn’t matter. Breaking glass is far from the worst thing this man can do. 

You get on the bus wearily. You sit at the front. Each stop, you look up, expecting the man. Some teens, then a man with a walker. You tense up each time the breaks squeal. He’s taunting you again, without even being there. 

When your stop comes up, you get off and stand at the stop a few minutes, searching. You don’t if it’s better to see him coming... 

You cross the lot and enter the mall. You stop at the coffee shop and get a latte. It won’t help but the warmth might help whittle away at your rigid muscles. You go to the tea shop. This time, it’s Jeremy at the counter. 

“Hey, sup?” He asks as he put out the sample pitcher of fruit punch iced tea. 

“Nothing,” you answer, eye dart to the mall corridor and back to the counter. 

“Oh? Security was asking about you this morning.” 

“Um... what?” You turn to him, “they were?” 

“Yeah, something about a report last night. Said they were following-up. Something happen?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so concerned with anything. Not more than his phone. You shake your head. 

“Just... a suspicious customer,” you shrug. 

What’s the point in saying anything? You doubt his reaction will be any different than the police. Or that he could do anything more than offer empty platitudes. It’ll be okay. I’m sure the guy will get tired and leave you alone. 

No, he won’t. 

The look in his eye as he latched on and tore out your hair assured you of that. You can feel his grip, how strong he was, and you remember the way malice roiled off of him. He’s not just a man, he’s a monster. 

“Hm, no surprise there,” Jeremy snorts. “Halloween collections coming tomorrow. This place is going to get stupid.” 

“Of course,” you mutter without much thought. 

You stare over the counter into the bright mall. Waiting. Watching. He wouldn’t do anything now. Now with Jeremy right there. 

He would. He could. Last night on the bus, there were a dozen other passengers who didn’t give a shit about what he did. You put your hands on your head, gripping your skull as if it’s splitting in half. You show your teeth and whine. 

“Woah, everything okay?” Jeremy moves towards you and you wince away from him. 

“No! It’s not okay,” you spin and hurry into the back room. You grab your bag and your jacket and veer back out. 

“Hey, where are you going?” He shouts as you race around the counter. 

You don’t answer. You don’t have one. You just can’t stand still and wait for this man to show up again. 

You charge through the mall and to the exit opposite the one you usually come in. You stop just outside, right before the tarmac and heave. What are you doing? Where are you going? Home isn’t safe. There’s nowhere else to go. 

Your sister stopped talking to you when you called her boyfriend a deadbeat. Your parents took her side, like they always do, and the rest of your family doesn’t give a shit. Even if anyone did answer your call, they’d call you dramatic, or a liar. The latter is more likely. 

The police didn’t listen either. Your landlord won’t fix your window or replace the chain, he won’t even bother to check his voicemail. So, what now? 

You look around and your eyes snag on a dark figure. It’s him. Just beside one of the light poles. He stands unmoving, as motionless as the metal next to him. You trip backwards and twirl, bursting back into the mall. 

You sprint through the corridors, ignoring the patrons as they send you looks, swerving and weaving around them. You turn and come out on the east side of the mall. You slow to catch your breath halfway across the lot. 

What do you do? That stupid question has no goddamn answer. What are you doing? That one’s just as pointless. 

You get to the patch of grass and climb up onto the sidewalk. You turn south and walk without seeing. Cars blow by on the street as you grip the straps of your knapsack. You just walk. No where in particular. 

You cross and continue down the next block, and the one after that, and the one after that. When you’re dizzy and tired, you find a bench and sit. You bend forward and cradle your head. Your lungs burn, your legs too. Your head pounds from fatigue. 

You just sit there. When you sense gentle brush next to you, weigh creaking on the slats of the bench, you don’t look. You already know. It doesn’t matter how he found you. The inevitability was a given. 

Silent, still, you languish.  

You flinch only as he wraps his hand around your wrist and forces your hand away from your head. You sit up and he stands. He tugs you with him. You sway on your feet and he strides forward. You stumble along with him. Not a word, not a glance in your direction. 

He just marches on and you have no choice but to go with him. 

[calsrottencorpse]

would I hug, kiss on the cheek, kiss on the lips, or get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 with criminals

got bored..👅

Eric Harris

Ok.. realistically, I dont think he'd like me in the first place, but most people on here likely wouldn't either, but, if we ignore that, I'd give him a peck on the cheek, hes a cutie imo

Dylan Klebold

..even with all things considered, id still kiss him on the lips. Even if yes, hes got a foot fetish, and also a bondage enjoyer, but I could care less about both, shrug. I also think he's pretty cute

Leighton Allen Labute (DollyFlesh)

Believe it or not, I had no idea he was a criminal, at first I just thought he was another bobby lemon situation (funnily enough, they're both Canadian), but I looked him up and found out he was arrested for two accounts of murder and abuse (of animals). But anyways, what would I do? Nothing, at most maybe a hug.. but in all honesty I don't think I want to hug him, he's also not a looker, but i think thats because of his hair, it looks like a wig, specifically kinda like those wigs that George Washington and whoever wore but black

Elliot Rodgers

He's cute, but I think he'd be insufferable, I don't know much about him, or his case, but from what I know, I really don't think I could deal with him, then again, I have known people who are likely worse, and I honestly have a high tolerance (in my opinion at least) but im getting off topic. I would at least kiss him on the cheek.. but I don't think he'd let me anyway...

Adam Lanza

He freaks me out, he always looks shell-shocked, or like he just saw the worst thing imaginable. But he's not bad looking. But I'd probably only hug him..

Andrew Blaze

I feel like out of all of these people, she'd be the only one I'd get along with, even if just a little bit. Mainly because we share similar interests, but she also just seems like she'd be the only one who I wouldn't feel like I would get murdered, doxxed or threatened every day if i stopped being friends with them. Kiss on the lips, or perhaps freaky tiem👅👅

Ted Bundy

no.

Pekka-eric Auvinen

As much as I love him and his case, I don't think I'd get freaky, hell, I probably wouldn't kiss him on the lips, even if i want to, he intimidates me lowkey. At most a hug, or if I feel braver, kiss on the cheek

Artyom Anoufriev

i know just about jack shit about him and Nikita, so forgive me for not saying much, but I think id just give him a hug

Nikita Lytkin

Don't know much about him like I said earlier. Maybe a side hug, I feel like he spells horrible, I would probably try not to breathe though my nose around him

Jeffery Dahmer

I can't help but think of my half-brother who is also named Jeffrey, and gay. Maybe I'll give a hug .. he intimidates me, but he also seems chill

Brandon Hole

Only giving him a hug, funky looking dude, his head looks like an upside down pear that's starting to bruise. Probably smells. We share a few similar interests, I guess

Dylann Roof

I know a dude or two at my school who look like him and are completely insufferable. Don't know much about his case to be honest, but i think I'd give him a kiss on the cheek, he kinda cute.. kinda

Thomas Matthew Crooks

Oh.. it's freaky time for sure vro👅👅 (thats mostly a joke)

These are all the people I can think of currently👅

Extras!!

Cal

Hm... if this was earlier on when I first joined the tcc, I'd say freaky time, but I think i'll just give him a kiss on the cheek

Andre

That one scene where he gets on his knees with the shotgun in-between his legs while he conceals it... ughdjsj I converted from Cal to Andre.. I love Andre.. I don't think i have to say my answer atp

Alex (Elephant)

I didn't really get much from elephant when I watched it, I was very confused, started to understand and got confused again. But this is about Alex, not the movie he's in. He's good looking for sure, but I think I'll just kiss him on the cheek

Eric (Elephant)

hmmm..also kiss on the cheek

Dylan and Eric in Zero Hour

Sorta random but when I was trying to find the actors names, on the IMB page it says that Eric and Dylan themselves played as themselves😭😭🙏 like ah yes, they brought them back to life just to film this!! Anyways, they're both fine, though still probably just gonna kiss them on the cheek / lips

[cece693]

Enemy (Edward Cullen x Werewolf GN! Reader)

Summary: Imprinting was supposed to be a good thing, not for you though. Fate seemed to be mocking you by having your imprint be a leech—Edward Cullen, to be more specific.

tags: gender-neutral reader, reader is a werewolf, post-Eclipse, Edward is your imprint, mentions of wanting to be dead, no established relationship

You were on enemy land, yet you didn’t care. Let them come. Let them do their worst. Maybe it’d be a mercy, a reprieve from the torment you’d been living. The trees around you stretched endlessly, their branches clawing at the sky like the fingers of ghosts, haunting you with every step you took into Cullen's territory.

Imprinting on a vampire—it should’ve been your death sentence. An abomination, they called it. The whispers, the disgusted glares, the sneers from your packmates. Your family wouldn’t even look you in the eye. So, why not wander where you weren't wanted? Why not provoke those you should be avoiding?

A snap of a twig echoed through the forest, and you halted, every muscle tensing. You knew he was there. You always knew. It was a curse, this damn imprinting, a cruel joke from the universe to force you to feel everything for the last person you should.

“Edward,” you spat, the bitterness in your voice impossible to hide. “I know you’re watching me. You may as well come out.” Silence stretched and then he emerged—graceful, quiet, like a shadow having been given a form. His golden eyes were fixed on you with such an intensity, it made your blood boil.

“You shouldn’t be here.” he said, his voice irritatingly soft, like he actually cared about your wellbeing.

A laugh escaped you, the sound harsh and bitter in the stillness. “And where should I be, huh? With my pack? My family?” You took a step toward him, your fists clenching at your sides. “Because let’s be honest, they’d prefer me dead. I imprinted on a vampire, Edward. That makes me as good as a traitor to them.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, defiance burning in your eyes. “And you—you hate me, too. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

Edward’s expression tightened, but he didn’t break eye contact. That infuriating calm, as if nothing could shake him. It only fueled your anger. “I don’t hate you.” he whispered.

“Oh, don’t lie,” you snapped, shaking your head. “I know you do. How could you not? I broke up your happy little life with Bella, didn’t I? You were supposed to be with her, not be tied to…” You gestured toward yourself with a bitter laugh, “…whatever this is.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—pain, perhaps regret—but it was quickly replaced by his usual composure. “Bella and I were never meant to last,” he said with great honesty in his voice, catching you off guard. “We loved each other, but things changed. We changed. It was my choice to let her go.”

“Your choice?” You scoffed, narrowing your eyes. “Then why are you even here, Edward? Why bother with me? I’m just a mess—your sworn enemy, for crying out loud. If you hate this as much as I do, then do us both a favor and end it.”

He moved so quickly that you barely registered the motion. One second, he was standing a few feet away, the next he was in front of you, his hand gripping your arm with a surprising gentleness that left you frozen. His eyes bored into yours, a fire burning in their depths. “I told you, I don’t hate you,” he repeated, his voice edged with a hint of frustration. “And you’re not a mess, not to me.”

“You’re…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “You’re my imprint. I didn’t ask for this, nor did you, but here we are. And I…I can’t stand to see you like this. I won’t lie and say it’s easy,” he admitted.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. We can’t change what happened, but we can try to make something of it. Maybe we start with being friends?"

You barked a laugh, though it was devoid of humor. “Friends,” you echoed, tasting the word like it was foreign. “You think we can be friends?”

“It’s a start,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “And maybe, in time, it can be more. If we both want it to be.”

The vulnerability in his words caught you off guard. You expected pity, maybe even indifference, but not this—this honest hope that things could be different. You let out a shaky breath, feeling some tension drain from your shoulders. “Alright,” you murmured, the fight leaving you. “Friends…We can try.”

A small, tentative smile crept onto Edward’s lips, and for a moment, warmth spread through your chest, easing some of the ache that had settled there. It wasn’t a solution, not by far, but it was a beginning.

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (SOTUS) 1/5

The crowd picked two blacklisted shows for me to watch during Pride, which were Love in the Air and The Untamed, and so even though I finished the first, I've stalled on the second, and it's all because of the beast named SOTUS. I watched this show when it aired in 2016, but I don't remember any of it. All I remember is that I'm very mad at it, yet this was the wild card show that was unlocked during the voting, so instead of fearing this show so much that I cannot bring myself to finish The Untamed, I'm going straight to the big boss, and fighting this demon NOW!

It's me and the gear in a battle until the very end, and even though I cannot remember a single thing about this show, as soon as I pressed play, all the hate in my body rose to the surface, so I already know this is going to be a ~journey~

First and foremost, I'm going to give this show and Krist a compliment because I HATE Arthit, which is exactly what I should be doing in the first episode. He is 🎶The Worst🎶 and he leans all the way into it. He snarls. He yells. He forces a girl to give him her number through mere power dynamics and sexism, and this isn't just 2024-me thinking this. 2016-me knows that this character is written well because the worst thing Arthit can think of doing to another man is making him say he is gay.

Then to casually whisper in that man's ear that he could find him a skirt to wear . . .

Arthit really is the epitome of the homophobe-to-homo character and I can't believe that it worked in 2016 since I feel that was late for a character like this to still be a love interest, yet it's still working so well in 2024 because here I am, pissed, pressed, and ready to fuck him up for being the douchiest bro in this damn cafeteria. It's refreshing how much I'm allowed to hate him.

Because even the way he screams Kongpob's name with his student ID every fucking two seconds is setting me off.

And I'm very disappointed in BL Land for only ONE video existing of him screaming Kongpob's name, and it's only the times from the first half of the first episode. Thanks, OP, but we are slacking!

But, honestly, if I had a boy who looked up at me like this every time I screamed his name, I'd probably be a lot worse than Arthit. You know, instigating fights and hands on me or something like that.

And now I'm questioning this series because if these two would just choke each other out then kiss, I would be fully for it and enjoying all my snacks along the way. I'd be fine with Kongpob telling the entire room he would make Arthit his bitch, but Kongpob instead says he'll make Arthit his wife, and . . . the vibe is not as kinky as I need it to be to support all that is being thrown at me from these two.

Which is why I'm heavily shipping Kongpob with M! Kongpob got in trouble for having two books, one which was M's, and had to say he liked men. Now, they are drunk at this table with homophobe Arthit and the hazers are staring them down while Kongpob is just holding M's face.

But let me actually rewatch this show instead of reflecting on how GMMTV messed this enemies AND lovers premise up twice (looking at you, Dangerous Romance) because right now, this show is trying to make me believe the girls would not wave hello to a babyface Off.

Once again, back to the actual rewatch, and because I don't remember a thing about this, I don't know if Wad is good or bad, but him busting out this move when Prem told him to apologize was equivalent to an older white Southern Christian woman telling someone to have a blessed day, so I felt that shade through the screen!

And I'm not victim-blaming, but I do actually think Kongpob and Arthit are trying to push each buttons to see who will break first and fuck (up) the other one because this is not a sane answer to "why did you stay?" when the possibility of the hazers physically harming someone is extremely high.

I only see my Kongpob and M ship now because when Arthit asked if anyone knew M, Kongpob immediately stood up and knew his entire life story. I have known my best friends for decades, and I still could not recite half of that information. Kongpob, what are the heterosexual reasons for you know any of this information about M?

JAN!

Once again, Arthit is 🎶The Fucking Worst🎶 because instead of just taking his L, he made Kongpob say everyone's damn name, then ripped up May's name tag, only to scold Kongpob for giving her his, and now the kids are passing out from his ridiculous physical activities! As a member of a Greek-letter organization who was hazed because that was the culture of the time period, Arthit is being soooooo messy!

Hear me out - Kongpob and M would be so good together! Arthit is the antagonist. Kongpob is the protagonist who meets a sweet quiet boy on his first day of orientation. He helps the sweet quiet boy come out of his shell and watches over him. He cares for him. THEY FALL IN LOVE!

But instead I'm getting a love interest who nominated Kongpob because he knows he is cute, yet can't admit it because ~internalized homophobia~ Ryan from The OC would have never treated Seth this way, and they were in the early 2000s. What is your excuse, Arthit?! The show wants me to hate you, and for that, I'm thankful.

But I could never hate Minnie! Arthit came up quick like he was protecting the boys from Minnie being a predator, but Minnie would NEVER! I could never fear Minnie with the bisexual scarf? And now MDL is telling me the actor has only acted in one other series and that series is Deep Night. Gold star resume, and I truly mean that.

Look at them. LOOK AT THEM! Tell me they don't look good together. Tell me they wouldn't have wrecked every other ship. This is why I need GMMTV to let these MEN (no longer boys) kiss their homies. Kongpob x M. Singto x New. I ship it.

*punching walls and ripping doors off hinges* Kongpob gets kicked out the group and the FIRST one to stand up for him is the boy he loves (it's canon to me and IDGAF what the story's gotta say about it). Quiet and sweet M finds his voice just so he can ask to have Kongpob back. THEY ARE IN LOVE!

Arthit is wildin' out here trying to gaslight Kongpob with this bullshit of "if you keep helping out your friends, then they'll never stand on their own." Sir, you wanna fuck Kongpob so bad, you look stupid.

AND KONGPOB SAYS IT!

I cannot stress enough how kinky this is and could have been if 2016 BL Land was allowed to lean into this because Kongpob has already established through his actions that he likes showing up for the punishments, and here he says the quiet part very loudly - Arthit likes punishing him.

Taking a break from the kink to point out that GMMTV was always going to get My Love Mix-Up because in 2016, May's friend said that "In Japan, if you write down the name of your crush on an eraser and use it, that person will love you"

Then we have May asking for an eraser and keeping it just so she can write Kongpob's name on it. But who gets upset about it? M! Because he loves Kongpob and I'm not accepting that he likes May just like Atom realized he liked a boy instead of girl eight years later. M loves Kongpob. That is my truth!

And here comes the kink lite again! Kongpob could leave. He doesn't have to take this verbal abuse from Arthit. He doesn't have to eat that damn spicy ass plate of food. He doesn't have to finish it either because Arthit gets up and leaves, yet HE DOES! Because he likes this treatment. This makes sense if it's sadomasochism, and that will guide me through these next couple of episodes.

Because the decision to make Arthit the one who likes pink milk is a choice, and now I want an entire TED Talk on how Arthit is probably the most well done homophobic bully with internationalized homophobia falling in love with the boy he is bullying.

Because, joke's on him, the guy he falls for is into that kind of shit.

And all of this happens so we can end with Kongpob getting pink milk for himself after he finished an entire spicy meal that he didn't need to since he enjoys being punished should make me so happy, but the show is trying to lighten Arthit's behavior by having him pay for the bill (and get the freshmen food, and having been hazed himself, and blah blah blah) instead of just letting the toxicito be toxic and Kongpob being into it.

I never thought I'd write this, but I don't want Arthit to be tamed. I want him to be so much worse.

[ittybittyremy]

bells hells' points about the archheart conversation (c3e108)

I organized everyone's points so that it would be easier to analyze them

This may look a little messy so sorry in advance

Note: I am only including the conversation and not anything afterwards (i.e. Braius' interaction with Asmodeus)

Conversation starts at 3:19:30 on Beacon

Chetney

Reminds the team that there is another god who has a similar opinion to the Archheart

Reminds the group that the last bit of the lock on Predathos shared a similarity with the Divine Gate. He wonders if they break down the gate, would it pull the pin on Predathos, keeping them back for a bit. And if that was the case, it could be fair game

Agrees with Orym's “I don’t know that we need to decide that we have to throw the switch instead of him when we at least have a chance to cut off his hand before he pulls it”

Asks Imogen and Fearne “I’m not Ruidusborn, so it’s not really up to me. How do you feel about the notion that one of you or both of you could be asked to be a vessel? Where are you? How are you feeling about that?”

Says “I don't know” at Imogen's “but there’s no way I’m more powerful than some of the Exaltants up there already”

Thinks it’s crazy that the gods could see BH as their last ditch effort

Says “right” (Regarding Braius’ “At the end of the day, whoever succeeds, whoever has power, whoever accomplishes their goals, they can make things right. You have to win first”)

“The weird part is all these different parties have the same goal, to push the reset button, to grab the reins. We all have different perspectives. The Unseelie want the chance to do it and wipe the slate but they want to be in charge. Ludinus, same thing, but he wants to be in charge. I’m not saying we’re wrong. I think we’re better, but we’re really no different.”

“I was asking if he had talked to Ludinus or done this before, like a catalyst, like a voice in your ear. I don’t know”

Feels like they’re having their strings pulled

Thinks that they should talk to the Matron because “conversations are important. Everything breaks down when people don’t talk.”

Laudna

“I really liked [the Archheart]”

“The other scary thing is if he’s sending Ruidusborn to their deaths, is he testing the boundary or are they testing who’s powerful enough to possibly take Predathos into them?”

Agrees with Dorian's view that releasing Predathos is inevitable but wanting to be there when it happens

Mentions that the Matron may be the one that has similar ideas to the Archheart

Wonders if Ludinus will be successful in broadcasting the gods destroying Aeor

Thinks there’s a chance that the gods strike back if the broadcast is released as there powers wanes

Reminds the group that Archheart said “a second Calamity”

Reminds Imogen that she’s very capable when she says “but there’s no way I’m more powerful than some of the Exaltants up there already”

Thinks that “being Ruidusborn doesn’t necesarily gives them godlike or god eater powers…”

“If it’s not [Imogen’s] mother, it’s probably one of the two of you. And that makes my stomach turn”

Doesn't think the gods are a monolith

“We’re the worst. Like just kind of in general, like we are a bunch of fuck-ups. We’re kind of the worst. Strangely, I think that’s the quality that everyone sees in us that makes us the best for this job” (Regarding Orym saying that the gods could see BH as their last ditch effort)

Agree’s with Chetney's “I think we’re better, but we’re really no different [from the others who want to release Predathos]"

“We learn more everyday. We’re still on this journey. No decisions have been made. We’re not speaking in absolutions.”

Thinks the RQ ”has a reason to take all of this very personally more so than any of the others”

Dorian

Thinks that Predathos being released is inevitable. He would rather be there when it happens

“Cowards are often honest” (about the Archheart)

Wonders if there’s a chance that the gods strike back if the broadcast is released as there powers wanes

Nods at Orym’s “Ludinus is at the end of the road no matter what.”

“Faith’s a hard thing to let go of” (regarding Imogen’s “but a lot of people on this world depend on [the gods]”)

“It’s hard to believe but there is real evil in the world. I’ve seen it. Not everything deserves a second chance… But maybe you’re right, I wish you were. I wish the world were the way you saw it but it’s got to be done, but that’s not a chance I’m willing to take either” (in regards to Fearne saying that Predathos potentially being good)

“I think Predathos is a weapon. Do we want to have the power to wield it? I don’t know. But I trust us more than anyone”

“It was so ugly the way we did [the mission], but we did do what we came here for.”

Asks Chetney if he thinks “we’re getting our strings pulled”

“I think (the Raven Queen) is motivated by fear as well. I would imagine if you could see the future, the one future you couldn’t see is the future where the gods come to an end.” (Going under the assumption the she can see the future)

Braius

He saw the deal as the vessel “being” Predathos

Makes an affirming sound at Orym’s “it can end at job one, if you do it successfully”

Doesn’t think they went to far with the mission. “We’re on a mission to save the world. Some stuff is going to happen. It’s all in service of a greater good”

“At the end of the day, whoever succeeds, whoever has power, whoever accomplishes their goals, they can make things right. You have to win first”

Fearne

“The deal is that we would [release Predathos]”

Thinks most of the world believes in the gods

“What about the other gods? What if they have different ideas?”

Wonders if we should get the opinions of other gods

Thinks the Archheart seemed tired

Doesn’t answer Chetney’s question about how she feels about potentially being a vessel

“I mean, listen, If it’s something that’s got to be done. It’s got to be done. Personally, I think- I don’t know, I think if something is captured up there, this Predathos. Does it make us any better that we’re keeping him caged up just to save other people and other things?”

“What if [Predathos] just want[s] to go back and be with his family?”

Agrees with Dorian's “Not everything deserves a second chance.” (regarding Predathos)

Strongly agrees with Imogen’s “What the Archheart is trying to convince us to do is the exact same thing that everyone else is trying to do.”

Imogen

“[The Archheart] made some really amazing points”

“Do we really want to follow?”

The deal is that we would still wake up Predathos. That’s the deal they want; wake up Predathos.”

She highlights that the people who believe in the gods wouldn’t get what they want

“The Archheart made it pretty clear that taking Predathos would be [deadly]”

Thinks the Archheart seemed tired

Agree with Ashton’s “I do think that most scenarios in this current situation lead to just the worst that we can imagine”

Agrees with Orym’s “Ludinus is at the end of the road no matter what.”

“I haven’t really thought about it yet, Chet. I’ve been of the notion that I don’t want to let Predathos free. I know so many people disagree with what the gods do, and so many in our group do. But a lot of people on this world depend on them. To throw that all away seems callous.” (When Chetney asked about how she feels about potentially being a vessel)

Wonders if they went to far with the mission

Agree with Dorian’s “Faith’s a hard thing to let go of”

“It’s not like, you know, their faith would be shattered because they don’t know. Their faith would be shattered because their gods abandoned them. Their gods would have run away from them in their time of need when all of their Ruidians or Reilorans are destroying their lands and demons from the depths are breaking through portals. I don’t know what will happen, to Orym’s point. So I don’t know how I feel about back that play up. But I think if it’s going to happen, if it has to happen, if there’s no stopping it, if it comes down to it and he’s coming out, then I would gladly step up and at least try. But there’s no way I’m more powerful than some of the Exaltants up there already”

“I think us (Fearne and Imogen) combined, there might be some hope”

Wonders if Predathos could be like Gloamglut. “He’s just young”

"Well, I kind of sensed him. He wants to eat” (Regarding Fearne wondering if Predathos just wants to go back to his family)

Thinks that they should talk to the Matron of Ravens to see what she has to say

Agrees with Dorian’s “It was so ugly the way we did [the mission], but we did do what we came here for.”

“What the Archheart is trying to convince us to do is the exact same thing that everyone else is trying to do.”

Wonders if the RQ knew her champions would become the catalyst for the key

Orym

“We’ve yet to see one thing that proves to us what will happen after that thing is let loose. We’ve had people tell us it will be fine, we’ve had people tell us it would be destructive. We’ve had a god tell us to fight. We’ve had a god tell us to burn it all to the ground.”

He wouldn’t risk it because he doesn’t think anyone, including Ludinus, knows what will happen when Predathos is let free

Disagrees with Dorian statement of “I think it’s coming, one way or the other, and I’d rather be there when it does”

Highlights that they’re making a play for Ludinus because taking Predathos on would be deadly

Acknowledges that the gods may have different ideas

“It’s a big coin toss, guys”

Agrees with Dorian’s “There’s no one I trust more than us”

Thinks that “Ludinus is at the end of the road no matter what.”

“I don’t know that we need to decide that we have to throw the switch instead of [Ludinus] when we at least have a chance to cut off his hand before he pulls it”

Thinks that it can/could end with cutting Ludinus’ hand before he pulls the switch “if you do it successfully”

“There’s nothing saying that you have to flip that switch and turn reality upside down. None of you can tell me what will happen if one our friends does what Ludinus wants to do. None of you have any evidence, proof. Intuition doesn’t cut it. Your gut does not cut it. You are putting the population of this world at risk. So I hope you are all fucking sure at the end of the road. I’ll be there to get you there. I’ll stand by your side. I will do my damnedest to keep you all alive. But don’t let it be a coin toss or ‘let’s see what happens,’ because you just don’t know”

“I also just over the last months have the feeling that we’re walking some line and that’s why so many of them are paying attention to us. Maybe they see us as a last ditch effort”

“It is, but it’s uncanny.”(Replying to Chetney’s “it’s crazy” that they’re the gods’ last ditch effort)

“No one said it was going to be easy” (Regarding Imogen asking if they went too far with the mission)

Ashton

“It’s a deal I can get behind”

“Everyone gets what they want”

Does not think most of the world believes in the gods, just “a lot” of them do

“They get to live” (In response to Fearne talking about other gods having other ideas)

They trust Archheart the most (of all the gods) because “he’s the only one who had clear misgivings. Everyone else was hand wringing. He was the only one who was actually - He was the only one with a big picture”

Trusts Archheart because he sees them as a coward. He thinks cowards are honest

“Big coin” (when Orym says that it’s “a big coin toss”)

Feels that they would know if Ludinus was broadcasting the Gods vs Aeor already

“I do think that most scenarios in this current situation lead to just the worst that we can imagine”

Says the they trust Imogen and Fearne (after Laudna reminds Ashton of the potential second Calamity)

Thinks that “it should be us”

Agrees with Orym’s “Ludinus is at the end of the road no matter what.”

“Job one. [Ludinus] doesn’t touch the switch” (Regarding Orym's “I don’t know that we need to decide that we have to throw the switch instead of [Ludinus] when we at least have a chance to cut off his hand before he pulls it”)

Responds to Orym’s “don’t let it be a coin toss” (Regarding releasing Predathos) with “Well, then we’re very lucky that we no longer have anyone who believes and puts their faith in a coin toss” and leaves

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Book Thoughts: Ellen and Oscar

Re-reading RWRB and thinking about Oscar and Ellen. The thing is book Ellen and Oscar's relationship scares me because it's like the worst-case scenario of my own parents (they're a lot better now but covid was hell) So I understand it.

Ellen and Oscar are soulmates. As in they are both intelligent, stubborn and headstrong. They are very similar people. Unfortunately this is a case where it's like forcefully pushing two North ends of a magnet together: Ellen in particular wants and needs a complimentary relationship instead of collaborative relationship, which is why Leo works for her: Leo is meek compared to Oscar. He really just listens and generally agrees with Ellen. His appearances are limited in the book but when he does show up he doesn't really have his own opinion. Ellen wants/needs someone who won't speak up against her.

Honestly? I, kinda feel sad for Oscar. He said it himself, "We're both too fucking proud. But God, that woman. Your mother is, without question, the love of my life. I'll never love anyone else like that." It's sad to know that he never stopped loving Ellen while vice versa isn't true, and to know that she's it for Oscar.

When it comes to parenting I honestly think Oscar is the better parent. It was really shitty of him to leave without telling Alex and June and that evidently really hurt Alex til this day, but when it comes to the other parent things? I was re-reading/listening to Chapter Four today when he goes to DC for Christmas, and both Alex and June are so much more comfortable with him. Part of that is probably because he doesn't carry the inherent pressure of being the fucking president, but part of it is that he really cares about his kids as they are. Ellen downplays June's passion for journalism and pressures her into a political job that she didn't want at all, while Oscar "raved about June's latest blog post for The Atlantic". Ellen immediately started piling up all the political consequences of firstprince literally minutes after Alex plucked up the courage to come out to her while Oscar gave him relationship advice. This isn't to say Ellen isn't a good mother, she is flawed, as Oscar is, as all parents are. But if we're looking at non-crisis moments, Oscar's actions are more comfortable for his children.

There's a reason June initially wanted to go to California and be close to her dad. Yesterday I talked a little about how I hated how Ellen and Alex treated June at the earlier chapters of the book. Well in the rest of the book it's implied that she has a much closer relationship with Oscar, jumping into his arms when he arrives at the White House, him picking her up and spinning her when they arrive at the lakehouse.

Either way, Ellen and Oscar clash becasue they're too alike, and my opinion is that Ellen tends to fan the flames more, see Christmas dinner where Oscar suggests campaigning with them to help and she immediately shoots it down with "you can't be serious". Anyways, the children suffer the most. And uh, speaking from experience here, that shit never goes away. My parents are still together and are a lot better compared to the past, but I flinch at any sound of argument/angry yelling because of all of their fighting.

And there's this one paragraph in the book: "Even before Alex's parents split, they both had a habit of calling him by the other's last name when he exhibited a particular trait. They still do. When he runs his mouth off to the press, his mom called him into her office and says ' get your shit together Diaz.' When his hard-headedness gets him stuck, his dad texts him, 'Let it go, Claremont'" and God that's so shitty? To know, to be reminded that one parent hates the part of you that is from the other parent. Even if that's not what Ellen and Oscar's intention is, that's what it feels like, and it's really, fucking, shitty.

I wonder how would book Alex feel if he know that there was an alternative universe out there where his family was functional. I wonder how would he feel if he knew that movie Alex doesn't have his loving sister, but has loving, gentle parents who have a healthy, functional relationship.

My guess, is that he would say that he'd choose his life and his sister no matter what, and he means it because he does love June, but deep down a part of him would be jealous of movie Alex for having a smaller but healthier and happier family.

[thecoolerliauditore]

Pls tell me about Scott's views on women in general pls I'm begging you

o7 and I'm sorry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fyi, the post itself isn't NSFW, but I'll be getting all gender theory in this bitch so I'll be referencing a lot of things and putting in pictures of naked ppl sometimes. maybe skip this one if you don't like that

(long post)

Disclaimers

An explanation for the tweet up there

I usually don't write these because I assume the people on my blog have enough sense to realise when I'm talking about the characters vs the CCs or are comfortable enough being a little confused, but I feel the need to extra-clarify here and expand on how I specifically view C vs CC because I think it differs a little from the average person.

To me, C and CC are two separate entities but not entirely disconnected. What differs (e.g. the exclusion of irl relationships -- their wives, kids, etc.) is poignant enough to severely detach them from the people they originated from, at least in my eyes, but there's also the fact that these are not scripted characters, just creators being themselves with a hint of behind the scenes drama-adding and improv thrown in.

For example, CC Pearl is a car nerd. So I assume her character is too.

This is where I state very clearly that yes, a lot of these thoughts come from things I've seen on Scott's twitter, which is undoubtedly the CC and not the C. However I, to me, am still talking about the C because any observations/judgments I could make on actual irl youtuber CC guy Scott Major would be tabloid at best and slightly invasive at worst. I'm seeing these statements within the context of "the death game guy would say this too and I'm writing this based on that", not "this is the inner psychological workings of the youtuber because I, as a fan, can totally tell".

TLDR I don't consider this post RPF but you might. This is a little more RPF-y than my usual stuff. If you don't rock with it we cool.

Everyone is weird about women, and that's okay

One short-hand I've used in the past to talk about Scott and women is just by saying that he's "weird about women" which I'm sure isn't exclusive to him.

(shitpost I made awhile back)

I see a lot of people now who love "villains" and "evil" but when it comes to any traits resembling real life evil (e.g. misogyny in this case) they suddenly become insecure. Just a couple of days back a saw a post on twitter essentially asking for permission to continue liking CC Scott in spite of the "bad things" he did.

And I think, in order to present an analysis like this, I must address that mindset first.

This is not a judgment on Scott's morality, nor is it trying to dissuade you from liking him. This is not saying that he is any more misogynistic than any other player in the series. This is just me pointing out Scott's attitude towards women and what I read it as, nothing less or more.

The feelings that me pointing these things out - be they apathy, disgust, anger or, what I would hope to see most, interest - are your own. I'm not here to tell anyone how to feel and never will try to police that on my blog.

Scott's Relationships with Women

aka. oh yeah this is about minecraft.

Scott and Cleo || "Yeah, you can kill me."

Scott and Cleo's alliance is arguably the strongest in the entire series, spanning through all five seasons and remaining unbroken with no (serious) drama attached. You'd expect from this that they two have a very settled and stable understanding of eachother, yet this isn't a case.

Their power dynamic shifts dramatically from one season to the next.

3L's initial Widows Alliance began on fairly equal footing, built on the mutual agreement that they were waiting for their respective partners to die. Both understood they were eachothers' "plan B" and felt comfortable in that arrangement.

Come LL, Cleo does what she couldn't in 3L, and initiates that plan, going to Scott after her last alliance, the fairy fort, fell apart. Scott requests nothing from her in return.

DL is the longest the two spent as eachothers main ally. Cleo is the one who initially proposes teaming up to spite their "cheating" soulmates and Scott agrees. Cleo admits to Martyn in private that she's aware she's taking advantage of Scott (which I've always interpreted as her talking about all seasons, not just DL). Due to the time they spend together, it's here where it becomes apparent that their initial assumptions during 3L were not entirely accurate, as Scott shows a level of gameplay competency much higher than Cleo's (e.g. teaching her how to axe-crit) but despite this Scott never berates her or thinks any less of her value as his ally.

LimL is probably this pairing at their most unhinged, as Scott, despite once again asking for nothing (or very little -- I'll be honest I'm a bit fuzzy on this) in return from Cleo, allows them and their allies to butcher him repeatedly for time. He gives more time to the Clockers than he does to Martyn, his closest ally that season. Despite this, Scott is never ever considered as a "family member" by the Clockers, despite them giving that title to even temporary allies (like the Bad Boys being their cousins) -- even Martyn gets a title with Scott completely unattached.

SL is relatively more chill, but shows that the two inevitably end up teaming together even despite their oath to avoid eachother that season.

The point being -- again and again, we see Scott literally and metaphorically making sacrifices for Cleo, with the only real transaction he requires from her being that she continues having his back when times get rough. This is despite that he's aware she isn't any more capable than he is and the fact that so far it has only been Cleo in rough times (LL, LimL and SL) and never Scott.

Speaking from a purely transactional perspective, Scott is not getting a bargain here -- and even Cleo seems acutely aware of it, judging by her comment during DL as well as the way she tends to speak of her survival capabilities very lowly in general ("rubbish pvp skills and spiffy one-liners"). I'm speaking in this sense because I've seen discussions in the past about the transactional way Scott views relationships but rarely does Cleo get brought up.

This is at stark contrast to how he treats Jimmy, whose predicted death was what spurred on Scott and Cleo's alliance in the first place.

Scott assumes Jimmy is "incompetent", where he assumes Cleo is capable. When Jimmy messes up, he reprimands him, when Cleo struggles to crit him, he patiently teaches her. When LL begins, Scott's first instinct was to look at Jimmy's lives and note that he was "useless to (him)", but holds no objections to Cleo joining his alliance despite her already having enemies being a potential liability. In SL, he jokes about how Cleo and him being allied is a given and pretty much expected of them, whereas in LimL he explicitly requests from Jimmy a recognition that he still cares ("say love you back!") before he will help him.

Scott and Gem || "You HAVE TO kill me, Gem,"

In SL, Gem settles in very easily in a leadership position within Gem and the Scotts due to her trying to live up to her reputation but also due to Scott and Impulse's more laid back, passive playstyles.

Both Scott and Impulse let Gem kill them for extra health this season, although Scott is arguably much more subservient than Impulse is, with him not only insisting that she kill him in the final episode but also not fighting back (and only yelling for her to stop) when she starts hitting him with a sword during the episode where her task was to literally kill everyone on the server.

Once again comparing her to Jimmy, Scott in 3L had a tendency to brush aside Jimmy's concerns over alliances (e.g. Jimmy questioning if they could trust Cleo) while in SL Scott runs his plans by Gem (and Pearl and Impulse) in terms of who he wanted to team up with (specifically excluding Joel from the potential mounders alliance) implying he held her opinion in some form of regard.

Before this becomes less of an analysis of Scott's treatment of men vs women and more of Scott's treatment of Jimmy vs everyone else, I think it's notable enough to mention that he and Martyn also lacked this sort of communication in LimL. He would inform Martyn of his plans, but rarely was it ever framed as a request.

SL almost feels as if Scott has slid Gem into the slot he had previously designated for Cleo in 3L (his girlboss ally) as he provides her and pretty much forces onto her by the end the acts of service he'd become accustomed to performing for Cleo.

Scott and Lizzie || "You killed her! I don't.. I don't know what to even say!"

Relatively shorter section because this is the one woman he hasn't teamed with, but there's still some interesting stuff I wanted to touch on.

In LL, one of the first thing Scott does is yell at Pearl to revenge-kill Joel for boogey-killing him. Pearl does as she's told and Joel's wet miserable pathetic LL life gets worse from there.

Several episodes later, the roles are reversed -- Lizzie lies to both of them and manages to isolate and boogey-kill Pearl. Scott, instead of reacting with the anger he had for Joel, is almost in a state of shock as he asks Lizzie to let him down so he could collect Pearl's belongings. He doesn't act aggressively towards Lizzie at all, with his most antagonizing act against her being to lie about his intentions when giving her a wither skull.

In SL, he's the only one aware of her early permadeath, but keeps quiet about it almost as if he's in a state of shock akin to when he saw Lizzie kill Pearl in LL. It's not until the others have noticed when he finally brings it up.

Scott and Pearl || "Tilly death do us 'part"

I wrote a whole post just for their relationship alone so for the sake of my sanity I'll be leaving this here.

So now I get to dedicate this section to the meat of this post -- how the way Scott treats women in general impacts his relationship with Pearl and how I view his heel-turn on her as seeping with relevance to Pearl's perceived gender.

In all three of the previous sections, the running theme is that Scott is 1. kinder and more patient with women, regardless of their competency and 2. someone who likes to be in a supporting role to women, occasionally aiding them more than he aids himself and his closer male allies (e.g. Jimmy and Martyn). As shown with Cleo, he assumes that girls have it together, but even if they don't it's not a big deal. When a girl's actions are truly disastrous, such as with Lizzie's, he goes into a state of shock and doesn't really react, preferring to swallow it down and not acknowledge it.

With the amount of times he sacrifices himself, I don't think it's a reach to say that Scott values his own life less than he values the lives of his (female) allies. This specific point actually does extend to his male allies too, shown when he's happy when Martyn literally backstabs him in LimL, but just as with the Martyn post where I point out his victim status-ing doesn't end at only women but includes all the women, Scott has pedastal-ed all the women he's teamed with.

Lizzie is, once again, the exception here due to his limited interactions with her. However that's actually somewhat patched over if you look at adjacent series (such as x-life) where he definitely shows her a level of admiration and respect.

Back to Scott and Pearl.

Their relationship during LL is very standard of how Scott treats women. While the power dynamic between them is obviously more caused by the initial life trade agreement, I don't think it's a far reach to say that Scott is somewhat comfortable in the arrangement.

However, this is also the first thing that sets their relationship apart from Scott with Cleo or Gem -- Pearl is the one making sacrifices, not Scott. She is the one "sacrificing" her lives to him, just in a more non-violent way as allowed by the season's mechanics.

When viewed through this lens, Scott trying to make it up to her and wanting his effort acknowledged makes even more sense. This is suddenly uncharted waters for him. His assuming that Pearl doesn't value him as a person goes hand in hand with him valuing himself less than her.

What Scott has with Cleo or Gem, situations where the other party is clearly uncomfortable with how he treats himself (Gem) or actively aware they are taking advantage of him (Cleo), is equalized to him because he is inherently worth less. What he has with Pearl, on the other hand, looks more equal to most people (lives vs labour) but is wildly imbalanced to him.

It's one of the many factors I see going into Scott's weird decision to abandon her in DL.

An Interlude, Before We Get to DL

La Pieta, Michelangelo

So this has been a lot of words so far and some of you might be wondering at this point: why say Scott is "weird" about women when so far this has been describing how he values women more, is kinder to them, is more patient with them, etc.? How is any of this behaviour remotely misogynistic?

And I would feel horrible if I forced you to read through all of my DL thoughts before I clarified this -- Scott is not your classic wifebeater "women are lesser" misogynist, Scott is someone who subscribes to misogynistic schools of thought and probably considers himself an ally to women, when in reality his beliefs are still rooted in dehumanizing them and these beliefs end up harming the women around him as well as himself.

After all, seeing women are your superiors is still not seeing them as your equals.

I know it's a bit of a meme on this blog at this point. But. Sigmund Freud identified what we know refer to as the "madonna/whore complex", which he described as a pattern of behaviour in men who separated women into being madonnas (pure, holy and admirable) and whores (debased, sexual, deviant). We'll be focusing on the former, the madonna, as it is more relevant to Scott's character.

Freud proposed that the madonna figure was something men projected onto women as a replacement for maternal love. These women are sacred and untouchable, literally as the projection of the maternal role onto them also makes it so that the sufferer cannot feel any sexual attraction towards her (keep this in mind for later).

Scott projects the madonna figure onto his female compatriots -- they are to be protected, served and supported. They are goddesses, queens, but they are never human. The madonna role in of itself is not inherently harmful to the woman, as seen with Cleo who takes control and advantage of it. However, it is enforced, as seen with Gem who at first revels in the superiority but almost breaks down when Scott offers him up as her sacrificial lamb one last time.

I linked this Utena AMV awhile back when vaguely talking about Scott and women, and this was the point I was alluding to.

Girls are beautiful and pure. They don't spit on the street, they don't piss on the street, they don't build hierarchies -- they subvert all the expectations of masculinity that I hate having to deal with. They are my escape.

But what about the girls who do spit on the street? The girls who piss on seats? Who build social hierarchies, who size up their competition?

The girls Scott interacts with are all painfully human. Cleo weaponizes his beliefs and take advantage of him. Scott is smart enough to know and accept this. Gem's playing into a role she has been assigned into by not only Scott but everyone around her. Scott supports the character she plays. Lizzie reflects traits he hates in Joel and Jimmy, but for her, he looks the other way.

Are they "demons", as the song says, or are they no longer girls at all?

(demons, gods, but never humans)

Weaponized Femininity and Women In Total Control of Themselves ;)

Hylas and the Nymphs, John William Waterhouse

Historically, weaponized femininity I'd argue is one of the oldest tropes in storytelling. Whether it's nymphs or sirens or witches or succubi or even more roundabout cases like Helen of Troy, there's countless stories of men's sexual attraction to women leading them to disaster.

One way to view these stories is to see them as warnings, don't let womens allure be the end of you.

There's a lot of good writing done on the femme fatale trope both in the context of weaponizing femininity and as a sexist way to argue against victims of sexual assault, as these stories often say that men who experience attraction to these "evil" women no longer have agency over their own actions.

Look at the painting above, for example - is it the nymphs who are responsible for drowning Hylas, or is Hylas climbing into the lake of his own accord?

Despite the fact we all know sirens, nymphs and succubi aren't real, the belief that men will simply lose control of themselves when encountering a particularly alluring woman persists to the modern consciousness. That there's something inherently dangerous about women and attraction to them.

(this is not 100% applicable to Ninja saying he won't stream with women, but it's the real life example I felt most comfortable putting in here)

Now, let's combine this with what's been said so far -- let's say you don't hate women. You love women, in fact, and you hate the way men treat women. You hate men, in fact.

Yet, you still believe in this inherent power women hold by being female and the loss of agency that men experience when attracted to them -- how disgusting.

It quickly becomes easily to not only demonize men for sullying the holiness of women, but also men, masculinity and attraction to women as a whole.

(apologies for using twt discourse in the meta post but this flew by my TL and i had to grab the irl example of mens non-violent attraction to women being used to frame them as misogynistic before the stupid app refreshed and i lose everything forever)

"To Venner" is a student film exploring a world set within this belief, where all the women have vanished and the men have become monstrous figures as a result of their pent up sexual frustration. fyi this is one of my favourite student films (and ive watched a bunch), but I do think its messaging is worth breaking down (especially its juxtaposition of dirty horrible monstrous sexuality vs pure and beautiful romantic love)

NOTE: this film is super graphic, lots of violence and nudity. have fun. or not

I admit this section is a bit hard to gauge as everyone in the series is gay as fuck. The closest in-series example I can think of is Scott reacting to Martyn's antics in DL with a sort of indigence but otherwise I can't really think of an example of a man expressing attraction to a woman at all, let alone one Scott reacted to. However, I do think it's still worth talking about because it opens up some interesting trains of thought in regard to Scott and Pearl.

For Scott, he himself has never been part of the picture. He's gay, after all, which gives him an edge over the bad straight men who objectify and assault women. Likewise, there's little evidence to suggest he finds the expectations of masculinity frustrating, but I don't think it's too far a reach considering how common of an experience that is for gay men and his adapting of more feminine mannerisms.

Double Life and Corruption

As mentioned in my previously linked post about Scott and Pearl's relationship, I do think Scott experiences what he would name as attraction towards Pearl, so my writing will reflect that.

Pearl is. ahem. not like other girls.

Not actually. But to Scott, she probably isn't like other girls.

She remains unaware of his different standards for her (how could she when she had nothing to compare them to), she acts out, sometimes violently, against Scott's urging (such as when she stole from Scar's wagon). She maintains their already irregular dynamic, and while she appreciates his care for her, she never quite falls into seeing him as a source of subservience the way Cleo or Gem do.

At the end of LL, right before the 1v1v1v1, she monologues to herself that she no longer has to feel bad for killing Scott. Which, in turn, implies she expected Scott to give it his all against her as well.

She entirely fails to embody the madonna with her immature naivete and her questionable morals. She is unpredictable, she doesn't take what she is owed, she is a monster in a lot of ways.

Scott, too, is a monster, to himself, for how he feels about her.

The very foundations of your understanding of yourself being ripped apart aside, let's rewind to the madonna/whore complex. To sexualise the madonna is to corrupt her and make a monster of yourself. Suddenly, you are no better than the men around you, the ones you've grown to hate. Suddenly, you are the grotesque figures in films like To Venner. You are Hylas and she is the nymph. And you are so stupid. Your worldview crumbles around its flawed foundations.

Scott is, however, immune to this corruption. This is a theme that appears in Empires as well, but throughout the traffic series he's prided himself on being loyal and kind and good. His monologue leading up to LL's 1v1v1v1 summarizes it quite well.

He can't let himself or anyone else see this side of him, but the energy needs to go somewhere. To defy fate, abandon your soulmate, is to admit you had a fate in the first place, is to acknowledge that she was your soulmate in the first place.

I've previously talked about how fate and romance are very ingrained in Scott's belief system, if it was anyone else it would've been amazing. He could've been like Bdubs and Impulse or Ren and Bigb, diving into domestic life and performative romance with a stranger. Or the world could've made his happy ending from 3L real, as he got to be Jimmy's husband all over again. I think it says something that he accepts Cleo as a "soulmate" before Pearl.

So what do you do with all that energy and tension, clearly apparent to yourself and everyone else, when you can't let them observe your feelings?

You project them.

Shout-outs to @/legally-allowed-to-slime for pointing out Pearl's comment early on in DL that she "feels like (she's) been broken up with" confirms she never saw Scott in a romantic sense. The "crazy ex-girlfriend" and "this is why I'm gay" comments really did come out of thin air, or perhaps insecurity.

Pearl is the crazy one. She's insane, because she wants me. She wants to be with me, so she does all this crazy stuff. She's lost control of herself because she wants me. She's disgusting.

I mentioned before that Scott is not your classic misogynist, but this is where the gears start turning. Scott's views of Pearl echo that of other players, most prominently Ren and Martyn, that Pearl has been overcome with some sort of corruption. She has become the witch, the demoness, the whore, in their eyes. Scott does not want to be the same as these men and I think his overcorrecting his behaviour in SL makes sense when you view it from this angle, but for now he has to rely on more traditional misogyny in order to navigate this new obstacle.

"Corruption" also implies that she had to have been pure (or at least pure-er) beforehand, something Scott personally knows is not true, but it falls in line with defaulting women to being "madonnas".

This is a Scott post but. shout outs to Ren for being all of this about Pearl but without the complexity of Scott like he literally accuses Pearl of seducing Bigb what the fuck man.

Pearl is, of course, none of that. But she plays into the role of being the witch much better than she fared playing into the role of the madonna.

Sidenote: I know I'm looking at this from a Scott/Pearl POV but I do feel like you can omit Scott's attraction if you look at it from a purely "pearl not performing to standards of femininity I expect and she makes me realise I don't view women as a whole as human which makes me feel weird so now we have to do this" POV. Like idk I think the exact reason he abandoned Pearl is going to be lost on everyone forever so any analysis I could perform is going to suffer at least a little bit of making-shit-up-itis.

I do also think there's something to be said about Pearl being pushed until she performed a role, any role and generally failing at Being A Girl tm but that's another post i think. yknow shes um. a bit. 🏳️‍⚧️ (but also very much not at the same time idk that's gonna need its own post)

anyway yeah uh the minecraft movie looks crazy huh

[mumblelard]

happy free mumblelard day for those who celebrate

this is the end of a long story. one that i haven't really told here. it probably won't be up long

it was a year ago today that three sheriffs deputies came to my home with guns drawn and arrested me, based only on the lies of someone i had once loved. lies about money, and nothing else. money that i didn't have. money she knew she wasn't owed. lies that i had run out of money and will to fight in court. i'll never really know, but i don't really think it was even about the money. this was her last path of attack after i had cut off all other contact

i spent three days in one of the worst jails in the country while my kids worked to assemble the cash needed to get me out. they didn't stop until i was out. places like rice street should not be allowed to exist. i can't believe they are legal much less part of our legal system

i'll never forget it. it was one of the worst things that has happened to me, but...it finally brought the years of lies and manipulations and gaslighting out into the open for my kids and i to all see together. everything she had orchestrated to alienate us from each other. when she realized that she had been caught, she continued to tell new lies to justify all the previous ones. every lie she told revealed, making the enormity of everything she had done clear

she eventually paid the money back, calling it a mistake, admitting it was never hers, but without apology

it was a horrible time, but it brought my kids and i back to each other. this experience we had been enduring apart became something we were moving through together, and that support made all the difference

even though she lives in walking distance, i haven't seen her or had any contact with her for many years now. the person i knew had really been gone for more years than that. she's even changed her name now

the whole of the experience affected me in ways that i am still figuring out and hesitate to write about. it feels so large inside of me, still beyond words, but maybe one day

my kids are coming over tonight, they come over every friday after work. we'll sit at my kitchen table, talk nonsense, and tell stories about our week. i can't wait

(this is the last picture in my roll before my arrest and the first one after. quiet bookends of normality for a nightmare)