#I thought it fit Syd though

[sydbarrettism]

u posted abt roger and david being able to get into a “mac and dennis move to the suburbs” kind of situation and i am just curious as to who u think fits as which character, if either can really fit into either character LOL

ROGER IS FIRMLY DENNIS IN MY MIND LIKE,, HE'S JUST SOOOO DENNIS-CORE TO ME.. we are not going to mention how dennis is my fav character and i really Really REALLY like roger. david is mac methinks but thinking more about it i can see other members having mac's role (maybe not nick he's too chill for that)

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one

wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush. 

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 

“You runnin’ from something?” 

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 

That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.

Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 

“That the Hancock gelding?” 

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?

Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.

Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.

You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.

The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.

You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.

Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.

Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 

You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.

It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.

You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.

You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.

You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 

It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 

The view makes you salivate. 

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  

“Joel, please.”  

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.

To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 

But it never comes.

You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. 

He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.

Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART TWO

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[dollya-robinprotector]

Wait so in the Homestead AU you said Sydney is going to "walk on Jordan's path" hence the loose long blond hair iirc. So does that mean he didn't get corrupted by Lya in that AU?

I assume you mean if he was corrupted he can't fit for Jordan's role anymore? Like what the Bishop told PC when they met for the first time if PC had corrupted Sydney if I remember it right?

The answer is that Syd is still corrupted. When I was building that AU advanced Temple content wasn't dropped, so I just thought he could take on something like a chastity vow and work with it. Lya said she really liked his strawberry blond hair, so he didn't dye it. He did ditch the glasses though, cuz contact lenses were more convenient.

Also, I really want him to work something out with Kylar, so their bond can be reconnected and he doesn't need the black hair thing to remember their friendship anymore. I made them stay in town for reasons.

[katelynnwrites]

Oh I’ll Turn My Grey Skies (Blue) | Laura Freigang

warnings: laura's injury :(

word count: 1108

summary: due to her injury, your girlfriend comes home from national camp early

a/n: had to write something fluffy about it 😔

You’ve just finished putting away the groceries when Laura calls.

Which strikes you as odd because she never calls, always choosing to FaceTime due to her fervent claims of needing to see you smile at least once a day.

The other part that is strange is that your girlfriend is calling you in the middle of the day. She rarely does that during international breaks, really only having the time to talk to you properly when she’s getting ready for bed.

‘Schatz?’ You question anxiously as soon as you pick up the phone.

‘Hi.’

‘What’s wrong?’

Biting down on your lip, you cross your fingers and hope the sinking feeling in your stomach is unwarranted. The forward had video called you just last night and she had been alright then so she had to be okay now right?

Her voice is soft when she asks, ‘How open are you to having a little stay in movie date night today?’

‘Today?’ You double check.

‘Mhm.’

‘Laura what’s going on?’

‘I kinda sorta got hurt a tiny bit so I’m leaving camp early.’ She sheepishly admits.

‘Oh schatz.’ You breathe.

Practically sensing your worry, the blonde quickly explains, ‘I’m okay really! I just landed stupidly on my shoulder so the medical staff here thought it best that I come back to Frankfurt early, to get it properly checked out.’

‘I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to the international break.’

‘It fucking sucks.’ Laura sighs.

Though there is cheerfulness in her tone when she adds, ‘But I get to come home to you sooner! And have our date night?’

‘Yeah we can have our date night.’

Your girlfriend makes a pleased noise and a smile plays on your lips when you hear it.

‘When does your flight land schatz? Do you want me to come pick you up?’

‘Yes please. That would be sweet of you.’ Laura happily says.

There’s some muffled sounds on her end of the call and then her voice comes through again, ‘I’ll text you the details. Syd’s here to help me pack the last of my things now so I need to go but I will see you real soon okay?’

‘See you in a bit. I love you Lau.’

‘Love you more.’ She answers, hanging up before you get a chance to protest.

******

Laura has a sheepish smile on her face when you see her waiting for you at the airport arrivals.

‘Hi.’ You breathe.

‘I missed you.’ She softly greets.

‘I missed you too schatz.’

The blonde’s arm is in a sling and you can’t help but uneasily glance her over, wondering if you are missing anything else.

‘Hey I’m alright. It looks worse than it is, I promise.’

‘You sure?’ You ask, touching her bandaged arm lightly.

Your girlfriend nods, ‘Completely. In a few weeks, I’ll be back to scoring goals again.’

A giggle escapes you, ‘I see you’re confident.’

The blonde winks at you, ‘Isn’t that why you love me?’

‘More than just because of that but yes I love you Laura.’

Your words are nothing but honest and the German woman can’t help the slight pink tint that rises in her cheeks.

‘Let’s go home schatz.’ You whisper, as you grab the handle of her suitcase.

The striker begins to argue that you don’t need to get her suitcase but you give her a stubborn look and she relents.

Slipping her uninjured hand into yours, she murmurs, ‘Okay let’s go home.’

******

Your girlfriend has made herself very comfortable, practically fitting perfectly into your side as she dips into the bowl of snacks you both are sharing.

Her eyes are on the movie that is playing but yours are on her.

Absent-mindedly, you comb your fingers through her hair and she leans even further into you.

‘Schatz?’

Laura hums, turning to look at you questioningly.

Gently, you say, ‘You don’t have to pretend with me. It’s okay if you aren’t okay. You are allowed to be upset.’

The blonde sighs loudly.

‘I know and I’m not upset. Not really. Just frustrated at the timing of it all.’

Carefully, you press a kiss onto the side of her head, abundantly aware of how your girlfriend struggles with her lack of playing time on the national team. With Poppi out injured, you know she had been hoping for a chance to prove herself against both Austria and Iceland.

‘I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, you played incredibly well. I’m proud of you schatz. Is there anything I can do to help??

A small smile plays on the forward’s lips as she whispers, ‘You can kiss me.’

You giggle, doing as she requests immediately.

One kiss, two kisses, three kisses. A lifetime of kisses is what you will happily give Laura if she wants it.

Being careful of her injured shoulder, you angle yourself so that you are in a better position to kiss her safely, slipping your hand to cup the back of her neck while your other hand rests lightly on her cheek.

Your girlfriend begins to smile into your shared kisses, the two of you stealing quick breaths in between them.

‘Love your kisses. Love you.’ She eventually mumbles, her blue gray eyes shining.

‘I love you too.’

Laura leans in close to give you a kiss of her own.

When she pulls away, she has a sort of vulnerable look on her face.

‘Would it be too much or too silly if I were to ask you to kiss my shoulder better?’ She barely audibly requests.

‘Not at all.’ You reassure.

Very gently, you get her sling off and replace its support with your hand,

Laura’s gaze never leaves you as you tenderly touch your lips onto where her bandage is thickest, knowing that it is where she feels the most pain.

She’s been placing her free hand over it every now and then, during the movie, with a frown of discomfort etched on her face.

The striker did not think you had noticed but now she chokes up a little as she realises you have.

‘Did it work?’ You check.

Completely taken by you, Laura nods.

She can’t explain it but it does, the ache and soreness having receded a fractional amount.

‘Good.’

Easing your girlfriend’s arm back into her sling, you give her one more affectionate kiss.

‘Anything more you need and you let me know okay? I’m here for you Lau.’

‘I know. I know.’

Laura shifts so that she’s in your arms, content to simply be in your embrace for the moment.

Forever really because it is home to her.

You are home to her.

German Translation:

schatz - sweetheart

[whenmemorydies]

Ok so I definitely panicked cos of that episode list for season 3 of The Bear, particularly the thought of Syd getting poached….

But then I remembered 1x03 Brigade and what Sydney said in my favourite Sydcarmy scene in this whole show:

You know I think this place could be so different from all the other places we've been at. But in order for that to be true, we need to run things different.

The reason I’m here and not working somewhere else, or for someone else, is ‘cause I think I can stand out here. I can make a difference here. We could share ideas. I could implement things that make this place better, and I don’t wanna be wasting my time, working on another line or tweezing herbs on a dish that I don’t care about, or, or, or running brunch, God forbid.

And later in 1x05 Sheridan...

[I]t was the first time I didn't have a complete and utter psychopath behind me screaming and pushing and yelling.

Something tells me that Ever's "fuck you Garrett!" CDC is not gonna fit Sydney's bill.

She's invested too much time, energy and love into making The Bear that different place she was talking about in 1x03, to walk away from it this season. And even though Carmy can be a whole ass misguided idiot, he's shown that he can change - and is changing. And he doesn't want to replicate what he went through at EMP at The Bear either.

I think we're safe folks. Its gonna be hell getting there but I think season 3 is going to end well.

Bonus (cos 1x03 is absolutely where these two moved from coworkers with chemistry to friends with chemistry):

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 11: Fistful of Tacks

Bearblr Promptober Day 11: Corn Maze

Summary: Carmen's girlfriend (who he refers to as Darling) joins the kitchen crew on a trip to a corn maze and pumpkin patch that Nat organized, and Carmen is struggle bussing. (Feat. Sydney, Marcus, mentions of Tina, Richie, Eva, Nat, Pete, Nat's daughter)

Warnings: Anxiety, self-worth issues, mentions of disordered eating, mentions of nausea, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described), she/her pronouns, mentions of The Devil (Chef David)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

11 Oct 2024

Why the fuck do people like corn mazes?

No, thank you, I don’t feel like getting lost in fucking corn with a bunch of random people for hours; I could be doing so much more with my time. It’s corn. It invades everything in the Midwest already, for what purpose would you want to intentionally seek out more of that invasion? Getting some freshly-harvested corn for grilled corn, corn chowder, creamy corn sauce with gnocchi, I’m pretty sure Marcus could make a killer sweet cornbread crumble-type thing—sure, I’ll haul my ass to the nearest fucking cornfield—

“Is that a no on the corn maze then…?”

“It’s a fuck no on the corn maze, Syd.”

—But no, I’m not doing a damned corn maze.

Syd recoiled. “Oh. Alright, okay, Jesus. Sorry for bothering you.”

Darling hugged my arm tighter and pouted. “Aw, but I did them with my grandma all the time when I was little. They were so fun.”

I covered my eyes and dug my thumb and fingers into my temples to stave off the dull ache forming in my frontal lobe. “I don’t feel like getting lost in corn.”

Syd. “You just follow the left wall, though.”

Marcus joined us at our table. “You do what now?”

“That’s how you solve mazes, you follow the left wall.”

“Huh.” His voice drew closer to my ear. “You okay, Chef?”

I nodded. Still had my palm over my face. It wasn’t the loudest it could’ve been—again, we beat a lot of families with kids, who tended to show up after 2 pm, according to the people who ran the pumpkin patch and corn maze, and Chicago decided that particular Sunday would be the respite day of hell-with-some-respite season, so it wasn’t murderously hot or humid out. Richie and Tiff were off co-parenting Eva in the pumpkin patch, so that meant I didn’t have to listen to his bullshit—though, admittedly, he was much less bullshit since his stint at Ever, even if we hit that snag after Friends and Family where I thought about launching knives at him every time he happened to be within striking distance.

Boy, am I glad I’m too much of a coward to actually act like the animal I sound like sometimes.

Nat organized something of a family and friends’ get-together to celebrate half a year of being open as a restaurant—and maybe to force us all to take a bit of a break now that we weren’t looking at a bad week potentially shuttering us. I brought it up to Darling not expecting her to jump at the prospect of meeting the whole group—should’ve known, she’s a social butterfly, and, if I was being honest, it was the primary reason I asked. So, she could help buffer in a social setting. These were people I worked with, would take a bullet for, but outside the restaurant, I had barely any social footing. And I wanted to. Have social footing, that is. Darling liked being around people, and while she never complained about me wanting our time together to be our time together, something nagged at me to at least be able to tolerate socializing.

We met up and poked around the market they had nearby for some small decorations we could put in the restaurant that fit the season. Little things that locals made by hand—a macrame wall-hanging, little ceramic pumpkins with paper florals arranged in them, some planters. The planters were Syd’s idea. Bring a bit of greenery to the four-tops. Tina was fawning over Sug and Pete’s baby while they took pictures of her first fall. Or. Something. I don’t know, I had too much on my mind and my head was killing me before we even made it to the pumpkin patch and corn maze. Darling suggested we stop for a bite to eat, sit at the covered tables to get out of the sun for a bit.

She’s smart like that.

We weren’t doing the best with our margins. I forwent being paid to make sure Syd made enough to keep her apartment, and even she was making sacrifices in her pay to make sure front-of-house didn’t get shafted. About 2 weeks ago, my apartment's stove goes, then two of the radiators do, and the landlord—an aside here: fuck landlords. I hope hell exists so landlords can burn in them with me.—anyway, the landlord is being a shit about it, so I’ve been crashing at Darling’s place. But then her range and oven also go to the shitter, like, 3 days later?

Like I said: fuck landlords.

Which means I’m on week two of having to rely on overnight oats and fucking granola bars, family, and takeout or unviable food from service that’s still at least calories, and because we’re getting this shit dialed, that usually means scraps. If any. And you’d think a motherfucker like me who got his shit kicked in when working in New York would be able to tolerate eating literally anything, but that’s the thing—I already did this shit, and it’s already fucked me up. I can’t even get it down anymore without my arms and legs exploding in goosebumps. Without seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling Empire and The Devil all over again. Half the time, I just go hungry and ignore the pangs in my stomach until I get caught up enough in work that I forget about eating, and then whoops, 14 hours have gone by and I haven’t eaten a thing and bile surges at the base of my throat and my eyes water, I can’t breathe. And I get to Darling’s place with what used to be a local favorite, and four bites in, I’m so sure I’m going to throw up because it just tastes like stomach acid and my guts are twisting into knots from anxiety anyway.

Something slid across the table in front of me, and two breaths later, the scent of grilled meat, pepper, vinegar, onions, and mustard filled my nose. My jaw stung as my mouth watered. Darling untangled an arm from around mine and rubbed across my shoulder blades.

“How about we try to eat something, hm?” she cooed.

I picked the pickles off the Chicago dog before inhaling a third of it in one bite. Goosebumps exploded under my jacket.

“Wow, how’d you do that?” Syd asked.

“How’d I do what?”

“Get him to do, uh, anything?”

“Fuck off, Syd,” I said through a mouthful of food.

She snorted into her apple cider.

“Sweetheart,” Darling warned, punctuating it by raking her fingers through my hair to get it off my forehead.

“She did not just call you ‘sweetheart.’” Syd again. I could hear her smiling.

My face flooded with warmth.

God fucking dammit.

Thankfully, Marcus spoke up. “Come on, let ‘em have it or we’re gonna torment you when you find yourself someone nice.”

“Like hell you are!”

“Oh, I’ll remember! Karma, baby!”

Syd let out a huff of a laugh. I wish I would’ve seen her face to get a better sense of how she felt about the idea of letting someone into her life. It’s strange, really, how similar yet different we were, like two clippings taken from the same tree, planted in different pots, placed in different homes. There’s this deep, unidentifiable thread of connection that I feel with her—and she feels with me, I’m sure of it because how else could she call my bullshit for what it was while still preserving the feeling of safety that eluded me everywhere else but a locked room or, sparingly, though getting more frequent, in Darling’s arms? Sort of like a family member you haven’t seen in an eternity but you know would have your back in an instant if you got into trouble. If I’d found out we were twins separated at birth, I wouldn’t question it for a second. And I doubt I’d want to protect her any differently.

She’s got that fire in her eyes that I used to see in my own when I stared into my reflection back in Copenhagen. Feels like an entire lifetime ago (Darling told me that trauma can make time feel like it’s not real, and I’m only finding more and more reason to never doubt the woman) but, back then, I did want something out of cooking that went beyond flipping Mikey the bird. It wasn’t that I wanted the best chef title or even a bullshit star, I wanted to prove something to myself. I wanted to throw a fistful of tacks back at that persistent, shitty voice in my head that kept telling me that I’d never do much, never make a thing of myself. I never did well in school, I didn’t get into college, I didn’t have any friends, I wasn't funny, I couldn’t help my mom, I couldn’t stop Sugar from going mad, I couldn’t keep up with Mikey, I couldn’t ask Claire out, I never made it past districts in wrestling—I was good for fuck all, and that stupid fucking phonograph reminding me of all the shit I couldn’t or didn’t do wouldn’t shut. The fuck. Up.

Syd’s got that fire in her eyes. Syd’s got that passion that I wanted, that I found for a brief stint before The Devil sunk his claws into me. And yeah, I could do fuck all to protect Mikey from his own demons or Sugar from mom’s, but I will glass this planet before I let it stamp out her flames. And doing it like I did? By cutting out people and burying myself neck-deep in the craft of food? Would I stand by and let her do that to herself, too?

Darling erupting into a giggle fit brought me back to the pumpkin patch.

“It looks like it’s got a big ol’ pot belly—look at it!” Syd pointed at a pumpkin with a large lump in it and did an exaggerated walk with her arms up and her cheeks puffed out. Eva giggled at her antics. Darling and I were a bit away from the others as they discussed... something about the pumpkins, I couldn’t even begin to figure out what. I glanced around, tried to get a sense of where and when I was.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Darling murmured, circling around in front of me and taking my face in her hands. “There you are. Where’d you go?”

Her hands were cool, familiar, grounding. I didn’t feel like I was boiling in my skin, which had to be a good sign, right?

“How-how long, uh...?”

She shrugged as Cousin, Eva, Tiff, Syd, and Marcus laughed again. “15 minutes, maybe.”

“Why-why didn’t you snap me out of it?”

“Well, you did eat your food. I figured it probably was a good idea not to interrupt that. And you weren’t warm. Or shaky. Or upset.” She finger-combed my hair back again. “I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let you process for a bit... We gotta do something about your hair, baby.”

“Yeah, I need to get it cut.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you need to—unless it’s bothering you. But you should put something in it.” Some strands got caught on her fingers, and I flinched at the sting. “Ope, sorry. It’s starting to get crispy on the ends.”

I eyeballed the sign pointing to the entrance of the corn maze while she picked through more knots in my hair.

She kissed my cheek. “What’cha thinking, handsome?”

“How long do you think the corn maze would take us?”

“Um. Hm.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and tucked her head under my chin. I forgot about the friends and family present and hugged her back. Kissed the top of her head. “Maybe an hour. Why?”

“I’d like to try it.” It came out like a question.

My phone dinged.

She pulled back and beamed at me. “Yeah? You sure?”

Her excitement wrenched a smile from me, too. How could I not? She was adorable.

“Yeah. Just need some quiet time.”

She took off for the maze, and I followed. Glanced at my phone to make sure it wasn’t something important.

2 messages from Sugar.

A photo of the two of us hugging, followed by a message saying, “You two are so cute. I'm proud of you, Bear.”

I stopped, glanced back at her. She was holding her daughter, giant smile on her face, in the middle of pocketing her phone. She tipped her head in the direction of the maze and mouthed “Go.”

I saved the photo to my favorites album and headed to the corn maze.

[noforkingclue]

Hey there! I’m back again with another request (only if you want to write it though!)

I was looking at the prompts you reblogged and thought that this one: "i know what having a crush feels like and this is nothing close..." "have you considered that it's because this is more than just a crush?" "stop talking." might be one that could work for either Tommy Shelby or Carmy from The Bear — whichever you feel it fits better with!!

I look forward to seeing who you choose! Thanks so much in advance if you choose to write it! 🥰

Of course I want to write this!!! I went with Carmy for this because the prompt gave me a chance to torture him slightly...

I hope you like the fic :)

Title: Misunderstandings

Prompt list: list

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“Thanks Syd,” you said as you shrugged on your coat, “I really appreciate this. I owe you one big time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Syd said rolling her eyes but you could see the smile on your face, “you do owe me one.”

“Oi,” you paused just as you were about to leave, “where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You looked over your shoulder and grinned at Richie. He gave you an unimpressed loo and tossed you a cloth.

“You going to fucking help us clear up or not?” he asked

“Can’t tonight.”

“I thought we’re a fucking team now?”

“Syd let me leave early as long as I come in early another day.”

You tossed the cloth back at him and Richie caught it onehanded.

“And also when did you actually help with closing?”

“I’m always here.” Richie said

“Sitting down and criticising our work isn’t ‘helping’. Now I’ve really got to be going.”

A chorus of goodbyes came from the others. You briefly made eye contact with Carmy and gave him a small smile. He quickly looked away and disappeared into the back. You felt a pang of sadness course through you. However, you didn’t have time to dwell on it. You were going to be late if you didn’t leave.

“So,” Richie turned to Syd after you had gone, “why the fuck was she allowed to leave early?”

“She didn’t say. Although it could be a date.”

A crash from the kitchen made everyone look over. Carmy stumbled out, face red when he realised that everyone was staring at him. The smirk of Richie’s face seemed to widen at the revelation of why Carmy had been hiding.

“A date,” Richie said, “well she kept that fucking quiet. Doesn’t she trust us?”

“Maybe it’s because it’s none of our fucking business.” Carmy said

“I thought you’d be interested in this, cousin.”

“Why the fuck would you think that?”

“With your massive fucking crush on her? Thought you’d want to know who your competition is.”

“I don’t have a fucking crush on her.”

Richie let out a snort of disbelief and Syd raised her eyebrows. A ripple of laughter rose from the others at Carmy’s denial.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, “we can all fucking see it.”

“I know what having a crush feels like,” Carmy snapped, “and this is nothing close.”

“Have you considered that it’s because this is more than just a crush?” said Marcus

Carmy’s attention snapped over to Marcus who shrugged in acknowledgement.

“Shut up.” Carmy said but the words came out slightly choked

Immediately the rest of the staff burst out laughing. Richie tossed the cleaning cloth of Carmy and said,

“Then why the fuck don’t you go after her?”

“You think you’re in place to give him relationship advice?” said Tina

“And why the fuck can’t I?”

“She’s going on a date,” said Marcus, “You can’t do that when she’s about to see someone else.”

“She should’ve taken him here,” said Richie, “then you could see what you’re dealing with, cousin.”

“Why the fuck would she bring a date to work? That would be a shit date.” said Syd, “See, this is why we shouldn’t listen to you when it comes to these things.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Carmy leant against the wall and ran a hand over his face as his staff dissolved into arguing. Was his feelings for you really that obvious? Clearly he hadn’t been doing as good of a job of hiding them as he originally thought.

“Besides, we don’t even know if she’s going on a date.” Syd’s voice echoed above the noise

“Wait, who’s going on a date and why didn’t anyone let me know about the gossip?”

Silence fell and everyone glanced towards the door. Carmy’s felt the blush slowly creep up his neck as the two of you locked gazes.

“Turns out my sister isn’t feeling well so we had to cancel our plans,” you said, “so I came back to pull my weight! So, who’s going to tell me what’s been going on?”

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Carmy's type

I have already gone over why the C person felt attracted to him and why he allowed her to prey on him the way she did. If you wanna take a walk down memory lane, here is the post:

Now, on Carmy's part, there are more layers, of course:

IMO Carmy's type is the CHALLENGING type.

And I know what you may be thinking, that nothing was challenging about the C person because she made herself extremely available for him from the very get-go. Well, yes and no. Yes, as a young adult, she did. BUT as a teenager, there was a mutual attraction at school, and yet none of them addressed it. She thought he was too much of an introvert and he was indeed too shy. Also, IMO that reads as: Carmy was in no way, shape, or form part of the "cool kids" gang, even though he really wanted that because Mikey was, and Michael was his hero, and the C person was a nerdy girl that was trying to fit in,

Omellete | 02x09

so socializing with the stuttery, uncool, "never-had-any-girlfriends" kinda guy, wasn't gonna help her push her "fitting in" agenda, so she didn't even try.

Pop | 02x05

Therefore, the only reason why he started a relationship with C in the first place was that he wanted to get her out of his system because back in HS she did represent a challenge for him, which he couldn't face, so she was a "pending" challenge, he had the chance to cross off his list of unfinished business. Obviously, this business was unfinished because it hadn't even started to begin with, but she gave him the chance to remove her from his own bucket list:

Being popular ✅

Getting laid ✅

Dating my frustrated HS sweetheart ✅

So she represented a distraction from whom he really wants and deems out of his league -at least until he can get her that star- [because, in his head, they are not really getting it together, he's doing it for her to give it to her, it's his offering to prove himself worthy of her. Till that happens, he will feel scared shitless of really going for Syd, so he went for the consolation prize instead because it was just easier and it still meant he was taking on an old challenge he could finally overcome.]

What he liked about that relationship with C was the exit she facilitated.

So he wouldn't have to deal with his real feelings, which I already addressed in previous posts

To distract himself of whom he really wants, and he thinks he's not good enough for:

Syd.

The great news is that now he crossed C off his list, he can move on (after he fucking apologizes or can work out some kind of symbolic closure).

We all know that, by now, he knows exactly how he feels for Sydney.

Even though in the beginning he may have underestimated the depth of his feelings for her:

By the time he crawled his way out THAT panic attack, he was widely aware of exactly what she meant for him and to what lengths he was willing to go to be with her and be worthy of her love.

No wonder he "broke up" with C that same night, whether he intended to do it or not. What he said in that walk-in was on his mind anyway, and it may have come out at the wrong time in the wrong way but still, he wanted out of that relationship for sure, once he knew the place Syd had in his heart.

No more amusement and enjoyment, diversion and entertainment:

It was time to get serious and really take on ALL his new challenges, facing them head on.

Hear me out:

His type is: CHALLENGING and Syd is exactly that for him.

The new challenges he took on, because he LOOOOOVES challenges to re-validate himself through them, are the restaurants. Yes, plural.

First, The Beef:

Then The Bear:

Then Syd's star:

The daily rotating menu:

In other words:

SYD

Because all those paths lead to her in one way or another, they are all synonyms in his head. They all represent his love for her and all he does because of her.

Even when he was working on trying to flip The Beef and elevate it, he only could do it because he teamed up with Syd, he couldn't do it with the team against him.

Syd was the game changer and that's why she became his new challenge eventually. That inspiration, drive, and PURPOSE he got from her, were what ended up making him fall in love with her.

Bonus track: I already mentioned this on my meta, as shown above, but it BEARS repeating, that when they get the star he will make his move. So that takes us straight to S4.

Moreover, he has to, to break his own pattern and grow.

So, he will see himself as finally worthy of Syd, once he gets the star for her (like I said, in his head, they are not doing it together, he's doing it for her). Let's not forget that reality is distorted for him, due to trauma. But that's changing because he broke down and survived, he faced his nemesis and made it in one peace, and he got HIS closure,

so as long as he doesn't lose Syd in the process he's gonna be fine next season. And we know he didn't lose her, we know she stayed. She chose him over Shapiro. S4 is gonna be all about his and their recovery.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[papaziggy-devblog]

What would your RO's options be of the DoL RO's?

This is going to take so long why would you do this to me? OTL

Harper:

Kylar: Probably similar to Xavier... Bully but more in a cousin-ly sort of way... Would play games with, Would carry by the scruff like a stray cat

Whitney: On sight, throwing hands, no questions asked

Sydney: Makes Harper itchy :\

Robin: Who's lost child is this? Doesn't know really what to do with him... Would default to playing fortnight with... Possibly friends on Roblox?

Avery: Thinks he's weird, is loaded himself so not impressed, which I'd imagine would annoy Avery

Eden: Would probably never meet unless Eden lived near the camp cause Harper would never willingly spend any amount of time in the woods unless it involved MC

Alex: Probably banned from the farm for saying 'I wanna be a cooowboyy baby' one too many times

Malik

Kylar: "Oh great.. another fuckin' weirdo"

Whitney: Avoids if possible but probably has been targeted a few times, has probably tricked him into eating laxities at one point as retaliation

Sydney: Is chill with... C!Syd would probably fit into the friend group p alright, always returns his science textbooks at the very last second though

Robin: Goes older brother mode

Avery: Doesn't even bother, hates guys like Avery

Eden: Would 100% avoid at all cost

Alex: Don't really have any strong opinions on

Gavin

Kylar: Feels kinda bad he's always alone... probably would try to interact with? Check up on here and there? You ok buddy?

Whitney: Would be absolutely terrified of... would avoid at all cost

Sydney: Would hit on both P! and C!

Robin: Would help with the lemonade stand

Avery: Feels very uneasy around

Eden: Also terrified of

Alex: Not allowed on the farm anymore, but only cause the chickens bully him too much

Sophie

Kylar: Also feels kinda bad he's always alone... maybe brings him a snack here and there

Whitney: Whitney very quickly realized he was out of his depth.. For once, pray for this man

Sydney: Thinks he's a sweetheart! Would be gentle with him <3.... Would not be gentle with C!Syd cause he's freaky like that... On a related note, is probably Sirris' #1 customer

Robin: Goes mom-friend mode, maybe dotes a little too much though

Avery: Avery wishes he could handle her

Eden: Would feel a bit bad about him being all alone in the woods, might also go mom-mode with, the thought of tiny little Sophie scolding him makes me giggle

Alex: Would think he's nice, I could see her liking to help with the animals

Cammie

Kylar: Is creeped out by him, stays away as far as possible

Whitney: Like Gavin, is terrified of him, avoids at all cost

Sydney: Thinks he's really nice! Would be very easily flustered by C!Syd though

Robin: Would probably get along the best with tbh, I see them being sweet friends uvu

Avery: Ducking through alleyways to avoid, leave her alone pls

Eden: Is never stepping foot in the forest ever again qvo

Alex: I could see her volunteering at the farm! Probably helping with smaller livestock

Jazz

Kylar: Keeps a close eye on him, very suspicious

Whitney: Having absolutely none of his BS... Probably suplexes him at one point

Sydney: No strong opinions of, happy he's not much of a trouble maker

Robin: .... Are we sure this isn't one of the campers?

Avery: Shoots him down point blank and tells him to piss off

Eden: Battle for dominance lmao

Alex: Probably has some sort of deal going where campers can come to his farm for educational stuff

Dante

Kylar: 'ThatBoyAin'tRight'

Whitney: Has probably punched him out

Sydney: No strong opinions of tbh

Robin: Dad mode

Avery: Just turns and walks away without saying anything

Eden: Staring into the camera like in the office

Alex: Don't really see much interaction between the two

[equallyshaw]

through thick and thin, always | mat barzal

not too sure if i wanna do gif's or pictures like that above..trying something new out (:

warnings: mental health struggles and ed talk.

word count: 2.9k+

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

trigger warning: relapse in an eating disorder, but not to graphic! talks of therapy and past shame/guilt.

della's mental health struggles had been brewing for some time, long before she ever met mat. when she met mat, her mental health improved along with her self-esteem just by the sheer fact that she was dating somebody. however, this year's fall rolled around it seemed as if everyone, every situation, and herself were against her. with having the luxury of working from home 5 days a week, she was alone a lot and in turn, had oh so much time for her thoughts to feast on her self esteem. for the first time in almost 6 years she'd had the urge to restrict. she kept reminding herself that her habit got her nowhere all those years ago, but she had that hopeful optimism that it would be different this time. a few days before christmas, sydney was hosting a holiday party for the last game before christmas and she noticed something very off with her good friend. her friend drowned herself in the alcohol that was provided and not much of the food that sat out. della felt very uncomfortable, she felt like none of her clothes fit right over her bones and curves, she felt like the odd man out seeing everybody wearing the clothes she desperately wished she could, though knew she might never be able to. she thought about how mat looked at her, and what he thought of her physically. she felt like she wasn't good enough for him, even after almost three years together.

sydney watched as the girl sipped on her wine whilst looking out at the backyard as snow fell, and felt her heart fall. she made her way over, and wrapped an a soft arm around the girl's back. "you good, dells?" sydney asked and della nodded. "ofcourse, why wouldn't i be?" she mused putting on a fake smile. "well..you've barely watched the game and i just wanted to make sure you were good. that's all." sydney said and della nodded. "yeah! sorry, been busy with work and just trying to clear my head a bit." della said, the perfect smile enchanting her pale skin. sydney nodded, "well lets go to the kitchen, the girls are snacking away right now." and della frowned. "i-i think im heading out now. i have a deadline tomorrow and i wanna make sure i have it done on time." della said as the two walked towards the kitchen. "oh, okay. no worries, please let me know when you get home." sydney said pulling her into a hug. one that della needed desperately after a 2 week road trip. "ofcourse, syd." della hummed before putting on her coat and walking outside. della quickly made her way to the car, feeling her headache grow as the alcohol was continuously hitting her empty stomach. she sighed, as she got into the car and chewed on her lip. she looked at her lap, and felt the tears finally poured over onto her cheeks. she made her way back to her townhouse a few neighborhoods over and sat in the garage that seemed like an hour.

her mind and thoughts were racing with what she did that evening, how much she drank, and spoke, how many excuses she made and white lies that were said. she thought about how sydney had looked at her, with pity? remorse? concern? della did not have much more time to think before her phone began to ring. mat's name popped up and she let it go to voicemail, most likely wondering where she was. she had said she'd be at syd's for the evening and some of the guys were stopping by there afterward.

for the first time in years, she truly hated herself. hated how she looked to herself and to others. her body dysmorphia crippling her once more. she got out of the car, and headed inside and was greeted by her corgi, 'poppy' and quickly kneeled down to be on her level. she curled up into a ball with poppy and sobbed. realizing how bad it was getting again, and it made her guilty because of how much progress she'd made. "why poppy? why does it always have to come back at the worst times?" della mumbled, as poppy laid on her chest now. her phone began to ring again and a few texts came in, but della did not budge to look. she got up, ripping her coat off feeling suffocated. she threw it on the ground towards the garage door and headed towards the kitchen to grab more alcohol. as she was pouring herself some more wine, she heard a knock on her door. she sighed, walking over towards the front door saw her neighbor and now good friend lea. "saw you pull in, hun. brought some goodies over." and once della saw the dark chocolate peppermint bark, she knew she was a goner. "come on in." della hummed, and poppy quickly greeted the redhead. "whats the most expensive wine you own, doing out?" lea questioned as she walked into the kitchen and della nodded. "cuz the world hates me as much as i hate myself." she murmured and lea frowned. "is it bad again?" she questioned her friend and della nodded, looking down as her lip quivered. "have you told mat?" lea questioned softly and della shook her had. lea quickly wrapped her arms around her friend, allowing her to cry. "if i-i tell him, he'll break up with me. nobody wants to date somebody that is sick. that's so mentally fucked u-up." della sobbed and lea shook her head. "della, that man loves you. just absolutely adores you babe. you dont need to tell him tonight but please at some point.." lea trailed off and della knew she had to. "i just need to prepare myself for the chance he does though, i have too." della said pulling back just a bit and lea nodded softly. "ofcourse babes." and della eyed the bark. but instead, grabbed the wine bottle and glass and headed towards her bedroom with lea following with another glass and poppy.

_

it was the next morning, and della had the absolute worst hungover she'd had in a long while. with no food in her system, her stomach was also in shambles. lea was sound asleep on mat's side of the bed with poppy sleeping at their feet. the wine bottle sat empty next to della's side with a half bottle of tequila wiped clean. della rubbed her temples before feeling her stomach begin to churn. she quickly headed over towards the ensemble washroom and chucked the liquid coming up. she heaved for a few seconds before laying down face first on the cool tile. she growled as her phone begin to ring once more, and as it finished it began to ring once more. "fucking mat, leave us alone." lea said as she woke up, declining the call.

mat grew nervous and a bit frustrated with the call going to voicemail once more, he'd been trying all night and now morning with no luck. sydney had said she left in a hurry to finish up some work and made it seem like she wanted to be alone. mat wouldn't bother her unless she said something to him, not wanting to get in the way of her rapid deadlines. he made his way out of his condo and drove to get some coffee and a breakfast sandwich for the girl before heading over to her place. if she wasn't going to pick up, he'd be going to her.

della walked downstairs with lea, carrying the glasses and alcohol bottles down with them. the bark lay uneaten on the counter, and della had the urge to grab the tin and stuff her mouth with as much as she could. she was fighting the urge to completely binge till her heart could content, and lea noticed. "ill keep this nice and cozy until you say something. ok?" lea said taking the tin and della sighed in content. "thanks." she mumbled, leaning over to feed poppy. "ill call you later, im gonna shower and see how far i last before i need to nap." della said hugging the redhead who nodded. "okay, let me know if you need anything. i mean it, you send the word and ill come running." she hummed and della giggled. "thanks lea." she said walking her to the front door, and as lea opened it she stopped frozen seeing the 6 foot hockey player at the door, his set of keys in his mouth as he tried to open the door. "morning barzal." lea said stepping across the threshold and past the tall dude. della did not say anything but open the door wider for him to enter. he stepped inside the warm house, pressing a kiss to her temple. and in doing so, noticed her under eye circles, her face looking gaunt and her eyes red and puffy. his eyebrows crinkled, as he set down the coffees and sandwiches on the table next to the door, concern flooding his entire body.

"della rae-" he said placing his hands softly on her pale cheeks, inspecting her from top to bottom. she'd lost weight, a good amount since the last time they had spent a substantial amount of time together; which was now almost a month ago. she shut her eyes not wanting to meet his questionable eye and worrying face. it was beginning to click for mat, and in the instant he realized, he pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug. fearing that if he let go, he'd lose her even more. she felt loose tears fall down her cheeks onto his shirt, and she let out a soft whimper. that only made him pull her in tighter. things were now clicking for him, why she was barely responding to his sister's text, why she was also not responding to his texts and phone calls like she once had. and finally, the suspicions that sydney had the previous evening, were correct. "im sorry matty." she whispered against his chest, and he pulled back just a bit to look at her. he shook his head as she looked up with fear written across her face. "im sorry im a mess...and that im sick. im so sorry." she said clenching her eyes shut whilst sniffling, with mat wiping her tears away. "never apologize della, don't apologize for this. it isn't your fault- at all. i promise you that." he said as she reopened her eyes. as guilt and hunger washed over her once more, she looked to the side and saw the coffees and then looked back at mat, "can i take those?" she mumbled and he nodded softly. "you don't ever have to ask, hun." he said as she stepped out of his arms and around him. she took the coffee and sandwich, holding them close to her chest and headed into the small living room that had a small library, fireplace, and a plush couch. mat followed suit with his and followed her into the room, sitting down next to her. but leaving just a bit of room between the two.

she stared at the sandwich bag, as she held the coffee straw near her lips wanting to fight the urge but knew she needed to eat. "i need help mat.." she said defeatedly as she stared at the bag. mat looked over with a worried look and demeanor, and took notice of the staredown she had with her coffee. he set his coffee down, and took her's as well, and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. she took in the familiar warmth that he had. "im sorry I've been distant recently...i just have been so consumed with it all and because of it i've been exhausted." she said softly and mat kissed the top of her head. "i noticed something was off..when we went to thanksgiving with your family. i sensed something was off because every time i tried...tried looking at you you would look away or at the ground. it hurt me. it made me feel like you were embarrassed or guilty of something and i-i should have noticed it. and im sorry, i didn't." he said biting the inside of his cheek, trying to not cry. della's heart broke hearing how much it hurt him that she was very distant at thanksgiving. she was hoping he wouldn't notice and chalk it up to the many conversations she had found herself engrossed in.

"i love you della rae... nothing is going to change that. no matter how complicated this may get." he said feeling her tense up somewhat at his confession. she nodded into his chest, feeling him tighten his arms around her.

_

christmas, new years and valentines had rolled around with anxiety and apprehension as della progressed through therapy. after christmas, mat took the week leading up to new years off to be there for della as well as all star break + by week. della was grateful to have him in the house as she returned to work and basked in his presence before he headed back on the road. when he left, sydney and some of the other girls took turns coming over and bringing her out whenever she could. she accredited a lot to those girls, and added them to her list of why she should strive for recovery.

it was now playoffs time, and for the first time in a long while she was excited to head to a home game. when sydney had let the girls know that the jackets were being ordered, she jumped at the opportunity to get one. mat's heart was all fuzzy and warm when she showed him it right before they headed out. she did a little twirl for him and a few poses, before they shared a kiss. "oh!" he said remembering to grab what he'd been saving for some time, and as della headed out to start the car; mat ran to go get it.

the two made their way down to the arena and as she was about to drop mat at the players entrance, he paused and pulled out a letter of sorts for della. "i uh..I've been keeping this for a while not sure when to give it and whatnot, but seeing you tonight and how excited you were to put on the jacket which i know is something that you've been insecure about in the past.." he trailed off pausing to place the letter in her hands. "im so incredibly proud of how far you've come in these short few months, and i just wanted to write something down. i wasn't even going to give it to you but tonight, i just have this feeling of immense pride della rae. but uh..yeah ill see you later. ok?" he said placing a peck on her cheek. she smiled, watching him open the door and hop out. "good luck hun." she smiled widely and as mat looked at her once more, he saw the genuine smile he'd missed dearly. he nodded before shutting the door and heading towards the entrance. she pulled off into the family and friends parking lot and stared down at the letter. her heart swelled, just thinking about what the contents of the letter were.

she pulled it open softly and carefully, as to not rip the letter. she smiled softly at the handwritten note and read it slowly. words of encouragement, words of pride, and love. words of sadness and words of commitment. she sniffled as she finished it, completely taken back by it. she knew mat had felt all of these things, but seeing it in writing made her heart swell. he loved her deeply and without hesitation. she got out of the car and headed towards the private entrance and once sydney saw her walk through the box's entrance, she jumped up and down. della smiled as the others all made their way over to greet her. "picture time!" one of the girls cheered and sydney pulled her friend with her towards a spot in the back. "lookin good sista." she hummed and della smiled widely. pictures were taken, food was consumed along with alcohol and the up's and down's of playoff hockey was experienced that evening.

as soon as she saw mat walking into the box, she smiled widely before he kissed her quickly. "great game, matty." she said looking up at him and he smiled widely. a hard effort was fought, with a win now accredited towards the islanders. "lets head home." he said and the two walked hand in hand towards the car. mat opened the passenger door for her, and she thanked him before he shut the door.

she saw the letter sticking out of her purse, and she turned towards at who buckled. "thankyou for the letter mat, you have now idea how much i appreciate it." she said leaning over the console, and he met her in the middle. "through thick and thin always, my love will never falter for you della rae." he spoke softly before kissing the girl passionately. she melted into the kiss, before pulling away. "lets get home, we've got a lot to celebrate." she hummed running a soft thumb over his cheek.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

no tags just because its a sensitive topic!

[forcebutch]

hey man love ur work. just started t and trying to figure out if im a butch [currently id as bi but also not sure if i might be a lesbian] whos on t or if i might be like. an actual man. the thought of being a gay dude terrifies me but i cant tell if its scary bc im in denial or if its scary bc its not true.

i guess im wondering if u have any tips on figuring myself/shit out? i think part of it is feeling like i'll lose being butch if i'm also attracted to men?? any input or thoughts u may have are helpful tyy

i was gonna tell you you shouldnt source your info from porn blogs (and i should ABSOLUTELY NOT be your only source. i'm serious) but considering that i've been through that particular existential crisis multiple times i have some experience with it, let's do this anyways.

i am not even half as confident in my personal life as i am on this blog. my gender-sexuality is fluid and i do not fit nicely in categories, but that can feel like it leaves me either labelless or a liar. life as a gender-sexuality weirdo is not kind on anybody, and that pain really erodes away your concept of what parts of your self-image you are Allowed To Be, especially if you rely on others who agree with strict untouchable boundaries between genders and sexualities. frankly the strict no-touching model of gender-sexuality is really bad for questioning and gender/sexually fluid people. i think at some point in the 2010s we lost the idea of a queer spectrum and continued on with policed modes of gender-sexuality.

that's all theory, though. you can litigate your gender and sexuality to line up with cliquey queer ingroups or gender-apathetic academics or return-to-tradition het truscum until the cows come home and still never feel like yourself.

as my wife says, there's a reason science degrees require a number of lab hours. at some point you just gotta do it. no more theory: turn off brain, start. you have several hypotheses and they need some actual testing. flirt with somebody at a gay bar. do drag. buy syd sixx's or carta monir's t-masc-featured porn, take an edible, and have a night to yourself. watch an archived copy of bloodsisters with your pants off. fuck a friend who's gay in a different way than you. ask your partner to switch between calling you a good boy and a good butch in bed. call yourself a faggot while you're jacking it. 69 another gender outlaw. Do Something. you can figure out labels as you go.

[vasyandii]

Hi, Vasya! I’m sorry, if you wrote it somewhere and I just missed it, but I was wondering, what are Naks relationships with other Chimera members (ok, Krueger is obvious and I remember you writing about Syd). Is it ‘just business’ for her or are they her friends? What does she think of them? Thank you so much!

Hi Thank you so much for the Ask!! Im going to section out by each individual operator if that's okay (I'm really bad at explaining things so please bear with me ;-;)

NAK'S RELATIONSHIPS WITH CHIMERA MEMBERS (+How I think Nak would draw them)

Beforehand: These are just my personal Headcanons from how I interpret their characters and voicelines!

SYD

I briefly mentioned Syd being someone Nak views as an older sister figure in her Bio so I'd like to touch more on that-

Nak, She sees Syd as a sister because Syd's the first person she's comfortable enough to talk about her personal experiences and cares enough about her that Nak shows interest in what Syd as to say. For a long while didn't have a healthy support system before she fled Laos . Being introduced to Syd, she was reluctant and dismissive for the first week or so. However, seeing how Syd was trying to at least be on good terms with her, she thought it was safe enough to give it a chance.

Syd (from her voicelines) is outgoing, friendly, strong-willed, and determined. Nikolai probably asked her to intergrate Nak into the group. Both of them being from wealthy families of people with political/military influence is something they have in common. She understood to an extent why Nak had difficulty trusting people (Not including the whole Naga Trauma stuff) and was willing to take up the challenge.

They hang out during breaks, Nak gets to experience Normal life stuff like a Girls Night, doing her hair, going shopping.

YEGOR

Yegor, having 3 kids himself, probably has an instinct to protect and look out for those who are younger in the field (from His interactions with Rodion and his discomfort with using children during interrogation). He's lowkey concerned abt Nak because she's one of the youngest members in the faction. He knows how people in their early 20s would act from his personal experience but Nak doesn't fit the mold and it's worrying, even if he doesn't say it.

Nak has cried because he called her "kid", she didn't even realize she was crying from that. It was like an inner child healing experience. She initially didn't like him because she felt like he was "treating her as if she's a child" but grew to respect him since they have pasts in organized crime and he feels like her idea of a dad.

NIKOLAI

Nikolai is hard on Nak (alot of cleaning duties, etc.) Because she's one of the youngest people in the faction. " If you wann work here you gotta be good at your job" mindset. He knows that she's a good operator so he pushes her to do her best, with boundaries of course.

Nak thinks of Nikolai as a better version of Naga. She says he's a pain in the ass but really respects him; He got her a job, he accommodated for her issues with routine mental check ups, and his methods with missions is efficient and more her style. She's called him Dad on accident a handful of times, I don't think Nikolai bothered to correct her though.

ISKRA

Iskra doesn't have an opinion on Nak, she respects Nak's ability as an operator but thinks she's a bit strange

Nak thinks Iskra is so cool. She doesn't know how to talk to her because she thinks Iskra is really pretty and admires her relationships with the other female operators. She wants to be friends with her.

Farah

Farah doesn't have an opinion in Nak, doesn't know her that well.

Nak is a bit intimidated by Farah because of her Accomplishments, respects her as an operator

Krueger

She thinks he's stupid and dumb (they kiss)

If you made it this far thank you or reading, the post corrupted initially so that's why it's longer 😭😭

[mishalikessoundsandcolours]

I made up a crossover between Pink Floyd and a soviet cartoon called "The Town Musicians of Bremen" (which is based off the German tale of the same name). I don't know why I made this connection, the music in this cartoon is closer to the Beatles than Pink Floyd but I kinda got the energy of early Floyd music videos from it I guess? Plus I wanted an excuse to draw them in these outfits. But this cartoon is one of my favourites, it's just so bright and colourful and charming. Anyways, here are some of my drawings, though I'm planning to draw more :D

Syd is the Troubadour, I'm not sure why tbh, I can't really explain it. Roger is the donkey because it's a well-known fact that Roger is a horse and donkeys are close to horses I think. Rick is the cat because why wouldn't he be, David is the dog because he kinda gives off dog energy imo and Nick is the rooster because the energy kinda fits, also the rooster plays drums at some point. I really don't have many serious thoughts about this, I just did it for fun. But here are both episodes of the cartoon with English subtitles in case you're interested:

[thoughtfulchaos773]

Sydney & Carmy-Certain Of Nothing-

I'm still inspired by this thread on Syd and Carmy's(yet to be revealed) shoulder tattoos.

I know Carmy's tattoo is inspired by Anthony Bourdain's certain-of-nothing. The CON inside of the snake- and this is so fitting for what Carmy and Syd experience in their everyday lives.

I'll leave the interview of Anthony Bourdain getting the tattoo here. But I'll also leave a quote as he discusses the meaning of the tattoo.

"Epoche: I suspend judgment. I hold back; it conquers all enemies, it undoes them so they disintegrate into atoms before your eye," Anthony reads from his iPad. He adds more commentary,

"Basically, if you live according to this notion of epoche- uncertainty, you reach ataraxia, which is to be unperturbed, happy in your life"

There's more info on the state of ataraxia here-

Carmy's tattoo- The Snake and The Rope

I experienced a small sense of dread today and decided to do some meditation. I reached a state of ataraxia halfway through it? Now that I can reflect, I can see another reason why I love the Bear and it's fun, cool theories.

Today, I take lessons in Carmy and Syd's need to live in the past or future - the lessons of anxiety. But what does this mean with judgment and uncertainty? Typically that sense of dread is worrying about the future- something that's so uncertain. It's hard to understand the notion that it does not exist- this is like the snake & rope analogy from Indian philosophy- in a nutshell.

"Our perception of reality can be clouded by darkness, which is ignorance of reality. This ignorance sometimes manifests as rapid judgment or fear, and we react solely based on senses or emotions... Expecting the worst is seeing the snake." -link

Carmy always sees a snake instead of the rope. He sees the worst in things, and dreads the future, and that could be one of the triggers for his panic attacks.

Carmy's panic attacks in 2x09 and 2x10 showed that he dwells in the past and the future(Claire). We see he reaches this state of ataraxia when he thinks of Sydney- he lets go of judgment of what was before or what could be after and focuses on what is now- which is Sydney being in his life. It does not matter if he or she may stay or leave- what matters is that she's bringing him peace because he's free of judging his thoughts.

I tend to go over Carmy's feelings for Sydney a lot, but Sydney feels the same thing for Carmy, and he returns the favor in Sydney staying present.

Sydney- Future Perfect.

There was an interview with Ayo, and she mentions a conversation she had with Storer on worrying about the future, and she has a hard time staying present; it's funny that the song for her character in 2x03 sings-"Don't Live in the Future, tell me your story."

To me, this song represents getting out of our heads and being vulnerable with someone- telling them our past and future- our story- our worries, and being free from the fear of being judged. Instead of worrying about a past and future filled with heartbreak- we can use our past as a way to connect rather than staying in pain and avoiding it- tell me your story.

Wasn't this something Carmy was trying to do in 2x02 Pasta? He asked her questions about her dad, and he was on the verge of hearing about her mother. But Sydney dodges the question until it hits her again in 2x09 Omelette- though she's clearly dismissive of Carmy's compassion- she still opens herself up to her biggest fear- vulnerability and heartbreak.

Sydney avoids talking about past heartbreaks because she fears it's going to come back- the failure of business- death. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop. In spite of that dread- Sydney still expresses her need for Carmy because he helps her feel in the moment. Carmy gets closer to opening Sydney's heart completely, and she's no longer dwelling on the uncertainty of the future; instead, her fears are a source to connect with Carmy- he pulls the swords from her heart and helps mend it so she can be vulnerable and open to life's possibilities. Carmy teaches Syd to be present in the healing, he teaches Sydney patience and to no longer rush in making up for the past that's no longer there.

But like Carmy, at times, Sydney is not ready to embrace and let go of what was before or what's after, but for a moment, we see she experiences that state of ataraxia with Carmy in the 2x09 Omelette. Sydney tells her dad she doesn't know if she can take another one (dread of possible heartbreak in the future). Another way to confront that dread is to live in the moment and expose herself to her fears. Sydney avoids doing this with her dad, but with Carmy, she sits with the feeling and nervousness of failing, and such vulnerability brings her closer to Carmy.

So the tattoos could represent Syd and Carmy always looking over their shoulder, dreading what the future entails. The fear of uncertainty. Of life itself.

But if Carmy and Syd stick together - living in the - they experience ataraxia and live fully. Because nothing is certain - not even heartbreak, even though it's always over our shoulders and could be a possibility. It's a rule I can take in life - Submit to the uncertainty - submit to the person who opens you up to the feeling of being present. Submit to that someone who makes you feel ataraxia.

If that's not the most beautiful love story- I don't know what is- really, I don't, for I'm certain of nothing.

[katelynnwrites]

My Love (She Makes Me Feel Like Nobody Else) | Sydney Lohmann

warnings: smut with no plot so read at your own discretion

word count: 1613

summary: the way your girlfriend makes you feel is indescribable

a/n: thought of this at 6.30am and couldn't resist writing it...

‘Syd I don't know if I can.’ You softly plead.

The insides of your thighs are sticky, the sheets beneath you even more so.

You haveve lost count of how many orgasms your girlfriend has wrung out of you but as much as you want to, you genuinely don't think you have another in you.

It’s been hours of the blonde fucking you with her fingers and her tongue. She’d thrown a vibrator into the mix earlier too.

Now, Sydney sits up and gives you an eager kiss before drawing back to flick your clit, eliciting a sharp cry of her name from your lips.

Everything’s so sensitive, your entire pussy aching with the amount of pleasure the German woman has given you.

Your cunt is glistening and red, the midfielder running her pointer finger through your arousal appreciatively.

You groan at the friction.

‘Syd please. I can’t.’

‘You can. I’m sure of it.’ Sydney tells you.

There’s a few moments where you close your eyes in exhaustion and when you open them, the blonde is putting her strap on.

‘Sonnenschein.’ You whimper when you see the dildo she's chosen.

It’s bigger than the one you’re used to, only a little but bigger nonetheless.

‘Safe word baby. Use your safe word and I'll stop right away.’ Sydney promises.

You shake your head, widened eyes meeting your girlfriend’s hazel ones.

‘Okay.’

She climbs back on top of you, pushing your knees open and up.

The ache is considerable and setting in from the hours the blonde has spent holding them apart.

You don’t make a sound though, too focused on Syd as she lines up to enter you. She’s decided against using lube, the gathered slickness of your arousal being more than enough.

The midfielder pulls your knees further apart and presses in.

Your mouth falls open immediately.

It’s so much, filling you up and causing your pussy to squeeze frantically around it.

‘Sydney!’ You gasp.

The stretch is nearly overwhelming and there’s a delicate edge of pain bordering your pleasure. You aren’t sure if the pain is there because of how sore you are or how the toy is stretching you out but you can’t deny the way it makes you wetter.

Your girlfriend lets out a small breathy whimper as she sinks in fully, the strap pressing against her clit perfectly.

‘Doing so good for me.’ She praises and you whine.

Sydney begins to thrust and you moan at the way the toy drags inside you. It’s a beautiful kind of pleasure.

Your girlfriend shifts her grip onto the inside of your thighs, her nails creating little crescent shaped marks.

It’s a sweet addition to all the other marks she's left on your body, a number of hickeys already scattered on your neck and collarbones.

You are hers to mark. In any way she deems fit.

The blonde has created a familiar rhythm, her hips rocking in and out. The smooth action causes whimpers and moans to fall from your lips, your cunt practically pulsing.

It’s a lot.

The midfielder shifts to chase her own pleasure, pushing the toy as much into you as possible so that she can grind her clit against the base of the strap.

You cry out and Sydney swallows the noise up by slanting her mouth over yours.

Her chest is heaving and she moans at how fucked out you look.

With your hair stuck to the sides of your face and a light sheen of sweat clearly visible on your body, she’s deeply attracted to you.

‘You’re so pretty for me like this.’ She coos.

Your girlfriend reaches downwards, expertly finding your clit and pinching it.

You jerk, tears pricking your eyes at the sharp flare of pleasure mixed with hurt.

The way the dildo feels in you, it makes you so wired with fullness and pleasure.

Sydney pulls out so only the tip of the toy remains inside of you before she presses all the way back in, causing you to arch your back with the sheer sensation of it.

She repeats it over and over again, getting rougher each time and you cry out hoarsely.

Your fingers scramble for purchase in the sheets and you tremble weakly.

There’s so much coursing through your body and you're really trying but you can't.

You can't come because it is all too much.

Blindly, your hands reach for the Bayern Munich player’s waist and you try harder, hating to disappoint her. You squeeze around the toy, desperately sucking in a breath.

Your girlfriend continues rolling your swollen bud between her fingers, playing with your clit as her hips speed up.

It’s exactly when she presses her thumb against your puffy clit that you break.

‘Red!’

It’s too much. You’re so sore, the edge of pain that borders Sydney's thrusts growing the longer she goes on. Her touch on your clit increased your overstimulation to the point where you couldn’t keep up anymore.

‘I’m sorry. Red Syd…red.’ You choke out.

Tears are streaming down your face and you pitifully whimper as she pulls out of you.

No matter how gentle she had tried to be, it’d hurt.

‘I’m so sorry. I tried sonnenschein, I tried my best.’

You’re sobbing through your words, knees still shaking.

Sydney gets rid of her strap on, carelessly tossing it off the bed and scooping you into her arms.

‘You did beautiful. You’ve given me plenty already. It’s my fault for not noticing your limit sooner.’ The blonde soothes.

You cry messily into her and she smooths your hair away from your face lightly.

‘You have been so good. Been such a good girl for me.’

Slow, loving kisses are pressed against your forehead and eventually you manage to calm down. Your breathing evens out and you bury your face into her chest.

The midfielder praises, ‘There you go. Thank you for using your safe word earlier baby.’

‘Thank you for keeping your promise.’ You whisper and the look in your girlfriend’s eyes soften.

‘Always. Can I help you clean up?’

‘Please.’

It’s a quiet word but Sydney smiles, briefly touching her lips to the side of your head before she hurries off to the bathroom to get a small towel.

When she returns, she carefully parts your legs, rubbing them lightly to ease the ache.

You groan in relief and the German woman chuckles.

Her hands brush against the insides of your thighs and she grins at the hickeys and nail marks she sees there.

‘Admiring your handiwork?’ You tiredly tease.

‘Maybe a little.’ Syd laughs.

She wipes over them carefully and you shiver at the intensity of her adoration for you, clearly written all over her face.

Her touch is even more tender as she runs the dampened cloth through your folds.

But you whimper nonetheless.

‘Sensitive.’ You gasp.

Your girlfriend apologetically kisses your pussy in response and you shake.

‘Baby you’re still wet.’

‘I know…’

The juices on the insides of your thighs have dried into a sticky mess but your cunt is still glistening with fresh arousal.

You close your eyes for a long moment.

‘You can try again if you’d like.’

‘Try what?’

‘Making me come one more time.’

‘Really?’ Syd breathes.

The majority of the aftershocks have eased off already and while you are still trembling with arousal, it is nowhere near how overwhelmed you were before.

‘Yeah sonnenschein. Just…please be gentle.’

You think you’re silly for asking.

It’s obvious in the way the Bayern Munich player reverently moves your legs apart, handing you a pillow to rest your head against and pressing affectionate kisses from your knees to your ankles.

‘I love you.’ She murmurs as she settles herself between them.

‘I love you too Syd.’

The blonde winks at you as you push yourself up onto your elbows so that you can see her.

‘Lay back baby.’

So you do and your girlfriend hums. She carefully licks a small stripe up your pussy, tasting yourself on her tongue.

You whimper as she kitten licks around your swollen clit, taking care not to overstimulate you.

‘Sonnenschein.’ You breathily sigh.

Her hands hold your knees steady and she continues using her extensive knowledge of your body to build your climax.

She kisses your clit, wrapping her lips around the puffy bud for a brief moment, the pressure causing you to moan.

Your breathing grows uneven and shaky, Sydney taking pride in the way you moan her name, amid pleasured gasps.

She never once slips her tongue inside you, knowing that it would be too much for your already exhausted body.

It’s slow and special, the way the midfielder has committed to making you come in the most intimate of fashions.

Eventually, it pays off.

Syd guides your hand to her head, encouraging you to use her tongue for your own gratification.

You come with a soft cry of your girlfriend’s name, pressing her mouth against your cunt as you tilt your hips upwards.

‘Doing so good baby. You look so beautiful.’ The German woman whispers.

She cautiously works you through it, prolonging your high till you begin to whine.

‘Okay okay.’ She murmurs.

Your girlfriend gifts you one last devoted kiss on your pulsing pussy before pulling you into her side and letting you catch your breath.

‘Thank you sonnenschein.’

Melting into the blonde’s arms, you kiss her gratefully.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ Sydney answers easily.

You adore the feel of the midfielder’s bare skin against yours. It brings you a sense of comfort that is far and above anything else.

Being in Syd’s arms is home. You hope it will always be home.

German Translation:

sonnenschein - sunshine

[fluentmoviequoter]

I'm a tiny lil bit struggling rn, do you have any random Victor thoughts to share to cheer me up? Could be anything, headcanon, random thoughts, does he insist on wearing only black socks so they fit his aesthetic? Also no worries if you don't have anything to say or don't feel like it, no pressure!

So sorry to hear that! Hope everything gets better quickly and talking Vic can help you!! There’s a bunch of my random, borderline incoherent thoughts and rambles below the cut!!🩶

I’ll start with the black sock idea! I feel like the answer is probably yes; every detail of Vic’s look (no matter how small) fits his aesthetic. Playing off of that, his style seems to be very sophisticated and dark, sort of dark academia-esque, so it all begins with the base and for Vic that means having one solid color, head to toe, to build his Parisian debonair look!!

Alternatively though, I think if Vic was going to wear something a little more colorful or wild (likely after persistent teasing and prodding from Syd) that he’d limit the colorful expression to his socks or some other piece that’s not visible to others!

One thing that I almost always think about when talking/writing/reading about Vic is that he has trust issues but he’s also an incredibly good judge of character. He trusted Mitch and Syd relatively quickly despite the number of people who have hurt him, so those two aspects of being hesitant to trust but understanding people so deeply allows Vic to choose both his allies and enemies quickly and with almost frightening accuracy.

Building off of something we’ve talked about with Vic’s sophisticated tastes, if he was a car he’d be an Aston Martin DB4GT Zagato!! It’s sleek, classy, and dangerously beautiful.

I also think that Vic is numbed to the emotions of others. Not necessarily lacking empathy, just unable or unwilling to read people’s feelings as easily as their personalities. (Like he figured Eli out really quickly but seemed to struggle with determining what Eli was thinking or feeling.) However, I think the opposite is true for Mitch and Sydney. He’s so attuned to their needs, because he is their first line of defense, their protector, their safe space, that he can look at them and know what they need to hear or receive based on what they seem to be feeling.

This one is probably wrong but in my mind Vic laughs when he reads his parents’ books in private! Especially if they happen to mention anything about parenting or being good/kind to the people around you.

Along with reading and editing his parents’ books, I think Victor has lots of poetry in his mind!! Whether it’s poems he’s read or come up with himself, he has a poetic reference for everything. Sometimes he just thinks them, other times he says them under his breath, but he has a deep understanding of how life’s beauty and ugliness blend together to create reality! His thoughts are formed poetically too; he can’t just think “that looks cool” it’s something deep and melodic, relating it to whatever he considers to be the most beautiful or interesting part of life.

(This is getting long. I’m sort of sorry.)

Victor is a human cat!!!! You of all people know this for sure, but it needed to be included. He likes having his head rubbed or hair played with (he’d never admit it and figuratively bite someone he doesn’t know well for trying), he 100% knocks things off tables on random impulse, and… it’s perhaps my strangest headcanon, but Victor purrs!! When he’s really happy or likes something a lot, he can’t show it because he has an image to maintain, so he purrs instead.

If Vicious came out in 2012, and we’re assuming that Lockland era scenes were ~2002, and he was approximately 22… then Vic would have been born in/around 1980 right? Even if he wasn’t! Vic likes 80s movies!! (I’m projecting.) He surprisingly likes The Goonies because it’s about a group of friends (which he didn’t have) who go on an adventure to save their town. All of the kids also think about their parents and their wellbeing (which Vic couldn’t understand but could appreciate the beauty of). He also likes Real Genius because of course he does, he’s like a more stoic version of Chris Knight!! (It’s one of my favorite movies and I’m still projecting.)

I think if/when Vic listens to music it’s probably alternative and moody/meaningful. He chooses songs and artists with poetic lyrics and then draws even deeper connections and ideas from them.

I’m not accepting any questions about this one (LIE) but Vic would look incredible in the outfit Pedro Pascal wore to the SAG Awards. Victor looks good in everything, but that disheveled pirate look would… I can’t even put it into words, just trust me.

Last one for now! Victor obviously has a soft spot for strays, so I think if he could go back to school, start over, whatever, he may consider vet school! It still plays into his traits of needing to be in control and have an incredibly meaningful and impactful job, but he’d get to help animals too.

Okay I lied one more. Victor Vale makes people work to see his smile! He smiled when Sydney brought him back to life but that’s one of the only times we get to see it. However, I wholly believe that after that, he sometimes just smiles at Sydney. More so when she isn’t looking, but he needs to do something to let all of the words he can’t say to her get out. But also! He has one of those smiles that is so pretty it will make you fall to your knees but you can also tell that there’s more behind it, that he’s not smiling just to smile but to communicate (or in some cases, foreshadow something that will happen to you).