#I was listening to one part where it was so quiet I set my volume to 100%

[royalarchivist]

I pulled up the award show VOD because I wanted to watch at least a little bit of it before I went to sleep, and I was curious to see just how bad the audio was since I saw Retro make a tweet about it being scuffed, and Oh Boy. She Was Not Kidding.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it was time for paige to share her life to the world

The Dallas heat clung to everything—your skin, your clothes, your breath. It had been one of those dry, hazy spring days where the city buzzed with anticipation, and today that energy had a name: Paige Bueckers.

Drafted to the Wings only a week ago, your wife had already been pulled in a hundred different directions—interviews, photoshoots, press conferences, sponsor obligations. And tonight, a team dinner to cap it all off.

You knew she was exhausted. You’d seen it in the slump of her shoulders when she got dressed earlier, the tired smile she gave you as she kissed your cheek goodbye. Still, she went. Paige always did the hard thing with grace.

You stayed home with your daughter.

The dinner had started off light—wings, tacos, laughter echoing around the table at some local spot her new teammates loved. Everyone was still riding high from the buzz around the team, and Paige, though quiet at first, settled in after a couple rounds of teasing and margaritas (which she didn’t even sip, but they still joked like she was three drinks in).

“So Paige,” Arike Ogunbowale said from across the table, grinning, “you and Azzi… what’s the deal?”

It was casual, playful—just a nudge in the middle of the chaos—but the whole table paused. Even the waitress setting down guacamole looked like she froze mid-motion.

Paige blinked once, then laughed. It was genuine, warm, and more amused than anything. “Me and Azzi? Nah. We’re just close. Like… family.”

Arike nodded, her mouth full of tortilla chip. “Okay, okay. Just checking. Social media’s obsessed.”

One of the rookies chimed in, “Yeah, I mean, you’re always together.”

Paige shrugged, still smiling. “That’s what happens when you’ve known someone since you were fifteen. She’s my best friend, that’s all.”

There was a flicker of something protective in her voice. Not sharp, but final.

The questions faded, and the conversation shifted toward next week’s training schedule. Paige let herself relax again, but a weight settled in her chest. They didn’t mean any harm. But part of her still hated that people couldn’t imagine her love life without assuming it had to be another basketball player.

No one had guessed the truth.

It was late when she got home. The house was quiet, soft golden light from the kitchen spilling into the hallway. Her sneakers came off with a sigh, and she padded softly down the hall.

First stop: the nursery.

The door was slightly cracked. Inside, a small figure lay sprawled on her belly, wild curly hair fanned out against the sheets. Her favorite stuffed puppy was clutched in one hand, the other hand thrown dramatically over her head like a tiny diva.

Paige stepped inside slowly, carefully. Her heart melted instantly.

She bent down, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “I love you, bug,” she whispered, so low it was barely sound. “So much.”

She lingered there for a second—watching, listening to the even rhythm of her baby girl’s breathing—then gently closed the door behind her.

You were propped up in bed when Paige came in, your face glowing in the light from the TV. A rerun of Chopped was on low volume, the judges arguing about undercooked scallops. You looked over as she entered, your expression instantly softening.

“There’s my superstar,” you teased.

Paige’s face cracked into a tired grin. She kicked off her hoodie and jeans and climbed into bed beside you, settling against the pillows with a heavy sigh. “I’m so tired I think my bones are asleep.”

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “You handled that media circuit like a champ. I saw the clips.”

She groaned, turning her face into your neck. “So many questions. And they all ask the same thing. ‘What are you most excited about? How does it feel to be in Dallas? Do you think you and Azzi are soulmates?’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what?”

Paige leaned back and looked at you, laughing. “I’m not kidding. One of my teammates asked if Azzi and I are a thing. The whole table went quiet like it was the tea of the night.”

You couldn’t help your smirk. “And what did you say?”

“That she’s like my sister,” Paige said, deadpan. “But I guess people don’t expect me to be married to someone who isn’t also a Nike-sponsored hooper.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, they can keep wondering.”

Paige reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours. She toyed with your wedding ring. “I don’t really care what they think. I just hate not being able to say it out loud.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But here, with us… you don’t have to hide.”

A beat passed.

Then Paige looked toward the ceiling, her eyes fluttering shut. “Sometimes I just wanna scream it. ‘I’m married to the love of my life and we have the most amazing little girl and I’m not dating my best friend!’”

You laughed quietly, running your fingers through her hair. “You’re tired.”

She nodded into your chest. “I am. But happy tired.”

For a few minutes, you lay in silence, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. Her breathing slowed. Her hand still clutched yours.

Then she whispered, “She was asleep when I checked in on her.”

“Was she curled up like a little croissant again?”

“No,” Paige said, grinning against your skin. “Starfish mode tonight. She’s dramatic, just like you.”

You chuckled, closing your eyes as Paige snuggled in closer, her voice barely a breath now. “Thanks for holding it down at home.”

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Now sleep. You’ve got a city to conquer tomorrow.”

And with your arms wrapped around her, the soft hum of the TV, and your daughter safe down the hall, Paige finally let go—of the noise, the questions, the pressure—and drifted off in the quiet comfort of home.

Saturdays had a different feel now.

In Connecticut, it used to mean quiet coffee runs and long naps between workouts. But now, in Dallas, Saturdays were noisy. Messy. Beautiful. They started with sticky pancake fingers, early cartoons, and your daughter toddling around the kitchen with one sock on, yelling that she was a “big girl” and didn’t need a bib.

You and Paige had decided early on that today was just for the three of you. No media. No workouts. No press. Just a family day under the sun.

And so you found yourselves at a park, right in the middle of downtown Dallas. It was a bright, cloudless day. Families filled the green spaces, music echoed from a nearby jazz trio, and the food trucks lined up like a mini festival.

Your daughter, Emma—two and a half years old and already a firecracker—clung to Paige’s hand like she was leading a grand expedition across the grass.

“Where are we going, baby?” Paige asked, her sunglasses perched on her head, her other hand holding your iced lemonade.

“To da dogs!” Emma shouted, pointing at the off-leash area where a dozen bouncing golden retrievers played in a chaotic fur ball.

Paige gasped dramatically. “THE DOGS? Why didn’t you say so sooner?!”

She scooped Em into her arms, spinning her in a wide circle that sent squeals of laughter into the breeze.

You followed behind, grinning like a lovestruck idiot, because no matter how many times you saw Paige with your daughter, it never got old.

After the dogs (which Em referred to as “her friends”), you found a shaded bench by the splash pad. Shoes were off. Chubby toddler legs were kicking water in all directions. Paige sat cross-legged on the concrete beside her, letting the spray hit her jeans, not caring one bit.

“Okay, okay,” Paige said, pointing at a tiny spout, “if I put my hand here, will it spray me in the face?”

Your daughter nodded, wild-eyed. “Yes! Do it! Do it!”

Paige pretended to consider. “I dunno… seems risky.”

“Do it, Mama! Be brave!”

You watched from the bench, barely holding back a laugh as Paige gave in with theatrical flair. She slapped her palm on the stream and—true to your daughter’s prediction—it shot directly into her face.

Both of them screamed.

Your daughter collapsed into giggles, falling back into your lap as Paige wiped her face and feigned betrayal.

“I trusted you!” she cried.

“I sorry,” your daughter said through giggles, not sorry at all.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a tiny little prankster, that’s what you are.”

She pounced, grabbing your daughter from your arms and tickling her belly until the poor girl was a breathless, wriggling mess.

Later, after lunch from a taco truck and ice cream melting faster than you could eat it, the three of you laid on a picnic blanket near the edge of the park. Paige was on her back, your daughter curled up on her chest, slowly blinking up at the blue sky. She was coming down from her sugar high, hair damp from the water, eyelids fluttering.

You leaned over, resting your head on Paige’s shoulder.

“Tired?” you asked.

“Like, I’d-rather-get-run-over-by-a-scooter-than-move tired,” Paige whispered back. “But this is the happiest I’ve been in… I don’t even know how long.”

You looked down at your daughter’s little hand resting on Paige’s shirt, her tiny thumb unconsciously stroking Paige’s collarbone. Paige didn’t even seem to notice—she was so used to the closeness now.

“She loves you so much,” you said, your voice quiet.

Paige turned her head to look at you. “I’d give her the moon if she asked.”

You smiled, and she kissed you softly, the kind of kiss that didn’t need fireworks or urgency—just comfort and presence. Just love.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the buildings. You started packing up while Paige stayed sprawled out on the blanket, your daughter now fully asleep, mouth slightly open, cheek pressed to Paige’s chest.

As you folded up the corner of the blanket, Paige looked up at you, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think they’ll ever get used to this?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The world. The media. Everyone who thinks I should be with Azzi or still single. Everyone who can’t imagine I’d choose this—quiet Saturdays and sippy cups over spotlight interviews.”

You met her gaze and smiled softly. “They don’t have to understand it. You just have to live it.”

Paige looked down at the little bundle on her chest, then back at you. “I’m living it. And it’s perfect.”

By the time you made it back to the car, your daughter was groggy and muttering something about needing her stuffed puppy. Paige kissed her forehead, promised they’d find it when they got home, then strapped her gently into the car seat.

As she closed the door, you caught her hand.

“Hey,” you murmured, tugging her in.

She stepped into you easily, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Thank you,” you whispered against her temple.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being this. For loving us like this.”

Paige tilted her head, brushing her lips across your jaw. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

And with your daughter softly snoring in the backseat, the air still warm with sun and laughter, you believed her with your whole heart.

Sundays in Dallas were slower, warmer in every way. The city was quieter. Even the breeze felt lazy, like it didn’t have anywhere to be. Today, you and Paige had taken your daughter to the Dallas Farmers Market — your favorite spot for fresh fruit, wandering stalls, and letting your toddler explore the world in her little denim overalls and butterfly sneakers.

She held Paige’s hand as she toddled toward a booth selling homemade soaps, squealing about the ones shaped like ducks. Paige, with her signature cap pulled low and sunglasses on, nodded along like this was a very important duck decision.

You were laughing, sipping your coffee, when it happened.

“Wait… hold up.”

You turned toward the voice just as Paige froze.

Two figures stood by a booth across the path. Tall, athletic, and unmistakable even out of uniform. Dijonai Carrington and NaLyssa Smith.

“PAIGE?” Dijonai called, her eyebrows practically hitting her hairline. “Is that you?”

Paige straightened slowly, adjusting her hat like it might help her hide in plain sight. “Heyyyy... guys.”

NaLyssa squinted. “Are you holding hands with a baby?”

You tried not to laugh, especially as Paige’s eyes flicked to you with a silent help me.

“She’s a toddler, actually,” you said, stepping up and offering a warm smile. “And yes. That’s our daughter.”

Dijonai’s jaw dropped so fast you swore you heard it.

“OUR?!”

Your daughter looked up at the sound and instantly broke into a grin. “Mama!” she shouted, lifting both arms toward Paige. Paige scooped her up with practiced ease.

NaLyssa blinked. “Mama?!”

“Okay, okay,” Paige laughed, already blushing. “Let me explain.”

After the initial shock wore off—and after your daughter insisted on showing them her duck soap and a sticker she got from a face painting booth—you all decided to hang out the rest of the day.

The five of you ended up grabbing Thai food from a food stand and sprawling out at a nearby park on the grass. The energy was light, Emma chasing butterflies and occasionally tripping into Paige’s lap, then laughing like it was the best thing ever.

NaLyssa took to her like an auntie in five seconds flat, giving her piggyback rides while Dijonai tried (and failed) to braid her curly hair.

By the time the sun started dipping low, you looked at Paige and smiled. “We should invite them over.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. They’re not gonna let this go without the full story anyway.”

That evening, with your daughter finally asleep upstairs—curled in her bed with her stuffed puppy tucked under one arm—you all lounged in your cozy living room. The lights were dimmed, music soft in the background, a couple candles flickering on the coffee table.

You poured glasses of wine, passing them around before curling up next to Paige on the couch. She stretched her arm around you, fingers gently tracing your shoulder as you sipped.

“Alright,” Dijonai said, settling into the beanbag like she owned it. “Spill. We need the entire story. Like… Paige Bueckers has a family. Who would’ve guessed?”

Paige smiled, leaning into you a little. “It’s not as dramatic as you think.”

You nudged her playfully. “Kinda is.”

NaLyssa raised her glass. “Let’s hear it.”

You glanced at Paige, who gave you the go-ahead. So you started.

“Well… we met at UConn. I wasn’t a player—I was studying sports medicine and doing photography for the women’s basketball program.”

“She had a camera in her hand every time I looked up from the court,” Paige added with a soft laugh.

“I got pregnant right around the start of my second year, basketball season was just beginning,” you said, tone quieting a little. “It was… unplanned. The baby daddy didn’t stick around.”

Dijonai’s smile dropped. “Damn. That sucks.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It was rough. But Paige… she just showed up. Not all at once. Just… little things. Bringing me food. Walking me back to my dorm when my ankles were too swollen. Sitting with me during appointments when I couldn’t reach my mom.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Paige said. “But I knew I wanted to help her. I wanted to be around.”

“And then one day, she showed up with a crib she built herself,” you continued, laughing softly. “Badly built, by the way.”

“Hey!” Paige protested. “That thing held perfectly until month six.”

NaLyssa giggled. “So when did it… become more than friendship?”

You looked at Paige, your eyes softening.

“It was slow,” you said. “But honest. I think I loved her before I realized I did. Before I even knew I was allowed to.”

“I fell first,” Paige admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I waited until she was ready. I wasn’t going to push it.”

You looked down at your wine, smiling. “And by the time our daughter was born, it was just… obvious. She was already her mama. Her name deserved to be on the birth certificate. We got married shortly after Emma was born. No doubts whatsoever.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Dijonai let out a long whistle. “So I guess the ‘Pazzi’ rumors are just rumors, huh?”

Paige burst out laughing. “Yeah. Definitely. Azzi’s actually Emma’s godmother.”

NaLyssa choked on her wine. “What?! Y’all are out here playing chess while the whole internet’s writing fanfics!”

“Yeah,” Paige smirked. “And I read some of them. Wild stuff.”

You gasped. “Paige!”

“What?” she grinned. “Some of ‘em are kinda flattering.”

Dijonai shook her head, laughing. “I love this. I can’t wait to see the look on people’s faces when they find out.”

You looked at Paige, her cheeks flushed with wine and happiness, and smiled. “We’re not rushing that. But it’s nice to finally share it with someone.”

She leaned over and kissed you softly, letting her hand drift over your thigh. “Yeah. Feels good.”

NaLyssa raised her glass again. “To chosen family. And duck soap. And a little girl with the coolest moms in Texas.”

You all clinked glasses.

And in that living room—warm with love, filled with quiet laughter and soft confessions—you realized just how full your life had become.

Not just because of what you had with Paige.

But because of everything you’d built together.

The morning started with pancakes and cartoons, as it usually did. Paige had an early shoot around, but it was her first open-practice session with the team since the season officially kicked off — and she insisted on making it a family affair.

“You sure they won’t mind?” you asked as you buttoned your daughter’s little Wings jersey, the one with Bueckers on the back and “#5” in glitter iron-on patches.

Paige gave you a look like you’d just asked if basketballs were round. “They’ll love it. Trust me — they’re already obsessed with her and they haven’t even met her yet.”

You raised a brow. “They’re gonna be obsessed with me too, right?”

Paige leaned in, kissed you softly, and murmured against your lips, “I already am.”

The College Park Center buzzed with energy when you arrived. The team was mid-practice, music bumping through the speakers, sneakers squeaking across the court. Trainers and staff bustled around, but when Paige jogged in with you and your daughter in tow, heads turned.

A few players paused their drills, doing double takes.

“Is that…?”

“Oh my god, she’s here!”

NaLyssa was the first to run over, already beaming. “Hey! My favorite tiny human!” she called, bending down with arms open.

Your daughter squealed and took off across the hardwood — all bouncing curls and flashing sneakers — throwing herself into NaLyssa’s arms.

“You see that?” Paige said proudly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Star player in the making.”

“You mean star recruiter,” you teased. “She’s already got the team wrapped around her finger.”

Practice paused for a bit — not because it was scheduled to, but because your daughter had singlehandedly hijacked the gym.

Maddy Siegrist taught her how to spin a ball on her finger (badly), and Teaira McCowan gave her piggyback rides down the sideline. Arike pretended to “lose” to her in a 1-on-1 dribble showdown, flopping dramatically every time your daughter drove the ball (slowly pushed it across the court while making car sounds).

Paige, watching from the bench with you tucked under her arm, just smiled like her whole world was right there on that hardwood.

When Coach Chris Koclanes walked over, hands on his hips, you tensed — but the coach just looked at Paige’s daughter, then at you, and broke into a warm grin.

“So,” he said, “this is the little MVP we’ve been hearing about?”

“She’s the real star of the family,” you replied.

Coach nodded sagely. “Well, we’ve got open tryouts in 2042.”

Later, after a water break and some light drills, the team settled into a shooting competition, and Paige brought your daughter onto the court with her.

“Alright, baby girl,” Paige said, handing her a mini basketball, “show ‘em how we do it at home.”

Your daughter squinted at the toddler-sized hoop they’d rolled out, took three steps back, and chucked the ball with everything she had.

It bounced off the rim, hit the floor, and rolled to NaLyssa’s feet.

And everyone still cheered like she just hit a buzzer-beater in the Finals.

“She’s got that dog in her!” NaLyssa yelled.

“Sign her now!” Dijonai called from the baseline.

Emma spun around, arms high in the air, and shouted, “I WIN!”

The team exploded in laughter and applause, and Paige scooped her up and spun her around.

“You always win,” she whispered, kissing her cheek. “Always.”

Practice wrapped up with team stretches, and your daughter sat in Paige’s lap, mimicking every move with a dramatic flair that had half the players in tears from laughing.

You took a few pictures — one of Paige mid-stretch with her daughter copying her pose, both of them giggling, sweat-slick and sunlit under the gym lights. Another of the whole team posing around your daughter like she was their mascot.

By the time you were heading out, your daughter’s head rested sleepily on Paige’s shoulder, a little snack in one hand and her other thumb tucked in her mouth.

“She did great,” you whispered.

“So did I,” Paige murmured back with a grin. “I was so nervous.”

You looked up at her. “About what?”

“Bringing my world together,” she said. “You, her… them. I just didn’t want it to feel weird. Or too much.”

You kissed her gently on the temple. “You didn’t bring your world together, Paige. You built one. And we’re all lucky to be part of it.”

Paige glanced down at your daughter, kissed the side of her head, then looked at you like she couldn’t believe she’d gotten this lucky.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered. “I’ve got my whole team right here.”

The next morning, you were still in pajamas, your daughter sitting in her high chair absolutely covered in oatmeal, when Paige’s phone started blowing up.

She frowned at it, brushing oatmeal off her hoodie as she picked it up. “Uh… babe?”

You looked up from your coffee. “Hmm?”

“I think… I think we just went viral.”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

Dallas Wings – Instagram (@/dallaswings) [“Golden” – Harry Styles] “The Bueckers Era has officially begun 💙💚”

The video opened with Paige walking into the practice facility holding your daughter’s hand — her tiny legs moving double-time to keep up, her jersey bouncing as she walked.

Cut to:

Paige tying her daughter’s shoes on the bench

A shot of you sitting court side with your camera in hand, smiling at them

Your daughter making a shot in the toddler hoop and doing a victory dance as the team erupts

Paige picking her up and spinning her in the air, both of them laughing

Finally, a close-up of your daughter asleep on Paige’s chest during cool-down, Paige’s hand protectively over her back

And then…

Overlay text at the end: “Family.”

The comments? Unhinged.

@/wnbastan69: wait... PAIGE IS A MOM???

@/wingsnation: WHO IS THAT WOMAN ON THE BENCH. SHE'S GORGEOUS. IS THAT HER WIFE???

@/bucketsqueen: this is not a drill. paige bueckers is a MILF. i repeat—

@/azzistan: I KNEW she wasn’t with Azzi. THE BABY IS CALLING HER MAMA.

@/uconnfan1 ok. hear me out. that woman has a tattoo of Paige’s number on her arm. go back to the February UConn Gala photos. it's her. they've been together.

The TikTok version? Hit 1.2 million views in three hours.

And your DMs? Albeit being private. Piling up with everything from “CONGRATS OMG” to “how did you pull her???” to “tell us your love story pls pls pls.”

You just turned your phone over and looked at Paige, who was feeding your daughter a blueberry while trying not to panic.

“Well,” you said, sipping your coffee. “Hard launch.”

That night, the Wings media team reached out about doing a feature for their upcoming mini docuseries, “Inside the Paint.” Paige hesitated, but you looked at her and said:

“If we’re gonna tell it… let’s tell it right.”

You, Paige, and your daughter sat side-by-side on the couch in your home, camera crew set up across from you.

“She’s my whole heart,” Paige said, glancing at Emma who was now climbing into her lap with a granola bar. “She’s not technically mine. But she is.”

You nodded. “We met at UConn. I was pregnant — alone. Paige was just… Paige. Gentle. Always there.”

The camera caught Paige’s hand finding yours.

“She helped raise her. Changed diapers. Did midnight feeds. Built cribs badly,” you teased.

“She was the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t alone in it,” you continued. “And somewhere along the way, we just… fell in love.”

“My name’s on the birth certificate,” Paige added softly. “And my last name’s on both of theirs now.”

“Mama was all she knew Paige to be.”

The crew filmed the bookshelf with framed family photos. Paige carrying your daughter on her shoulders at the beach. You three asleep on the couch in a tangle of limbs. A picture of Azzi Fudd holding your daughter at her baptism with tears in her eyes.

“She’s the godmother,” Paige confirmed, grinning. “Azzi. The real MVP.”

The episode dropped on YouTube and Instagram the following weekend. And in under 24 hours, it was the top trending topic on WNBA Twitter and TikTok.

The reactions? A mix of sobbing emojis, fan art of your little family, and people just melting over how soft Paige was the whole time.

@/bballdreams: I thought I couldn’t love Paige Bueckers more. And then she became a wife and a mom. I’m DONE.

@/fanbrushfire: [art of Paige in uniform holding your daughter’s hand, with you in the background cheering them on] “Mama Bueckers”

@/sidelineheart: Paige Bueckers being a quiet, private wife and mother and then casually dropping the most beautiful love story I’ve ever heard?? How is this real??

That night, curled up with Paige on the couch, your daughter asleep upstairs, you scrolled through the chaos while Paige played with your fingers.

“You okay with it?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “I’m glad it’s out there. You deserved to be known like this.”

She kissed your temple. “We deserved to be known.”

The Wings had just pulled off a thrilling win against the Mercury. Paige had dropped 19 with 8 assists, but the real surprise came postgame.

As the buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted, the arena lights dimmed for the usual fan-appreciation wrap-up — but then the Jumbotron lit up with something unexpected.

“Special Presentation” — the screen read, flashing between highlights of the game and a video montage.

Your daughter appeared on-screen, wearing an oversized Wings hoodie, shyly grinning.

“Hi Mama,” her tiny voice said, echoing across the arena. “I proud of you. You my favorite player ever and ever. Can I give hug now?”

The arena melted.

Paige turned, stunned, and saw you at the tunnel — holding your daughter, her eyes bright and excited.

The crowd parted like the sea as the two of you walked onto the court. Your daughter wriggled out of your arms and ran straight to Paige, who dropped to her knees to catch her.

The ovation was deafening.

Tears welled in Paige’s eyes as she kissed her daughter’s cheek, holding her tightly, forehead resting against her tiny one.

The announcer laughed through the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen… the real MVP of the night.”

@/espnW: Paige Bueckers just got surprised on court by her wife and daughter after the Wings win. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. 🥹💙

@/wnbatalk: “Can I give hug now?” I’m SOBBING. Who raised that little angel?!

@/courtsidechronicles: Paige crying while hugging her daughter, then looking at her wife like she hung the moon? Love is so real.

@/fanartfridays: [Art of the three of you walking off the court hand-in-hand, with the Wings logo glowing behind you.] “The Heart of Dallas.”

You tucked your daughter into bed, her plush Wings blanket pulled up to her chin. Paige leaned down and whispered, “You were so brave today, baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mama,” she mumbled, already drifting.

You walked back downstairs together, hand in hand.

On the couch, Paige wrapped her arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder.

“I think they really know us now,” she murmured.

You tilted your head toward her. “They do.”

“And they love her,” she added, a proud smile blooming across her face.

“She’s impossible not to love,” you whispered. “Just like her mom.”

Paige kissed your cheek and pulled you closer, the glow of the moment still radiating through every room of your home.

“Thank you,” she said. “For letting me have this life.”

You turned in her arms, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

“We built this life together. And the best part? We’re just getting started.”

The WNBA season had hit its brief midseason break, and for the first time in months, the house was quiet. You were curled up on the couch flipping through a book while Paige lay on the floor with Em lying across her chest, both completely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of Paige’s breathing.

Then Paige’s phone buzzed from the coffee table.

She carefully reached for it, glancing at the screen without disturbing the sleepy toddler snuggled into her.

Azzi: I swear to God if I don’t see my goddaughter in person soon I will riot

Paige smiled and nudged you with her foot. “Guess who’s demanding visitation rights.”

You looked up, already grinning. “Azzi?”

She showed you the screen and you snorted. “She’s obsessed. But, fair. You know we’ve been meaning to visit.”

Paige’s voice dropped to a softer tone as she looked down at the little girl sleeping peacefully on her chest. “I think it’s time we go back. Just for a few days.”

“Back to where it all started?” you asked.

Paige met your eyes, voice thick with nostalgia. “Back home.”

[puck-luck]

wait plz for your 1k celly can I request your example of 7 of hearts Quinn breeding kink like that’s rlly EVERYTHING

warnings: no actual fucking, but allusions to previous encounters. the third installment of this breeding kink/pregnancy thing that i've been writing through these cellys. here is part one and part two. might even write a fourth if there's another request for Q's breeding kink in my list! (there probably is).

wc: 897

It’s a Sunday and Quinn doesn’t have a game today. Things are already wonderful just from those two facts alone, but you have a third little fact that you’ve been waiting to tell Quinn since last week. During his short roadie down to California, you’d peed on the stick and that second line appeared. An indescribable feeling washed over you– it was a rush of emotion that tapered off into a consistent feeling of happiness. 

You were excited to tell Quinn what was happening, but you wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a false positive. You’d made an appointment at your doctor’s office, a rushed one, and asked them to do some bloodwork to see if you were really pregnant– you were. After two months of trying, you were knocked up. Quinn’s baby was growing inside of you. It’s weird when you think about a baby actually growing in your body, but you’re ecstatic that it’s Quinn’s baby and you get to experience this together.

You’re tangled up in bed now. Your head is on Quinn’s chest, hand on his stomach, and his arm is wrapped around your shoulders. His eyes are closed and his breath is even. He’s awake, even though it doesn’t look like he is. 

“Quinn?” You murmur.

“Mm?” He hums. “I think my dick is broken, baby. Can’t fuck you right now.” He shifts, moving towards the edge of the bed. “Gonna go make us breakfast, I think. What do you want? Pancakes?”

“I wanna stay in bed with you,” you reply, tracing the birthmark on his chest. 

Quinn snuffles out a laugh, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head. “Not possible. We have to eat something. Let me go make something, then we can be lazy in the living room together.”

“Let me give you a reason to stay in bed,” you say, voice growing to a normal volume. You pick your head up and set your chin in his sternum, looking up at your boyfriend. 

Quinn’s eyes open a sliver, glinting down at you. “My dick doesn’t work anymore. Fucked you too good last night, sweetheart.”

He’s right, he did fuck you too good last night. You'd had no idea how much better sex was when you’re pregnant– but maybe it was the confirmation bias. You’d read that it was better and you were excited that Quinn was so eager to fuck you full of his child, unaware that he’d already succeeded, so you felt like it was better. You’ll have to keep track of your opinion during the pregnancy, just to make sure.

“Don’t need your dick to work anymore, Q,” you tell him coyly, a tiny little grin on your face. 

Quinn’s eyebrows pinch together, confused. “What do you mean?” He asks. “You don’t want to keep trying?”

You lay your head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Not that,” you tell him. “I just don’t think you can get me pregnant again.”

Quinn goes quiet and still. His heart is pounding beneath your ear. “What?” He questions, seeming like he’s holding his breath. “What did you say?”

You smile, turning and burying your face between his pecs. Your lips kiss over his sternum and where his heart is pounding against the bone– at least, that’s how it feels. He’s racing. “I wasn’t sure if it was a false positive, so I went to the doctor the other day, and I’m pregnant, Q. There’s a Hughes baby inside me right now.”

He stares at you, eyes wide and disbelieving. His mouth is open, jaw dropped wide.

You snort out a laugh and grab his arm, placing his hand on your abdomen. “The baby and I would like to be lazy in bed with Daddy all day, please.” You’re just teasing him now, trying to get a reaction from him.

“Are you actually?” Quinn demands, springing back to life. His eyes are darting all over his face and he’s craning his neck so that he can look down at you properly. “You’re not just fucking with me?”

“Do you want me to go get the pregnancy test and the doctor’s note?” You ask, laughing.

“No! No,” Quinn says, his voice loud and excited. “I can get it. You relax.” He kicks the covers off, but you wrap your arms around his stomach and try to hold him there. He’s strong, so he moves anyway. “Where is it?”

“It’s only been a few weeks, Q, I can still move around,” you laugh. “They’re in the bottom drawer in the bathroom with all my random things. Come back here when you’re done, I wasn’t kidding about cuddling with my baby-daddy all day.” Your last sentence is a call after him, because as soon as you told Quinn where the items were, he was on the move. You can hear him throwing open the drawer and rifling around. 

You laugh, laying flat on your back and placing a hand on your belly. You’re not showing, not even close, but you know that there’s something in there. A little baby, made completely from yours and Quinn’s love. That knowledge, paired with Quinn’s excitement when he comes rushing back into the room and pounces on you, wrapping you in a hug and kissing over your face, pregnancy test clasped in his hand, makes this the best day of your life.

[kerjaath]

Singin' In The Shower

you thought the house was empty.

OR, you were taking a shower and started to get a little loud, unaware Yumi was still home.

reader lives in tgc house

no reader gender specified

word count: 1.1K

AN: hello everyoneeeee!!!!!!!!!!! first actual full fic posted on tumblr :333 if u wanna see more i gotchu!!! my fanfic suggestions r open and ready :3

AO3 LINK

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the house is always loud. whether it be breakfast time and everyone is huddled in the living room, stuffing their faces as they laugh at whatever is possibly playing on the t.v., or if it's the middle of the night and everyone is still streaming together.

quiet moments are rare, but the volume of the house never really bothered you too much.

It was your average, slow Thursday. Nothing was really going on all day, but when you left the shrouded comfort of your room to scavenge for a snack, you weren't too surprised to find the cabinets completely empty. Well, besides a stack of gamersupps and two empty granola bar boxes (damn you, Tanner, for taking the last ones without throwing out the boxes..)

You were in luck to find something in the fridge, though, and it wasn't long before you finished eating and headed back towards your bedroom.

unfortunately, before you could even slink into your room Isaac shouted towards you,

"Hey, we're all gonna go hit up Raising Cane's for dinner, you wanna come?" He held his hand on a corner of the wall, leaning towards you. Your cheeks slightly flustered up,

"Oh, I just ate, you guys can go without me," you laughed lightly to yourself. The chances of you eating right before everyone suddenly wanted to go out to eat - just your luck.

" 'Kay, well we're all gonna head out in a few minutes." Isaac already headed for the front door, where you assumed everyone else was waiting. You made a small hum, turning back to your bedroom door.

But, for a moment, you stopped.

Everyone else going out for dinner… you staying home, alone… home. Alone.

You smiled to yourself. You could do and be as silly as you wanted while everyone was gone without the fear of someone being nearby! Like… singing in the shower.

You already needed a shower anyway, your hair wasn't particularly in its best state, so why waste this chance to sing your heart out?

You turned on your heel, heading for the bathroom and setting a towel out. You waited for a moment, though. You couldn't just jump in the shower and sing your heart out…

You briskly walked back to the kitchen, turning to the front door. No one stood there… you quickly skipped your way to the window next to the door, moving a blind over to check to front yard. No one in sight.

You backed up, listening to the house… silence.

You shuffled to everyone's bedrooms, listening at the door before peeking in to check for anyone. But your search came back fruitless. You smiled, letting out a cackle, as you rushed to the bathroom.

Ushering the door closed, you started the water as you opened your phone, opening Spotify to find a fitting playlist 2000's girly hits… your 2023 Spotify wrapped… maybe even a playlist you couldn't stop listening to 24/7???

you paused for a moment. Yumi's album sat in your reccommended artist's playlist panels. You cracked a smile, clicking the playlist as you grabbed your speaker on the bathroom sink, hooking your Bluetooth up.

You never really sat and truly listened to Yumi's music on your own. There were the few moments you did, but it was never really a common everyday sort of thing. It was rarely even a monthly thing. But you liked his music. A part of you really only liked it so much because you could endulge in your guilty pleasure - just sitting and listening to Yumi's voice.

When you climbed in the shower, you just couldn't hold back your voice. Screaming along with Yumi, it felt almost… requited. As if he was really with you.

You barely even washed your hair, too busy flailing your hands around, dancing as the music got louder and louder.

...

When your solo concert finished up, your skin soggy and wrinkly, you climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around your chest. It draped down your stomach and past your waist, stopping around your mid-thigh. As you left the bathroom, you hummed a section of a song you didn't finish before you got out.

You were walking peacefully back to your room, but you froze in fear as you heard a light chuckle from behind you.

as you turned around, it was none other than the man himself - Yumi - standing in the hallway, cupping his mouth, his face flushing as he tried to hold in laughter.

"I thought you guys went out to eat.." you stumbled on your own words, your face flashing pale before beating a bright red. You realized your state of clothing, or really the lack of such, and made a minor yelp noise as you pulled your towel to cover yourself. It didn't really cover you any further, but what else were you to do in the moment?

"Yeah, they went out," Yumi stiffled another laugh, "but I decied to stayed home."

"And you didn't bother to tell me??" You practically muttered your words, mentally reliving the previous 45 minutes or so in the shower.

"You know, I didn't know you liked my music that much…" he grinned.

"Oh, don't get cocky.." you turned around to not face him, shaking the red off your face before you looked back at him.

"You cannot tell anyone about this." you tried to give him a serious look. He just laughed at you further.

"Stooop, I mean it!!" You shouted at him, annoyed. You felt as if you were back in elementary school, the older cool boys teasing you...

"And why should I do that?" It was as if he couldn't smile any bigger.

"Because.." you thought for a moment, glancing at the ground in thought before looking back up, "I'll strike you a deal."

"and that is…" he turned his head slightly, an eyebrow rising. It was obvious you had intrigued and caught him in your trap...

"If you keep this a secret…" you inched closer to him, leaving a small space in-between you two. His face grew a shade of pink, and you noticed how he glanced at your towel. "I'll give you a treat."

he thought for a moment, curious as to what this "treat" was.. he slowly, ever so slightly, nodded his head, but before he could even get a word in, you jumped to action.

You quickly threw your arms up and around his head, tugging his face down to your level, and kissed him.

Before he could even react, you turned on your heel and increased your pace to get back to your room, an uncontrollable smile taking over your burning face.

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[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 20 🍒

"Baby Loves Me"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 8,823 (she's a big'un)

Summary: A blizzard, a wedding, family secrets, and two people who can't stop thinking about each other. Are these fateful events going to drive you apart for good, or bring you even closer together?

(Warnings contain spoilers beneath the cut)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 39, Joel is 56), takes place a few days before Christmas 2023, mention of eating food/drinking alcohol, mention of health issues, oral (m & f receiving), Ellie has anger issues, use of guns for recreational shooting, jealous!Joel, mutual pining, reader wears makeup and dresses, unprotected piv, creampie, TW for minor heart attack and hospitalization (everything is okay in the end), getting back together and having a happily ever after. In this universe everyone is alive and happy.

Author's Note: this series was the first story I ever posted on AO3 and then recently here on tumblr. I had no idea so many people would love it, and it's currently my most liked, most commented-on, and most bookmarked work on AO3 ♥️ It feels so good to finally have this complete, but I will write some one-shots about this couple in the future, because part of me really doesn't want to let them go. Much love to those who stuck around and showed their support while I got this story hammered out. I love and appreciate all of you!

Please enjoy this playlist for your listening pleasure, songs that either appear in the series or provided inspiration

Series Masterlist

It's early when Joel wakes, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he puts his hand to his heart, eyes scrunched closed tight as he prepares himself for the increasingly painful palpitations. He grunts in suffering at the agony of the erratic pounding of his heart, body tense until it passes, and he sighs with relief, head in his hands as he runs his fingers through his greying locks.

It's been almost a week now that he's had these pains, happening every day now that Sarah's wedding day is nearing. He gets them on and off but lately stress has been catching up to him and reminding him he's not in his thirties anymore. Hell, he'd give anything just to be in his forties again.

He gets up to get a glass of water, quickly throwing on a shirt before going downstairs. The house is quiet though he can see the electric glow of the television light on underneath yours and Ellie's rooms. He hesitates just outside of your room, putting an ear to the door, hoping to catch some tidbit of your voice, some clue as to what you're doing in there, but it's quiet, just the low volume of something playing on TV.

With a sigh he goes down to the kitchen.

Alone with his thoughts, affected by the presence of you and Ellie under his own roof, he takes stock of his life, of all the moments he failed you when he should have been there for you.

That first night he set foot back in Austin after serving time in the Bexar County jail, wondering if he should call you, he'd gone instead to a bar and met Hailey. He didn't recognize her at first, but she'd come on so strong, and the alcohol ran freely that night, so by the time he'd taken her home and her warm, tight little mouth was wrapped around his cock, it was too late. He didn't expect that that one night would lead to her wanting more, but by then you were gone, tucked back safely away in Houston where he couldn't get his hands on you and where you could (he'd hoped) in time forget about him. You were too much of a good girl with too much potential to waste it on someone like him. Hailey was someone who was always going to be stuck in a small town, so he didn't have to worry he was holding her back. But he soon came to realize that all they had between them was fucking. Not that he'd ever minded it in the past, but after having you, experiencing what real love was like, what Hailey offered felt like a cheap replacement, and he just wasn't that man anymore. He knew Sarah hated her, so when he caught Hailey stealing from him he knew that was the last straw and ended things.

Sad to say he went back to his usual routine from before he met you. Working from sunup to sundown, coming home with new aches in his joints to a meal Sarah had had to cook herself, or pizza that had gone cold. On the weekends he'd be at the bar, either with Tommy or more often alone, and he'd find a woman and wind up at her place. He could never bring them back to his, not in his bed that he shared with you.

Seeing you in New Orleans that summer night had been a shock to his system. He thought he'd managed to get over you just a little, but seeing you, a little older than the last time, looking soft and happy and bright-eyed as you laughed with Tommy.. and that fucking rock on your finger that signaled you were taken. Something primeval in him stirred when he ran into you in that restroom hallway, your lips full and glossy from making out with his brother, jealousy surging through him that you'd be so willing to cheat on your husband-to-be with someone other than himself.. it led him to want you more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

Leaving you the next day had been the hardest thing, but he had to remind himself you were going to belong to another. He couldn't get in the way of that, not when he'd only shown his love for you by fucking you in a bar restroom. You were going to marry a military man and have a respectable life, that was what he wanted for you. To have a life with Joel would only make you sordid, ripe for gossip. He was old enough to be your father and you were in fact his his best friend's daughter. He couldn't sully your life with his mistakes.

On a last minute whim he'd come to your wedding, sat at the very back as you were oblivious to him, staring into your husband's eyes as you spoke your vows, each word a piece of jagged glass in his heart. He'd left before you could see him, driving back to Texas at a high rate of speed, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Why hadn't he just objected? He could have done it, raised his hand and told the entire congregation that you were his god damn it. He would have led you out, carrying you bridal style, ripped your damn dress off you and fucked you senseless.

It was later that Tommy suggested the dating app. Joel wasn't a fan of technology, and in fact still had his old Nokia phone that Sarah was warning him was becoming obsolete and cajoled him into upgrading to a smartphone. Once she and Tommy had helped him with setting up a profile on eHarmony, the requests piled in. Women from all over the state showed their interest. He had his pick of almost anyone. While he went on a few fruitless dates (some of which actually ended up in sex) there were few that actually interested him.

Until Tess. She was so much like him, and more suited to his age. A divorcee, she knew what she wanted in a relationship and stuck by her values. Beneath her tough exterior Joel found she was actually very kindhearted, even sweet. She cared about animals, liked beer, and was a homebody. She'd resisted his charms at first, but eventually neither could give in to the spark they felt. It took some convincing to get her to marry him. She accepted only on the terms that he move to Boston. She'd visited Texas a few times on business, but she wanted to stay in the northeast, and Joel, in love again for the first time in years, acquiesced.

The problem was they were too much alike. Both wanted to lead, and while he was happy to let Tess have the reigns now and then, it became an issue. This led to more arguments, tense discussions over things that shouldn't have mattered. The divorce, when it finally happened, was a blessing in disguise. Joel followed Tommy away from Boston and found comfort here in Wyoming, in a place he could start anew.

Sarah had been none too subtle when she brought you up in conversation. "Did you know she's a teacher?" "She's single now, divorced actually." "She's in California with her daughter."

Every damn day there was a phone call or a text where you were mentioned. And now, with you here under his roof at Sarah's behest, it was apparent that she was trying to get you two back together again.

He knew he needed to speak with you about that comment you uttered, about "our" daughter Ellie. He'd done the math in his head, just to be safe, and had calculated that he could indeed be her dad. But he had to get the honest answer from you.

It'd be easy if you would at least acknowledge his presence.

Your cold shoulder is more like an arctic icy blast. Your refusal to even meet his eye is like an arrow through his heart. He wishes that you would at least glare at him, or say something sarcastic or hurtful, but your silence is the coldest thing, even with the blizzard outside.

He's hopeful during one moment the next morning, as he's going into the hall restroom while you're coming out. Freshly showered, you're wearing a towel around your body, skin glowing, hair combed back and damp. The steam that surrounds you from your hot shower makes you look like a figure from a movie, an ethereal angel come to earth. His breath catches in his throat as you look up at him, your beautiful eyes wide and plush lips parted. Then you resume your coldness, pulling your towel tighter around you as you go to your room. When he steps in he smells the jasmine aroma of your body wash still in the air around him his dick hardens in response.

Hearing that Sofia has arrived is the one bright spot in your time here.

You meet her at the Tipsy Bison after everyone has helped out shoveling snow off the path. You'd found yourself working next to Joel and said nothing to him, ignoring his silent appeal for you to talk to him.

Now the crew is indulging in some food and beer at the bar while you catch up with your cousin.

"How did you get in? I thought the roads were impassable," you tell her after a big hug and an introduction to her fiancee Ruby. It had come as a surprise to you when she'd told you she was marrying a woman, but Sofia had said she'd only followed her heart and didn't consider herself stuck to any sort of label. Ruby was the perfect person for her and there was no looking back.

"Tommy sent a pilot friend of his to pick us up from the airport when our taxi couldn't make it through the snow," she says, nearly knocked over as Ellie pummels her with a bear hug. "We were helicoptered in, like a couple of VIPs."

It's like old times as you share a booth altogether, different kinds of appetizers in the center of the table as you catch up on things.

"How did you manage to still stay friends with Tommy?" you ask when Ruby and Ellie go to make change for the jukebox. Hearing that Sofia is staying with Tommy and Maria during their visit, you can't help but wonder how other people can so easily put aside the past.

"I think it helped that we were friends before we started dating," she shrugs. "And.. to be honest, our relationship never got that serious. Not like you and Joel," she finishes in a whisper, darting a glance at the elder Miller brother, who's knocking back some beer with Tommy and a few others.

"Why do you ask?" Sofia continues.

"I don't know how to deal with being under the same roof as Joel," you admit. "Everything that he put me through.. I know we're only here for a few days but it feels like an eternity. It's becoming harder to avoid him."

"You should talk to him," she says gently. "You don't have to be best friends or anything, but you're a friend of the bride. You should at least be civil."

You sneak a look over your shoulder at him, just to find he's already staring at you. You quickly turn away.

"Does he know about.." Sofia motions with her head toward Ellie, who's at the jukebox with Ruby.

"No," you respond. "And he doesn't need to know."

"That's not fair to him," she softly scolds you.

"You are the only one I've trusted with this, Sofia. Please do not make me regret telling you."

Sofia is really the only family you have left. You never saw you father after that fateful night when Joel fought him, and your mother disowned Ellie when she came out, causing you to disown your mother in return. Your circle is small but faithful.

She backs off. "All right," she relents. "But what about Ellie? She'll resent you for keeping this a secret this long."

You watch your daughter, who's drifted from the jukebox to one of the pool tables, mindlessly spinning the cue ball upon the soft green surface. She's distracted when she sees another girl across the room, a pretty dark-haired girl around her own age, watching Ellie furtively, as if fascinated.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Ellie shouts, causing the girl to run away.

"Ellie!" you snap at her, and to your astonishment Joel walks past you to go to her. You freeze, watching their interaction, but all seems to be okay as they talk quietly.

"I don't know what to do for her. I don't know how to help her.. she's so angry, especially since the divorce. And Justin rarely ever sees her. The only thing he's good for is the child support." You swig your beer, itching to go and talk to her, but the stubborn side of you refuses to be closer to Joel than is necessary.

Sofia folds her napkin in sections. "She called me and told me about Riley.. and the little mishap at the mall."

Earlier that year, Ellie and Riley had been picked up by the cops for trespassing in an abandoned mall and vandalizing some stores. It was completely unlike her, and even though you both sought family therapy for all the issues you were going through, it didn't seem to be making much leeway.

"She doesn't seem so angry now," Sofia mentions, and you turn to see Joel and Ellie starting a game of pool. You both watch as she tries to pull off complicated trick shots and Joel just shakes his head in feigned frustration. Once again your gaze lingers too long and you lock eyes, but this time you offer a tiny smile, mouthing 'thanks.'

"Hey Mom, can I go with Joel and Finn? Joel said I have to ask you."

You look up from where you're steam-cleaning your dress for the rehearsal dinner tonight. "Where are you going?"

"It's near the woods on Joel's property. We're just going for a hike," she shrugs.

"I guess.. just behave yourself, okay?"

She grins, glad to have gotten permission. You follow her down to the foyer where Joel and Finn are getting their hats and gloves on. "Be careful," you tell them, though it's mostly meant for Joel.

"Of course. You're okay with her shootin'?"

"What?!"

Ellie manages to look chagrined. "I didn't think you'd let me go if you knew guns would be involved."

"Well you thought right!"

"I won't let her if you won't allow it," Joel offers.

"Come on!" Ellie groans.

"Just remember that you're on thin ice back home," you tell her without wanting to let on to the others about Ellie's troubled past.

"Somethin' the matter?" Joel asks, eyes darting between you and her.

"Nope," Ellie's all smiles when you hesitate to answer. "Let's get going!"

She and Finn race out the door into the snowy yard just as Joel stops for a brief moment. "I won't let her shoot if you don't want her to," he says solemnly.

The nearness of him, the rich baritone of his voice could easily bring you to your knees. It feels like a chore just to swallow that emotion and consider it dead, a mistake.

"Just be careful," you repeat, a smile flitting on your lips. Heat rises in your face when you see his gaze drop down to your mouth, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his own lips.

"You could come with us."

Your first instinct is to refuse, to keep that wall built between him and yourself. Good fences make good neighbors and brick walls keep people from reliving past trauma.

But damn it's hard to say no when he's here right in front of you, after all this time, and the parts of you that have healed just want to give in, to go into his arms again.

It's not a surprise when you're in the passenger seat of his truck, like old times. And though it's a newer model and the seats have warmers and the upholstery makes the whole car smell like it was just driven off the lot, in a way it still feels like summer 2003.

Finn's done this before, the apple of his grandfather's eye. Even with the skill of a child, he shoots with ease, knocking down most of the targets Joel had set up on a fence.

When it's Ellie's turn she's eager for the gun, but her practice shots are haphazard: off an old fallen tree, a random snowbank. She huffs in frustration.

"Wide right," Joel tells her. "You're flinchin'."

Ellie shakes her head. "The target's too small."

"I made it bigger than I should've. Eject the cartridge."

You watch your only child move with precision, handling the gun with ease despite being new to this. "I'm not flinching, the rifle just sucks."

You and Finn exchange a look, suppressing your laughter.

"Okay, give it." Joel changes places with Ellie, who quips, "It doesn't aim right, you'll see."

It's hard to tear your eyes from him as he sets up, moving with the ease of someone half his age. "A deep breath in, slow breath out. You squeeze the trigger like you love it," he says, ignoring Ellie's teasing remarks. "Gentle, steady, nice and slow."

"You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?" she smirks, and when you laugh out loud Joel shakes his head, pulling off the perfect shot.

After, you rest on the tailgate of the truck while drinking warm beverages from your thermoses. Ellie and Finn gather their energy quickly enough, playing in the snow and chasing each other. It brightens your day to see your daughter smiling.

"I wanna apologize for the other day," Joel says, his eyes flicking to you. "I was outta line. I've apologized to Ellie too. I think she and I are good now."

You nod, somewhat relieved that he'd brought it up first. "I'm sorry too. I guess I get pretty riled up when someone tries to out-parent me."

Joel looks away, towards the mountains that peak their grayness against the clear blue sky. "He been outta the picture long?"

"Who? Justin?" You notice Joel winces at your ex husband's name. "Long enough. He was supposed to spend time with her for Christmas but chose his new wife over his own daughter. She didn't take it very well."

"Fuckin' bastard," he mutters. "Always figured there was a reason for me to not like him."

You give him a strange look. "You didn't know him."

"Didn't need to. He took you away from me. That's reason enough."

"Joel," you say quietly, both a scolding and a scoff. You remember his body against yours that night, the way your sheets bore his scent until the day before Justin came back from out of town and you had to wash away the evidence of your betrayal.

"I'm sorry I didn't go after you. There were a million opportunities and I failed each time."

You say his name again, with softness this time, your hand finding his, his palm almost completely dwarfing yours. You think about his fingers inside you, teasing you for the first time, showing you how to open up to him, and how you ended up giving away your whole heart.

In the moment where you can say the most heartwarming or romantic or even angry thing, what comes out of your mouth is: "You never accepted my friend request."

Joel looks puzzled. "What?"

"My friend request. On Facebook. I tried to add you but you never accepted it, so I canceled it." Cringing at your own words, how needy they sound, you take your hand from his, but he traps it within his own again.

"Darlin', I never look at that stuff. I only got one 'cause everyone else goaded me into it." His eyes look mirthful as he sees your doleful eyes.

"And that's how I found out about Tess.."

"Oh." The mirthful look is gone, replaced by a dark, blank look. The first marriage, the only marriage he ever had, so late in life, ended.

"What was she like?"

"Why do you wanna know?" He looks at the ground, as if the snow is so interesting. "What was that idiot fuckboy husband of yours like?"

You almost laugh, surprised that he's jealous, even after you've moved on from your marriage.

"He wasn't as great as I thought," you shrug. "But that doesn't matter now."

Joel smiles, agreeing. "Tess was.. we were good for awhile but you're right, doesn't matter now."

"Because we both turned out okay.. me and you."

He thinks it over a bit, eventually nodding. "Yeah.." His deep brown eyes meet yours, and you catch a glimmer of the man he was before, twenty years past, a single dad with a teenage girl and an interest in the new girl next door. "I'm sorry.. for everything. We happened so fast that my brain had to catch up with my heart."

You're afraid that if you think about it for too long you'll cry and never stop. "We don't have to talk about that.."

He nods, looking a little sad that you declined. "You're right, we don't."

"Look at you with all this land," you smile, gently teasing him to change the subject. "What are you gonna do with all of it?"

Joel shrugs, looking at his property, thinking again of the possibilities. "I might decide to turn it into a ranch, raise sheep," he shrugs. "They're quiet and do what they're told."

He's quiet another moment, before his voice drops an octave. "I'm really glad you came, babygirl.. it's really good to see you. Don't think I said that before."

A smile graces your lips, a genuine one, and the warmth of his words melts what's left of your defenses. "Joel.. there's something I need to tell you.. about Ellie.." The words are out before you even think.

Your heart pounds, taking residence in your throat as if to keep the truth from spilling out. Joel turns his whole body to you. His eyes search yours, without question or condemnation, as if he's willing you to say it because he already knows, because he just wants it made real.

When the moment passes it's a disappointment to both of you. It's getting later in the afternoon and you still need to get ready for tonight. The kids trudge back to the truck and you get in next to Joel in the front. There's a quietness that fills the space, thick and somewhat desperate.

The Tipsy Bison has gone through another temporary makeover for the rehearsal dinner: garlands of lights arch across the ceiling from beam to beam, creating a pleasant, dreamy atmosphere. People mill around waiting for the bride and groom who are running a little late. Drinks are served and tables of food boast different kinds of cuisine.

Ellie makes a beeline for the hors d'oevres, immediately picking out what she wants and stuffing it straight into her mouth as if she hasn't seen food in months. Joel watches her from the next table over, trying hard as hell not to call her out too harshly, but as his stomach growls he joins her in the hunt for sustenance.

A tray of pastel-colored macarons catches Ellie's eye and she takes a light green treat with her fingers. "What are these?" She scrutinizes it, taking a quick sniff.

"It's some kinda cookie.. or something.. how the hell should I know?" he grumbles.

"Pistachio," she grunts in disgust, putting it back on the plate.

"Well, now don't put it back, you've already touched it and sniffed it and everything.." Joel quickly pops the discarded macaron into his mouth.

"If you want 'em they're all yours," she says, giving his shoulder a couple heavy claps before moving on down the line of food.

He just shakes his head, looking around for you for the tenth time tonight, finding you with Sarah and her soon-to-be inlaws at the bar. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you in a dark red dress, long-sleeved, cinched at the waist, and he feels a familiar rush of blood to his cock as he eyes the thigh-length slit on one side of the skirt.

"That color is sensational on you."

You turn to the voice you've just heard, as the group you were talking with disperses.

"Hi," you tell the older, well-dressed man in front of you. "I don't believe we've met." But then it hits you, and just as he introduces himself you realize you already know his name.

"I'm Frank," he says, a Duchenne smile lighting up his features and crinkling the wrinkles around his eyes. He's handsome, and very friendly. And he was friends with Joel during his marriage to Tess.

He introduces you to his husband Bill, who regards you with a certain suspicion and gives a gruff acknowledgement to your hello. "He's like that with everyone," Franks explains in a stage whisper, while rolling his eyes. "He's just a big grump, but I love him."

"I'm a friend of the bride," you tell them after giving your name, and also introducing Ellie, who's arrived next to you with a plate piled high with shrimp, pulled pork sliders, and mini cheesecakes.

"She's a friend of Joel's," Frank tells Bill, as if to clarify.

"Um, yes.. I'm also a friend of his," you agree. Pretending to spot someone across the room, you excuse yourself, giving a subtle motion for Ellie to follow you, but she stays where she is, popping a whole shrimp in her mouth, eyeing the couple.

"There's a story there," Frank says enticingly as he sips his beer.

"What do you mean?" she asks, curious about the gossip.

Bill gives him a look and shakes his head. "She's a kid, she doesn't need your dramatic stories."

"Now I have to know!" Ellie insists.

Frank feigns annoyance. "Oh all right."

He weaves the tale of Joel and his wife Tess: happily married at first, so alike in attitude and hobbies. She thought she knew everything about the man she married, but when Tommy, in a drunken game of poker one night, recalled a certain young woman who Joel knew, a woman who could tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue, Joel told his brother, in a similar drunken state, that he remembered her fondly, missed her like crazy, she was the one who got away.

Tess wasn't the type to hound someone for details, but she didn't like there was a part of Joel's past that she didn't know about. Especially if that past was filled with him falling in love with and screwing a college girl. This naturally led to arguments that Tess refused to drop. Joel didn't want to relive that time with you, and insisted it meant nothing since you were well and truly out of his life.

But the damage had been done, and the thorn of jealousy had pierced Tess's heart. You were a stranger to her and still could not be defeated.

Frank recalled with suppressed glee the night Tess had stormed out on a dinner party, ranting at Joel about "not being able to get over a stupid ass teenager" and causing a scene for the others to eat up. It had embarrassed Joel deeply, but when news of Sarah's wedding had become known, Joel couldn't keep it secret from the friends of his ex-wife. He'd come to like them in his own way, especially Bill, with whom he shared a predilection for quiet and keeping to one's self. They hunted and fished like old times and soon enough both he and Frank were invited to the wedding.

"There's a saying that goes," Frank is telling Ellie, "'everyone can see it but them.'"

Ellie glances at you across the room, and then at Joel. You and he trade silent, surreptitious glances at one another, filled with longing. You glance at him and he catches you before you glance away, and vice versa. The signal between your gazes is irrefutable. There's something there, has been all this time. All it needed was a little meddling from Sarah to bring the spark back to life.

For the first time Ellie sees you as something more than her mother. She realizes you had a past, a life before she was born, and a fraction of that life was spent in love with a man she just met a couple days ago.

"Hey Mom, can you help?"

Hearing Ellie, you immediately shift into Mom Mode, stopping your own get-ready routine to assist her. She's in your doorway, holding out her wrists. She picked out the suit herself, but the cufflinks are something new.

"Did you get these from your dad?"

"Joel let me borrow them for today."

It's finally the day of the wedding, and as the ceremony isn't until the evening, the whole house is a kind of organized chaos from morning through the afternoon. As if your nerves weren't already on fire, Sarah had approached you early that morning (fortunately for her while you were drinking your coffee) and asked if you'd replace one of her bridesmaids who'd come down with a cold overnight and couldn't attend.

You'd reasoned with her that you didn't have a bridesmaid dress, but that was easily solved when it was revealed the bridesmaids were all wearing jewel tones, and the sapphire gown you'd purchased off the rack would do just fine.

You had anticipated being part of a crowd. Now you'd be at the front of the congregation, all eyes on you, especially Joel's.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you finish helping Ellie with her cufflinks and let her entertain you with whatever teenage thought is flipping around in her brain while you touch up your makeup.

"I'm supposed to meet with Sarah and the bridal party at the church. You can ride with me or you'll have to find a ride with someone else."

"Joel will take me."

You brush away some stray powder on your cheek. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe he could take both of us. Want me to ask him?"

"No--"

But she's gone before you can stop her.

You feel Joel's eyes on you as you during the short drive to the church, and you blame the heat you feel coursing through your body on the seat warmer.

"It's a nice thing you're doin' for Sarah, steppin' in at the last minute," he says, eyes finally on the road.

"I can't let down a bride in need," you say somewhat cheerfully. "She'd do the same for me."

"Maybe at your next wedding." Ellie pipes up from the backseat, and Joel's frown is not lost on you.

The lead-up to the actual ceremony is a blur, as it was at your own wedding fifteen years before. The bridal party clusters around Sarah, who looks radiant, as she promises she isn't nervous. You can sense her agitation in the way her knee bounces as she's seated, one of the bridesmaids doing a last minute touch up to her hair. The air is heavy with excitement, the scent of hair spray and perfume all around you, reminding you that you're flammable.

"Remember this day," you advise her, and she looks up at you with a grateful smile. "It goes by unbelievably fast."

You wonder if you'll ever have this again, the butterflies in your stomach as you wait for the moment when you see your man at the aisle, awaiting you. You were lucky to have it once. Twice would be an anomaly, considering you haven't had a real relationship in so long.

Joel knocks and, granted entrance, the bridesmaids flutter about, getting ready for their entrance into the church. The bride and her father are left alone, no doubt exchanging words of love before he gives her away to her true love.

You had no one to walk down the aisle with when you were a bride, and the memory threatens to cloud your mind as you take your small bouquet of white roses and camellias. "Canon in D" starts, and the line makes its way down the aisle, towards the altar where Theo and his groomsmen wait.

Situated at the altar, the congregation rises as the music changes, and Sarah walks in, arm in arm with Joel.

Your eyes are on him the entire time, and your heart feels to big to fit in your chest. You've never seen Joel in a suit, but this one is perfectly tailored to his broad, strong physique. His hair is perfectly styled, his grey visible through the curls you long to run your fingers through.

When Sarah and Theo exchange vows your gaze unexpectedly meet Joel's and this time neither of you look away. You catch the glimmer of a tear falling down his cheek, which he does not wipe away. The bride and groom's words seem to ring loud and true: a promise of love through hard times and illness; of love that only grows in each others' absence; of love that does not die even after death.

The reception is held at the Tipsy Bison, and you marvel at how it's managed to disguise itself once more from a saloon to an elegant wedding atmosphere. A lot of money has gone into the week's events, and you know it's all Joel's doing. He's giving away his daughter, sending her off in style, giving her a day she'll remember forever.

You watch Sarah and Joel during their father-daughter dance, a tradition you didn't get to have yourself. "I Loved Her First" by Heartland starts up by the band onstage, and it tugs on your heartstrings to watch them. In the back of your mind you see them, Joel still thirty-six and Sarah still fourteen. By the time Sarah and Theo have their first dance as husband and wife you're already in the ladies' room, splashing cold water on your face so no one can see you've been crying.

Later, the bridesmaids and groomsmen have scattered, dancing or drinking at the bar, mingling. You stay at your seat at the now nearly-empty wedding party table, fingers twirling the stem of your champagne glass.

Mired in your own thoughts, you don't realize Joel has approached, crouching next to you.

"Dance with me?" he asks, his voice nearly a rasp with how nervous he is.

Wordlessly you take his hand, which practically dwarfs your own, as he leads you to the dance floor. You fall into a rhythm as the band starts up "Tennessee Whiskey", swaying softly to the music. His right hand rests on your lower back, gently guiding you. Your heart pounds as you gaze into his eyes. You haven't been this close to him since the night you conceived Ellie, the fateful night that threw a wrench into all your plans.

"It was a beautiful wedding," you lean in close to be heard over the music.

Joel shivers at your proximity, the brush of your lips against his ear, and he pulls you a little closer. "I'm happy you came all this way for it. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," you affirm, your hand gliding up to his shoulder.

The air is thick with tension, much like in the days you'd first met. You have to turn away or risk your feelings made known to everyone here.

Ellie's at one of the booths with the dark-haired girl from a couple days ago, watching something on her phone. As the girl laughs you see Ellie looking at her with a warmth you haven't known her capable of for anyone else.

"She's going to hate me for having to take her away again.." you tell him. "I haven't seen her this happy in a long time."

He clears his throat. "Maybe now she has a reason to return." He nods towards Ellie and her new friend.

Your limbs stiffen a little in response. You're not yet ready to think about the future, the possibilities it holds. You've barely begun to mend your friendship with Joel.

"Maybe," you relent, quietly, a promise made in the ether.

Joel's silent as the music moves smoothly in the air between you. His grip tightens on your body as he asks, "She's mine, ain't she?"

You snap from your thoughts, your heart in your throat as you stop dancing. "Excuse me?" Your eyes bore into him, daring him to speak the truth for himself.

"The other day you said 'our daughter'.. the timeline's right, I'm not that bad at math," he manages a smile.

"Joel, I.." you shake your head. "It's all too much. I can't think about this right now."

"Just tell me the truth," he says quietly.

"What would it matter if she was?"

"It'd make a whole hell of a difference. Two daughters, two Miller girls. Don't you think somethin' like that would make me happy?"

For a rare moment you let yourself think about the day your mother came to get you, pull you back home to Houston seeped in shame and regret. She'd lied and manipulated facts to get you on her side. You vowed you'd never be like her or put Ellie through that.

"Yes, Joel.." you whisper. "She's yours.."

The joy that shines in his eyes is like nothing you've ever seen before. When his arms wrap around you your lips find his as if twenty years has never passed between you. Right there, in the middle of the dance floor, you're making out like teenagers.

"I want you," he growls.

"Let's get out of here," you agree.

You're barely through the front door of his home when he presses you to the wall, his mouth hungry for yours. You hadn't thought you'd experience this level of passion again, but time has not diminished it for either of you.

"Joel," you moan as he presses himself to you, the blunt hardness of his erection teasing you. "Fuck me, Joel.."

He groans at your words, body aching with desire as he goes to his knees in front of you, lifting the hem of your dress. He presses messy kisses along your thighs while his hands roam over your hips and ass, his breath hot against your skin as he approaches the spot he most wants to taste again.

"Been too long, darlin'," he murmurs as he pulls your lacy underwear down your legs. "Been too damn long since I had you like this."

You kick your panties off, hooking one leg over his shoulder as he dives in, tongue lapping at your sweet pussy like a thirsty man finally finding water.

He stays there, tongue dancing between your folds and then tickling your clit, tasting you so deeply that you cry out, head falling back, body arched towards him, fingers tangled in his hair. Joel feasts like a man starved, slurping you up, inhaling your scent that surrounds him. There's nothing about you that's changed. You're still so sensitive to his touch, responsive to his lips, tongue, and now fingers pressed deep inside, finding the spot that makes you scream while his lips purse around your throbbing clit.

He doesn't stop after you come. He feasts on you over and over again, making up for lost time, pleading for your forgiveness this way, literally on his knees until you scream his name, convulsing around his fingers, your honey collecting on his large digits. Only when you feel completely boneless does he remove them gently, licking up your syrupy taste.

Joel picks you up, your dress falling back in to place as he carries you bridal style up to his room.

All roads have led back to him. No matter where you went, no matter who you chose, Joel was always going to be there at the end of the path, your guiding light, even when you thought you hated him and when you thought he would never choose you again.

Even now, his body over yours, he's the missing piece of the puzzle. He teases you with his cock until you beg him to just put it in, to make you whole again. The glorious slide of his flesh into yours causes you both to gasp and your bodies still for a moment, taking in the significance of this act which you've done so many times before.

He's older now, but his vigor is not gone. He fucks you gently at first, then with impatience, as if he's afraid you'll dissolve like a dream in daylight. You'd know the feel of his cock among any other, the smooth outline and the ridges, the way he's molded his perfect shape into you, marked you years ago when you were a virgin, as if leaving his initials inside you. Mine.

You've never had a man to match him, never had someone so in sync with your body. He knows all your buttons, every dip and valley that his hand caresses. He's mapped out your skin like a cartographer, claiming the land in his own name.

You come almost too quickly the first time, before he flips you on top of him, gripping your hips as you ride him. "Love you," you moan as you come close to the edge again, heart and soul flying ahead of you into the bliss you've only really known with him.

Beneath you Joel's eyes go wide when you come, his hips lifting up into you, warmth spilling into your core.

"Babygirl," he whispers, a choked grunt as he turns pale, his skin clammy and sweaty when he loses consciousness.

As soon as Sarah and Ellie arrive at the hospital you hug them, overcome with worry for Joel's medical emergency.

"How is he?" Sarah asks, still in her wedding dress. Even in the emergency waiting room she's generating a lot of interested looks her way.

"They just took him in a few minutes ago," you tell her, secretly glad she wasn't there to see her dad in such shape. "I think it was a heart attack.."

"Oh my god," she puts her hand over her mouth and sits on the nearest chair, Ellie right next to her, comforting her.

"The party's winding down at the bar," Ellie explains. "Only a few people know-- Theo, Tommy, Maria.."

"We didn't want to worry anyone else," Sarah adds.

You look at her, heart aching. This is supposed to be her special day.. and if something happens to Joel--

Don't think like that.

The three of you sit down, drinking stale coffee from the machine down the hall. Soon Tommy joins you, Theo staying at the house to keep an eye on Finn.

The worst thoughts poke through your brain, teasing you and taunting you. But at last the doctor comes out, a guy even younger than yourself, green scrubs and white coat.

He talks with the family, letting them know the diagnosis. "It was a silent myocardial infarction, basically a mild heart attack," he explains it. "He's going to be fine and he's resting right now."

"A heart attack?" Tommy and Sarah exclaim together.

"At his age it's not uncommon.. he's fifty-six years old," the doctor checks the chart. "Now, we have him on some aspirin and beta-blockers. Tests show he doesn't have enough blockage to necessitate surgery, but he'll need blood pressure medication and to keep a healthier lifestyle."

"Can we see him?" you ask.

"Yes, two at a time, preferably. We want to keep him calm while we're monitoring him." He checks the chart again and looks at you. "You brought him in, correct, ma'am?"

"Yes.. why?"

"What was Mr. Miller doing before he exhibited symptoms of his coronary event?"

"Um.. what?" you pretend not to understand.

"What was he doing before he had his heart attack?"

"Mild heart attack," Tommy emphasizes.

"Well.." you race to think of what to tell him.

"I take it you were celebrating a wedding," the doctor says, seeing Sarah in her dress and the rest of you in tuxes and gowns and whispers a 'Congratulations' to her.

"Yes. Well, we danced.." you answer, and the doctor keeps his eyes on you as if he knows you're lying.

You go up to him, giving a subtle whisper. "We were.. intimate--"

"Sexual relations," he nods, writing it on the chart. "It's important for us to know what was a causing factor in his event. Now, two at a time can visit him."

Tommy and Sarah go first. He gives you a sly wink. "Y'all were fuckin'!" he teases, passing by. Sarah gives you an excited smile, to which you just purse your lips.

It's quiet but for the bag of Lays Ellie has opened, eating the chips slowly. "So you and Joel?"

You nod.

"But not just tonight.. a long time ago, right?"

There's an odd sensation in your stomach, as if the unspoken truth is fluttering around inside, beating its wings as it tries to find a way out. "I guess there's a lot I need to tell you. But only when you're ready."

Ellie seems to steel herself for whatever conversation is on the way, nodding at last, crumpling up the bag and tossing it in the bin. "Ready."

Seeing Joel in the hospital bed is a sobering visual. Years ago your age gap represented something illicit, scandalous. Now you're reminded that no matter what road you and he take from here, you will most likely outlive Joel Miller.

He's awake when you and Ellie go in. It's obvious he doesn't like being here, but in his current state is not fit to complain.

"Hey," you say softly, going to his side. "How are you feeling?" You caress his cheek with the back of your hand.

Joel's eyes close at your delicate touch, and when he opens them there's a warmth in them that can't be denied. "I've been better, babygirl," he says. "But I'm damn glad you're here."

He glances at Ellie, seated in a chair on his other side. "And how about you, kiddo? You okay?"

"Am I okay?" she says incredulously. "Dude, I'm not the one in a hospital bed." But her face clearly shows relief that Joel's all right. You also see her brain working over everything you've told her (well, the gist of it.. there are some things she doesn't need to know).

"I was so worried," you tell him, your voice soft and warm, all your feelings coming to the forefront. "I thought I was gonna lose you."

Tears appear in Joel's eyes, which he brushes away impatiently. "You ain't losin' me yet, baby. Not for a long time, not if you don't want to."

"Joel.." you whisper. "Do you really want to do this? After everything that's happened.. all the hurt we put each other through.. all the secrets.." you cast a glance at Ellie, who looks more reserved than you've ever seen her before. Sensing this is a moment you want to share alone, she gives a fleeting smile before she leaves, giving Joel a playful mock hit on his shoulder. Still smiling, Joel pats the space beside him in the bed and you snuggle in with him, his body warm.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Joel asks softly, eyes imploring you. "You're mine and I'm yours. That's how this thing of ours operates: you belong to me and I belong to you. Despite everything that's happened in the last twenty years, that's been the one constant." His hands grips yours, thumb running over your knuckles. "I don't care if I've got thirty years or thirty days left of my life. I wanna spend the rest of it with you, babygirl."

You search his eyes, seeing nothing there but the truth, laid bare and ready for you to either accept or deny.

He continues, "I don't wanna keep failin' you. I'm too much in love to let you go again." Then he gently lifts your chin, making sure you meet his eyes. "But only if you want me back."

Some would say you're on a precipice in the choice you're about to make, but it's not that difficult to choose. It's simply the separate paths you're on, converging at last. for good.

"You're the only one I've ever wanted," you whisper. It's not a fancy declaration of truth, a bit surprising coming from an English teacher, but it's the only thing Joel needs to hear before he pulls you close for another kiss.

Joel's released on Christmas Eve, and the two of you don't waste any time.

You and Joel are married in a small, intimate ceremony in the spacious living room of his home. Ellie, Sarah, Theo, Finn, Tommy, Maria, Sofia, Ruby, and even Bill and Frank are in attendance, watching as a judge from town and friend of the Millers officiates.

Joel promises you a nicer wedding when the frost thaws, anywhere you want in the world. You tell him you can't imagine a more perfect place to marry the most perfect man for you.

Your first wedding went by in a blur, but this time around you engrave it upon your heart, make note of every little skip of your heart when you and Joel hold hands, his delicate touch as he places a gorgeous sapphire ring on your hand, the sweetness of his lips when you share your first kiss as husband and wife.

After Christmas, Sarah and Theo leave for their honeymoon to Maui, and with the weather more agreeable the guests take leave too. Tommy sees to it that you and Joel have your house all to yourselves for your own honeymoon.

You insist on taking it easy with Joel, but he tells you he'd rather die while inside you, his name pouring from your lips the last thing he ever hears. He seems to get a second wind with you, making use of every possible flat surface in the house. You feel better about such activity when he takes his medication, promising to take it faithfully so long as you follow it with a kiss.

One morning after a particularly strenuous night, while drinking coffee in the kitchen and discussing your plans, Ellie returns, calling out to you before she enters.

"You're not doing anything gross in there, are you?"

"No," Joel laughs.

"Yes we are, we're working on making a sibling for you," you smirk over your coffee, glancing at Joel and giving a little shake of your head when his eyes go wide.

"Gross," she mutters, walking in. "Joel, Tommy says everyone's meeting at the Tipsy Bison for lunch later. But he couldn't get through to you on the phone." She makes a playful, pointed look, eyeing the two of you.

She's lukewarm to the idea of calling Joel 'Dad', and there's going to be some legal hoops to go through regarding Justin and his parental claim. But it all seems so small in comparison to the problems that plagued you before. You can get through anything because now you have each other.

You and Joel get ready as Ellie goes back to Tommy's, enjoying spending her time with Finn and getting ready to leave with them instead.

Unable to keep your hands off each other, it takes you twice as long to get dressed, hands going into each other's back pockets, lips finding each other's throats.

There's all the time in the world for it now.

Driving up to the Tipsy Bison, Joel turns on the radio. "Cherry, Cherry" starts to play, and you sing along with Neil Diamond, catching your husband's eye as he smiles and sings along too. The road before you is smooth, mountains standing guard in the distance, staying the same grand height no matter how far along you drive. Joel's hand finds yours, presses a kiss to it before entwining your fingers.

"Babe?"

"Yes, Mrs. Miller?"

You smile. "Let's not go right away. Let's drive around a little, play this song again, just soak in this moment."

"Of course, babygirl. I don't want to share you with the others just yet anyway."

Neil continues on the radio: No, we won't tell a soul where we gone to Girl, we do whatever we want to Ah, I love the way that you do me Cherry, babe, you really get to me

It's come full circle, and it only took two decades to complete. You and Joel in his truck, your song playing, the sun shining through the hazy clouds. You could close your eyes and it'd be 2003 again.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

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[starkspondwater]

I need socially awkward band kid Kyle with a cracky voice x Fem reader where you're also in band but you're in the louder section (like trumpets perchance 🥺) and during band practice the directors tell everyone to talk to someone new and Kyle ends up paired with you, the girl he's been obsessing over since band camp likeeee

As an orchestra kid this had my heart. I love awkward little band geeks/ orchdorks in media, it's my FAVORITE. I also tried to use some actually terminology in here so I apologize if any of it sounds off- I haven't played an instrument in YEARS.

Thank you so much for the request!!!

A/N: I tried to write in voice cracks so just...keep that in mind as you read!

Summary: Due to a rather strange exercise placed upon the class from the new band conductor, Kyle has to make a connection with someone in a different section. His nerves rise as he realizes he's going to have to partner up with you, the person he's been crushing on. (fluff)

Word Count: 3786

Connections- Band Kid!Kyle Broflovski x Band Kid!Reader

Kyle’s fingers danced along the keys of his sax as his eyes scanned the music sheets on the stand. There were only minutes before practice actually began yet he was the only one in the room trying to get ready. Voices mingled and intertwined, some lower tones hushed as they shared gossip while others only increased in volume before dissolving into laughter. It was loud and annoying, but after years of dealing with this sort of atmosphere Kyle could tune out the ruckus with practiced ease. Adjusting his grip on the instrument, he moved to lightly wipe the sweat from his hands on his pants.

Why he chose the baritone saxophone to play, he will never know. Memories of him and his friends came to mind, the boys randomly choosing instruments based on what ‘sounded cool’ as a way to boost popularity when they entered middle school. It was silly to think such a thing would do so for them, but out of everyone he was the only one that actually stuck with it. Call it the sensibility in him, knowing his parents had spent a pretty penny on the woodwind he now carried most days. 

Well, he supposed he wasn’t the only one that stuck it out. Cartman was there, though he had almost immediately dropped the flute in favor of percussion. Typical.

“Alright, Alright! Quiet down everyone!” Dr. Kinsley shouted from the front of the room. As the new band conductor, he had been a rather abrupt change from their last one. Retired and tired, Mr. Daniels had strolled in late daily and for the most part allowed the students to set the pace. This guy, while younger with a pep in his step, took up the baton with a seriousness that suggested he expected great things from them. The thought of that made Kyle snort.

But it should be said that the redhead found it nice to actually play things for once, even if they were the most subpar band in Colorado.

“Now, I know we’ve only been in session for a little bit, and the winter concert is but a few months away, but we have got some work to do!” tapping the stand in front of him, Dr. Kinsley looked around, a mysterious glint in his eyes. “I hate to say it folks, but we need to step it up.”

“Listen, Doc, if you want to bitch about how bad we sound, talk to the goddamn brass! We at least got our shit together!” Cartman shouted from the back, hums of agreement heard from others in his section.

“Mr. Cartman, thank you for your…colorful suggestion. Unfortunately, I will not be doing so because we are one. We are not one clarinet or just one french horn…” Pausing, he brought out his arms toward the group. “We are in this together! So if one of us is bad, we are all bad. We will all need to work on it.”

Groans sounded from around the room, echoing off the slightly vaulted ceilings. The band had been on the receiving end of many lectures about this very thing, and by god it was annoying. It wasn’t a secret that the band in South Park didn’t sound particularly very good, but they weren’t complete trash. Just…this particular year had not started very well. Several of the upper class first chairs had moved on after graduation, and the younger years had not quite gotten into the groove of leading their own sections, and with a new conductor meant different music. 

Doctor Kinsley had very high expectations based on what he had passed out to them that first day. While others complained, Kyle actually found the challenge refreshing. He didn’t care for the extra practice he had to do at home, mainly due to Ike’s constant bitching about the noise, but he did enjoy when his brain and hands worked well enough together to properly play the especially hard measures he fussed over.

“We are severely disjointed,” the conductor continued, looking around the room. “When we play it is not together- we have lost our connection! So for this week we will instead perform…an exercise.”

“Does that mean we won’t be playing?” Craig asked from somewhere near the back, his normally flat voice actually sounding perky.

“Indeed Mr. Tucker! In exchange for this little break however, you all will need to forge some new connections.” At the confused looks shot his way, Dr. Kinsley sighed. “Today you will find someone not in your section, and simply, talk with them. By the end of the week, I will have you both sight read a few measures of the new piece I will be introducing to see if the connections have helped, or hindered you.”

This was fucking stupid, Kyle thought as he watched his classmates hesitantly rise out of their seats. The problem lied in their individual sections, and he knew this because half of his own couldn’t keep count for shit. Hell, the only reason his stand partner, some underclassmen who’s name he couldn’t ever remember, stayed in time was because Kyle would tap his foot hard enough to rattle the stand.

Kyle allowed his own gaze to wander. He wanted to avoid the whole rush of pairing off and was pleased to see that most everyone had done so, now sitting off to the side and lightly chatting. Scanning the few that remained standing, his eyes stopped at you, making his breath catch.

From the very first day he saw you at band camp that past summer, talking with another trumpet player, he was gone. There was just something about the way you held yourself that caught him captive, a confidence that he not only found attractive, but that he admired. Even during class you were bold enough to play out regardless of missed notes or fumbled melodies; You gave it your best shot even when no one else wanted to. You were loud and open, and very different from him.

He had never spoken to you. Not at camp, not at school. You shared the occasional class sure, but even then he had never uttered a singular word in your direction. Partly it may have been that you intimidated him, but he also worried about your own perception of him.

He wasn’t much different from his youth besides the obvious. He had grown in height over the years and his hair, while still fairly wild, at least wasn’t so bad he had to constantly hide it. But he was not someone that just approached girls, especially those that had him tongue tied. He wasn’t like Stan that could stumble his way into being cute, or Clyde who was a lot smoother with the ladies, he was just…awkward. 

About the time that thought slipped through his head you had turned your attention onto him, a smile immediately brightening up your face. And oh fuck now you were walking towards him. Was it him? Was there someone behind him? What were you-

“Hey Kyle!” 

And you knew his name.

“H-hey Y/N! Guess it’s just us -TWO-”  with a crack in his voice, Kyle felt his eyes widen. God fucking dammit. Feeling his face grow red, Kyle tried to smile though he knew it probably came out a lot less as lovely as yours.

Almost as if you didn’t notice what had happened, you sat down next to him and continued talking.

“I guess it is! I’m not really sure how this is really going to play out, but I’m not going to pass up a small break!” you said with a laugh. “So, ‘connecting.’ We haven’t really gotten to talk any, have we? Kind of weird since we’ve been around each other so much!”

“...Yeah? That is pretty strange, I guess.” To be honest, Kyle was even surprised you knew who he was. You didn’t run in the same circles, and as far as he knew none of your friends had any overlap with his.

“I don’t even think we ever even properly introduced ourselves! Not for my lack of trying though.” 

What? 

“I swear I tried to say hi a few times at camp, but I don’t think I could grab your attention.”

WHAT? In what world would you have NOT had his attention? He couldn’t recall you trying to talk to him at all, but then again he spent so much of that time trying not to look like an absolute idiot in front of you…kind of like he was doing now, gaping at you in silence.

“O-oh! I didn’t real-IZE that,” Kyle squeaked out before rubbing his rather sweaty hand on his pants. “We could fix that no-OW.”

He wanted to cringe from how that sounded. Not only was that probably the stupidest thing he could say- why in the fuck would you want to shake his hand- but his voice was cracking more than it usually did. 

To his surprise however, you just giggled, holding out your own hand to take his. He was glad he wiped off his hand, because he really didn’t want to let go of yours. It was soft and warm, and compared to his, fairly small. He never saw himself as some macho man, but he couldn’t help but feel a little cool with how his pale hand engulfed yours. 

“It’s really nice to finally meet you, Kyle,” you said softly, eyes peering at him through thick eyelashes. It was a pretty sight that had his hand sweating once more making him regrettably pull away. “So tell me about yourself, besides your mad skills on the bari sax!”

That’s how Kyle found himself spending that class, stumbling over words with more than a few more voice cracks as he spoke to you. He was nervous and felt much too warm but by the time the bell rang, but the fact that he did get to speak to you had made his whole day. He felt giddy knowing that perhaps that feeling would last the whole week.

_____

Not a lot surprised Kyle in his life. He still had the same three friends and lived in the same house and dealt with all the same things since he was young. Even with some of the deviation from routine that tended to happen day to day, he could rely on the fact that most things would remain the same. He knew this week would be different with the added bonus of speaking to you during band, but what he wasn’t expecting was that you would seek his conversation outside of the band room as well.

You had caught him at his locker that morning, the remnants of sleep still lingering in his mind as he absently dug through the small space. He had just been cursing Stan’s ability to mess up their shared locker when your voice chimed behind him, causing Kyle to jump and bump his head on the top of the locker.

“Oh shit! Uh, h-EY,” Kyle rubbed his head as he turned, your pretty visage coming into sight. 

“Are you alright?” Titling your head you gave him a look of concern, eyebrows scrunched together and pursing your lips.

It was very sweet but you were too close. Backing up slightly only to find his back hitting the locker next to his, Kyle chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine! What’s up?”

“Well, I saw you over here and thought I’d say hello!” giving another bright smile, Kyle felt you had to be trying to kill him. “Want to walk to class together?”

“You…want to walk to class…with me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’d say we’re at least a little bit friends after yesterday,” you said sweetly, blinking up at him, “right?”

Kyle was never one to consider a single conversation, or even multiple, equal to friendship, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to say that to you. If you not only were going to openly and easily refer to him as a friend, but also seek him out to talk…he’d be stupid to complain. 

“Right, uh, just let me…” Turning, Kyle grabbed one last thing from his locker before swinging it shut. “Let’s g-O!” 

Without warning you had linked your arm in his, the heat from your arm bleeding through his jacket. Kyle would’ve stayed rooted to the spot if you had not started to lead him onward, navigating through wandering students and the various hallways. If anyone asked what you had talked about during that little walk to your morning english class, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. All he could think about then, and through that entire morning in general, was how well you seemed to fit into the space next to him. 

_____

That’s how it continued through the week, you seeking him out in the halls, class, and even lunch, drawing the attention of his friends. The first time it happened he felt his cheeks burn at the knowing looks the guys had shot him, and when Cartman dared to make one petty comment he had kicked the fat boy roughly in the shin. 

Band was the best time, in Kyle’s opinion. It was an entire hour he had to speak with you without interruption, no bells ringing or people to butt in, just you two getting to know each other. And to be honest, no matter what weird little things the conductor threw his way, that made it all worth it.

He knew you were bold and had a confident air about you, but he also learned that you were funny, that you were compassionate and full of passions. You let him in on your various interests, some of which he had a feeling you didn’t normally share with others. Your openness with him, someone you hadn’t even talked to before, was a little startling. It made him want to do the same.

The way you looked at him when he talked was a little addicting. You hung onto every word, leaning forward and asking questions in a way that made him feel like you found everything he said important. He didn’t even think about the way he stammered when your arm brushed against his, or the way his voice cracked loudly, making you giggle a bit before you asked yet another question, urging on the conversation.

It was Thursday, the last bell ringing out in a siren call driving every student in its vicinity to flood the halls. Like he had begun to do most days this week, he waited at the corner along the west side hallway for you. Bodies shuffled and bumped one another as teens made their way to whatever destinations they had, words and phrases from passerby only just hitting Kyle’s ears before they strayed too far for him to gain any context.

Right on time you flounced into view with a grin, linking your arm with his and dragging him off. While this had made him nervous before, now he absolutely delighted in the feeling, opting to remove his jacket just to feel the contact.

As you zigzagged through the halls he found himself thinking back to your first conversation. The image of you choosing to sit with him and make small talk and going along with shaking his hand. It all felt so weird that now, just days later, you treated him like someone who had always been close. Watching your smaller form navigate around a corner, his mind sparked, as though telling him to remember…something. He just wasn’t sure what.

Exiting the school the two of you made your way to one of the benches along the lawn. It was a nice day, an odd one for South Park, and several others chose to spend their afternoon outdoors instead of holing up elsewhere. Kyle had to shake his head as he realized you had been talking to him, bringing his attention back to you.

“-and you remember that one guy at camp? The one who kept trying to say he ‘knew the owner’ and we should respect him or whatever? Well, he tried friending me on facebook! And-” as you babbled on, lips moving a mile a minute as you told your story, something came to Kyle’s mind.

“Hey! oh sorry-” he interrupted, your voice falling quickly, “uh…nevermind. Didn’t mean to stop you-”

“No, please! It was something stupid in the first place,” with another smile that had his heart stutter, you asked him to keep going.

“I was just thinking of something you said before,” Kyle hesitantly started, unsure if this was something he should even bring up. It was brought up so offhandedly, it could not have meant anything at all, but for whatever reason it had lodged itself into his brain. “That first day, you said you kept trying to talk to me at camp. I’ve tried thinking back on it, and I just can’t remember you even looking at me at all during that summer.”

It was your turn to look bashful, face growing warm and eyes darting away. At once that posture he had grown accustomed to shrunk down with your hands shyly playing along the edge of your shirt.

“Well…this is a little embarrassing…” tucking some hair behind your year, you brought your eyes back up to his. “I did try to talk to you back then, I promise I wasn’t lying about that. It’s just…every time I got close you would look over and I would get incredibly nervous.”

“Why would I make you nervous?” he huffed out a laugh, but no humor colored it. Kyle wasn’t sure where this was going, but he did know that his stomach began to twist.

“I mean, I thought you were kind of cool! You play the saxophone! That’s pretty cool in the first place but you also were one of the best players there,” you said sincerely, your smile growing once more. “You were quiet and kind of mysterious and…I don’t know. I just really wanted to talk to you.”

His mind buzzed with this new information. You thought he was cool. You wanted to talk to him before all this. You noticed him just as he noticed you.

And right now all he could do was look at you like he didn’t understand English.

“You, uh…you wanted to talk to m-E?” Kyle couldn’t keep the disbelief from coating his voice, the light crack almost emphasizing that point.

Frowning, you adjusted yourself to properly face him. He watched as you bit your lip, face pensive as you considered what to say next. Laughter was heard off to the side as a group of kids rushed past, jostling one another as they moved along the path. The sound seemed to accentuate the silence between you.

“I really like you, Kyle.” 

Those little words hit him right in the heart and lungs, knocking the very air he breathed from his body. You were no longer worrying your lip within your teeth, instead taking on a look of determination. It was as though you had come to a serious decision and planned to carry out every step of it regardless of what was in your way.

Kyle couldn’t find the words to respond, couldn’t even find the ability to properly breathe as he took in the figure before him. 

“I like you and I’d really like it if we could go out.” Soft hands gingerly took his own, your warmth seeping into him much like your confession did to his entire being. “I was hoping you’d pick up the little hints I’d been dropping all week.”

Hints? Thinking back to the beginning of the week, Kyle quickly picked his way through memories. It wasn’t that he couldn’t pick up on flirting, after all he had watched Kenny do enough of that, but perhaps it was that he just couldn’t pick up on you flirting. Suddenly little snippets of interactions came through; the way you fluttered those pretty lashes and the way you latched onto his arm and held it close. Were you flirting the day you took his hat for yourself? Maybe the way you giggled at every little joke or story was a sign.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?” Broken from his train of thought, he saw that you had now resumed that nervous little look of yours. 

“Do you want to go out with me?” your voice grew smaller as the words came out, apprehension felt in the space you shared. “It’s alright if you don’t, I just thought…Well, I read things wrong. I’ll just go-”

You sprung up, ready to grab your bag and haul out and away, cursing yourself mentally for putting yourself in such an awkward situation. Leaning down to grab the thick strap of your pack, you found Kyle’s hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait- no, uh, I mean yes!” the words tumbled out almost too loud, your shoulders jumping up in surprise. Clearing his throat, Kyle tried again. “What I meant, was yes. I do like you…and I have for a while.”

Kyle just knew the flush he sported was up to the tips of his ears after admitting that out loud. Here you were, looking at him with those eyes and that face, that smile, and he just sat there looking like a damn fool.

“Good,” smirking, you flipped your hand over, grabbing his and hauling him up. “We can consider getting some food as the first date!”

Just like you had done all week you linked arms with him, only this time allowing his hand to fall and fit within your own. Kyle grinned to himself. As cute as it was to see you get all shy, he rather liked how loud and brash you were. It was an addicting quality he hoped to get even more of knowing now that you felt the same.

_____

To say that Dr. Kinsley was displeased was an understatement. The sight reading had been a mess and at the moment Cartman was tussling with a few guys in the back of the room. As the conductor struggled to keep them from knocking over some rather expensive instruments, you two paid no mind. Huddled over at Kyle’s stand you talked animatedly, one hand moving every which way in explanation as the other stayed firmly in his own. 

Any other day his sax would be in hand, ready to play, but with you beside him he could not find the will to care about the music as it lay forgotten next to your trumpet. He supposed that even if this connection exercise was silly, he should still thank the man for giving him the opportunity to connect with you.

[kingchroma]

problem solving.

࿇ summary. samuel likes the thrill of having you as his partner in class. ࿇ pairing. student!samuel x student!reader

࿇ word count. almost 1.5k ࿇ warnings. swearing. samuel and reader bickering. sammy's an a-grade asshole but he swears he doesn't hate you that much. ࿇ author's note. another old draft that i fixed up. again, apologies if it sounds like samuel is ooc! i'm trying to get ahold of things here.

“That’s wrong. I’ve told you several times already—that’s not the formula that I taught you.”

“I’m sorry, okay?!”

“As if sorry’s going to do anything. You’re so hardheaded.”

You only huff as you hear his response, slamming your pen on your notepad and consequently giving up on solving the set of problems that you and Samuel were given earlier. It was for a project in one class that you both shared—answering 100 problems, each individual in the partnership getting 50 items, explaining how it was solved in the process.

It was supposed to be an easy task—hell, you’ve already imagined smoothly moving from one problem to another, but no, you had to be partnered with Samuel Seo of all people and now you’re stuck on question number five because you can’t figure out the formula he used.

Everyone knew that you and Samuel had a little rivalry going on—an understatement with how you two constantly challenged each other in and out of class. Maybe it wasn’t as little as you thought, but still, a rivalry is rivalry and this man was a piece of work.

“Giving up already?” Samuel mocks you as he surveys your failed problem sets, mechanical pencil in between his fingers as he writes another alternative solution for you to use. “Should’ve expected that. This is your weakest subject, right?”

You pray quietly to the gods to give you the strength as you try not to snap at him inside the library—where other diligent, quiet students were studying and doing homework. “Yes, but I just don’t get where you got these formulas—solutions!” you exclaim, though only loud for him to hear. That’s what you tell him for the nth time—time and time again—but you still don’t get it.

That was honestly the part that frustrated Samuel the most. “I thought you were smart?” he snaps at you—with the same volume as you. He really couldn’t be bothered to deal with the fact that the two of you could get kicked out of the library. “What’s so hard to understand about this?” he asks, encircling the formula, which just ends up being a mix of jumbled letters and numbers to you.

You sigh, frustrated and defeated. “Look, can we take a break for a bit? My head hurts.”

Samuel only rolls his eyes at that, though he lets you take a break. “Sure, let the project stay idle for too long,” he quips, in which you ignore him because he’s nothing but an asshole who doesn’t care if he hurts your feelings and stomps on it. You do take a break—not listening to his complaints because it felt like your head was going to be split open.

He does notice that you were searching for something in your bag—a painkiller for what seems to be suited for migraines and such. Maybe that makes his cold heart thaw a little—a bit guilty for how he had been treating you, though he doesn’t back down, letting his words remain true in your head.

“Do you plan on taking that without eating?” Samuel asks, making you stop from taking the pill out from its packaging to answer him. “So? I have water,” you retort.

He rolls his eyes again, something he can't seem to stop doing around you. Holy shit, it’s so hard to get through you.

“Can you eat water? Plus the library has a No Eating policy, just in case you forgot,” he reminds you, packing his side of the table back to his bag before looking at you expectantly. “Get your things. Let’s go to the cafeteria.”

“For what?” you ask.

“For your head, stupid. My God, how many fucking braincells are working there right now? Is it close to zero?” he retorts, and you badly want to tape his mouth shut.

How was Jake able to be friends with this asshole? You can’t imagine being around Samuel for so long.

AT THE CAFETERIA, Samuel wordlessly leads you to buy food—not even bothering to listen to your complaints when you tell him that you will pay for it because you were the one that’s going to consume it.

But again, he doesn’t care because Samuel Seo is a hotheaded asshole who ensures that everyone should listen to him and heed to what he says or does.

“Eat,” he says, pushing the tray of food towards you. It was a complete meal, much to your surprise. “This is a lot,” you argue, looking at the food then at him. “You bought way too much.”

Samuel doesn't comment at that. “You’re going to take meds, right? You need to have a full stomach for that,” he says, and it makes you wonder why he suddenly cared enough to get you a meal when you could’ve gotten it yourself. “A snack would’ve sufficed but okay, thanks.”

Thank god, Samuel monologues internally, watching you get the painkiller from your bag and placing it beside the water bottle.

Samuel doesn’t exactly know what to do or say when you finally started eating simply because he hasn’t had a proper conversation with you in the first place. It was always like dogs growling at each other, never polite, always on guard to start biting the other.

He thinks maybe this moment was the first time the two of you had a semblance of silence—where neither of you were going for the throat for once. “Is it good?” he asks, unable to keep his mouth shut. Though you only look at him, a flicker of emotion showing in your irises before nodding.

You don’t give him a verbal answer, and that lowkey ticks him off because why aren’t you biting at him? But maybe it was because it was too much of a kind question, lacking the usual sarcasm he had towards you—and everyone else, though a little more on you.

Samuel chooses to remember about how the two of you had become rivals in the first place. It was stupid, really, how nostalgic he was being while you were there eating and nursing a fucking headache.

All he remembers was that he had corrected you over an exam answer. He was sarcastic, you were sarcastic—some challenges were made in front of the professor and other classmates, and Samuel knows he felt excited at the time—a thrill that he only felt when he knows he’s about to win the competition he joined or when he knows he had gotten a high grade at a particular subject that he had hated.

He knows then and there that you gave him a rush of excitement even if he was supposedly hating on you as he is your rival after all—but maybe he doesn’t, and he chooses to be an asshole for the thrill of it.

Maybe Jake was right—he was so hard to get along with.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask out of the blue—after the silence between the two of you and the white noise of the other students of the cafeteria have mellowed in your ears. “Like I grew two heads or something,” you add, making Samuel look away—because he fucking hated how you easily made the brims of his lips twitch into an unknowing smile.

He hated how you looked adorable while eating the food he had bought you. How you looked at him like he was an absolute idiot for being caught staring at you.

“Nothing. Hurry up,” was the only thing he says to you in that usual, annoyed tone that he has.

But he doesn’t really want you to hurry up—just a mix of emotions since he wants to sit in silence with you but at the same time, he really wants you to get going with the problem sets.

You scoff at him, finishing the last bite of your meal. It all comes in a flash—you taking the painkiller, and now standing up to gesture at him. “I’m finished, let’s go. Unless you want to be the reason why we submit that project late?”

He takes a deep breath because that tone of yours—challenging him and perhaps even putting the blame on him for being late, makes something in his brain go haywire because Samuel Seo likes to get on top of things—doesn’t want to be blamed for someone else’s incompetence when he had done everything he could to stay on top.

You just make him want to grit his teeth—but it’s the challenge, the thrill that makes all this shit worth it.

“Bold of you to say that,” he says, getting his bag as he stands up from the chair. “When you can’t even get past problem number five.”

And that’s where another argument starts.

Where Samuel thinks that maybe partnering with you wasn’t so bad.

[heavenlyysstuff]

A Foreign Feeling. 2

NETEYAM.s x fem! metkayina! reader

summary . after yesterdays events, you and Neteyam set off on a search for shells beyond the reef. You stay out a little longer than intended.

a/n . again, you don’t have to listen to the song I linked, I simply just like to put songs that I think fit the story’s vibe into the fic. thanks for all the support!

part 1 . part 2

♪˖ now playing .

all the stars . ( SZA ) ⊹.

Early in the morning, where the sky presented shades of pink and blue, you set off towards the Sully’s marui to collect Neteyam.

You’d gotten used to waking up this early, enjoying the hues of the sky and the coolness of the sea, you’d be happy to share it with Neteyam.

With a small bounce in your stride you quietly greet some hunters that pass, seemingly on their way out for some early morning hunting.

Unknown to you, a few hunters crane their necks back around as you pass, smirking to themselves at the thought of who you were off to see this early.

The whispers amongst them are silent to your ears, your mind already occupied with a certain someone.

It’s safe to assume most of the Sully family is still asleep, they probably would have no reason to be up at this time. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to wake Neteyam.

And your thoughts are cut to and end as you approach the Sully’s marui, a familiar figure sat outside with his legs dipped into the water.

“Good morning, Neteyam.” You speak while walking to stand next to him, keeping your voice at a quiet volume as to not disturb the rest of his sleeping family.

His ears perk up instantly, and he almost turns his whole body around to face you, but quickly calms down and just looks up at you. He inhales. “Good morning, y/n.” Immediate exhale, as if he had been preparing to say the words the second he woke up.

Your eyes scrunch as a smile reaches your face, but your expression turns to one of anxiousness. “I hope you weren’t waiting here too long, and sorry… I never really specified on the time, that was my bad.”

Neteyam doesn’t seem to be too disappointed though, in fact he looks a whole lot more bright after your appearance. “No, no it’s fine, I uh— I woke up awhile ago.” His eyes continuously flicker from your own to the ground as he talks.

With another smile placed on your face you make your way around him, “should we get to the ilu then?”

He scrambles to stand, “yea- okay.” His tail sways low behind him, and he freezes when he hears your quiet laugh as you walk away, a heat rushing to his face.

He mindlessly follows like a lost child.

The sounds of the ocean clashing against itself further relaxes you, and you take a saddle from the rack provided.

“You don’t mind riding with me, right?” You kneel down and start calling out to your ilu.

He abruptly turns to you, “oh, no. No it’s fine… it’s good.” coughing after his words.

“Okay good.” You speak while adjusting the saddle on your ilu. “I wouldn’t want to get separated outside the reef.”

“Yea…” Neteyam’s words slip out involuntarily as he becomes distracted by your attire of the day. It’s beautiful, no doubt. And he somehow feels a little special at the sight of a new outfit on your form as he dives into the cool water.

Once he rises to the surface a shaky exhale leaves him, his breath becomes quick and he sets his gaze upon you who is sat comfortably on your ilu. “It’s so cold.” He states the obvious.

You give him a pitiful smile as your shoulders raise in a silent laugh. “You get used to it.” With that you offer a hand out towards him.

He grasps your hand, but not once breaking his eye contact til he has to.

And now as you both sit on the ilu, Neteyam finds himself contemplating on where he should rest his hands. He would rest them on your waist like any other passenger would, but then again, it’s you.

The girl who had him looking through crowds just to find that certain pair of pretty eyes. The girl who had welcomed him and his family into the clan with no hesitation.

The girl he looked forward to seeing everyday. Who made his mornings a little more brighter.

Such sappy thoughts as he’s sat directly behind you, and it seems his mind had drifted so far that he didn’t realise his own hands, that had already made themselves comfortable around your waist as you direct your ilu out of the reef.

“I’m sorry for making you get up so early, you probably had plans today.” You speak your thoughts aloud, but thing is, Neteyam had cleared his whole schedule for you. Not that he had much planned at all, he had just let his parents know he’d be out for the morning, and they surprisingly didn’t ask for any specific details about his whereabouts.

He snaps out of it, again. “You don’t need to be sorry, I didn’t have anything to do anyways.” He’s pleased as your smile comes back on to your face as he peers out to see your side profile. “And I wanted to come.”

It had been awhile as the two of you continuously dived and surfaced through the water, looking for the best shells. at least, that was the case for you.

Neteyam had forced himself to hold his breath longer than he had practiced for, all to see your form glide through the oceans current.

He admired your movements, this time up close.

The way your hair had moved like silk through the water, and the way your body moved with the direction of the sea.

Once again he needs a breath, he quickly swims up towards the surface with the help of your ilu.

He gasps once he had reached the surface, but wastes no second to quickly plunge his head back underwater to locate you, who had began swimming up towards him.

You surface without so much as a sigh for air. “Are you alright?”

He hates the burning feeling down his throat, the result of accidentally swallowing some of the water when he was to distracted by you. “Yea, sorry I just— I need to practice breathing more, I guess.”

You giggle, and a thought enters your head. “Wait here a second.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly. He gives a shy smile.

You dive underwater once again, this time looking for a specific creature.

After a few moments of being underwater searching, you now come across what you had been looking for, quickly taking it and making your way back to Neteyam.

Once you surface, his head immediately snaps to you, then to the creature in your hands. “What it that?”

“It will help you breathe. You need to make the bond.” You reply and wait for him to connect to the creature, he does so hesitantly but surely. After that was done, you reach around his shoulders to place the creature comfortably on his back. “Now you can stay underwater longer with me.”

His eyes rest on your hands that remain on his shoulders, then back to you. Swallowing before he speaks, “good.”

Your eyes scan over his, what is visible, form before slowly tracing your hand from his shoulder down to his hand.. “Let’s go.” Another warm smile on your face, contagious, as it makes Neteyam smile even bigger.

You guide him by the hand, diving underwater and he follows with no hesitation, your fingers still intertwined.

The sun from above you, casted a shadow to form below you. The both of you look down, waving at your own shadows playfully.

You continue to take him deeper until the two of you are down next to the coral and other various sea life.

‘Let’s look for shells together.’ You sign, detaching your hands.

He looks confused for a moment. In his time of being here in the village, he only learnt some of the underwater language that you and Tsireya had taught him. He followed your hands as they moved… let’s… shells…together? He got the gist of what you’d were communicating, and he nods as a reply.

You take his hand once more, prompting him to follow you as you swim just above the oceans floor, occasionally brushing through it to find any hidden jewels.

While focused on your search, Neteyam finds himself looking at a different type of jewel.

In a way, your skin reminded him of the rich minerals he sometimes found in the caves back at home, a glowing blue that was even prettier under the water.

He also finds himself tightening his grip on your hand, just slightly. It almost goes unnoticed.

With your thumb, you rub his knuckles softly, and he can’t help but blush at the realisation of him being caught.

The two of you had searched the nearby sea top to bottom, occasionally going back up to the surface to breathe and share some words.

Neteyam hated the communication barrier he had with you underwater, and he promises himself that when the next lesson came, he’d try extra hard to get all the signs memorised.

The day continues with the two of you swimming through the water as it slowly got darker, not that either of your had noticed.

You had both found some beautiful shells, and once your hands got full you would put them in the bag that was attached to your ilu’s saddle.

Going through every crevice of the coral and searching every inch of sand, sometimes riding your ilu to go to another location, you both grew tired of the swimming, and you point upwards towards the surface as Neteyam follows.

You both gasp for the air, and quickly open your eyes to find each other. After calling your ilu, it’s then when the both of you realise the time.

The orange and pink hues in the sky indicate it’s soon night. You look at Neteyam, and he looks at you. You both start to laugh at the realisation. You had been out together all day.

“I…” your own giggle stops you for a moment, “sorry I didn’t mean to keep you out this long.”

His own laugh becomes louder, biting his lip to calm down, “no it’s alright. I had a lot of fun.” He climbs his way to sit behind you on your ilu, this time not hesitating to slide his hands around your waist as you guide your ilu underwater back to the village.

While the occasional times the two of you are above the water, you converse about all the shells you found, the topic soon changed though.

“Think we can make it back without our parents making a fuss?” You ponder aloud, momentarily looking behind you to find his gaze.

“No way.” He says, “but it’s worth it.”

“Why’s that?” A puzzled expression is put on your face.

“Because I got to spend time with you.”

Oh? He seemed to be getting more confident with his words, todays events made him more comfortable around you, and you love every second of it.

Shutting your eyes for a second and trying to hold back a smile you speak again. “I liked spending time with you as well.”

You had finally returned back to Awa’atlu. You wait until Neteyam climbed off of the ilu and stood onto the woven platform just above the sea. He reaches a hand out to help you lift yourself up next to him.

Once you had the bag of shells you both collected, and taken the saddle off your ilu, it was time to take yourself and Neteyam back home.

“I’ll walk you home.” You speak as you place the saddle back onto its place on the rack amongst others.

His tails swishes in contemplation. “You don’t mind?”

“No, of course not.”

He hums in appreciation, nodding his head downwards slightly as a sign of respect. The two of you begin walking to Neteyams home.

“We found a lot of good ones today, but I think it’s too much to go through today. So maybe we should take another day to go through it all together.” You state as your hand remains firm on the strap of the bag, “that way we both get an even amount, and you could make some jewellery for your family… if you’d like.”

He brightens up for the umpteenth time that day, the thought of being graced with your presence for another day bringing him to a peaceful mind space. “Yea, definitely. I’m free whenever so, just come over and we can go wherever you’d like.”

Your smile at his words immediately makes his knees feel weak, his heart also speeding up, not that anyone would notice of course.

“Here we are.” You stop a few feet from the entrance to his home. Neteyam snaps out of his trance and is brought back to reality.

“Ah.” He acknowledges, also noting the presence of his whole family inside the marui. “Thank you.” He turns his back to his family to continue conversing with you. “For today I mean, I don’t think I’ve gotten out alot since I got here.” He admits with a shy smile.

“Well, now you’ve got someone who will show you everything.” You reply sweetly, “I promise you ,I’ll take you everywhere on this island.”

Neteyam is stuck by your sincerity, completely in awe. “Sounds like a plan.” He’s starting to look forward to his life in this new environment.

You huff out a short giggle before you remember where you should be, “it’s getting late, I should get back home.” As much as you hate to leave him, it has to be done.

He hums from half disappointment and half understanding. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” He takes a glance over your whole form before you had to leave.

“See you, Neteyam.” You wave while you start to head back towards your own home.

He finds himself stood there for a prolonged moment, staring at your retreating form before the voices of his family inside the marui bring him back.

Once inside, he’s immediately stopped upon noticing the silence as he enters, he looks up from the floor, only to find his whole family sat in some form of a circle, staring at him.

His own face turns to one of confusion, raising his brow sassily.

He quickly noticed his fathers smirk, but all attention is put to Lo’ak when he bursts out laughing.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Kiri jabs at him with her finger, also trying to shush tuk as she begins giggling.

Lo’ak gets a few words out in between laughs “well that answers our question.” That’s when his father starts to slip out a few of his own chuckles.

Among all the chaos of the fits of laughter, his mothers voice is what silences it. “Where have you been Neteyam?” She stands up and walks out of the circle towards her son.

“Sorry I— I’ve been out with y/n all day.” No point in making an excuse, especially with his mother.

“All day?” What have you been doing?” She’s quick with her questions and wants all details.

Neteyam gets a little quieter at the tone of his mothers voice. “She asked if I wanted to find shells with her.”

Neytiri softens at her sons tone, and suddenly is pushing his hair off his shoulders, then holding it all back with her hand making it look like he has a ponytail.

She scans for no longer than five seconds before releasing the boys hair. “Just tell someone where you are next time.” She speaks, and then backs off to finish off preparing diner.

Neteyam had watched as him mother left him be, and for a moment he thought he saw a smile on her face.

“Come sit, you’re probably hungry.” She insists once she had realised the fish is now done.

He smiles, and walks towards the circle to sit between his brother and littlest sister, Tuk.

As Neytiri handed out the food, and everyone making conversation of some type, Lo’ak leans a little closer to his older brother, a sly smirk on his face. “So you and y/n huh?

Neteyam pushes his face away with the palm of his hand, “shut up, bro.” He could deny that, but there’s no denying the smile he had on his face the rest of that night.

[javier-pena]

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Katie

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You fuck up. Javi helps you to make it up to Katie.

Warnings: established polyamorous relationship (and navigating what this means) | allusions to homophobia | a little bit of negative self-talk | a tiny bit of internalized homophobia | voyeurism | oral (f receiving) | masturbation (m) | exhibitionism | fingering (f receiving) | a little bit of dirty talk | praise kink | cum-play (in a blink and you’ll miss it kind of way)

Notes: And we're continuing with my 10k follower celebration fics!!! A very sweet anon requested "I would love to spoil you, can I do this for you?", "You're still holding back, let go" and "You're not my dirty little secret. And I never want you to think that", set in the Triumvirate Universe. And honestly at this point there isn't much left to say about Triumvirate that I haven't already said expect that writing about them brings me so much joy!!!!! I love you for requesting this, my beloved anon!!!!!! Shoutout to Dani @alexturner who reacted with 🥺 to one of the lines in this, so I guess it might be slightly emotional 🤭

***

It’s quiet in the early hours of the morning, as quiet as it gets in a city where millions of people share the same space. Usually, this is your favorite time of the day – you love to sit with your thoughts for a while, to read a book or to listen to a record, the volume turned low so you won’t disturb Javi and Katie. Eventually, one of them always joins you, or you hear them in the kitchen making breakfast.

Today, you dread the moment you’ll hear movement in another part of the apartment. Your heart is heavy with the kind of grief that only comes with knowing you made a mistake that can’t be fixed. Nothing can distract you – no book holds your attention for long, you’re scared of spoiling your favorite songs by listening to them when you feel like this. All you can do is sit on the leather couch, the material sticky against your skin, and turn yesterday’s events over and over in your mind, cursing yourself because you’re never brave enough. Why can’t you be brave just once, for the people that matter the most to you?

Eventually, you hear the bedroom door creak open and then shut quietly. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come. Do you want Javi or Katie to be the one coming down the hallway? If you could choose, you’d prefer neither of them but Katie would be indefinitely worse; you’re not ready to face her hurt and disappointment. You had enough of that last night.

Javi is the one who walks into the living room, yawning and scratching his chin. He’s naked apart from short boxer briefs that cling to him in a way that usually makes your mouth water. Today, you avert your gaze, hoping against hope he won’t see you sitting there. It’s no use.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet so he doesn’t wake Katie.

You shake your head and angrily wipe at your cheeks, only now realizing that you’re crying. “Nothing.” Your voice is heavy with tears.

“Hey.” Javi rushes over to pull you into a hug. You let him, even though it makes your heart squeeze painfully.

Javi doesn’t push you to tell him the truth, he just holds you close and waits, soothing you by running his hand up and down your back. He smells of sleep, and faintly of sweat, and he smells like Javi, a scent that is so familiar to you that it has become a part of who you are. You don’t know what would happen to you if you ever were to lose it.

Eventually, you pull yourself out of the hug and look down at your hands resting in your lap. “I think she hates me after what I did to her yesterday.”

“No,” Javi contradicts you immediately, “Katie could never hate you.”

You see that look on her face again, full of hurt and heartbreak after you pulled your hand out of hers to move closer to Javi. You remember how she barely looked at you when you got home, let alone spoke to you. “Did you notice how she immediately turned away from me last night in bed?”

Javi pulls a face that’s impossible to read, even though you know him so well. “She’s hurt. I can understand why. She wants things that you can’t give her, things that might … And I understand you too,” he adds quickly as you feel your heart sink from your chest into the pit of your stomach. “You’re afraid to hold her hand in public. It’s –”

You interrupt him. “It’s not that.” It is that, at least partly. “People know we’re together. What if they see you and Katie together? What if they see me and her?”

“It was never a problem when it was just a casual thing we did once in a while,” Javi deadpans.

You pause, carefully considering his words. “Because there was no danger of losing either of you,” you finally answer.

Javi laughs, the bright sound filling the living room that’s full of bright morning light. “Yes, there was. There always is. Oh, baby.” He puts one arm around your shoulders. “You have to stop worrying so much about what other people think.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s not.” Javi squeezes your shoulder. “One wrong step could get me fired. Or killed. But us three, we have to trust each other. If you talked to Katie and told her how you felt, I’m sure she’d understand.”

You lean forward and bury your face in your hands. “How can I ever make it up to her?”

Javi shrugs. “Just tell her you’re sorry.”

You sigh, your chest heaving. “I don’t know how.” You still have no idea how to navigate this, although by now you feel like you should. Javi and Katie don’t seem to be having any issues with your situation. Why is this so hard for you?

“Then show her you’re sorry,” Javi suggests.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and the sound comes out a little bit strangled. That’s Javi’s way of doing things. And you don’t mind … you don’t mind at all when he’s on his knees, his head buried between your legs, licking and kissing you until you’ve forgotten why you were mad at him in the first place.

“That’s your forte, not mine,” you point out.

You don’t know what you expect Javi to reply to that, but him smiling softly down at you isn’t it. “She loves you,” he reminds you. “Whatever you do will be enough.”

Javi takes your hand and pulls you off the couch, and you follow him even though your heart is hammering in your chest. You’ve never been good at apologies, so you’re trying to live your whole life avoiding any situation that would force you to give one. And still you fucked this up. If you said those things out loud, Javi would only smile again and give you the standard answer. “We all make mistakes.” Then why are the mistakes others make so easily forgiven and forgotten while you wear yours like a brand on your skin?

Javi stops in the doorway to your bedroom and pulls you to his side. Katie is still asleep, stretched out over half the bed, one of her hands reaching out as if she’s looking to touch either of you. You love that about her, the way she wears her heart on her sleeve, never afraid to fight for the people she loves. You wish you could be more like her; you wouldn’t be in this situation if you were.

“Look at her,” Javi whispers into your ear.

You do. You see her dark curls, her tanned skin, the cluster of freckles on her right shoulder, like a constellation of stars pointing you home. Maybe she has already forgiven you because she loves you, just like Javi thinks, but even if she hasn’t, you want to do whatever is necessary to earn her forgiveness. Because you lo love her.

Katie stirs, yawns, her eyes still closed, and it feels as if a hand wraps around your heart and squeezes it tightly. You yearn to be with her, yearn to feel her skin against yours, her lips on your lips, to open yourself up to her until there is nothing left for her to learn about you. Just as you did with Javi and Javi did with you.

“Go to her,” Javi whispers then, and releases you.

On unsteady legs, you walk toward the bed that was yours long before it was hers, but that can never be complete without her in it, and climb into it on her left side, careful not to wake her but eager for her to open her eyes. You run your hand up and down her naked back and kiss her temple, her cheeks, her closed eyelids.

She doesn’t push you away, like you were scared she might do. Instead, she asks, “What are you doing?” her voice heavy with sleep.

You glance at Javi who is still standing in the doorway. He nods. “I would love to spoil you. Can I do that for you?”

Katie stiffens beneath your hand and it takes everything in you not to pull back and run for cover. Your heart clenches again, painfully, and you brace yourself for the inevitable rejection. But you stay, trying to breathe as evenly as possible, almost daring Katie to start the fight she so desperately seems to want to have with you.

Katie opens her eyes and looks for yours, and you hold her gaze, ready for whatever she is about to say to you. But there is no hurt in her eyes anymore, no fire, no guardedness. She looks curious, almost mischievous instead, and finally, she nods.

You don’t give your body time to respond to that nod, to let relief wash all over you. Instead, you trap her chin between your thumb and forefinger and kiss her like you’ve been thinking about doing ever since you saw her lying in bed, completely unguarded. She kisses you back, eagerly parting your lips to let you in, almost as if your fight never happened. Nothing seems to have changed, and you don’t quite know why, but you push those thoughts out of your mind. This isn’t about you. This is about Katie.

You pull the thin cover off Katie and hungrily let your gaze wander over her naked body. She rolls onto her back and bites her lip, waiting for you to decide what to do with her. You start by kissing her neck (she giggles), the top of her breasts (she holds her breath), the peaks of her hard nipples (she gasps), and you run your hands all over her body, wherever you can reach, eager to leave no spot untouched. She laughs airily, surprised by your enthusiasm. You laugh too, surprised by how easy she’s making this for you.

You suck one of Katie’s nipples into your mouth and she moans, a hoarse little sound. Your gaze flickers to Javi to see his reaction to it, but he is still standing where you left him, motionless. You only find approval on his face and that, paired with the way Katie’s hands dig into the skin of your arm, tells you you’re doing this right.

Eventually, Javi moves and your heart skips a beat. You didn’t ask him what his plans were, whether he wanted to join Katie and you or whether he wanted to make this about you and her, but you had been hoping he’d be there with you. He stands at the foot of the bed at first, a quiet smile on his lips, then pulls his boxer shorts down. You have to turn your head at an awkward angle to see he’s half hard, and Katie immediately notices she doesn’t have your full attention anymore.

“Hey!” she snaps and grips your jaw. “Eyes on me.”

In the past, you would have felt embarrassed at how loudly you moan in response, but there are no secrets between the three of you anymore. All your desires have been laid open a long time ago. And this morning the only thing you desire is to give Katie anything she wants, anything at all.

You feel the mattress dip as Javi climbs into bed next to you and leans over to give Katie a good morning kiss. They both have their eyes closed, and Katie’s hand finds its way into Javi’s curls. Your heart finds its way into your throat and gets stuck there, just as it always does when you see Katie and Javi kiss. That’s another desire you’ve come to terms with, one that you wear proudly on your sleeve, like one might wear a wedding band on the fourth finger of the left hand or a scar that says, I went through terrible things, but I’m still here. I made it out alive. And you love to watch Katie and Javi together, love to see her writhe beneath him, love to see him lose his mind when she has her mouth wrapped around him. You love that they want you to be a part of it all too, love that they need you to be there.

Javi runs his thumb along Katie’s cheekbone and Katie’s eyes flutter open. “Do you want her to eat you out?” he asks.

Katie’s eyes land on you, glazed over with lust. Her cheeks are flushed now, and when your eyes flicker to her throat, you can see her eagerly fluttering heartbeat beneath her skin, like something trying to free itself, trying to lay itself bare hoping it won’t get crushed. Katie bites her bottom lip (you love it when she does that, you should really tell her that more often) and nods eagerly. You smile in response, then slap Javi’s arm playfully.

“Don’t interfere,” you tell him off, ignoring the eager pull in the pit of your stomach that comes with imagining tasting Katie on your lips. “This is my apology.”

Still, all three of you know how this is going to end, so there’s no need to pretend. You scoot down Katie’s body, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your wake, until you kneel between her spread legs. It’s one of your favorite sights – Katie all open and vulnerable, just for you. The high you get from that is unrivaled.

Katie props herself up on her elbows, her long hair tumbling down her beautiful shoulders. “What are you apologizing for?”

“Shhh, don’t talk,” you tell her, and dip your head down between her legs.

You lick a broad stripe from her opening all the way up to her clit, the taste of her a million times more intoxicating than you had imagined. You let out a groan against her at the same time as she falls back down against the pillow with a sharp exhale. She shifts beneath you, spreading her legs even wider, pushing her hips up into your mouth ever so slightly.

You move up her body again even though your own screams for you to stay where you are and devour her whole. You kiss the soft plane of her stomach, that one birthmark next to her belly button that you love so much, and then you make your way up to her breasts, cupping one and licking across the hard nipple. Katie lets out a soft whimper that makes your heart clench.

You don’t know what makes you look away from Katie and over to Javi, but something must have and what you see makes you clench around nothing, your hips eagerly rocking forward. He’s stroking himself slowly, almost casually, drawing out his own satisfaction, watching the two of you. That’s also something you love – him watching Katie and you, not being shy about the pleasure he gets from it; sometimes he even asks you to put on a little show for him, and you and Katie love doing that because you know it’s not just about the sex for him. He loves to watch the two women he loves fuck each other.

Javi smirks at you, and you pull your mouth off Katie’s nipple with a wet pop, ready to tease him, when she begs, her voice all broken and quivering. “Stop teasing me.”

Your attention snaps right back to her and you kiss her wet nipple. “That’s teasing for you?”

Katie grips the back of your neck, her nails raking your skin. “I thought you wanted to apologize.”

You laugh, but it doesn’t come out all nonchalantly as you had hoped it would. “I said I wanted to take care of you.”

Katie’s eyes are bright with fire that’s impossible to get under control as she considers calling you out on your lie. She pushes up her hips. “Take care of this then.”

When you laugh again, it’s a sound full of relief. Maybe Katie isn’t as angry with you as you had feared. Maybe this can be fixed just as easily as it was almost ruined. You certainly want to try.

You move back down and come to rest between Katie’s legs. She’s glistening with arousal, a sight so inviting you can’t help yourself. You run your fingers through her drenched folds before you push two of them inside, holding her down when she tries to lift her hips to meet your thrust.

“You’re so wet, do you know that?” you ask, your voice deep and hoarse.

Katie props herself up on her elbows again and nods.

“I love it when you’re like this,” you go on, “and I know it’s all because of me. I love how eager you are for me to touch you. I love that you can’t get enough of this.” You curl your fingers and hit that spot that makes Katie’s legs quiver.

You kiss the inside of her knee, her thigh, that little spot just above where she wants your tongue the most. Never once do you stop fucking her with her fingers in a steady rhythm, giving her just enough to build pleasure but never enough to make it all come crashing down. By now, you know her body well enough to do that.

“Please,” Katie whispers, and you can never refuse her anything when her voice sounds like that.

You flick her clit with the tip of your tongue, then massage it gently before sucking it in between your lips, making Kaite moan so loudly you’re sure your neighbors must have heard. You look up at her to find her watching you with wide eyes, her chest and neck covered in a deep, red flush, her mouth hanging open in an attempt to get more air into her lungs, but her shallow breathing tells you she’s failing. Her eyelids flutter when you suck on her clit again, but she keeps them open, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

You pick up a steady pace with your tongue and your fingers, and your eyes wander over to Javi. He’s still watching you, still stroking his now very hard cock in time to your steady licks. You slow down and he matches your pace, you speed up again and he keeps up. He tries to smirk at you, but you flick Katie’s clit with your tongue again, and her responding moan makes his jaw go slack and his eyes flutter shut. You can’t quite describe what you feel, but it sure feels like you’re on top of the world.

You kiss Katie everywhere – her thighs, her soft folds, her clit, her stomach, even her wrist when she reaches out to grab for you. You kiss her everywhere she will allow. Her breathing comes in sharp pants now, and when you lick her sloppily, hungrily, it turns deeper and deeper, sounds you feel in your chest right next to your heart. You move lower, lick across her opening, push the tip of your tongue inside of her, but when you glance up at her, she’s still watching you with her wide eyes.

Javi notices it too: the way Katie still tries to hold on, as if she’s scared of what a loss of control might mean for her. “You’re still holding back. Just let go.” His voice is strained, like he’s doing the same, like he’s postponing his own pleasure for the sake of hers.

Katie’s eyes flicker to you and she blinks slowly, as if she’s only now remembering his presence. Javi doesn’t allow her even a single second to make sense of it all. Instead, he kisses her, slowly, languidly, as if you’re only just getting started. Katie doesn’t move at first, stops breathing all together, and then finally – finally! – she sinks down against her pillow, closing her eyes.

You pull back with a shaky breath, watch as Katie reaches out for Javi, as she grips a handful of his curls, and holds on. Javi growls against her mouth and deepens their kiss, still moving his hand up and down his cock, leaving a wet spot on Katie’s side where the tip brushes her skin. You want nothing more than to watch them, but your bad conscience still gnaws at you, and you decide that Katie has been played with long enough. Without pretense, you push your two fingers back into her and soak up her desperate whimper like a desert soaks up the rain. She clenches around you when you roll her clit under the tip of your tongue and that involuntary response to you makes you moan against her drenched folds.

“I love how you taste in the morning,” you tell her, and she clenches again, signaling you that she heard you. “It’s my favorite taste in the whole wide world.”

Javi’s breathing becomes ragged and he lets out a deep moan, a drawn-out sound that suddenly hitches. You glance up at him and see that he’s coming, thick ropes spilling onto his stomach and Katie’s, his hips bucking up into his fist. Your face grows hot as you watch him, hot with shame at how hard your pussy clenches, eager for him to fill you up.

You don’t get to enjoy that sight, that feeling it gives you, for long though. Katie lets out a gasp and presses her palm to the back of your head, hard, pushing your face down between her legs while rolling up her hips into it. She clenches and clenches and clenches around your fingers and you fuck her through it, unable to draw a single breath as she rides out her orgasm, gushing around your fingers and onto your chin and tongue. Her ragged pants fill up the entire room, pushing all of the air out of it.

When it’s all over, you wipe the back of your hand over your mouth, your heart hammering in your chest. Javi lazily runs his fingers through the mess he’s made on Katie, while she just lies there, eyes closed, her chest heaving. You push yourself in between them, crawling on all fours, until you let yourself fall, facing Javi. You kiss him, and he kisses you back, taking his time to run his tongue over your lips, your chin held tightly between his thumb and forefinger. You know how much he loves that, tasting one of you on the other.

Eventually, Katie curls herself up against your back and you turn so you face her, while Javi places gentle kisses against your neck and shoulders, and whispers, “Well done,” into your ear, so low only you can hear it. Something in your chest expands at that.

You cup Katie’s face and she opens her eyes, her gaze bright. Gently, you wipe away a stray tear making its way down her face. “You’re not my dirty little secret,” you whisper against her lips, your eyes locked onto her face, making sure she understands what you’re trying to tell her. “And I never want you to think that.”

Katie smiles one of her open smiles that always announces to the whole world what she’s feeling, then kisses you, ending it with a quick nip to your bottom lip before you have time to enjoy it.

“Tease,” you mumble at the same time as she says, “I love you.”

It’s strange how easy it can be sometimes. “I love you too,” you reply.

[cultivating-wildflowers]

Books of 2025 - April

Another quiet month wherein I said I would focus on reading instead of Other Things and then proceeded to not do that. The distraction got so bad that I had a run there where I was technically in the middle of six or seven books and not making much headway on any of them.

I did enjoy the books I ended up reading (even if I haven't finished some of them yet)! Unfortunately I'm in one of those moods where I'm Noticing Themes in, like, everything, which really slows down the process.

(I sent excerpts from several books to my sister, who had just finished beta-reading my manuscript, and her response was, "Oh wow. Ouch. How are you surviving this book??" and later just a lot of crying emojis. Girl, your guess is as good as mine.)

In further not-great news, I've barely touched the mountain of books I actually planned to read this year. It's becoming the year of the series instead.

Total books: 3  |  New reads: 3   |  2024 TBR completed: 0 (0 DNF) / 2/18 total   |   Total books read this year: 23

March | May

#1 - The Tropic of Serpents by Marie Brennan - 5/5 stars (audio)

I read the first book in the Memoirs of Lady Trent series a little over a year ago and, while I enjoyed it apart from that emotionally-gutting twist, it didn't really leave an impression. It was only at the urging of @distance-does-not-matter and a few others that I have picked up the next book.

As those other reviews suggested, the series does pick up after the first installment. While I loved Brennan's descriptive writing in A Natural History of Dragons, The Tropic of Serpents felt more cohesive as a narrative. I really enjoy the tone of an older Lady Trent relaying to us the adventures of her younger self. The world Brennan paints is so vivid and absolutely teeming with life. This might have been easier to read than to listen to, given the volume of new names to learn, but I was able to follow it just fine.

And now, bribed with promises of friendships and a new romance, I'm eager to pick up the next book.

More like this: Weirdly, it kept reminding me of Beryl Markham's "West with the Night"? (Which I also read a year ago.) Possibly it was the combination of the setting and the autobiographical style. But I'll be honest, I also thought of Tarzan (1999) more than once.

#2 - Frieren: Beyond Journey's End, Vol. 1 by Kanehito Yamada with Annaliese Christman - 4/5 stars

Found this at a bookstore while exploring Ann Arbor with Kenzie; recalled one of my mutuals mentioning the show; picked it up to check it out.

I went in completely blind on this one. The art style is fun and I love the perspective of a practically-immortal character learning to connect with the people around her. Absolutely adorable and delightful. I don't know that I'll immediately jump into the rest of the series (thankfully it's not very long) but I would like to read it eventually.

#3 - Voyage of the Basilisk by Marie Brennan - 4/5 stars (audio)

Very much a no-thoughts-head-empty sort of reading experience for me, in the best possible way. (Minus the amputation scene. I had to stop in the middle of vacuuming to grab my phone and skip it. I made many distressed noises while I did so. I may have cried.) The pacing felt somewhat disjointed after The Tropic of Serpents; so much happened and then we got to the (rather sudden) conclusion and I felt somewhat out of breath.

Drawing hearts all over the entire cast. Extra pink and purple glitter hearts for Suhail.

Currently Reading:

Kristin Lavransdatter, Part One: The Wreath by Sigrid Undset, tr. Tiina Nunnally - Note that I finally made up my mind to break this up into three books, as the series was originally published and as it's listed on Wikipedia. I am ALMOST finished with the first one! It's quick work once I settle down and pay attention. I just have to figure out how to settle down and pay attention.

The Lantern Bearers by Rosemary Sutcliff - I had to put this one down for a bit because it is simply much too depressing for me right now.

The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion, Vol 3 by Beth Brower - Lord knows why this book of all books is taking me so long to get through, but here we are.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hate to Say I Told You So

Pairing: Declan O'Hara x OC x Rupert Campbell-Black Warnings: Explicit smut, m/f/m threesome. There are horrible 80s British politics, but also this is so unnecessarily lewd. I hope Jilly Cooper would be proud of me. Word count: ~8k

Summary: Political activist, Lori Price, is campaigning to discredit the Conservative Party. When she hears that TV journalist, Declan O'Hara, will be interviewing her local Tory MP, Rupert Campbell-Black, she leaps at the opportunity to ensure his humiliation. Little does she realise the size of the egos she's involving herself with.

Author's note: A (very belated) birthday gift for @bottlesandbarricades <3

Lori lounged in the armchair of the sitting room, back pressed against one arm rest, while her legs dangled over the other. Her long, dirty blonde hair was still tousled from sleep, falling around her shoulders in messy waves. She hummed contentedly to herself, licking strawberry jam from her fingers as she swallowed down the last of her toast crust. She was not focused on her breakfast though, her eyes were glued to the screen of the small TV that sat upon the lace tablecloth draped over the sideboard, mere inches from where she sat. The Corinium Morning News held her captivated, just as it did every day, but this morning there was a particular segment she was eager for; the news of Margaret Thatcher’s shops bill that would allow Sunday trading.

She bristled as the broadcast cut to footage of Margaret Thatcher waving to the press as she moved from her car to the door of 10 Downing Street.

‘Horrible, old cow,’ Lori thought to herself.

Allowing her slipper to fall from her foot, she reached her leg forward, pressing the volume button on the front of the television set with her toe, in order to turn it up, as James Vereker began his reporting of how the bill had been voted down due to backlash from the Christian right.

“I’ve told you not to do that,” Lori’s mum tutted from behind her, as she came into the room cradling a steaming mug of tea, “you’ll push the buttons through with your feet!”

“Shhh!” Lori hissed, not tearing her eyes away from the screen, though she drew her foot back. “I’m trying to listen!”

“You know Rupert’s going to be on Declan?” Mary Price asked, paying no mind to her daughter’s request for quiet as she came to stand behind her. “Rupert Campbell-Black, that is.”

Lori scowled at the mention of their local Tory MP, twisting her upper body around in the armchair to look up at her mother, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared up at the older woman. “How do you know? I’ve not seen it advertised anywhere.”

Mary huffed, leaning over Lori to retrieve the empty toast plate from her lap. “I saw James Vereker’s wife in the post office the other day, overheard her saying so. I don’t think it’s been announced officially yet.”

“Lizzie,” she interjected, reaching her foot forward once more to turn the TV off, earning another annoyed tut from her mother. ‘Good’, she thought, she was glad to have annoyed her, she hated how old fashioned her mum could be, reducing women to the mere counterparts of the men they were involved with. She often wondered how much of an identity her mum considered herself to have, outside of being a wife and a mother. “Her name’s Lizzie, Elizabeth Vereker, and she’s a published author, not just a wife.”

“Oh, my darling girl,” Mary sighed, as she turned and walked back towards the kitchen, “I will be all for your demands of equal rights when you’re as prepared to stick your hands in a sink full of washing up water as you are to poke your nose into politics.”

Lori hadn’t always been political. It had only been in the last couple of years that she had become an activist for left wing ideals. Her father had been a miner, and had taken part in the strikes in Yorkshire when Thatcher had moved to close the mines and abolished the unions that were supporting them. He had been in poor health, and Lori was certain that the stress of losing his livelihood had contributed to his rapid decline and eventual death. She had grown to despise the Conservative Party and all it stood for, though this had exacerbated when her grandmother had passed away. Her grandmother had left her house in the sleepy little Cotswolds village of Rutshire to Lori’s mother in her will and, wanting a fresh start, Mary had upheaved them both from the grey skied familiarity of Maltby and moved them down to the rolling green hills and middle class pomposity of the Cotswolds. Lori was twenty, old enough to stay behind, but having suffered so much loss already, her and her mother were keen to stay close, rather than at opposing ends of the country. The South felt like another world to Lori. She enjoyed the fresh air, the quaintness of her grandmother’s cottage, but she hated how unfriendly the people were and she loathed their politics even more. Those that lived in the village all seemed fairly normal, though it was obvious they weren’t cut from the working class cloth of terraced houses and industrial estates, it was people who lived further out in the countryside that got under her skin. They were the people that held the real power in Rutshire, lording it over the common folk who delivered their milk and newspapers from their acres of farmland and mansions, the listed status of which prevented them from being renovated into any state other than dilapidated. 

Lori’s opinion of Rupert Campbell-Black was not a good one, the one and only encounter she’d ever had with him had not been a good one. When she had first moved to Rutshire, she had decided to visit him in the hopes of convincing him to vote no to the privatisation of British Gas, and had received a less than warm welcome.

She prickled at the memory, her brow furrowing involuntarily into a scowl as she clenched her teeth. The anger burned hot and humiliating, just as potent as it had on the day she'd first met that smug bastard.

Her mum’s tiny car that she’d borrowed had manoeuvred its way around the tightly winding, hedge lined country lanes of Rutshire. Lori had craned her neck over the steering wheel, her fingers gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her heart thudded at the prospect of meeting another car head on, or worse yet, a tractor – there simply wasn't enough space for her to pull any further over, and she didn't trust the posh twats that lived in this area not to speed around the roads as though they owned them. She supposed, in a way, they did.

When she'd finally made it to the address she had found listed for Rupert she was disgusted yet unsurprised by the sprawling estate his enormous stately home was settled upon. It was every bit the indication of old money, of someone whose standing in society was so far removed from that of the working classes that they couldn't possibly ever understand the rights and quality of life they were voting to strip away from them -- they'd never be affected by it.

She had been taken aback by who had answered the door – she had anticipated a blustering, red faced toff who appeared as ugly as his moral compass, instead she was met by a tall, dark and handsome man, whose gaze had raked so slowly over her figure that it had made her flush crimson, squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

“And how may I help you?” he’d drawled with a smirk, when she failed to say anything.

She had blinked, realising that she was gawping, and stumbled over her words. “Oh…um…right, sorry! I’m looking for Rupert Campbell-Black..?”

“You’ve found him,” he’d replied, studying her intently as he crossed his arms over the crisp white shirt pulled taut across his chest and leaned against the doorway.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she didn’t miss the predatory flash of pearly white teeth as a flicker of amusement passed across his features. “I wondered if you had a few moments to talk about the privatisation bill?” she’d asked, composing herself, “If I might open your mind to the possibility of voting no against it?”

All friendliness had left him and he’d straightened, pulling himself to his full height as he’d looked down his nose at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you one of Kinnock’s lackeys?”

She shook her head. “N–no…my name’s Lori…Lori Price. I just wanted to ask if you’d taken time to consider how putting British Gas into the hands of shareholders would lead to unregulated–”

“Bugger off, before I have you arrested for trespassing,” he’d coldly interrupted, before slamming the door in her face.

Lori had since learned that Rupert had no real place in politics at all – he was an ex-Olympian show jumper, whose wealth and status were inherited, and he had bought his way into politics when his Olympic career had met an abrupt end.

She knew his appearance on Declan would be an explosive one – Declan O’Hara wasn’t a man who minced his words, and he had built his reputation as a chat show host who made his interviewees squirm when in the hot seat.

Struck by an idea, Lori sprung up from the armchair, bounding into the kitchen. “Mum, if I do the washing up, can I borrow the car this afternoon?”

A few hours later, Lori leaned against her mum’s navy blue Mini in the carpark of the Corinium studios. She had no idea of what time Declan O’Hara arrived for work each day, or even if he was here already, she just knew that here was the only place she had any guarantee of running into him. 

Almost an hour had passed as she leaned, drumming her fingers against her jeans, when the door to the building finally swung open and Declan stepped out. Lori sighed audibly in relief – she was dying for a piss, and had gotten bored of waiting around almost as soon as she’d put the car into neutral.

She rushed towards him, and Declan paused, eyeing her suspiciously as she stopped breathlessly in front of him. His thick moustache framed the tight smile of his tired looking face as he looked at her. “I don’t have a pen if it’s an autograph you’re wanting,” he said gruffly.

“Actually, I have something I’d like to give you,” she said, producing a folded up sheet of paper from the bag that was slung over her shoulder.

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, eyes moving from the paper to her face, “And what might that be?”

“I hear you’re going to be interviewing our local Tory MP,” she replied, holding out the piece of paper for him to take, “and I’ve got some questions I think you should ask him.”

Declan scoffed, eyes crinkling in amusement as he held up his hands in polite refusal. “I think I’ll be fine in that department, actually, it’s my job after all.”

“Please just take them,” Lori insisted, thrusting the paper towards him, “I know Rupert knows nothing about politics, if you ask him these you’ll make him look stupid, people will see him for how incompetent he really is.”

He relented, taking the sheet of paper from her and unfolding it, his eyes scanning over the page.

“You don’t have to ask all of them – or any of them,” she added hurriedly, “just say you’ll think about it? My name and number’s at the bottom in case you wanted to talk any of them over.”

“Lori…” he said the name slowly, as though trying out the feel of it in his mouth, before turning his attention back to her.

“And you’ll think about it?” she asked, as she began to walk back towards her mum’s car.

“I might,” he answered, his expression unreadable as he folded the paper back up and slipped it into the inside pocket of his blazer.

It was two days later when the phone rang, the sound of it shrill and unpleasant in the afternoon quiet of the cottage. Mary had popped out into the village to go shopping, meaning Lori had the place to herself.

She walked to the phone table in the hallway, lifting the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“These questions are terrible,” a thick Irish accent snapped back at her.

Her stomach did a flip at the realisation it was Declan calling her. He’d read her questions. “Which ones?”

“All of them,” he huffed through the receiver, “you do realise that they come across as incredibly anti-Conservative?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” she admitted, shrugging though she knew he couldn’t see it.

“What are you thinking? All of Rutshire are Tories, Tony fucking Baddingham, the man who pays my wages, who owns Corinium is a Tory. He’ll pull the plug on this if I ask any of these.”

She toyed with the coiled cord of the phone, twirling it around her index finger as a sense of disappointment washed over her, making her shoulders sag. “Why bother phoning if you can’t use them?”

“I don’t want to not use them,” Declan admitted, his tone softening with a sigh, “they just need some work. Are you free for some rewrites?”

“Yeah, but my mum will be back from shopping soon and she’s a fan of yours, so best not to do it at my place.”

“That’s fine,” Declan told her, “you can come to mine.”

Having scribbled his address down with a promise not to share it with her mother, Lori hauled her bike out of the shed and made her way to Declan’s house. If she had thought trying to navigate the country lanes in her mum’s Mini had been scary, it paled in comparison to traversing them on two wheels. She pedalled as though her life depended on it – and, in this case, it genuinely did, afraid that she would be launched into a ditch by a Land Rover at any moment. By the time she reached the stately home, her legs were shaking, both from exertion and from the fear of being mown down on the cycle there.

Lori did her best not to gawp as Declan led her through the house towards the kitchen, but the place was enormous and it was impossible not to turn her head, her eyes sweeping over the vaulted ceilings and parquet flooring. There was a grand sense of opulence and antiquity that made her feel as though she was walking through a museum, and not someone’s home.

He gestured for her to sit at the table, once inside the kitchen, before producing a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses. Lori gratefully accepted hers, taking a large swallow of the amber liquid in the hopes of calming her fright from the ride there. She regretted it almost immediately as it burned the back of her throat and she fought the urge to cough. 

“Do you live here alone?” she asked, keeping her hands wrapped around her whiskey as her eyes wandered the kitchen, trying to get a feel for the man opposite her.

“Just alone for today,” he responded, sliding her sheet of questions between them, the creases from where it had previously been folded now spread flat. “My wife’s gone to London, my youngest is away at boarding school, and my eldest is out with the dog.”

Lori nodded, drumming her fingertips against the glass, feeling awkward as she realised she didn’t know what to say. Her eyes met his, and a moment passed in silence, as he stared at her with a scrutinising intensity with eyes so dark she worried she’d fall into the depths of them.

“So, what’s your agenda against Rupert?” Declan finally asked. “You look a bit young to be someone he’s done the dirty on.”

Her mouth dropped open at the insinuation, her skin heating up with shock and embarrassment. “I haven’t…I wouldn’t…does he…does he do that?”

Declan grinned in response, before sipping from his own whisky. “He’s a virus that all wives catch sooner or later, according to local legend.”

“Well, I’m not a wife,” Lori said haughtily, straightening in her seat, “I’m a political activist.”

“Rupert’s no politician,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m well aware, and this isn’t personal, even though he was bloody rude to me the one time I met him, but I need for people to see that the members of parliament tasked with looking after their interests are incompetent. I need people to wake up to what’s happening in this country. There’s a general election next year, and things could change, maybe…”

Lori trailed off her voice began to wobble, feeling herself growing misty eyed, and took another swallow of her whisky. This one burned less.

The neck of the bottle chinked against the rim of her glass as Declan topped it up. “That’s heavy stuff. I’m not sure a single talk show episode will quite achieve that.”

“So, what are you hoping to achieve then?” Lori asked, “What’s your axe to grind with Mr. Campbell-Black?”

She heard his tongue click against his teeth, before he lifted his glass to his lips, and Lori leaned across the kitchen table towards him. “Is he a virus that your wife caught?”

There was an anger that flashed so intensely within Declan’s eyes, that fear ran in an icy chill up Lori’s spine, making her regret the question the moment it had left her mouth. He set his glass heavily down upon the kitchen table, swallowing thickly.

“I know she’d like him to be,” he finally admitted quietly.

A wave of sympathy washed over Lori, her head tilting in sadness for the man sitting opposite her. She longed to reach out, to squeeze his hand for comfort, but knew it was too forward of a gesture for a person she was only meeting for the second time. Instead, she reached for the question sheet, sliding them towards herself.

“Right, let’s get cracking on these questions then.”

By the time afternoon had bled into early evening, Lori and Declan had drank two thirds of a bottle of whisky, and settled on two questions to use of the ten she had offered him originally, with slight rewordings - they now read ‘what assurances can British Gas customers be provided regarding the stability of prices now that the company has been privatised?’ and ‘what measures are the government taking to provide affordable housing?’

It was a happy compromise - Lori was satisfied that the questions were complex enough to subtly discredit the Conservatives on live television, and Declan had retained autonomy of his interview, while feeling confident that Lori’s input would provide adequate humiliation for Rupert.

Her cheeks were flushed, her mind fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol as she slipped her original sheet of questions back into her shoulder bag, while Declan walked her to the door, the heat of his hand burning like a brand through the fabric of her t-shirt as it rested on the small of her back. She knew it was unwise to cycle home while tipsy on unfamiliar roads, but Declan had been drinking too, so she couldn’t ask for a lift, and there was no way she’d ring her mum and ask her to fetch her – it would mean giving her Declan’s address.

“You should come,” Declan said, glassy eyed with inebriation as they both hovered on either side of the open front door, “to the interview. Come to the studio and watch.”

“Yeah?” she grinned, blue eyes lighting up as she grinned up at him, “I’d really be allowed?”

“I can’t see why not,” he shrugged, looking fondly down at her.

“I’d love that, thank you.”

She rose up onto the balls of her feet, pecking a drunken kiss against his cheek before turning and walking to her bike that she’d left leaning against a hedge in the driveway.

Her balance was wobbly on the country roads going home, her centre of gravity fighting against the heavy desire in her body to simply slump to one side. She was clear minded enough to know to cycle in the middle of the road, not trusting herself to go too far over to the side, in case she wobbled her way into a farmer’s field.

She cursed under her breath at the roar of a car engine and the dim glow of low lit headlights illuminated from behind her. Attempting to shift to the side to allow the vehicle to pass, it was too late before she noticed herself begin to lose balance and she hit the ground with a dull thud against the grass verge, the air forcing its way from her lungs with a forced ‘oooft’ sound. Her bicycle wheels span uselessly in the air as it lay on its side next to her, and she huffed frustratedly, slowly pulling herself up into a sitting position, as she unclipped her helmet and looked bleary eyed at the papers that had fallen from her shoulder bag and were fluttering softly across the tarmac. 

“Christ!” a familiar voice called from behind her, “Are you alright?”

She had failed to notice that the car she had attempted to pull to the side for had stopped when she had fallen from her bike. She turned slowly, looking up into the handsome face of Rupert Campbell-Black. His trademark smirk was nowhere to be found, instead replaced by a look of concern that furrowed his brow and widened his eyes ever so slightly.

If he recognised her, he didn’t make it apparent as he crouched down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Lori giggled softly, tugging her helmet off of her head. “I’m okay…don’t think the contents of my bag are.”

Rupert drew back, regarding her with a cock of his head, his eyes studying her as a cat might look at a mouse before swiping at it. “Are you drunk?”

“I’d hate for this to be how sober feels,” she groaned, raking a hand through her hair.

He chuckled softly. “Get off the road and sit in the car. I’ll retrieve your things and then we’ll get you home safely.”

“You could be a sex attacker,” she slurred.

“I am a member of Parliament,” he said with mock earnestness, placing a hand over his heart.

“Exactly,” she grinned, earning one from Rupert in exchange.

“So, what were you doing cycling pissed in the middle of the road?” Rupert asked, as they drove back towards the village. Her bag now rested by her feet in the footwell of the front passenger side of the car, its contents now back in their place. He had loaded her bike into the boot.

“Was coming back from a friend’s,” she murmured sleepily, her head propped against her hand as she rested her elbow on the window ledge of the car door, her eyes fixed on the blur of scenery as they drove past it.

Drunk as she was – though slightly more sober since she had toppled off of her bike – it felt strange to have accepted help from a man she was supposed to hate, stranger still that he would offer her help at all in the first place. She always assumed that Tories were the sort of people who would sooner mow cyclists down than pick them up off of the roadside when they fell.

“They ought to have called you a taxi,” he said, glancing over at her disapprovingly, “terribly unkind to leave you to fend for yourself like that. You’re lucky I found you.”

“Mmm, lucky me,” she muttered, earning an amused smirk from Rupert. They spent the rest of the short drive in silence.

“You’ll be alright from here then?” Rupert asked, setting Lori’s bike down in front of her as they stood in front of the cottage she shared with her mother.

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a tight smile. The more she sobered up, the more embarrassed and uncomfortable she felt.

“Well, goodnight then, Lori,” he said with a polite nod, stepping back towards his car.

“How do you know my–”

“I’m your local MP, it’s my job to know,” he interrupted, shooting her a wink before climbing back into his car.

She felt annoyed with herself for accepting his help, for not seizing the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind. How dare he come to her rescue?!

“Bloody Tories,” she muttered under her breath as he drove away.

A week later, the day of Rupert’s appearance on Declan arrived. When Lori turned up at Corinium studios, she was met at reception by a bespectacled lady who introduced herself as Deidre. Her demeanour was almost as sharp as the shoulder pads of her jacket as she walked the younger woman quickly through a labyrinth of corridors. Lori had to hurry to keep up with her, feeling that if she hesitated for even a second then Deirdre wouldn’t wait for her, and she’d be lost to the seemingly endless maze they navigated. 

She was led to a windowless meeting room, white walled and grey carpeted, with the Corinium logo plastered across the far wall of the room. A large circular table was placed in the centre, with multiple office chairs positioned around its circumference. Off to one side was a wheeled TV stand with a large television set resting atop it.

“Declan asked that you watch the broadcast in here,” Deidre said, not bothering to look at her as she wheeled the TV stand to the head of the room, so the screen faced the table. “He’ll come and find you afterwards.”

“I’ll be in here by myself?” Lori asked, watching with uncertainty as Deidre switched the TV on.

“Yes, he requested that you not be seated in the audience, and we wouldn’t simply allow a fan backstage to watch from the production area,” she said, her tone clipped with annoyance as she fiddled with the remote control, adjusting the settings.

The more Lori thought about it, the more sensible an idea it seemed. If Declan had sat her in the audience, there was a chance that Rupert would spot her and recognise her, better she was kept out of sight. There was a part of her that wondered if she might have been more comfortable just watching at home, suddenly feeling overdressed in her two toned black and navy blue mini dress. She was quick to silence the thought, tugging at the hem of her short chiffon skirt as she reassured herself that it was exciting to watch a live TV show in the very studio that it was being broadcast from.

“I see, thank you,” Lori replied with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Deidre nodded, walking back towards the door. “I’ve set the TV up so that the program will play automatically as soon as we start the broadcast. Ladies is three doors down on the left. Are you alright for refreshments?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine, tha–”

“Wonderful, enjoy the show,” Deidre interrupted, before hurriedly closing the door behind her.

Lori stood frozen in the empty meeting room, as she listened to the older woman’s footsteps grow quieter as she retreated along the corridor.

‘She seemed nice,’ she whispered sarcastically to herself.

Taking a seat at the circular table, she tapped her fingers impatiently against the laminate wood surface as her eyes fixed upon the standby screen of the TV. She wondered what sort of preparation both men were putting into the impending interview, whether Rupert felt nervous at all, and how far down his list of planned questions Declan had placed her ones. She suddenly felt nervous herself, filled with a restless energy that left her wanting to pace the length of the room, as though there was static crackling through her veins. However, she remained rooted to her seat out of fear she’d miss the interview. It was due to start at 7pm, but she had no idea how much time had passed since she had arrived at Corinium. 

‘What sort of a meeting room doesn’t have a clock?!’ she thought unhappily.

Eventually, the TV screen flickered to a countdown from three, before the opening music and logo for the show appeared on screen with rapturous applause from the audience. The camera zoomed in on Declan, and Lori was unable to fight the small smile that tugged at her lips as she watched him sitting comfortably in the onset chair, looking smart in a crisply tailored black suit, one leg crossed over the other to reveal a lurid pair of yellow socks. Lori’s smile turned to a grin. She leaned reflexively closer to the TV set, her chest pressing against the table’s edge as her forearms rested atop it.

Declan introduced himself and the show, before teasing the audience regarding who he would be interviewing. Lori’s eyes narrowed as Rupert walked out on set to applause and even wolf whistles.

‘Is there not one fucking Labour voter in the whole of Rutshire?’ she muttered to herself.

As much as she hated to admit it, Rupert looked good. He was dressed impeccably in a well tailored black suit, similar to the one that Declan wore, the only difference being the royal blue tie that blazed bright around his neck – Tory Blue. She wondered if she were to slice him open if blood of a similar colour would spill forth from his veins.

Declan stood, greeting Rupert with a firm handshake before the two men moved to their respective seats. Declan placed the ankle of his left leg across the knee of his right, leaning back in his chair with his question cards held loosely towards his chest. Rupert kept his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankle, as he practically lounged, his hands resting comfortably upon the arms of his chair. He looked like he owned the set, there were no nerves at all in his body language as his eyes moved slowly over the audience, a lazy smile upon his face. Lori was suddenly glad she was shut away in a meeting room, hidden from the predatory look that always seemed to twinkle in his eye.

You look a bit young to be someone he’s done the dirty on.

Declan’s words from their previous meet-up echoed in her mind. She wondered precisely how many women Rupert had ‘done the dirty on’. He could so easily; he was handsome in a way that was disarming, and charming in a sense that meant that even when he was being vile he could get away with it. How many hearts had he broken and then left the women feeling as if they were at fault? As he made small talk with Declan, answering non-committal introductory questions about himself, Lori found herself thinking that she could very easily allow Rupert to use her. It made her shudder to remember how readily she had accepted his help, how eagerly she had climbed into his car, and all he had had to do was smile and pretend as though he cared about what happened to her.

The tone of the interview shifted, and Declan’s line of questioning focused more on Rupert’s political career. Lori’s ears pricked up, practically holding her breath as she stared at the TV, trying not to blink, as she waited for the moment her questions would be asked.

“I’m sure everyone is now aware of the fact that British Gas is no longer a Government owned entity,” Declan began, “with the utility company now privatised, what assurances can you provide customers who might be worried about the potential instability of gas prices?”

This it was. One of her questions. Excitement fizzed inside of Lori, her entire body going rigid as her fingernails dug into the tabletop, waiting with bated breath for Rupert to flounder, to embarrass both himself and the Conservative Party on live television.

Rupert smiled, and Lori felt dread form a sickly pit in the depths of her stomach. Why was he smiling? Why did he look so calm?

“Well, customers can now buy shares in British Gas, so in passing the company into the hands of shareholders it allows customers to benefit in the long run. If higher prices mean that British Gas is turning a profit, then so are the people making use of its services.”

Rupert cast an appraising glance towards the audience as his response earned a few claps, before he smirked and turned his attention back to Declan.

Lori’s lips parted in shock. It was a terrible, cookie cutter press response, but it was a competent one. She was stunned. He wasn’t rattled at all.

The second question never materialised, as Declan’s line of questioning moved towards Rupert’s show jumping caree. Lori seethed. Why hadn’t Declan asked the second question? And how had Rupert managed to answer so competently?

She paid no attention to the remainder of the interview, simply wanting to leave. She didn’t remember the way she had come though, and Deidre had made it seem like she wasn’t even supposed to be here.

He’ll come and find you afterwards.

Remembering Deidre’s instructions, Lori sighed, slouching back in her seat as anger stewed hot and volatile inside of her.

What felt like an eternity passed, but as soon as she heard the door handle move, she sprung to her feet. Cooped up in the meeting room, with nothing but Rupert’s smug, self aggrandising interview for company, had allowed Lori’s anger to fester. It radiated off her in waves as she stood, facing Declan head on as he entered the room.

“What the fuck was that?” she spat, barely giving him a chance to close the door behind him, before she advanced upon him, blue eyes wide with fury as she stared up at him.

“Calm down,” Declan attempted to soothe, reaching for her forearms as she raged at him.

It had the opposite effect, further incensing Lori as she backed away from him, raising her voice. “Calm down?! You didn’t even ask both questions. I can believe you, is your ego so big that–”

He crowded into her space, grabbing her waist and backed her up until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the table. It silenced her immediately, but Declan stared into her eyes, ensuring he had placated her before he spoke. “It was Tony, okay? I had Tony in my earpiece telling me he’d pull the broadcast if I kept the questions political, it wasn’t the agreed upon angle of the interview. I didn’t have a choice.”

Lori sagged against him, grasping the front of his shirt – somewhere between the set and the meeting room, Declan had dispensed with his suit jacket. Her voice was smaller, weaker sounding, and wobbly with emotion as she spoke. “How can I ever make a difference now? It was all for nothing.”

Declan moved a hand from her waist, gently grasping her chin between his thumb and his forefinger as he tilted her face up towards his. “Do you think I’d be where I am now if I’d let myself give up after the first setback?”

Lori didn’t answer. She just knew she felt sad and defeated, and wanted something to distract herself from the sensation inside of her that made her feel insignificant and useless. The man currently standing in front of her, who had taken a chance on her political ideas, who was being nice to her and comforting her in the face of her failure seemed like the perfect something. Before she could talk herself out of it, she stood up on tip toes and pressed her lips to his.

She had anticipated that Declan would feed further into her self loathing, push her away, ask her what on earth she thought he was doing, tell her he was happily married and had no interest in her. Instead, he used the hand still on her waist to tug her closer against him, as the other cradled her jaw, his lips pressing back insistently against hers.

He smelled of musky cedarwood, the heady scent of his aftershave almost intoxicating as she wound her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a soft sigh as he lifted her to sit upon the edge of the table. His tongue licked against hers in a sticky click of saliva, as the hand that was upon her waist now inched up the skirt of her dress as her inner thigh pressed against his hip.

“This looks cosy.”

Declan sprang away from Lori, leaving her breathless and wanting as her hands dropped uselessly back to her sides and she remained seated upon the table. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked upon Rupert with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” he smirked, closing the door behind him with a quiet click as he moved towards them both.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Declan demanded, running a hand over his dark curls in an attempt to compose himself.

Rupert huffed a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow at Lori, before focusing his attention back to Declan. “Forgive me, I should probably do away with the preamble and just get to the point. I know what you two have been plotting behind my back, and I can’t say I’m best pleased about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Lori asked, flustered, attempting to pull her skirt back down.

Rupert sighed, coming to stand beside her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The brief contact sent a shiver down her spine. “Your little sheet of questions, darling,” he drawled, “I found them when I was picking your things up off the road the night you tried to cycle home drunk.”

Lori’s eyes widened as bile rose up in her throat, and Rupert grinned, though there was no friendliness to it.

“A sheet of questions proves fuck all,” Declan interjected angrily.

“Oh, I think Tony might disagree with that, considering you asked one of them on tonight’s show,” he said, casting a sideways glance at the other man as he ran the tip of his finger down Lori’s arm. “It wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, considering the nature of the questions and the direction Lori was cycling from the night I gave her a lift home. Tony’s a smart man, I think he’ll reach a conclusion perhaps even quicker than I did.”

She hated the way her body betrayed her. She loathed this man and yet the slightest of touches from him had every nerve ending screaming for more.

“What have you told him?” Declan asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“Oh, nothing yet,” Rupert replied smugly, “I’ve been busy ensuring I had my responses prepared for all of your thoughtful questions. Isn’t it a pity you only asked one?”

“Rupert..” Declan glowered, a silent warning in the angry narrowing of his eyes as he stared down the man standing before him.

Rupert chuckled, his eyes lighting up in a way that suggested he’d just uncovered something he enjoyed immensely. “Oh, was it Tony whispering in your ear that made you stop? Imagine his reaction if he knew you’d been colluding with a socialist to get your interview questions. You’d lose all credibility.”

“Please don’t tell him,” Lori begged, her voice barely above a whisper, as she gazed up at Rupert with imploring eyes. “I don’t want Declan to lose his job.”

“How adorable,” Rupert said, cocking his head, as he addressed Declan instead of her. “It appears our little leftist has developed a soft spot for you, old chap. I wonder what Maud would make of that? I’m assuming she’s aware of your little meeting room trysts?”

“You are the very last fucking person that should be passing comment on my fidelity,” Declan gritted out.

“Whatever it is, whatever you want, I’ll do it, please, just keep all of this to yourself,” pleaded Lori.

Rupert finally looked at her then, and what she saw in the depths of his hazel eyes caused a throbbing between her legs despite the fear that fluttered wildly in her chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured, moving closer. He trailed his hand up her side, leaving a blaze of heat in his wake, before roughly turning her so that her back was pressed against his chest, while she still perched upon the table. “At least one of you has the sense to listen.”

In spite of herself, Lori found herself leaning back against Rupert’s chest, her body chasing his touch. He chuckled quietly, before shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of the nearest chair. He placed his hands on Lori’s hips, giving them a firm squeeze, before turning his attention back to Declan.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen if you want to keep my silence; I’m going to do something about the ‘fuck me’ eyes that this one’s been shooting at me since the day she came knocking at my door, and you can leave, stay, join in for all I care, but you’re not going to try to stop me. Is that clear?”

Lori’s breath hitched at the realisation that he did remember her. Her eyes fell upon Declan, he stood uncertainly before her, a shadow of shame hanging over him, though he didn’t move to stop any of what was happening.

“Is this what you want?” Declan asked her.

Yes, god, yes, more than anything

She wouldn’t dare speak that thought aloud, even if this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her in her life, so she simply nodded. “If it means you won’t get into trouble because of me.”

Declan simply nodded, to which Rupert manhandled Lori onto all fours on the table, dragging her by her hips towards its edge. Her cheeks blazed with heat as she tried her best to disguise her mounting arousal, keeping her eyes fixed upon Declan. His gaze was soft, almost sympathetic, though he could do little to hide the growing excitement that strained against his zipper.

Lori sucked in a sharp breath as Rupert pushed the skirt of her dress over her hips, before running his index finger over the seam of the gusset of her tights. She squirmed beneath his touch, uncomfortable at the stickiness gathering in her underwear, though the sensation was rapidly replaced by shock as fingers latched into the material, ripping the nylon open.

She whimpered as the cool air hit her bare skin, and reached a hand forward towards Declan. He quickly took it in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. As Rupert hooked his index finger into the elastic of her knickers and tugged them to the side, Lori swallowed a moan as he dragged the digit through her slickness, humming in approval.

“Is this all for me?” Rupert asked, roughly palming the globe of her arse as he examined her wetness, “Or can O’Hara take some of the credit?”

She bit her lip, her flesh felt ablaze with shame. She wanted him to stop, but at the same time she was sure she’d die of the primal need he’d stoked within her if he didn’t keep going. Her fingers clung to Declan’s like a lifeline.

“I don’t really expect an answer, don’t worry,” Rupert whispered softly, and Lori tensed as she heard the clink of his belt being undone behind her.

She wanted to focus on literally anything else, not to think about how turned on she was by a man she ought to despise. Letting go of Declan’s hand, she palmed at his erection through his trousers, earning a soft grunt from him. Encouraged by his reaction, her fingers moved for his zipper as she felt the head of Rupert’s cock line up with her entrance.

“Are you sure?” Declan murmured, placing his hand over hers, stopping her momentarily. He let go when she nodded.

Freeing his hardened length, she didn’t even stop to admire it, simply wrapping her lips around its swollen head, humming softly at the salty taste of him upon her tongue.

“Starting without me?” Rupert tutted, pressing forward, causing Lori to moan around Declan’s shaft as he stretched her open. “That’s very impolite.”

He kept a firm grasp of her hips as his pelvis settled against her rear, pausing and giving them both a moment to adjust. She felt impossibly full, the tip of him almost kissing the opening of her cervix when he pushed to the hilt.

“Jesus christ,” he hissed through his teeth.

It spurred Lori on, and she bobbed her head faster along Declan’s shaft, almost gagging as he repeatedly knocked the softness of the back of her throat. He sighed softly, his hand coming to tangle in the hair at the back of her head. He didn’t force her movements, simply allowed her to take things at her own pace, as she reached up a hand to stroke the thick base of him.

When Rupert began to move, Lori’s vision flashed white, the sensation of him drawing all the way back just to slam back in again almost too much for her to bear. She whined around Declan’s cock, feeling him twitch against her tongue as Rupert set a steady pace, pistoning into her as he began to pant softly.

“It doesn’t matter the political stance,” he said, voice breathless with pleasure, “red or blue, they all feel incredible to be buried inside of.”

Lori hated the way her core squeezed around him in response to his filthy degradation, her watery eyes lifted up to meet Declan’s, who stared intently down at her as she serviced him. He gave an affection tug to her hair as she continued. “You’re doing so well for me.”

She keened at his praise, which earned her a sharp swat to the bottom from Rupert. Pleasure-pain blossomed hotly against her flesh, and he chucked at her muffled squeal, his thrusts becoming harder and more rapid. He was getting close.

‘At least he hasn’t made me come’, she thought. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she was enjoying this.

As though Rupert could read her mind, he snaked a hand around the front of her, his fingers seeking out her sensitive bud, and began to rub tight circles on it. She gasped and gagged around Declan’s cock, and she knew from the tightening of his hand in her hair that he was close too.

The knowledge that she was pleasing him, combined with the way Rupert touched her so expertly, caused the coil in her lower belly to tighten rapidly. As Declan’s head fell back with a groan and she tasted the first spurts of his release upon her tongue, the coil snapped and Lori came. Her world narrowed to the white hot sensation of pleasure that wracked her body in waves of warmth, as she tightened and spasmed around Rupert’s pistoning cock.

With a strained curse, Rupert pulled out of her, stroking himself to his finish across her lower back. As her senses returned to her, Lori swallowed down Declan’s seed, pulling off of him with a wet pop as she felt the warmth of Rupert’s spend against her skin.

Declan was quick to tuck himself away, gathering Lori’s trembling form into his arms as he slumped down into a chair. She clung to him, curling up in his lap, feeling vulnerable and dirty for what she had just indulged in. Wordlessly, Rupert redressed, shrugging back into his suit jacket.

“I hope my performance means that the Conservatives can now count on your vote next year,” he said to Lori with a playful wink.

Rupert didn’t wait for a response. Declan’s angry glare followed him out of the room as he left, closing the door softly behind him. 

Lori remained cuddled against Declan, clutching his shirt. Just as she’d known she would, she had allowed Rupert to use her. She just had to hope that he had had his fill of her, as she knew that if he were to proposition her again, she’d cave just as easily as he had this time. She didn’t think it was possible, but somehow it made her hate the Tories even more.

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[rendy-a]

amh if possible could hoy make hdcns for the dorm leaders ( separately ) reacting to their mc fem explaining the marvel universe and then puts them to watch the movies hehe ( ..also mc's fav hero is dead-pool ;) bc it gives me laugh imagine their reactions about this xd) , thanks in advance and take care<33

This certainly ended up being a little bit of a crack fic but it ended up amusing. Hope you enjoy it.

At first, he scoffs as such a time-wasting thing as wanting to watch dozens of movies.  Where is the educational value in this?

He is just too polite to refuse to listen, so he’ll end up letting you describe all your favorite scenes to him.

You are better off if he doesn’t take an interest because, if he does, he is going to turn into the worst sort of comic book geek.  Be ready to have him quote lore from issues of source material at you during any discussion on this from now on.

What do you mean who would win?  In Volume 3 #3, Thor clearly defeated Iron Man.  Don’t get upset Prefect, I don’t write the lore, I just recite it.

Doesn’t appear to be interested but, if you pause long enough, he’ll prompt you to go on.  It’s important to you, so he’ll try to care at least a little.

You’d never tell him this, but you love to banter with him because it reminds you of your favorite character.  Sometimes you wonder if he’d be pleased or offended to know who you remind him of.

Movie marathons?  Not only is he willing to do them with you, but he is also often the one who suggests them.  Don’t be deceived though, it’s not for the movie but for the quality nap time on the couch with you. 

Don’t turn that off, Herbivore, I’m watching it.  What do you mean I don’t know what’s going on?  This is the part where we learn her mom isn’t dead after all.  So quiet down and keep the lights off.

Please, he is in Board Game Club with Idia. You think this is the first time he has hmmm’d himself through a conversation about fictional characters?

Wait, you say that this makes a ton of money?  Tell him more about this merchandising and licensing.  Especially that, what do you call it…ah, Happy Meal.

You can eventually talk him into watching the movies with you for ‘research purposes.’  When you do, you can’t help but notice how teary-eyed he gets at the sad scenes.  He’s just so sensitive!

Deadpool is also his favorite character.  He feels a sort of connection to certain parts of his story.

So, she chooses to stay with him even though he looks like that?  No, I’m not blubbering.  No, I don’t need you to cuddle with me.  Ok, fine.  Just for a little while. 

He doesn’t get it, but he still loves it.  Sure, you have to explain everything to him three times, but he gets excited over your excitement.  Call him any time to talk about your theories on how things would have gone if Thanos had made a different wish on the infinity gauntlet.  He doesn’t mind if it’s 3 AM (just don’t let Jamil find out).

Movie marathons turn into parties.  Why just watch the movies when you can have themed snacks and dress up too?  Hulk smash cakes and Black Widow berry cobbler?  Yes, please.

His favorite part of any film is the soundtrack.  If he hears a song he likes, he gets up to dance along.  It’s pretty disruptive when you are watching the movie but when you see how much fun he is having, you find you don’t really mind after all.

Sorry Prefect, Jamil says we can’t have dance battles in Scarabia anymore.  Ooh!  But come by the Pop Music Club later.  I’m going to play all my favorite songs for Cater and Lilia. Ahaha!

You were worried Vil would dismiss your favorite Marvel films as inferior art, but he is actually rather generous about it.  He believes the film should suit the audience and, as so, there is nothing wrong with films like this that serve to entertain the masses.

Still, he can’t help but be critical of everything while you watch.  He doesn’t criticize the things you’d talk about with your friends but topics you’d hardly even notice while you watched like the set design and lighting.

You notice Vil seems secretly fond of Loki.  You think the idea of the Villain that survives the main movies to get his own spotlight series appeals to him.

No, Potato, I’m just saying the angle isn’t right for this sort of tone.  A shot from below would be more effective.  Plus…wait, are you having more popcorn?  I don’t think so, it’s past the time you can snack before bed.

You had expected Idia to be all in on the Marvel Universe but, at first, he is oddly resistant to it.  He’d rather recommend you one of his own favorite hero movies.  If you disagree on which is better, he is more than willing to fight with you over why his is best!

After a heated argument, he puts on some of the movies to watch so he can come up with targeted points about why his own shows are better.  This does not work out for him as he gets sucked in himself.  Next time you meet up, he wants to go over tiny bits of lore and speculate on future plot lines from hints in the past movies.

You might think his favorite would be Iron Man because they both are innovative engineers, but he is a fan of Ant Man.  Shrinking down to a size where you can hide from everyone; it’s an introvert’s dream!

Prefect, this is serious business!  I’ve drawn up plans.  So long as we sleep only 2 hours a day and avoid taking any breaks for food, studying, and showers, we can finish at least three seasons this weekend.  True fans like us need to be ready to sacrifice for the shows we love!

There are many things Tusnotarou doesn’t understand, and this is one of them.  For starters, he barely knows how to use his smartphone, let alone how to stream movies and shows.  So, before you can even start explaining the plot, you must explain the whole concept of series and interconnecting shows to him.

He doesn’t get it, but he is happy to watch with you.  Your reactions to the show are far more amusing to him than the actual show.  Plus, he feels like he learns so much about the human world from your conversations.  A subway, how intriguing an idea.  Humans are so fascinating.

Even though he watches politely, he isn’t very impressed.  They can fly?  Well so can he.  Magic, lightning, superstrength?  All just part of being a dragon.  Perhaps instead of being interested in these superheroes, you’d rather learn more about him?

 Lilia, do you think I am a superhero?  The Prefect has been explaining this concept to me in great detail lately.  I can’t help but notice the many things I have in common with these so-called heroes.  Why yes, Lilia, now that you mention it, I am wearing a cape.  Another point in my favor. Fu fu fu.    

[defectivehero]

dialogue

Sometimes, I hate dialogue. Sometimes, I love it. Will I ever be perfect at it? Absolutely not. Are there a few things I've learned as I write more dialogue? ... Yes. Here are some of those things:

[as always, no pressure to use any of these tips. writing doesn't have a "one size fits all" formula.]

Conversations aren't always super smooth, equal exchanges where everything is reciprocated. Sometimes, individuals cut each other off. Sometimes, one individual is doing most of the talking while the other is mostly listening. Think about your characters and what is unique about them. Then, embrace that in your writing! Things like: a) answering questions two paragraphs later, b) dodging the subject and then coming back to it, and c) saying one thing but meaning another are just a few examples of ways to liven up dialogue. If a character is super energetic and eager, they may dominate the conversation (unknowingly or knowingly). If a character is more withdrawn, they may pause before speaking, speak in smaller fragments, or elect not to speak at all. The unique personalities and circumstances of your character can show through in dialogue.

Consider more than just the dialogue. This is probably my favorite thing to do, because sometimes, I just can't get the words to be perfect. And that's okay! Often, a sentiment is better portrayed through a description of a person's body language—think of gestures, facial expressions, etc—than through written dialogue. Think about a character who has gotten sick as an example. There's two ways you can approach their dialogue: 1) focus on the words they're speaking and use descriptions as accessories, or 2) focus on their body language and use dialogue as an accessory. I often find myself thinking that dialogue has to be the main focus, but it doesn't! For the sick character example, I try thinking about how they look and how they may feel. Often times, those kinds of things can also inspire dialogue! In this case, the sick character may: speak with a more raspy tone; have trouble getting the words out; have an interrupted flow of speech because of sniffles or coughs; shiver with cold or sweat; or have a hazy look to their eyes. Details like these often take away some of the pressure I put on myself to have the perfect dialogue.

Dive into the mechanics of the person's voice. Is their voice raspy, gravelly, deep, high? Is there an underlying emotion showing through? How about the volume—are they speaking loudly, softly, or somewhere in the middle? Do they accentuate their statements in a certain way, such as breaking their statements up into shorter phrases with pauses in between?

Think about the setting. I say something along these lines in virtually every writing tips post, but I think the setting is super important and a great way to add some flavor to a dialogue. Where are your characters? Is there anyone nearby—and if so, how do they respond? Do the characters drop to a whisper to avoid eavesdropping or do they carry on as normal? How about the place where the interaction occurs—is it traditionally loud, quiet, or somewhere in the middle? What time of day is it—does the conversation take place in the early morning (think raspy voices from sleep) or late at night (quieter to avoid noise)? Perhaps it's in midday, but the surrounding area is a street bustling with activity?

Explore the context behind the interaction. Why is the conversation occurring? Is it a purpose or task-focused interaction? Is it context-specific? Are there certain elements of language that can only be understood by certain people (think inside jokes or language specific to a place/occurrence)? Also, evaluate the importance of the interaction taking place and go from there. If you're stuck on a part that isn't necessarily inherent to the story (which I usually am), consider shifting to description instead! You can also use dialogue to reference past occurrences, if that makes things easier. Think of a character getting home from work and speaking to their partner. Their partner asks them about their day and the character explains it: "My boss said..." In this example, you would be able to bypass writing the actual interaction between the boss and the character, and instead introduce it to the audience through the character's retelling of it.

I hope these help! Sorry if they're confusing—dialogue is definitely difficult! Each writer will have their own process, and I'm not claiming that mine is picture-perfect.

[badgalsasuke]

Jump Ryū! Vol.02 Masashi Kishimoto (2016)

(ジャンプ流! Janpu Ryū!) was a biweekly booklet/DVD series released by Shueisha from January 7, 2016 to December 31, 2016. There are a total of 25 volumes, each of which include both a booklet and a DVD. Each issue focuses exclusively on a single manga creator who currently draws or has drawn for Weekly Shōnen Jump or the other Jump magazines.

Youtube LINK Internet Archive LINK

The Internet archive link will direct you to a playlist, please look for Kishimoto's video which is video 11.

As with other video interviews, this is a transcription in English of what's being said, please watch the video as you read the transcript for a better understanding.

(0:00 - 0:35)

Jump Ryū! vol.02 Masashi Kishimoto. Experience the color illustrations!

Kishimoto: In my case, I tend to draw things out quite neatly in the rough draft, so I feel more comfortable just tracing over them with the pen, and it doesn't mess up the drawing, so I do it that way.

On the screen: Inking a pencil sketch.

(2:31 - 2:54)

Q. What are some tricks for inking a sketch?

Kishimoto: Since I have a preferred area that I find easy to draw, I rotate the paper while drawing. It's easiest to draw from the bottom left to the top right, so I rotate the paper accordingly.

(4:08 - 4:52)

Kishimoto: This is a task that I almost never do myself, it's been a long time since I did this. I used to get scolded a lot for it, because I used to be told that if I didn't erase properly, it would show up in the print. Now the printing technology is so advanced that if there are any areas left unerased, it will show up, so I press a little white-out. I make corrections. I fix the areas that went over the lines. This is really convenient. The ultra-fine Posca pen. It makes white-out corrections easy and properly.

(5:04 - 6:38)

On the screen: Coloring.

Kishimoto: Copic markers tend to create uneven areas, so I color large areas in one go before they dry, applying two or three coats. I think that's the trick. When I use Copic markers, I look at the basic color settings for this character, and then I draw while looking at them. This way, it feels like everyone was drawn together. Although in reality, everyone might be using different colors, my job is to paint this.

Q. What about the skin color?

Kishimoto: For highlights, I use E-01 and E-02, and from there, I just start painting the basic colors.

(8:45 - 9:29)

Q. Are you the type who can talk while listening?

Kishimoto: I talk all the time with my assistants.

Q. I see.

Kishimoto: Sometimes they tell me to concentrate because it's too noisy.

Q. Of course, you're doing the storyboard alone, right?

Kishimoto: I can't talk while doing the storyboard, but I'm talking to myself, so I am talking at the time.

Q. Can you already speak at the draft stage?

Kishimoto: Yes.

Q. Do you feel comfortable speaking when inking? Do you mean you can speak in the rough draft?

Kishimoto: Yes, I do while inking. The only time I'm silent in the rough draft is when I'm drawing facial expressions. If I talk in those parts, the picture becomes completely different.

(11:15 - )

Q. How long does it take to draw?

Kishimoto: It's difficult to decide what to draw and what to draw unless you have a concept for the picture. That may take the most time. Once the concept is decided and the work is completed, you can tell how long it will take.

Q. Once the draft is complete, can you tell how long it will take to draw?

*I could not make out what the interviewers are asking Kishimoto, they're voices are too quiet*

Kishimoto: Well, I think it's pretty readable. I think the concept will change depending on the picture you're drawing, the time it takes, and the content of the picture.

(17:18 - 19:23)

Q. About this illustration

Kishimoto: I added red and blue to the shadows, and with various lights coming in, I aimed for an image where the light comes in surprisingly a bit stronger from the front. I painted with the intention of making the transitions between light and dark, like this area being surprisingly light, darker. During my student days, I did a lot of plaster casts, and at that time, the areas where the light and dark curves met were surprisingly the darkest, and the areas under the shadows became a bit brighter due to reflection of light. Once I understood that, I was able to draw it in a much more three-dimensional way.

Q. About the eye coloring.

Kishimoto: I only add highlights when I'm using color. I don't really like highlights, but I thought I'd add them when I was using color, and the anime originally had them, so I tried to match that, and it gives off a more lens-like glow, so I wanted to make Naruto's earthy style look like it has some parts splitting into different colors.

Q. About the color illustrations.

Kishimoto: I hate starting an illustration because I think if there's something anime-like it will stand out and seem out of place, but once I actually start drawing I actually like it and it becomes fun. I think I like drawing in general, but I think I'm the type of person that tends to feel reluctant to start.

(19:25 - 27:12)

Jump Ryū! vol.02 Masashi Kishimoto. Heart-to-heart conversation! Straight from the creation spot.

Kishimoto: Please take care of me. This way, this is where I work. This is the assistant's desk. Right now, I'm looking something up, and it's pretty hard (laughs). I didn't think it would be this hard, but it is.

This is the color setting for the Gaiden spin-off. This is the desk I use for coloring. I use Copic markers for coloring, so I keep them here so I can keep them ready to use.

Q. How many do you have?

Kishimoto: I'm not sure how many kinds there are, but I buy a few at a time whenever new colors come out.

Q. Why do you use Copic markers?

Kishimoto: Because I don't need a palette and they're easy to use. Nowadays, everything is digital and everyone is coloring digitally, but I'm from the analog generation.

Q. About digital drawing

Kishimoto: I've just finished serialization, so I'm thinking about trying digital drawing, but I'm not that picky about it, so I'd like to do either digital or this method, whichever is less troublesome.

On the screen: Manuscript desk

Kishimoto: This is the desk where I write my manuscript. I have some documents and the comics I've written lined up.

Q. Why do you have a separate desk for color work?

Kishimoto: I just sit down and paint, so I can smoothly switch between writing and painting the manuscript. Setting up the paints every time was really tedious, so I decided to do it this way.

I use regular Pilot ink, Zebra G pen and round pen. I also mix the ink because the ink changes density as I write. I mix it periodically while writing. For pencils, I use a regular mechanical pencil and B, in my case. When I get tired of mechanical pencils, I use pencils, and when I get tired of pencils, I use mechanical pencils. I have to enjoy the changes, otherwise it's hard to write. I have about two kinds of rulers now, I've used them so much that I can't read the markings, so I can't measure centimeters, but that's how it is. I don't really.... use rulers that much. I just draw a straight line by hand, like this, and then my assistant redraws it with a ruler, so I rely on that.

This is where I write down the settings of the setting before I draw it. There's also some unrelated things. It's like a concept notebook.

On the notebook: Character creation. Identity. Oneself existence.

Kishimoto: "Naruto thinks of Iruka-sensei". The concept was that Iruka-sensei would die and be brought back to life. There are some slightly different settings from the beginning, such as making 1,000 friends. This is around chapters 5, 6 and 7, and I thought the changes in facial expressions were important, so I wrote a bit about it.

This is Zabuza. At first, Zabuza was wearing a mask, but I was thinking about what to do under his mouth later and I wanted to make his mouth scary, but it was too scary so my editor said it was no good. So now he's just a normal guy, well, that's where we ended up.

My handwriting is getting increasingly rough, so it's clear that I have significantly less time than I did at the beginning and that I'm feeling much rougher (laughs).

Q. What about the many hints? It's a long story with lots of foreshadowing elements, but it was all sorted out from the beginning.

Kishimoto: Well, as I was writing I was able to include detailed content as setups, but the finer details would change on the spot, and a lot of it would change based on the mood. However, the parts that needed to be done, the setups and payoffs, were clear from the start, so those didn't change much. But now that it's done, I can say it as many times as I want (laughs).

This is "Mario", a storyboard I drew before "Naruto". At the time I was dividing characters into groups based on Snoopy and the like, so I drew it to be similar to the character Peppermint Patty from Snoopy.

Even though I submitted my drafts to Weekly Shonen Jump, they never got accepted, so I thought maybe Shueisha wasn't the right place for me. I decided to try another magazine and drew this manga called Mario. When I showed it to my first editor at the time, he said it was interesting, but he suggested I write one more draft specifically for Weekly Shonen Jump. He told me that if that didn't work out, it would be better to try again while I was still young. So, I thought, "Okay, I'll give it another shot," and I ended up writing, I think it was a baseball manga called "Yakyuu Ou," but it got completely rejected (laughs). But then I thought about writing another one, and when that didn't work out, I considered going to another magazine. However, when the first editor saw the baseball one, he said it was interesting, so we decided to create another one. He said it was fine if it was the last one, and that's how Naruto was made. I'm really glad because the editor kept encouraging me to write, and if it weren't for that, Naruto wouldn't have existed. So I'm thankful.

Q. What does it mean to serialise in Weekly Shonen Jump?

Kishimoto: For me, becoming a manga artist for Weekly Shōnen Jump was the only thing I thought about, so I didn't really consider anything else. It was like there was no other option, or rather, I couldn't do anything else. I was so focused on that path that I felt like I had no choice but to pursue it. There were times when I pressured myself, but I only thought about how it would lead to a fun life.

Q. To those who aspire to be manga artists.

Kishimoto: It's true that it's fun to draw and create great manga, but there are many difficult parts, so it's like being suddenly digged into the jungle with light equipment, and you have to gain the know-how to survive in the jungle before you go there, so if you really want to become a manga artist, you should study, and then as you gradually get used to the jungle, it becomes fun, or at least that's the image I have, so it's not easy to become one, but if you're really motivated, have the right weapons, and are willing to work hard to become one, I think it would be a lot of fun to make manga. Manga is really fun. Drawing it can be tough, but in the end, it's enjoyable. When you come up with a good name, it feels really good and makes you extremely happy. Once you experience that feeling a few times, even though it's tough, it becomes addictive in a way—there's a strange charm to manga.

(29:15 - 33:05)

On the screen: Jump Ryu! Practical Manga Techniques. Second Part: Effect Lines.

Effect lines are essential for adding impact to a picture. Mastering effect lines is the first step to becoming a master of directing.

On the screen: Tools.

For effect lines, we recommend using a round pen that can draw thin lines. Use a thick ruler. The key is to place the ruler like this. Be careful not to pull the ink and smudge the manuscript. If you place the manuscript like this, there will be space between the ruler and the manuscript. You can draw clean lines without dragging the ink.

On the screen: Practice.

First, speed lines. These are the basic lines that form the basis of all effect lines that are often used in sports and battle manga. The trick to drawing them well is to start with a strong stroke and relax towards the end. Hold the ruler firmly so that it doesn't slip, and be careful because it will easily slip if you relax. Lines that are all the same length look bad, so practice repeatedly until you can draw them at random lenghts.

On the screen: Focus lines.

Next, focus lines. They are effective when you want to make a character or object on the screen stand out. First, stick a thumbtack on the point where you want to focus the eye. Rotate the ruler around the thumbtack and move the paper as well to draw a line in a direction that is easy to draw. Don't worry too much about lines that go beyond the frame as you can correct them with white later. Now your converging lines are complete! As an application of converging lines, increase the density of the lines like this. Fill in the background and you'll have a solid flash! This effect is often used when a character realizes something important.

Make full use of effect lines and improve your manga presentation skills!

[angeliqueiguess]

Hidden Notes (mk.l)

016. Co-Writer

Mark’s apartment was dimly lit by a single lamp hanging in the corner of the room. On the coffee table lay a messy pile of old notebooks, loose pages, and small notepads filled with scribbles.

Some of the pages were stained with coffee, others were crumpled and worn from time, but all of them carried fragments of a version of Mark that seemed to belong to another life.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor, careful not to crush any of the scattered papers. Every page she picked up was like stepping into a time capsule: scratched-out lyrics, half-formed ideas, and lines that didn’t even rhyme but carried a raw, undeniable emotion. Each word seemed to demand attention, begging not to be forgotten.

“This one’s good,” she said, holding up a penciled sheet. “I mean… it’s heavy, but the feeling is real.”

Mark, sitting on the couch with his guitar resting on his lap, leaned forward to take the page from her hand. He read it over in silence, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he let out a quiet scoff.

“I wrote this when I was nineteen,” he murmured. “Back then, I thought everything could be a song.”

Y/n tilted her head, intrigued. “What changed?”

He exhaled deeply, leaning back into the couch as he set the page aside. “I did. The world got too loud, and my voice just… got harder to hear. At some point, it felt easier to stop trying than to keep failing.”

Y/n frowned, carefully placing the papers back on the table. “That voice is still there, Mark. You just needed someone to remind you to listen to it.”

He looked at her with a mix of disbelief and quiet gratitude. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do,” she said, no hesitation in her voice. “I’ve seen it. The way your words connect with people… the way they connected with me.”

Mark took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, letting out a dry laugh. “You make it sound so simple…”

“It’s not,” Y/n admitted, her smile soft but steady. “But it’s worth it. And you’re not doing it alone.”

Her words hung in the air between them, a quiet truth that neither felt the need to challenge. Mark glanced down at his guitar, his fingers absently brushing against the strings. Then, he picked up the page again, studying it carefully before meeting her eyes.

“What do you think about finishing this one?” he asked, a spark of cautious hope flickering in his expression.

Y/n straightened up, her eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“Yeah…” he nodded, as if convincing himself. “It’s been sitting here unfinished for years. Maybe it’s time to see where it goes.”

Without hesitation, Y/n grabbed her notebook and pen, scooting closer to the table. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The hours slipped by as they worked together, trading ideas and building off each other’s energy. Y/n hunched over her notebook, searching for the perfect word while Mark experimented with different chords on his guitar. They burst out laughing when one of their lines came out too cheesy and cheered like kids whenever they nailed something that felt just right.

By the time the clock struck midnight, the forgotten fragments had come together as a finished song. Mark strummed the final chords, his voice low but full of intent as he sang the words they’d crafted together.

When the last note faded, he looked up at her. “What do you think?” Y/n’s smile was warm, her chest tight with pride and joy. “I think it’s beautiful. And I think it’s just the beginning.”

Mark set the guitar aside and leaned forward, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She shook her head, her voice soft but firm. “Yes, you could. But I’m glad I got to be a part of it.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the connection between them palpable and electric. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, saying things neither of them was quite ready to put into words. Then, with a small smile, Mark reached for his guitar again.

“Well, co-writer… what’s next?”

Y/n laughed, grabbing one of the older notebooks from the pile.

“Let’s see what other gems nineteen-year-old Mark left behind.”

As they dove back into the stack of unfinished ideas, the room filled with music, laughter, and a shared sense of purpose.

Together, they were taking fragments of the past and turning them into something new, something neither of them could have created alone.

And in doing so, they weren’t just writing songs—they were forging a path forward, one lyric at a time.

previous // next masterlist

angie's note: oooo now she's his co-writer! i would suck at it tbh

taglist open: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz @nmlee @haluenx

[quietwingsinthesky]

hello and good day sir bug! i am considering making a podfic of one of my fics, and i was wondering if u as a podfic veteran have any tips?

oh, sure! let’s see.

1. audacity is the best and easiest audio editing software i’ve ever used. highly recommend.

2. it seems like a good idea to use the “silence audio” option to get rid of bumps and breaths in between sentences but what i’ve found is that it’s less jarring to the listener to instead replace that mistake audio with the ambient hum of wherever you’re recording. specifically wherever you’re recording btw, otherwise it can sound a little off.

3. if you’d like to spend the time, highlight parts of the fic, different characters lines, to cue you to read them differently from the narration, just to keep your flow. or hell, you could reformat the whole fic as a script. have fun with it.

4. depending on how thorough your editing is, it can take longer, but know that it’s probably always going to take at least 3 times as long to edit your audio as it did to record it. that’s part of the process. and it can be a slog sometimes, but it’s worth it!

5. oh! noise removal! best tool in your kit! you select a space of audio where you aren’t speaking, get a sample, and then apply that removal to the whole audio. it’ll help quiet down the background noise. you can run it a twice to get it real low, depending on where you’re recording. second best tools in your kit are the compressor/normalization tools. compressor will even out your audio peaks and such so everything is about the same volume level or close to it, and then the normalization will raise the whole clip to whatever audio level you like. I’ve been setting mine to about -3 dB.

that’s all i can think of rn :) have fun anon!!!