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joeloverture · 25 days ago

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HOOK 'EM PT. 2

hook 'em hot stuff | coach!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | series masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine pairing: college football coach!joel x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] old habits die hard, so they say. you never understood why, but here you are, breaking into coach joel miller's house for a taste of what he's been keeping from you. warnings: (18+ mdni) reader is a bad example (a REALLY bad example), joel is so nonchalant that it's almost crackfic material, getting a semi when a pretty girl attempts a break-in, guilty joel attempts to keep his morals intact (and promptly fails), age gap (22/52), could be considered dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, undernegotiated kink for sake of storyline but don't follow this example, explicit content, pussy pronouns, daddy kink, brat tamer!joel, degradation, praise, meanish!joel, pussy slapping, belting/spanking with a belt, body writing, m!masturbation, cumplay/eating, panty play(?), face slapping, orgasm denialish (you'll see) [no use of y/n] word count: 7k (wtf) a/n: howdy. real cowboys never die so i'm back to continue what i started *checks watch* 11 months ago. (i also promised that if they won the game, i'd write this.) again, all of this is for entertainment parody, and any college implied here is incredibly fictionalized. coach!joel captured all of our hearts and he's here in this incredibly out of pocket (so out of pocket it's right) sequel. enjoy 💋

“This is head Coach Miller at Austin. I can’t get to the phone right now, but you can leave a text or a voicemail and I’ll be sure to get back to you–”

The answering message, as it plays through the tinny speakers of your phone, is dry, lackluster. As if Joel hadn’t wanted to record it at all, had said fuck it after the first take. It sounds nothing like the voice that had talked you through two of the best orgasms of your life.

You’d tried to rationalize it at first – he’s busy, a coach at one of the biggest college football programs in the United States, it’s approaching the playoffs, maybe he’s out of state recruiting some shithead high schooler – but after four missed phone calls and two unanswered texts spread out through the course of the week, you figure that’s that.

He’d been so tender with you after fucking your brains out. Dragging a wet rag along the seam of your thighs, redressing you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’d even refused to let you walk to your dorm alone so late in the night, his guarding, protective arm hanging around your waist as he’d escorted you to the shitty building. Now you’re leaving clingy voicemails in his inbox, staring at a ceiling that’s probably full of asbestos as you try to make peace with the fact that Coach Miller didn’t give a shit about you – only your pussy. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

You were probably just some dumb college girl to him, close enough to graduating that he didn’t lose sleep at night over hitting it, but too far from adulthood to complement his crows feet and successful career.

Conclusion: even if it was the best sex of your life, you should’ve hightailed it out of there the second he’d offered to take you over his knee.

Again – you’re not known for making the best decisions.

You roll over on your stomach, burying your head in your arms and shutting your phone off.

The worst part about it all is that you’re fucking horny. Unbearably so. Even just sitting there, you can hear Joel’s filthy words carouseling through your head, that initial groan when he sank all the way inside of you. Your persistent horniness isn’t the only problem, either. Lately, your roommate never seems to leave the dorm, and when she does, you find that Joel has ruined your vibrator for you. Your pussy might just shrivel up if it doesn’t get the loving it deserves. He’d lit a permanent goddamn bonfire in your stomach, and it just so happened that he was the only one with a fire extinguisher.

But the same guy probably wants nothing to do with you. Probably came to his senses enough to know that everything about fucking his star player’s ex girlfriend is a recipe for bad news in the making.

There’s a version of yourself that doesn’t know when to stop. That’s the version that must be controlling you as you reach for your phone, opening up a new search. ‘Where does joel miller live?’ And, theoretically, you could stop right there, press the tempting little ‘x’ at the top of the screen and pretend that your mind hadn’t even gotten that far, that desperate. Instead, you click on the first article that appears: Miller’s new $1,000,000 Tarrytown home.

You could even stop there. Tarrytown isn’t a place for someone like you, waist-deep in student loans that need paying off. Tarrytown is wealthy and upscale, pretentious and genteel. In fact, you’d only passed through there once, almost blackout drunk in the backseat of your only sober friend’s car. You’d nearly jumped out of your goddamn skin upon seeing a roaming peacock with its feathers all spread, clucking through the street in search of a mate. She’s teased you about it ever since, but with what you have in mind, you’re about to be impersonating that peacock.

Knowing that the bastard lives in Tarrytown would usually be enough to put you off — if it were anyone else. Your ‘eat the rich’ values apparently stutter when there’s a chance of getting your pussy eaten.

Curiosity kills the cat, and so you poke around Zillow for recent sales in Tarrytown. Lucky for you, only one fits the description in the article. It’s multi-story, built on a half acre behind a centuries-old oak tree. And going for the hefty price of $1,002,358.

Nine minutes away. A good commute. Gated, and probably for good reason, considering what you’re about to do.

You throw on a nice, lacy set underneath your black clothes and top it all off with a black baseball cap. You’re pretty sure it’s Lucas’s, your shitty ex’s that had technically started this whole mess, but you can’t be too sure.

You don’t tell your roommate where you’re going, just that if everything goes well, you won’t be back until tomorrow morning.

You chain your bike to a lamppost, and it sticks out like a sore thumb on the cobblestone sidewalk. Even though you’ve already seen the pictures, Joel’s house is hardly even a house. It’s a fucking palace with windows for walls and a vaulted roof. Everything is stacked on top of each other, and the oak tree mentioned in the listing casts a shadow along the structure. The gas lamps adorning the gated limestone archway are on, and the flames wince across the concrete path leading into the home. They aren’t bright enough to blow your cover if Joel happens to peek through the many, many windows, but you steer clear of them regardless.

The gate really isn’t that tall, only about eight feet off the ground. A nearby sturdy tree gives you a good place to prop yourself up as you haul yourself over it and into a well-kept patch of ferns. You roll into the dirt, grunting as you almost fall flat on your ass. Your elbows catch you at the last second, and you take a few deep breaths.

You dust yourself off, squinting through the front of the house in hopes of catching a glimpse at him. He’s definitely home, and probably away, too, judging by the amount of lights that are on. Still, no sign of him. All football coaches have to be a workaholic. You wouldn’t be surprised at all if he was in his home office with his feet propped up, watching tapes of his opponents to prepare for the next game.

Good. Less chance of him seeing you right away.

Joel seems like the type of guy to subscribe to the ‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,’ philosophy, so it makes sense that both of his garages are closed. You half-crawl, half-crouch your way through the front yard, careful not to crush any more of his plants as you creep your way up the front steps. You give his front door a shot. Locked, too.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself. You inch through the brush, turning the corner of the house and taking cover behind his rumbling air conditioning unit so you can scan the back patio.

Of course Joel Miller has a pool. And you’d bet good money that he never uses it. There’s an unlit fire pit surrounded by a sunken seating area nearby, and you slink through the area to make your way over to the terrace. Your hand reaches out for the doorknob, but it doesn’t even get there before you’re eating shit for the second time that night.

A body slams into yours as you hit the ground with a cry, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as concrete scrapes at your palms. Even though it’s dark and everything feels like you’re trapped in a kaleidoscope, you’d have to be an idiot not to recognize the familiar weight pressing into you. Strong thighs wrap around yours. Calloused hands grab at your wrists, effortlessly pinning them over your head. You squirm, trying and failing to knee at the small of his back.

You should be scared, terrified, maybe, of what he could do to you. Push you into the pool and tell you to fuck right off at best, call the cops and have you arrested for two counts of trespassing at worst. But instead, all you can think about is the insistent press of his bulge between your legs, his broad shoulders hanging over your torso, his long fingers twisted around your hands. All of it renders your heart racing and your body motionless. You look up at him, unable to stop yourself from eye fucking him. Loungewear is a good look on him, gray sweatpants low on his waist and a tattered longhorns t-shirt. He has his reading glasses on, and fuck, if it doesn’t do something to you.

A tiny whimper slips out, and, naturally, that’s when Joel’s dark eyes flash with recognition.

Joel mutters your name, surprise thick in his tired voice. “What the hell are you doin’ in my backyard?” He goes back on his haunches and lets go of your hands. You rub at the sore spots he’d left in his wake.

You don’t answer, opting to look away to hide the shame that’s plain as day on your face. This was stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.

“Are you always tryna catch a charge?” Joel asks. He shakes his head at you, forehead wrinkling as he furrows his brows. All you can do is nod in response. “Un-fuckin’-believable.”

He finally lifts off of you, groaning as something in his back pops when he stands upright. He reaches down at you, and, stubbornly, you ignore his hand in favor of picking yourself up. You dust yourself off again, winching as you brush against a patch of skin that’s sure to bruise later.

“C’mon,” Joel says, nudging the back door open. You step inside and pause to wipe your shoes on the rug beyond the threshold.

The interior is also just as fancy as the Zillow photos had suggested. You find yourself in a lounge with a vaulted ceiling, surprised to find just how Joel the space is. There’s sports magazines on the coffee table and a half-empty longhorns tumbler filled with black coffee. The TV on the mantle of the fireplace is playing a rerun of a Dallas Cowboys game, surrounded by memorabilia like an unmarked high school football helmet, probably a souvenir from his varsity career.

“Now, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“You didn’t answer my texts,” you say, albeit a little dumbly. You rub at one of your elbows to try to shake off the embarrassment.

Okay, aloud, it does sound just a teensy bit like an overreaction.

Joel blinks at you. Takes off his reading glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, releases a long, winded sigh. “Shit – hun, I’m so sorry–”

“Save your sorries,” you spit back, suddenly angry of all things. Angry that he has you wrapped right around the same fingers that had been inside of you, angry that he hadn’t answered your calls, your texts, your voicemails, angry that he has the audacity to ask what happened. “All that talk about treating me right and you can’t even pick up the fucking phone. I’ll leave right now if you’re not interested, but the least you could do is let me know.” Your lower lip quivers.

He goes quiet, toeing at the ground. His hands land on his hips. “Darlin’–”

“He cheated on me and you trampled all over my emotional vulnerability so you could get your dick wet. How the fuck does that make you any better than the boys you promised to be better than? You’re just like them. Fucking your way through half of the campus and nothing to show for it.” You’re breathing heavily as your eyes burn more and more by the second. You keep thinking you’ll have more to say, but you don’t. Everything in your body feels like lead, and time moves like molasses. Only silence meets you. Of course, it’d end like this. You, humiliated, and him, held all but unaccountable for his actions.

You squeeze your eyes shut before turning around on your heel to leave the way you’d come. His hand, soft and guiding as opposed to the last time he’d touched you, wraps around your forearm. You plant your feet in the ground, but still don’t turn around to face him. “You’re right,” Joel says, voice acquiescent. “It wasn’t fair to you. But ‘s part of why I didn’t pick up. Ain’t right, you ‘n me. I took advantage of you. Practically coerced you.” You swallow, but it’s like swallowing needles. “You shoulda reported me the second you got back to your dorm. For… for violating you like that.” He damn near spits the word out like it’s poisonous. Violating.

If that’s what’s holding him back…

You shift, facing him. He scratches the back of his neck. His flush bleeds down to his chest. “Joel, the absolute last thing you did was violate me. I wanted it. Haven’t stopped fucking thinking about it. That’s why it hurt so bad when you left me hanging.” A frown pinches your lips. “You could’ve at least let me know, Joel.”

“You needa quit thinkin’ about it. Ain’t gonna do either of us any good.” He exhales. “Besides. Even if I wanted to reach out, I’ve been workin’ 17 hour days in prep for next week’s game. This is the first day I’ve had peace ‘n quiet since we…” He trails off, cheeks somehow reddening even more.

“How often do you do that?” you can’t stop yourself from asking.

“Do what?” he asks, his own lips falling into a frown. He looks a little bit like a kicked puppy, being on the receiving end of your confrontation.

“Take girls half your age over your knee at the workplace. Let them call you ‘daddy’ while they squirm in your lap. Fuck them?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses. You can almost see the memories flashing behind his eyelids. “Gotta stop talkin’ like that, hun.”

“No,” you say, voice quiet. “Really. How often?”

“Never,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “Been over a year since I was last with someone. Been a whole lot longer since it… felt that good.”

You take a step closer to him, tongue slipping out to lick your lips. “Felt good for me, too.”

He shakes his head, still denying what you’re laying out so plainly for him. “Just ‘cause it feels good don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t it?” you ask. You cock your head, brows brought together and eyes round with want.

He takes a slow, unsteady breath. But he doesn’t step away.

“I’m an adult Joel.” You reach out to him. Again, he doesn’t step away. Your hand flattens against his shoulder.

“Not one of your brutish, sweaty players who only thinks in frat vocab.” You drag your palm down from his shoulder, across his chest, fluttering along his stomach.

His eyes close as your thumb snags the waistband of his sweatpants. Still, he doesn’t intervene. “I’m a grown woman with a future ahead of myself. It’s not in the handbook that you’re forbidden from engaging in this sort of thing with a student, so long as they’re not one of your players.”

“Yeah, yeah, I read the handbook, kid—”

When you palm at his bulge, he’s already hard.

You hitch a brow at him. A snide remark sits on your tongue.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grouses, and then shoves you back on his couch. Your impact knocks a tacky, tasseled throw pillow out of the way. You yank off the cap you stole from Lucas and toss it over your shoulder.

“Beggin’ for a dickin’ down,” he says. “Trespassing on my fucking property for it like some lunatic. That’s how bad you need this cock?”

You nod like you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. With how you act when you think of Joel, that’s… probably the case. “Joel, plea–”

He slaps you across the face. Your vision pixelates and your head rings, but the handprint blooming on your cheek translates to slick blooming in your panties. “Nuh uh,” he says. “You know my name, smartass.” You moan, hips jerking to meet his.

“Daddy,” you whine. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.” It is. No silicone toy or plastic cock nestled in your bedroom drawer compared to the man in front of you — and you’d know. You tried them all.

“Ain’t a surprise there,” Joel says. “Bet you’ve been rubbin’ yourself silly thinking of your daddy, mm?”

“Yes!” you damn near squeal out as Joel roughly palms at your tits. You get stuck in the labyrinth of your shirt as you fumble out of it, arms finding all the wrong holes. Finally, you toss the thoroughly wrinkled scrap of fabric over the couch. “Every day, sometimes more,” you admit, because it’s the embarrassing truth. When it comes to him, you’re loopy, off-kilter, teetering with desire and want.

“Dirty girl, aren’t you?” he says, unclasping your bra. He lures your arms out of the straps. His throat bobs as he eyes you up. Based on how you look in the reflection of his dark eyes, he’s been thinking of this. Because for all his virtuosity, Coach Miller crumbles at the thought of defiling you. And he damns himself for it.

He says, “Came allllll the way over here to get fucked in this little number. Why, ‘cause your fingers ain’t enough anymore? Buzzing buddies not doin’ it for ya? Can’t make yourself come without me, hm?”

“No, no, I can’t—” you exhale at him, desperately arching your back to push your tits into his sports-calloused hands. He gives you nipples a squeeze and twist, and it’s electricity straight into your clit. Your squirm, legs kicking helplessly beneath him. “Daddy.”

He pouts at you. “Damn shame. Creamy, drippy little pussy like this…” You hadn’t noticed his hand lowering until he cups a hand around your clothed mound. Your hips jerk. “Bet she’s squeezing real good ‘round nothing, isn’t she? Wants to take daddy nice ‘n deep.”

“Please, daddy, I want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. Your head lolls back as his thumb presses over your clothed clit, the friction from your panties amplifying the sensation as he rubs you in tight, successive circles.

“Yeah, well that’s what you want. What you’ve earned is a belting. Hell, maybe even a paddling for a repeat offender like yourself. Gotta stop getting into scenarios where I needa spank you right. Clearly didn’t whack ya hard enough last time, girl.”

You pout at him, and he only rolls his eyes. “Really. First you had some revenge syndrome, and now you have dick disease. Have to make you earn it, sweetie. ‘Specially when you keep on diggin’ your own grave.”

“You spanked me last time we did this,” you mumble.

“Oh yeah? And I remember you leakin’ everywhere like a goddamn busted pipe. So shut your trap and bend over for me, mhm? I know this pussy likes when I’m rough with ‘er. Know you like it.”

You cross your arms. Consider leaving chin-up with your pride intact — not out of lack of interest, but out of stubbornness. But you can already feel your wetness smearing across your thighs. Not only did you come all this way hoping for this exact thing, but you can imagine just how uncomfortable the bike ride back to your dorm will be with the seat of your bike pressed into your crotch.

You bite the bullet and toss a pillow to the floor. You fold yourself over the couch.

It feels distinctly familiar and indistinctly unfamiliar. Just a few days ago, he’d hauled you over his knee for the same reason. Attraction lit like a match, and discipline served properly.

You hear Joel shimmying around in the vicinity and tilt your head to look at him. First, you’re captured by the broadness of him, how he can easily manhandle you with his stature. But it’s hard not to be distracted by how his house, for all of its grandeur, is little more than a fifty-year-olds bachelor pad.

The walls are mostly bare apart from the occasional art that looks like he snagged from Homegoods. Everything is so modern and brutalistic, all sharp-edged and cubed. “You need to hire an interior designer with that batshit crazy salary of yours,” you tell him.

He huffs out a half-laugh, and returns to your side with a belt he pulled from the table. You squint at the buckle. It’s a pewter longhorn. Of course. It’s like they have a longhorn fetish. They just can’t shake the obsession with the cattle.

“Gonna spank me with your livestock whip?” you snort.

Joel stares you down, unimpressed. “You think you’re funny,” he says. He sits next to where your cheek rests on the couch and gently rubs a circle into your back. His face turns serious for a moment. “I know I didn’t verbally establish this last time — and that’s on me — but you can ask me to stop any time. I hope you know that.”

You give him what feels like a bit of a dopey look. “I know, daddy. I know my limits, too.”

“Attagirl,” he says, patting you on the back. He gives you a look, seeking permission, and you nod. He tugs your pants down. They slump to your folded knees. You tap your fingers against the soft material of the couch. Joel reaches over you and under the gusset of your panties, swiping a long, thick finger through your weeping cunt. Your hips rock, chasing the sensation, and as if reprimanding you, Joel gives a swift tug to the back of your panties, lodging them deep within your cheeks. You squeak in surprise and stop your squirming. He chuckles breathlessly above you.

“Still got this… calligraphy… ‘a mine all over your ass.” He traces his thumb along each letter of the trophy he’d left you. The w, the h, the o, the r, the e. When you left the stadium that night, it was with a reminder of exactly what Joel thinks of you. “‘S like you’re tryna make it last, mmm? You like knowing you’re my whore?”

A tiny whimper splits from your mouth, forehead tilting into the crook of your shoulder as to hide your face. You manage a nod.

“Nuh uh,” Joel says. He reaches for your wrists and pins them behind your back. “Thought you’d knew better than to be repeatin’ the same song and dance. I know you can behave, slutty girl. Just gotta give you a nudge in the right direction.” He palms your ass cheek the same way he’d palmed your tit, and a chill travels along your skin at the perceived feeling of him being so close to your cunt.

He’d ravaged and ruined you, and you walked right back in to let him do it all over again.

Joel folds the belt in half, the gaudy buckle clanking as he turns his day-to-day belt into the perfect implement to administer your punishment. You muffle one of your noises as he drags the leather along your skin, raising gooseflesh in his trail. You can tell he’s tracing the letters, stretched and faded to near-obscurity, along your ass.

You expect him to bring it down across your ass, but instead, he teases it between your legs. Your breath stumbles over your teeth as the leather streaks along your clothed clit. Your hips chase the passing sensation, and the bastard snorts at you. In spite of Joel’s grasp around your wrists, your fingers twirl in anticipation.

“Pathetic ‘lil pussy. Dripping and squeezing even if you’ve got a thrashing comin’ up. Maybe it’s because you’ve got a thrashing coming up. Masochistic mess over here.”

You scoff, “Yeah, and a hot mess, if ‘Lil Joel is any indicator.”

The first hit takes you by surprise. Leather erupts across your ass cheeks, and your fingers scramble for purchase — impossible to find, with how Joel grips your wrists. You make a surprised noise, head tipping to knock your forehead into his thigh. “Shit, were you the quarterback? Packing a punch this time, Coa— mmph.” Your trailing, pathetic sound is muffled by the abrupt splat of his belt back on your exposed ass.

“Had enough ‘a your sass, baby. Can’t be giving me lip when your other set is salivatin’ all over my floor.”

You grunt, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t glare at him. Dick. Fever licks up your spine. It wraps around your neck, making you lightheaded and nebulous with want. Arousal leaks down your inner thighs. When you press them together in hopes for relief and that Joel’s old man eyes will sabotage him, you’re not shocked by the next thwack of leather against your skin. It still makes you jolt.

“Not gettin’ away with that, sweetheart. Better not see ya ruttin’ against this couch either. Already had to scrub down the one in the locker room since you sprayed your pussy juices all over it like a sprinkler.”

“Yes, daddy,” you grumble. He raises a brow at you, face stern and hard.

You make up for it not verbally, but by arching your back and wiggling your hips. A willing participant in your own demise. It’s only a matter of time before the anaphora of Joel’s belt whacking against your ass has you keening for his cock. You’ve already begged for it every night this week — just with your own hand fishing between your legs for an orgasm you can’t seem to catch, and with his name glued to your pillowcase with your drool.

“See? That’s more like it.” You press back into him as his hand lets go of your wrists. It’s a brief respite, and you cling to the edge of the couch as his hand traces down your back, cupping your ass. Your eyes roll back as his finger slips past your panties and prods at your entrance, barely half of a knuckle.

“Daddy,” you pout.

“Sweet… as…” You look up through lidded eyes at him. Watch as your slick stretches hammocks between his fingers. Watch him slide them into his mouth, sucking them clean with an audible pop. You cunt clenches, demanding something that he doesn’t seem eager to dish out. “sugar.” he finishes. His fingers glisten.

“Daddy,” you say again. Needier this time. Longing. Wanting.

“Bet you could come untouched from this shit, couldn’t ya?”

The thought makes you shiver, but you shake your head back and forth fast enough to give you whiplash. You want — need him to touch you.

“Aww, poor little thing wants to come?” he all but coos at you. This time, you nod fast enough to take your own head off. “Too bad.”

You squeal as he brings the belt down again, toes wriggling as if they can run away from how electrified your body is. “W-what?” you choke out.

“You want daddy to let you come?”

Your hands fist into the couch cushion. “The fuck do you think?”

You don’t even see him move before you feel the belt, ripping like lightning along your inflamed skin. “After you snuck into my stadium?”

“After you vandalized one ‘a our new uniforms?”

You’ve tensed this time in preparation, but it’s not enough. The next swing of his arm has you crying out. Your pussy clenches and more wetness gushes from you. “Ungh, Daddy!”

“After you came snoopin’ around like the Pink Panther?” Two lashings, for that. Both in rapid succession, crackling flames along your hypersensitive skin. You don’t even have time to give him snark. You wail, and half of it jerks out of you in a ragged moan.

He’s too quick at giving your ass another lash. “After being a cock hungry temptress who’d do anything to get that drippy ‘lil hole between her legs stuffed?”

If you were sore after your first encounter with the man, you fear for your capability to sit after this one. “I’m sorry!” You sniffle a little, and while your eyes may be watering, you squeeze your eyes shut so not to cry. It’s embarrassing enough to be laid out in front of him like this, quivering with juices weeping down your legs.

“Cute,” Joel snorts. “Sorry for what, exactly? Bet you got a laundry list of misdeeds. Risqué little girl like you, so quick to put her ass up in the air and take a beating insteada owin’ up to her mistakes.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. “F-For breaking in.” You frown. “...Twice.”

“Coulda had you in the slammer by now, girl. But no. You just want me, dontcha? All up in your guts…” He grabs your ass cheek and squeezes, kneading the flesh there and leaving it with a shrill slap. You whimper. “Whallopin’ this pretty little peach. Sortin’ you out. Bein’ your daddy.” He grips the inside of your thigh, nudging your legs further apart. His hand, large and ridged with callouses, travels up your knee, over your thigh, down to your core. You shudder.

“Daddy…” you plead. You tilt your head and look up at him properly. How he looms over you, his free hand wrapped around your opposite shoulder so he can hold your side against his thigh. A tiny smirk quirks his lips, and his nose crinkles. There’s a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. “Please.” Your voice comes out as a lust-thickened whisper, bittersweet like molasses.

You think he might throw you a bone. Might thrust a finger or two into your dripping heat, which throbs and has a heartbeat of its own whenever he’s around. Instead, he slaps your mound. Your clit twitches, and you stream slick onto his hand. “Ah! Daddy!”

“Drippin’ like a busted pipe, baby. All from bein’ tossed around a bit.”

You’re floating, now. Or perhaps a more apt way to describe it would be that you’re firmly planted on the ground — just facedown while the room spins and spins and spins.

“Honestly, I didn’t know this elite university admitted little sluts like yourself. Bet you hold yourself all prim and proper while you’re all academic during the day. Then you get home and, what, rub yourself silly? Spank yourself because you know you deserve it? You wanna get split open on this cock, roughed up, talked down to.”

“I do, Daddy, I do!” you whine. “I told you — I’m sorry! For all of it. Please, I want whatever you’ll give me. A-Anything.” You feel as if your bones are matches, each one lit up in a chain reaction all the way to your core, which melts and melts down the insides of your thighs. “I’ll do—”

“Anything, baby?”

You nod eagerly, your moistened lower lip jutting out.

“Alright, alright,” he says. His voice is calmer now. Steady. He pats you on the ass softer this time and taps the couch next to him. You scramble up on the cushions, kicking off your shoes and pants in the process, and lay back. Your fingers twitch with the desire to just touch him. From this angle, you can see the definition of his bulge in his sweats. You remember how all of him felt inside of you, as if your entire body had to reshape itself around him, had to make room for the amount of space he occupies. He tosses his belt onto the coffee table.

Your cunt is a kickdrum between your legs. Juices dribble down the creases of your thighs, and for a moment, you fear that you’re actually ruining another couch of his. If you are, he doesn’t say. Just hitches his waistbands down and —

You audibly moan.

“Slutty ‘lil whore,” he says as he takes his fat cock in hand. Precum beads at the tip, and you find yourself licking your lips. You salivate at the sight of him. The heavy balls hanging low beneath his cock, his girth, and the taut, tan skin of his thighs. He’s enrapturing.

“You’re cute, baby,” he says, but the words are condescending. That’s probably why it makes you drip. “You look real good with them ‘fuck me daddy’ eyes. Maybe they’re jus’ that glossy ‘cause your ass is still stingin’. But you deserve it, dontcha? For wanting it?”

“Yes sir…” His eyes flash with something narrowly close to possession. Your teeth dig into your lower lip. With his free hand, he reaches up to your lips, pulling down your bottom lip and running his tongue along the seam of it. You take it upon yourself to suckle on his thumb, tongue swirling around the rough pad of his fingertip. Your tiny moan buzzes around the digit. “Mmph.”

Joel’s eyes, dark and dilated, trail up your exposed form. “I’d shove my cock down that tight throat of yours, but you ain’t earned it.” His hand drags down your chest, tugging and groping at bare skin. His wet thumb plucks at your nipple. Your hips hitch, grinding against thin air. Joel tuts. “Thought I whipped some sense into ya. Or some goddamn manners, at least.” His hand leaves your chest and pins one of your thighs to the couch. You squirm.

“Daddy,” you mewl. “I need – something.”

“Daddy,” Joel mocks in a high-pitched, imitated whine of your plea. “You stay right still. You’re fortunate enough I’m letting you watch.”

It’s then that you realize what he’s planning to do. Deprive you by jerking himself off all over you.

“No, no, please– I promise I’ll be good! I’ll be good, please, I n-need your co–”

Joel slaps you across the face. Again. This time, it’s harder, enough for your head to roll to the side and your eyes to roll back. Your cunt throbs. Your hearing clangs like windchimes. “Do not whine at me like a petulant child. You’re a damn lucky duck that I ain’t knocked you on your ass for all the shit you been pullin’. So you’ll sit there, and if I see you raise so much as a fuckin’ hair on your head to touch yourself, I ain’t afraid to spank that pussy raw, too. Bet you wouldn’t be touchin’ it if it was all sore and achy.”

You look down and give a small, half-nod.

“Go on. Be a good girl and ask for it,” Joel says, brow hitched. Self-righteous bastard.

You mumble something faintly under your breath.

“Wanna repeat that, baby?”

“Jerk your cock off on my pussy, daddy,” you whimper out, hips still squirming on the couch.

“Mmm, that’s more like it.”

Joel taps his cock against your clothed clit. A warning, almost. “Ngh, daddy, I–”

“Don’t start,” he scowls and inches back a bit. Then, he wraps his hand around his cock and gives himself a languid pump. He groans, eyes going lidded as he starts up at a steady pace.

“I was going to say… I want you to come on me.” You take heavy, labored breaths, matching the rapid rise and fall of Joel’s chest. Sweat is darkening the creases of his shirt as he works himself.

“Yeah? Ain’t a surprise, there. Filthy slut wants daddy’s come all over her pussy? Gonna walk back to your dorm with it dryin’ on your undies?” You’ll make fun of him for that later. But now, all you can do is nod at him. “Or maybe I’ll stuff ‘em in your smart mouth. See how ya feel when you can taste how much of a whore you are.”

You gasp, back arching even though there’s no pleasure for you to chase. He gets off on this. On denying you. Degrading you. It’s a high like nothing else. “Please, I– I want you to stuff them in my mouth–”

Joel hisses. You see his cock twitch in his fist. “Make you walk home all leaky and wanting, just like a hussy should? For all those fits you’ve been pitchin’?” He grunts as his hips roll to meet each wet thrust of his fist. His lips are parted, head hung while he stares at your soaked pussy. How your panties cling to your folds. He moans, thumb brushing over his tip. More precum drips from the head, trailing down his wrist. His back curves inwards as he leans closer to you.

He squeezes the hand he’s got wrapped around your leg. “Daddy, daddy!” He’s close, you can tell. Each breath he takes is short and rasping. Each thrust gets clumsier. You think you could come from this alone. The image of him, huffing and red-faced while he fucks his fist right in front of you and calls you names. “Come on me, please, I want to be covered in you–”

He moans, and his cock jolts in his tight grip. “I’m comin’, baby, I’m comin’.”

Ropes of his cum sprays on the gusset of your panties, once, twice, but before the third spirit, he wraps his hand through the leg holes of your panties and tugs up. You make a choked, frazzled moan, and maybe it’s the way the fabric pinches your clit, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you as if you were made to be devoured. Maybe it’s just how pent up you are.

You tense and then shatter in one go, your orgasm gushing into your panties. Seizing, your back arches up off of the couch as one of your palms clambers for purchase over his. “Fuck, daddy,” you moan pathetically, hips thudding against the couch while you rock into the taut fabric. You fall back, limp and reeling.

“Fuck,” Joel says, breathless. He stares at where your white-stained panties steep in your convulsing cunt, how more juice seeps out of them with each clench of your wrecked pussy. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. “Really are a nasty girl. A little pain slut, aren’t ya baby?” His eyes glitter while he looks at you, and you imagine he must be close enough to getting hard again that he can’t come through on his promises of anger.

“Roll over for me,” he says, tapping your thigh.

“Mmph?” You say, arm thrown over your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut while the aftershocks hurdle through your muscles. “Oh, yeah.” You fumble, and your sweat-slick skin sticks to the couch as you turn yourself over.

You hear a little pop, and can’t help but look over your shoulder. Of course. A Sharpie. This time, it’s gold.

“Gonna get a reputation, Miller,” you smirk at him, kicking your feet while he situates himself between your knees. He tugs your soiled panties off, and, as promised, guides the gusset to your mouth. You suck on it, eyes fluttering as you savor the conjoined musk of your mingling juices. It’s tart, but a little sweet. You feel the marker tugging at your ass, and hiss a little when he traces over a particularly sore spot.

“Yeah, well you already got one. I’m just makin’ sure you don’t forget.” He gives your ass another smack when he’s done, and you squeak. The couch stops slumping, and he pads across the room.

You stay there, head rested into your elbows and panties hanging out of your mouth while he rummages around in the vicinity. He comes back with some aloe gel. Gentle, he removes your panties from your tongue and tosses them on the table. You lick your lips, giving him a knowing look. He only rolls his eyes as he massages it into your bruised skin.

“Went a little hard on you this time, darlin’,” he says after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“I liked it,” you say.

“Yeah, I noticed.” He pats you dry. “If you got any ice packs back in your minifridge, wait a while before you ice that. Gotta let the skin repair for a day or so.”

“Aye-aye,” you say before rolling over to face him again. He’s tugged his sweats back on, but he’s golden with a post-sex glaze, a glow of sweat and contentedness.

“‘M sorry,” he says again.

Your brows pucker. “I already told you, I lik-”

“No, for how I treated ya. Ain’t right to promise you somethin’ I can’t give ya.”

“You just gave it to me. Quite well, might I add,” you tease with a cloying grin.

“I can’t take you out,” he says. Your grin slips. He drags a hand down his face. “Everyone in this fuckin’ state, everyone in the goddamn south, even, knows who I am. Imagine the shit they’d say. Lucas–”

“Is a dick,” you say.

“Is a dick, but is also my kid. My mentee. The future of this team and my career, too. And even though he might be an asshole, he’s a good throw. Not to mention the three decades b’tween us. Not a good look, ‘specially for you. You got a whole world ahead ‘a ya. I can’t take that from you just ‘cause we have good sex.”

“So let’s just keep having good sex,” you say. “It’s the simplest thing in the world.”

“Yeah,” Joel says with a roll of his eyes. “Simple.” But then he seems to look like he’s thinking about it. Properly. He swallows. Crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Fine.”

“Really?” You say, brows raised. You’re surprised that worked.

“Want me to take it back?”

“No,” you say.

He simpers. “Thought so. Now c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He beckons you down the hallway after him, and you scoop your long-abandoned clothes off the floor.

A smarter version of yourself would agree with him. But this version of yourself, the version that hopped his fence tonight, wants nothing more than to run back to the throttle of his hand and the loosening of his belt.

That version of yourself is the one who follows him down the hall.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #coach!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #hook 'em fic

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droppingartintotheinfinite · 10 months ago

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ok, so this is a mass-isekai story, sort of.

it’s not quite the typical “oh, woe, i have been summoned from my home world and now i am trapped here forever” that you usually expect from this sort of thing.

see, the isekai victims don’t actually stop their lives on earth. the guy who made the summoning ritual wasn’t the original person to figure out summoning - he was just the one who figured out how to get people from an alternate universe.

he repurposed a ritual that’s actually fairly common for diplomats - and for spies.

see, what it does is it creates a second body for the subject that’s identical to their original one. whenever the original body goes to sleep, the other one wakes up, and vice versa.

this is usually used to allow for convenient and secure communication over long distances. you just summon someone who lives in the next kingdom over, tell them whatever while they’re in that body, and then they relay it to the local monarch or what-have-you once they’re back in the other one.

and if one body dies, the other one continues just fine, so it’s pretty handy if you’re worried about assassination, too.

Ok so it’s always been my secret dream to be one of those cool bloggers who talk about their ocs on main and i’ve decided that’s a fairly realistic thing to aspire to, actually, so i might as well make an attempt at it

so i have this original story, right? (yes, i know, a massive shock considering the amount of fan content i produce)

i’ve had a very basic concept for it since way back when i thought up the first character, when i was like…. 10ish? possibly younger? and lately i’ve been fleshing it out a bit more and trying to turn it into something i actually feel motivated to try and bring to life

the original premise was a fairly standard fantasy story, but since then it’s undergone some… major revisions

we start with a fantasy world. it’s called ogygia, for reasons i’ll get to. ogygia is technically just one of several continents on this world, but the other ones don’t really appear in the story, so we’ll ignore them today.

ogygia is a pretty typical melting pot fantasy setting, albeit with a few less friendly nonhuman races than average. they’ve got mages, ancient sleeping dragons, mermaids that eat people who go in the big lakes, fairies that eat people who go in the magic forests, sea monsters that eat people who go in the oceans…

you know. all the fun stuff.

anyway, one day some guy figures out how to summon people from earth and sells the method to every interested party on the continent.

unsurprisingly, this causes a lot of problems.

#i’ll probably explain the magic system in its own post #i’m omitting the technical details here for brevity #but i actually did spend a fair amount of time coming up with how it works and what the rules are #so that it works in a way that can do the stuff i need without feeling too overpowered or too arbitrary #self reblog #text post #raina’s magic funtimes #sol speaks #phase 52

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shanastoryteller · 1 year ago

Note

Happy holidays! Lady mo please?

a continuation of 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59

Jiang Yanli does not often feel old. Her golden core does not keep her eternally young like it does her brother, does not prevent the more persistent illnesses from plaguing her, but it does east the aches and pains non cultivators her age often complain of, does keep her skin youthful without the aid of strange poultices and she’ll probably never need dyes to keep her hair dark. But she feels old now, watching Xuanyu and Lan Wangji fumble around one another, watching her struggle for the affection of a husband who might care for her, but does not treat her with care.

At least by the time she married Zixuan, he’d told her that he loved her.

“What was all the commotion about?” Zixuan asks, arms encircling her waist as he tugs her back against his chest now that they’re back in their own quarters.

“Your cousin got drunk and pissed off the wrong people. Again.”

He huffs, his breath warm against her neck. “Yanli. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I know A-Yao thinks I’m stupid, but even I notice servants running about and clan leaders and their wives going missing. Especially when one of them is mine.”

“A-Yao doesn’t think you’re stupid,” Jiang Yanli says, even though he kind of does. He thinks most people are stupid and Zixuan has at least grown out of taking it personally. That doesn’t mean she has to rub it in. “Xuanyu was just – a little upset. About things.”

“Lan Xichen likes her. Lan Wangji’s kid adores her. And we all saw what Lan Wangji thinks,” he says. Defending is also not the same thing as caring, but she doesn’t say that. “A-Yao even calls her our sister. Do you remember how long it took him to call me brother? It seems like it’s going well.”

If it had gone a little less well, she’d be less distraught.

Jiang Yanli is debating how much she can say without revealing Xuanyu’s pregnancy – enough people know that it won’t stay a secret for long, but Zixuan is terrible at faking surprise – when there’s a loud, frantic knocking at their door.

Zixuan frowns and goes to open the door.

“Fuck off,” slurs a familiar, beloved voice.

Jiang Yanli hides a smile and goes to stand next to her husband.

A-Cheng is standing there, sort of, considering he’s mostly being supported but a long-suffering Li Jun. “Meimei said she won’t deal with him anymore.”

“Ah,” Zixuan says, already resigned.

A-Cheng stumbles forward, grabbing her wrist and tugging her towards the table. He blearily glares at Zixuan. “Go away.”

He sighs, leaning down to kiss her and then saying, “I suppose I’ll be in a guest room.” He makes a face, remembering that the tower is full of foreign disciples. “Somewhere.”

He’s going to end up sleeping in their son’s room and A-Ling is going to complain about it. Loudly.

“Good night,” she says, barely keeping from laughing as she closes the door on Li Jun side eyeing Zixuan. Her sect has never completely forgiven Zixuan for being a teenage boy, not matter that she’s spent over a decade in the Jin rather than the Jiang.

She lets A-Cheng pull her down beside him at the table, leaning his head on his arm while he stares at her. She pours him a cup of water that she hopes he’ll drink. “Are you all out of sorts because of Xuanyu too?”

His face goes blank then it creases and he’s turns to hide it in the bend of his elbow.

With the first stirrings of genuine alarm, Jiang Yanli realizes he’s crying.

“A-Cheng? A-Cheng, what’s wrong?” she asks, putter her arm over his back and pulling him into her side like she used to when they were kids.

The words come out muffled, but he says, “I hate him. How could he – I hate him.” Then, quieter, in a tone that doesn’t match the words at all, “I hate him.”

She runs through everyone who’s here, every cultivator she saw A-Cheng speak to, but it’s a fool’s errand. No one gets to him like this. No one but –

“Wei Wuxian came back.”

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #xxqiao #untamed

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bluberryfields · 1 year ago

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"David is very easy to fall in love with." - Michael Sheen

Hi. How are you? Good, I hope. Okay, so can we talk about just how fucking beautiful David Tennant is? And by “we” I mean “I” and by “talk” I mean “babble incoherently into the void”? Great! I’ll attempt to impose a bit of organization on this just to satisfy my pathological need to inflict structure on words (thanks college/job/brain), but I can’t promise much. Also, there will be A LOT of pictures and gifs. (you’re welcome?)

And this isn’t just because I am deep in the bottomless well of Good Omens fandom and that Crowley is basically the most breathtaking creature that has ever existed. Well, not just because of that.

*cue Aziraphale's "good lord" from 1793*

ANYWAY, like a lot of people, I became a fan of (i.e., fell deeply and irrevocably in love with) DT during his run as the 10th Doctor. He was young and bright and full of just about everything – joy, sorrow, wit – making him incredibly watchable. His look was also so charming: big bouncy rooster comb of hair, absurdly cheeky smile, expressive-as-fuck eyes and eyebrows, and a tall, lanky form that seemed to be made of rubber and the kind of granulated sugar that could only be found in candy from the 90s that are now banned in all first- and second-world countries.

So yeah, I was super into him and his Doctor’s adventures. And I continued to watch him in other projects and still swoon (looking at you, slutty Hamlet)

even at characters where that was not the desired reaction (fuck you, Kilgrave, you delicious monster).

I would also always become a bit (a lot) weak in the knees at his voice regardless of which accent he took on, though always preferring him doing any Scottish brogue because of fucking course.

youtube

Roll that tongue, you sexy beast.

But what I want to get into today is just how incredible he looks in the year of 2023.

He’s 52 years old and I am somehow even more attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I am myself older, and my tastes have matured alongside? I certainly do enjoy gray hair way more than I did 10 years ago.

He’s aged incredibly well, probably a combination of good genes and good health, and he’s clearly not clinging to the Hollywood idea of “youth”.

(insert obligatory grumble about the double standards of men being praised for aging and women being demonized…the potentially problematic nature of the term “aging well” in general…acknowledge this with my enlightened brain but ignore this with my slutty heart…fuck the patriarchy, etc. etc.)

He’s still tall and skinny, even gangly at times, all long arms and legs that can move in impossible directions with unfathomable grace.

His face is leaner, that incredible bone structure creating sharper edges that draw the eye. Speaking of the face, he’s got these creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth that are evidence of time spent well: smiling, laughing, living. Makes you want to trace your fingertips along each one.

Oh god that smile? Good lord. It’s weapons grade charm that can also be quite intimidating. Sweet, humble, silly, scary…full spectrum of options here! His shark smile is the definition of “irresistible” in my Dictionary of Delicious Dudes.

I am both proud of and grossed out by my own word choice.

Continuing with that face...the hawkish nose, the dimples you want to drown in, the big eyes, those motherfucking eyebrows...

I could seriously write a whole essay about those eyebrows, but I already give my therapist enough to worry about.

Oh those eyes. “Piercing” is a term usually reserved for blue eyes, but I would argue it applies to DT’s bottomless chocolate pools in that they slice through my heart every damn time.

Honorable mention does go to those Crowley snake eyes because they could have been distracting and diminishing to his overall look, but they absolutely are not.

Such a pretty shade of yellow.

Random tangent to swoon about his hands. For whatever reason, I like checking out a man’s hands, and DT’s got a set that drives me wild. I can’t even really explain why, but I just really like the way he articulates with them. Crowley is a perfect example, what with the miracle snaps, caressing globes, and holding whisky glasses. Yum.

Delicious demon digits

Fresh tangent: How does this fucker look good clean shaven, with stubble, and a goddamn beard? How is that allowed?

He's got a face that makes me wanna take up sculpting

Further, how is his fucking neck so hot? Like, seriously, show me the math. I can’t stop staring at it. And when it’s cloaked in a turtleneck? Please, sir, may I have some more?

Fuuuuuuuck

With no segue whatsoever, I am absolutely obsessed with his hair, across all contexts. Big, bold, blood-red Crowley coifs (especially in Season 2)? Check.

Proper gentleman side part? Check.

Side shave with cartoonishy springy 14th Doctor shock? Check.

Lockdown locks with and without headband? Check!

It’s a goddamn buffet of delicious options.

Oh damn speaking of that 14th Doctor look? Good fucking Christ on a buttery Ritz cracker. The whole DT collection is on display: the hair, the eyes, the bone structure, the smile, the clothes, and even the glasses!

To quote Pam on Archer, “I swear to god, you could drown a toddler in my panties right now! I mean, not that you would.”

Now that you (I) mention the clothes, I never cease to marvel at how he can wear pretty much anything and look amazing. Stripes, patterns, wild colors, etc. He just always looks…not exactly comfortable, but sort of at ease like the clothes were created with him in mind. And this goes across the spectrum of Casual to Costume to Promotional (e.g., interviews and premieres).

They are almost illegally cute together

We all know by now how ridiculously tight those Crowley pants are and how it influenced his signature serpentine swagger (thank you, Costume department, you’re the real heroes). That said, he and those slinky hips still looks so incredibly natural in them like they came from his actual closet.

Stupid sexy snek

And he pulls off the look of more ridiculous stuff like full Shakespearean costumes or that sad gray-hoodie-black-shorts-and-Wellington-boots combo from the first season of Staged. He somehow gives off the air of “whatever, they’re just clothes, man” while also looking like a damn model.

Georgia is a very lucky woman

Final thoughts: I know DT dislikes talking about how people think he’s so attractive because I’m sure it feels a bit icky if you just want to live your life and do your job. But my guy also clearly understands that he’s not some ghoul who has succeeded on incredible personality and acting chops alone. So, that said, maybe he'll forgive me for posting such a long, rambling, ode to him?

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essycogany · 1 year ago

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Rare But Not So Rare Sonic Moments. Character Analysis.

Crying

A weird topic I’m more then happy to discuss.

Mandate: “Sonic’s not allowed to get overly emotional.”

I’m starting to think the mandates do break in a few instances. This one specifically is something I’m quite interested in because this is probably one of the rarest emotions Sonic displays. Getting sad/emotional.

Hopefully this essay will be a positive outlook on the mandate.

(Despite being a discussion about negative emotions.)

Examples Of Sonic Getting Emotional

I might not include everything, but the examples I have knowledge of will be stated. If you have anymore examples, I’d love to see them.

SATAM: Sonic cried when he and the Freedomfighters had to leave his Uncle Chuck in Robotnik’s lab.

Archie: The times Sonic cried/teared up was when the weight of a situation got to him, when something tragic occurred and all hope was lost, or when he was filled with joy after those instances ended. Those moments like others, didn’t go too far. (For the most part)

Pretty sure he never out right sobbed.

Underground: I think Sonic only cried when he was a little kid.

Correct me if I’m wrong.

X: In episode 52 Sonic allowed his tears to shed with his head turned away from us. He and Chris ran one last time before Sonic left through a portal to go home forever. It obviously crushed him even if we didn’t see his face.

Boom: Sonic cried/teared up in two episodes of the show. First when Tails was reminiscing about the Tornado and noticed Sonic wiping his eyes. Sonic replied, “What?” Then he, Knuckles, and Tails all cried when they thought the baby they took care of was gone. Also, in Archie when Stick’s rock friend broke or “Died,” everyone in team Boom morned it. Sonic included.

IDW: Sonic shed tears in the Scrapnick Island Issue. Even if it was “Mecha Sonic’s” tears I’ll count it anyways because it’s a good loophole and it came out of Sonic’s eyes.

Movie 1: It’s implied he indeed cried during the baseball scene. The sources being a deleted scene and story-board of the film.

Prime: This doesn’t really count, but Sonic teared up in the first episode when he was held captive by the Chaos Council and had light blasted in his eyes, when he was in darkness. Then Sonic actually cried in episode 7 when he ate a seadog. Either because he was home-sick or starving.

(In the last episode of season two it’s implied he might cry in the next episode. Especially with the shot of him looking on the verge of tears and then covered his eyes in the background of the last shot, but we’ll see.)

By the way. You can see the instant improvement from episode 1 to 7 of the tears animation. Just thought I’d say that.

My Overall Thoughts

Hold on because this is going to be a long ride.

First thing I’d like to discuss is the mandate itself.

I personally don’t believe it means, “Sonic shouldn’t cry.”

(Which has been stated a bunch)

If that were the case, I don’t think this majority of moments (specifically the recent ones) would’ve happened. I think the mandate meant Sonic couldn’t and or shouldn’t go too far with his emotions. I don’t think the mandate existing makes any since, but I won’t get into that.

My point is, Sonic can cry, just not in an overly dramatized way unless it’s done for comedic purposes.

(I say that because of Sonic Boom and the 7th episode of Prime examples. Which are obviously not meant to be taken seriously)

My opinions on Sonic crying.

It’s not necessarily needed, but I don’t mind if it’s done well. I do believe Sonic shouldn’t go too far unless the situation does.

One Issue in Archie when Sonic’s entire life was basically ruined, is a good example. If you’re going to have such calamities happen to him, especially since he has zero ego or mask to hold onto, I think it’s a fair enough scenario for him to react as drastic as his misfortune.

But I believe if he were to cry in something like the Metal Virus. (Just for an example) it could be like how Espio teared up after Vector’s sacrifice.

Crazy idea. Let’s talk about Shadow for a minute.

Shadow is one of the most stoic characters in the entire franchise. He barely smiles, gets excited, or displays any overly positive emotions. While Sonic rarely cries, gets angry, or shows any harsh negative emotions. Shadow and Sonic are opposites because of that.

Sonic’s overall a positive and outgoing guy who wants to keep moving forward. Whenever he has the time to worry, he runs. Faces his problems head on. Sonic only let’s a small amount of his true emotions out when helping someone else. In general Sonic’s a pretty optimistic character.

Shadow on the other hand is a reserved and serious guy. Who wants what’s best for the world too, but in a more calculated and planned out manner. But for some reason, in Sonic Adventure 2 after Amy encouraged Shadow to save the world, (Which reminded him of Maria’s real wish) He sheds a tear.

I repeat. Shadow is the most stoic character in the entire franchise. Who rarely shows his emotions. And yet he cries.

Why can’t Sonic? To be fair, Sonic usually doesn’t have time to think, let alone worry about how he feels. But if Shadow himself can have a short moment of releasing his emotional baggage, why can’t the blue blur?

Is Sonic even as happy as he let’s on?

I’d say he’s genuinely happy half of the time. Then the other half Sonic’s internalizing everything negative in him. Everyone knows Sonic’s overall upbeat, but we’ve seen plenty of times (In the Metal Virus specifically) when he’s thinking, or enduring the chaos around him, he doubts himself. Sonic has these insecurities and emotions he barely let’s anyone see.

Besides Issue #24

Even in Sonic Prime while Sonic shows the most guilt, sincerity, anger, fear, and sadness in the show. He sometimes still puts on a front and acts like everything’s fine.

Sonic Unleashed I’m pretty sure was the first and only time we’ve seen him mope for a minute. All because Amy didn’t know who he was. So, he does have some level of insecurities lingering every once in a while.

Can Sonic crying even work?

How I interpret him crying is when he’s alone. Some people theorize in certain instances like SA2 and Unleashed with Shadow and Chip’s sacrifices, he cried a little. I’m fascinated by this idea. I believe it’s the most in character way to let him cry. Maybe even something like X when his face isn’t shown, but you know how he’s feeling.

Even if we do see Sonic’s face, him crying or tearing up could be shown without being over the top. Normalize it in a way that doesn’t fly off the handle. His expression could have a hint of frustration, anger, or exhaustion. Crying is normal and I don’t see Sonic crying as out of character because it’s been done plenty of times.

It’d be nice if it happened in order to make Sonic feel more believable and sympathetic. As long as the dude’s not on the floor whaling, I’m sure it can work.

Final Thoughts

There are other ways to show Sonic’s emotions. Again, crying doesn’t have to happen, but it does help the writing feel less unnecessarily limited of what kind of emotions can be displayed on this character.

Though there are benefits too. Like finding fun loopholes or small animated details like in IDW and Prime. Sonic not crying so much makes the times he does (or may do in the future) feel earned and impactful. The examples before prove it can be done without taking away what makes Sonic who he is. It just needs to be subtle, quiet, and quick. (Or humorous) Depends on what you think.

At the end of it all, Sonic’s a tough hedgehog. Him shedding a few tears won’t ever change that.

Stay Creative! 💜

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akirathedramaqueen · 5 months ago

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Octavia's and Blitzø's potential relationship development

I believe that the show, despite Octavia openly hating Blitzø, gives us some hints that they have much more in common than it seems. I’ve noticed a couple of moments where Blitzø and Octavia are… pretty much in sync, if that makes sense.

Here are those moments I’ve noticed… maybe stretched in some places, but! Hear me out!

1. Here, they don’t hear each other, but both are repulsed by Stolas’s obnoxious language and express the same reaction. It’s funny that Stolas is the one calling them out.

[Blitzø]: WHAT [Octavia]: THE [Blitzø]: FUCK [Octavia]: DAD?! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 4:52

2. They also share a distaste for Stolas’s behavior throughout the episode, albeit in slightly different ways. In fact, this serves as a great demonstration of how deaf and blind Stolas is to obvious social cues at the beginning of the series—he doesn’t stop even when directly asked to do so on multiple occasions.

Blitzø is disgusted by Stolas’s awkward, overly sexual advances and demeaning language towards him and his work.

[Stolas]: You are so cute when you are serious! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 6:06

Octavia is taken aback by essentially the same. However, she blames both of them, understandably failing to recognize that Blitzø is just as uncomfortable as she is. From her perspective, Blitzø is a homewrecker who contributed to destroying her parents' marriage.

[Stolas]: You know, it's quite thrilling to see you on the job, Blitzy.[Blitzø]: Save it, bitch, I am working. [Octavia]: You both need to get a room. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 8:20

3. They share the hate for the same clown!

[Blitzø and Octavia]: I hate that fucking clown. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 8:50

4. They seem to have similar tastes in music! The song My World Is Burning Down Around Me, which Octavia plays to tune out Stella’s screaming, is also heard in Blitzø’s van when he comes to pick up Loona in the Queen Bee episode, although it’s only instrumental. Here, have a look. If, for some reason, the service with the timeframes isn’t working, I’ll also provide the timings in writing so you can check it yourself on YouTube.

Octavia turns on the song, and for a while, we can hear the lyrics before it fades into the background as the scene shifts to Stella yelling at Stolas and later to Stolas’s conversation with Octavia. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 2:52 - 3:50

The song’s instrumental version can be heard when Blitzø’s van arrives, and the background noise at Queen Bee’s club is different, so there’s no chance for misinterpretation. It is the music Blitzø’s was listening to. S1EP8, Queen Bee, 8:20 - 9:14

5. Haha, they freak out in the same way in the Seeing Stars episode! I know it’s probably just a stylistic choice to transition from Octavia’s initial experience with LA to Blitzø having to contact Stolas and explain what happened. However, I might be indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, suggesting that this similarity in their stress responses could have some deeper meaning.

S2EP2, Seeing Stars, 4:42

So-o... What am I trying to say with all these points I've made?

Like the kind of delulu who yells, "Ghostfuckers, save us!" (we know Viv, we know how trying to put our hopes up ends, haha), I draw a complete unhinged card and I am going to make a very bold claim:

I think that once Stolas and Blitzø finally get their shit and themselves back together, and Octavia realizes there’s much more to the story than, “Oh, it’s just horny dad cheated on my mum with a red lizard dickhead and my dad ruined my family,” Octavia could actually bond with Blitzø quite nicely, and he would make a good second dad to her! Well, don’t get me wrong. She might never want to take it to that level. Also, we don’t know how things will turn out, nor do we know her relationship with her mum, Stella.

But I do believe that their parallels were thrown in for a reason. Despite the circumstances, they can, and maybe will, be on much better terms than they currently are.

Go on, call me delusional and leave me be in my complete denial corner. <3 I admit I do tend to forget the current state of the Stolitz relationship in the series, as in my world, where I’m prioritizing my time working on that fic, they are finally together. I am bitter-sweetly excited that @tealvenetianmask and I are slowly but surely getting close to finishing it. :)

(Yes, yes, it was shameless self-promotion—sue me for the unlawful use of a speculatory-analytical post space to promote our version of Stolitz working hard to sort out their issues post Apology Tour and having some silly and horny fun along the way.)

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txtaetertots · 2 years ago

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hopelessly devoted. — choi beomgyu x fem!reader

status COMPLETE (230619 - 240807)

cw/genre swearing, twt humor bc twt humor, banter, bullying, SLOW BURN, slice of life, romcom, probably gonna be corny hfdjjz, social media au w/ written parts, also pls ignore time stamps they're not important nor accurate lol

synopsis choi beomgyu has spent his entire senior year slacking off and causing mischief. but, due to his inattentiveness, his slacking off went too far and if he doesn't improve the grade in his literature class he'll guarantee himself a seat in summer school. yn has big dreams to be on stage and star on broadway. however, she needs to impress recruiters with one last production as the lead in order to earn herself a spot in a new york based school. when beomgyu's literature teacher makes him join their drama club for extra credit, their futures quickly become intertwined and dependent on each other.

featuring le sserafim members, hanni (newjeans), bahiyyih (kep1er), ocs, and mentions of others

taglist CLOSED

profiles four and a half girls, the nba (benchwarmers), others

note my first social media au on tumblr !! hopefully it's an enjoyable read :')) i have so many ideas for txt aus i can't wait to share them! i'm most excited to share this beomgyu one so i hope you all enjoy ♡︎ - yuri

Acts

01. report and block soobin

02. nyu decision day

03. second review

04. spring production (written+)

05. i'm sandy

06. auditions (written)

07. cast list from hell

08. wtf mr. kim (written)

09. welcome to hell

10. first read through

11. perfect harmony (written+)

12. it’s just a little infatuation

13. it’s just coffee

14. annoying friends (written+)

15. cruel and unusual punishment

16. the deal

17. shameless

18. very interesting

19. it comes so naturally

20. awfully close

21. please believe me

22. predicament

23. nopenopenope

24. i’ll kick you

25. it’s just a kiss (written+)

26. it’s called method acting

27. long time no talk

28. apology(?)

29. focus on me (written)

30. beomie

31. i never said that

32. yeonjun and soojung

33. soulmates

34. you’re the one that i want (written)

35. mixed feelings

36. everybody talks

37. yunjin’s plan

38. baby jungie

39. i don’t feel so good

40. you’re not who i thought you were

41. i’m not a bad guy

42. yeonjun and beomgyu

43. one last date

44. best friends and brothers

45. my love

46. we’re done

47. last day

48. the promposal (written)

49. the aftermath

50. beomgyu’s aftermath

51. friends night

52. hiyyih tells all

53. regroup new plan

54. please forgive me

55. the truth comes out

56. operation: save yeonjun

57. getting ready

58. opening night (written)

59. yeonjun’s aftermath

60. the decision

61. because of you

62. the last curtain call (written)

63. nyu tisch

64. make it count

65. best choice

66. will you help me?

67. dress shopping

68. prom (written)

69. scariest mission yet

70. we go together (written) [end]

Epilogues

summer travels | new york bound | happily ever after

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skylar-325 · 5 months ago

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Probably the only time i’ll get to see (3)SKK, (6)First Prince, (15)Minsung, (27)Wangxian, (28)Percabath, (34)SSKK, (36)Hualien, (40)Stolitz, (52)Solangelo, (60)Joongdok and (100) Ivantill on one page. Congratulations my bbs 🥹

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me-loving-woso · 1 year ago

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Rebuilding the Family aka Monthly visits Part 4

Hey! Okay, I know I have been MIA for more than two months, BUT you have to be proud of me because I finished another part of Monthly visits AND started part 2 of Bruises Apologies and Cookies. This is Part 4 of Monthly visits I hope you enjoy. It's not proofread but I wanted to give y'all something. These are the previous Chapters: Monthly visits, Meeting the Family, The Aftermath

“Alexia?” Your hand dropped from the door knob to your side. You were definitely surprised to see her.

“Hi.” She greets you shyly, so timidly that you can’t recognize her voice. You cross your arms, waiting for her to continue. “Is it a bad time? Should I come some other time? I can totally come tomorrow, maybe at a more decent time. I should go-“

“Alexia, slow down. You are rambling. Do you want to come in? This is your house too, and you might miss Nala.” You offer her. She gave you a shy smile and entered her home.

“I missed it here. The hotel room sucked.” She says tiredly, yawning. You could see from her face that she hadn’t slept much. You figured that she has probably been on the plane or in an airport these past two days.

“How long have you been awake?” You ask her worriedly while she kneels on the floor, reuniting with her dog after so much.

She looks at her watch, which her father used to wear, “52 hours now.” She says, looking at you. “I missed you so much, Y/n. I’m really sorry about all of it. I know I have much explaining to do, and you probably have much, if not more, to say to me. But the last two days have been pretty intense. And I really need a hug, please.” She looks at you, nearly begging for it, with glassy eyes.

“Come here.” She puts down the little dog and almost runs towards you, putting her arms on your neck, trying to keep you as close as possible for at least a minute.

“I’m really sorry. Do you hate me now?”

You remove her from your embrace, cupping her face. “I could never hate you, okay? Now, we have many things to discuss, and you, woman, you have a lot of making up to do. And not the sex type, okay?” You whisper, not wanting to wake up the kids. She puts her hands on top of yours and nods, pulling your foreheads together.

Then you push her, maybe a little too harshly, making her look at you extremely confused. “And this is because you went MIA for two days after storming out of a match. Power move, by the way. But you made me extremely worried. I nearly booked a flight to New Zealand because of you.” You point your finger at her.

“My phone died just before I went to the airport. I’m sorry if I worried you.” She apologizes, looking at the floor.

“I’ll text your mom, sister, and our teammates that you are safe, here with me.” She nods, yawning again.

“Alexia, you should go to sleep. You are exhausted.”

“But we have to talk; I need to make it right. I need-“She pleads.

“No buts. Now you go to sleep; tomorrow, when you are more rested, we will talk about everything, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll go to the hotel down the street and call you tomorrow?” She asks, hopeful.

“Have you already booked the room?”

“What?”

“Have you already booked the room at the hotel?”

“No, I didn’t. Hopefully, they have a spare room for me.” She says, scratching her eyes, making you smile at her cuteness. You always loved it when she was tired. She was less composed and in control and more herself.

“Stay here.” You say earnestly. “I bet you miss your bed and old clothes; I just cleaned your favorite shirt, which you wear only on special occasions. Plus, this is your house, too. You shouldn’t sleep in a hotel.”

“Only if you are okay with it. And the kids, of course. How are they, by the way?”

“They are great; Ava misses you a lot.”

“Lucia?”

“She’s a little mad that you left me and didn’t say goodbye to them. She’s just very protective, but she’ll come around. We’ll talk more about it later. Now go to sleep, Ale.”

She goes up the stairs but stops midway, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Do you want some company while you get ready to bed?” You joke.

“Always.” She smiles, making you go into the bedroom with her. While she goes in the shower, you sit on the edge of the bed, texting everyone that Alexia is here with you and there is nothing to worry about.

As soon as she leaves the bathroom, you see her with half-dried hair, only with some shorts and her shirt on. She goes on the edge of her part of the bed and gets inside the sheets, making you turn your body to look at her.

“Goodnight Alexia.” You stand up, not knowing what to do; it was the second time you didn’t sleep on the same bed, the first time being when you stole the keys to the pitch.

“Wait, where are you sleeping?”

“On the couch with Nala.”

“But I thought-“

“I can’t sleep with you, Alexia; we need to discuss what happened with Vilda and us. I’m still mad and hurt. So tomorrow, the kids will probably be out all morning, so that is when we’ll talk if that’s what you want.”

“That’s all I want.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight.”

“Night.” You give her a last look, and then you go downstairs.

The following day, you wake up early with an ache from sleeping on the couch all over your body. The first thing you do is to silently check on Alexia; you find her still sleeping, hugging your pillow. You leave her a note saying that you will be going soon and coming back in approximately an hour.

You bring Ava to Nico, who offered to take Ava out after yesterday’s casual visit from Alexia so that you could talk properly with her. Meanwhile, Lucia would be going to the pitch again because she wanted to start the season with Barcelona B prepared and in shape. You admired her dedication, even though you told her it was unnecessary.

As soon as you got home, past 10 am, you found Alexia with a cup of coffee in her hand while she was scrolling through some news on her tablet; this felt very familiar, making you not know how to feel. This thought was soon interrupted by Nala, who ran to you, waiting for cuddles; this made Alexia turn around to you and smile.

“Good Morning.”

“Good Morning to you, too.” You picked up the dog and gave her some food, then went to the kitchen, putting the car keys on the countertop.

“If you want, there is some coffee left.” She informs you while you rummage through your cabinets, trying to find a mug.

“I really missed your coffee.” You say, looking at her, sitting down in front of her, “You can’t cook for shit, but you always know how to make great coffee.”

“I can cook!” She says, offended.

“We both know that you can cook only two dishes.” You chuckle.

“Okay, that’s true.” She agrees, chuckling, then turning the conversation into a very awkward silence.

Both of you hated confrontation, so this was going to be interesting. You knew that you had to talk, or else you could risk losing each other, which neither of you was looking forward to, but simultaneously, you didn’t want to have any uncomfortable conversations.

“Y/-“

“Alex-“You both say at the same time, stopping, trying to make the other speak. This was going to be complicated.

“You go.” You offer.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I just wanted to apologize for everything. I’m so sorry. What I did was shitty and cowardly.” She says, keeping her face as open as possible.

“You just did what you felt was right at that moment. I mean, the timing was a little bad. Really bad. But you did what you thought was right.”

“I realized something while I was away.”

“What?”

“I remember that some time ago, a really bad interviewer asked me who did I play for. Initially, I didn’t reply because I thought it was a weird question to ask, which completely discredits my career. But when I came home, I thought about it and realized I didn’t know. I know that when my dad died, I played for him and dedicated everything to him, and I still do. But somewhere along the way, I realized I don’t know anymore. Since I won the Ballon d’Or, everybody wanted to talk to me and wanted me to perform and play in a certain way. Still, after returning from my ACL, the expectations were even higher. How was I supposed to play freely when everybody wanted me to play another way? In all honesty, I was in some way jealous of you. You didn’t change, and if someone pressured you, you would tell them to fuck off or wouldn’t listen to them. What really grounded me was that I could come back home to you, and everything was normal and good. You gave me stability in my hectic life. And when we got the kids, I-“

“So now it’s the kids’ fault? Don’t blame it on them or me, okay?” You say a little defensively. “I gave you a choice and gave you an out many times, and you signed the fucking custody papers with me, so don’t tell me that you weren’t given any choice or some other excuse.” You cross your arms, waiting for her to speak up, while she sighs defeated.

“It’s not that, Y/n; I always wanted to have kids, you know that. I always knew that I wanted kids with you, and I don’t blame it on the kids or you. I only blame it on myself. Okay? I feel like shit; I swore to you that I would never leave you.”

“No, you don’t get it, you made me feel like I was back again with my parents, and they told me to fuck off and to never show up again and gave me no explanation. I felt like I did something wrong. I have been dying inside since you left me, trying to understand why. It felt like you took me for granted.” You say vulnerably, trying to keep your emotions at bay, something the person in front of you was failing.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so selfish. I-I didn’t think about that.” She says now, wiping her tears away from her eyes. You always hated it when she cried. “I’m such an idiot. I know I fucked up Y/n. I was trying to say that I realized that my family is the only people I have to care about and be accountable for my actions. And you are my family. You and the kids. And I’m really sorry that I haven’t figured it out sooner. But I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe that and trust me again.”

“Took you long enough.” You chuckle wetly, her little speech making you emotional; nobody has ever told you that you were their family or part of one.

“Please tell me that is not too late.” She asks pleading.

“That is up to you.” You say earnestly. “My priority now is the kids. And I need you to show me that I will be one of your priorities and that I’m not taken for granted, and what you did won’t happen again because I don’t think I could survive that.”

“I’ll do anything. I’ll leave football if you want me to. You are too important and the only thing that matters.” She says desperately, but you could see that she wasn’t lying, and that was all that you needed to hear.

“Okay, maybe nothing that extreme. But you’ll have to make it up to me properly.” You give her a playful smirk. “You can start by taking me on a date. I want to be wooed and be given flowers. If you want me, you’ll have to start again from the beginning. Clean slate. And this doesn’t mean that everything is forgotten.”

She smiled shyly, nodding, but you could see she was happy you had given her a second chance. “Let’s see if you still have some game after nearly four years.” You tease her, winking.

“Oh, I definitely do.” She says confidently, making you shake your head in awe.

“Now, come here. I missed you, Amorcito.” You say not containing yourself anymore. You were glad that you managed to clear the air with Alexia. Even though you knew that it wouldn’t be like before, you were taking those steps in the right direction. “You made me worry so much during the match.” You say while she rounds the table and sits on your lap. You hug her sides and put your head on her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am.” She kisses you on the top of your head, bringing you closer.

“Are you sure?” You whisper.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Let’s get on the couch first.” She stands up, takes your hand, and leads you to the living room. She sat between your legs and began telling you what happened during the World Cup. How Jorge was always trying to blame the team if his ideas weren’t working, and how he would always target Alexia, making little comments about how since she broke her ACL, she wasn’t playing the same, and that if it weren’t for her popularity, he wouldn’t have even put her on the roster. To ‘punish’ her, he stripped her of her role as team captain, stating that her leadership wasn’t needed.

“I totally disagree with that,” you say, getting angrier as she continues talking.

“I didn’t know what to think anymore, and I started believing in what he was saying. We were underperforming, and for him, I was the one to blame, even though we were in eleven to play in a match.”

Then she explained to you what happened in the match against the USA. The morale in the squad was already low, and in all that, he began guilt-tripping the players.

“As soon as the final whistle blew, everyone was sad, but I felt relieved; I finally didn’t have to endure that anymore. I went to drink some water, and he snatched the bottle from me; I think he told me I didn’t deserve to drink because I disappointed the whole nation, and I laughed at his face. He grabbed my arm, and he began insulting me and telling me every little thing I did wrong. Then Ona and Aitana approached us and tried to understand what was happening. I didn’t want them to be involved or that Jorge would begin releasing his anger on them, so I tried to push them away, but they wouldn’t budge.”

“They tried to protect you.” You explain, stating the obvious.

“I know, but unintentionally, they made it worse. He started getting personal, telling me nobody cared about me and that if you cared about me, you would’ve been here. And that nobody gives a shit about me, if not for my status. I laughed at him and walked out.” She says without displaying any emotions whatsoever.

“He’s such an asshole. You don’t have to believe him a bit. You are a great player and a great person. Nobody should ever doubt that, okay?”

She nods, still with some uncertainty in her eyes. You take her face in your hands and make her look at you. “Okay?” You say emphatically.

“Okay.” She smiles at you, then sinks into your embrace, trying to find comfort.

“So, how are the kids?” You smile at her question and begin to tell her everything that happened. How they met some of your teammates, Mapi, and especially what Lucia had told everybody.

“And then she told Paños, Patri, and Claudia that I was a better mom this month than her real mother had been in sixteen years. And I don’t know Alexia, but I felt like what I did, what we did for them, was worth all of it, from the social workers to building a bedroom from our closet. I felt so happy. And you know, it gave me the hope that maybe I can be a good mom for them.” You say hopefully, feeling a little embarrassed. You hide your face in the crook of her neck.

“Of course, you are a great mom and don’t have to be ashamed. Carry it with pride.” She says to you proudly, caressing your cheek. “I hope that someday I could be that for them too.”

“You will. Kids love you.” You say earnestly. “Oh, and by the way, I think Lucia might have a secret boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” She removes herself from your embrace and sits with her legs crossed on the couch before you, grinning curiously.

“She always goes to bed early, never wants me to train with her at the pitch, always hides her phone notifications from me, even though I never look at her phone screen, and she seems happier.”

“But how?”

“I genuinely don’t know. Or maybe she’s tired of me and doesn’t want me around for training. Those are the two options. I genuinely don’t know which one to hope for.” She chuckles.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. You were sixteen too once.”

“Oh, shut up; you know I didn’t do relationships when I was younger. If it’s actually true, though, I think I will have a mental breakdown.”

“You are so dramatic. By the way, I love this worried mom look that you have on right now.” She pokes your sides while you blush.

“You’ll have to deal with him.” You say, pointing your finger at her.

“Okay, I will, just for you.” She chuckles. “I really missed this. It’s good to be home.” She says seriously, taking your hands.

“Take me on a date first, woman!” You give a gentle slap to her hands and put them on your sides.

“I will. I will pull all of my tricks. Open the car door for you, get you flowers, and walk you to your door.”

“So cliché.” You roll your eyes.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it.” She teases you.

You talked until it was time to get the girls home. It was good to finally have her back. You missed talking and laughing with her so much. You finally felt normal, full. And even though you both knew that there was still some making up to do and that it was best not to go back immediately to your old relationship, this start made you hopeful.

“Ale, I have to go now.” You say, smiling, while she tightens your embrace around your sides, not making you leave.

“No! I just have you back! I don’t want you to leave.” She says pouting.

“You are talking like you haven’t seen me in ten years.” You chuckle. “It has only been a month!”

“But it has been a very long month!” She says pouting.

“You have to go to your mom and sister; they were worried sick about you. And I have to pick up the kids.”

“Okay, but tomorrow I’ll pick you up for our date.”

“Oh wow, aren’t we confident?” “What if I am not available tomorrow? I might have something else to do.” You tease her.

“Like what?” She grins.

“I might have another date to go to. You know, I am a very highly wanted woman.” You joke.

She frowns, looking at you, crossing her arms. “No, you don’t! Right?” She asks you insecurely.

“No, I don’t.” You chuckle while standing up from the couch, wanting to get ready.

“When will I see the kids?” She asks shyly.

“Whenever you want to. But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to wait after our date.”

“I’m okay with whatever you want.”

“I have to go now.” You say, walking to her and stopping a meter away from her.

“So tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you know.” You give her a wink. “Goodbye Ale. You can go whenever you are ready. I’ll see you soon.”

When both the girls are in the car, you explain to them that Alexia will be back. She won’t live in the same house as you now, but she’ll still come around. Ava was thrilled to hear that; you knew she missed Ale a lot, whereas Lucia would scoff or roll her eyes whenever you talked about Alexia. You first noticed this at the beginning of the World Cup, and you didn’t know whether to confront her about it or ignore it.

After you told Mapi about everything with Alexia the next day, she offered to stay over to watch Ava, as Lucia didn’t need much to be taken care of.

It was 5pm, and you were a little nervous. She didn’t tell you where you would go, so you didn’t know how to dress or what to expect.Thankfully she sent you a text.

‘We are going somewhere to eat. I know that you are probably freaking out because you don’t know where we are going or how to dress. Dress comfy and casual. I know that you hate dressing up.’

You chuckled at the fact that she seemed to be reading your thoughts.

You decided to go for some shorts and a top, and in the meantime, while you waited, you went downstairs. You had the house all by yourself, which meant that you could do anything you wanted, with nobody judging, that is, working on the 1000-piece puzzle that you and the girls decided to start three days ago.

You were shit at puzzling. You knew that. The girls knew that. Everybody knew that. But stubborn as you are, you decided to prove everyone wrong.

Thank god that your attempt to puzzle was stopped by a car parking and your doorbell. You open the door and find Alexia with flowers hiding her smile.

“Hello.” She says shyly, giving you the flowers; you find her so adorable that you almost cannot keep yourself from kissing her. She gives you the flowers.

“Thank you.” You make her come inside your home and put them in a vase with water, not wanting to ruin them. “So where are we going?”

“Patience.” She chuckles at your excitement.

“Ugh. I hate surprises.”

“No, you love them, but you hate being at the center of the attention or not being in control.”

“Stop it. I hate that you know me too well.”

“After three years of relationship, it would be weird if I didn’t.”

You smile, agreeing, then ask her, “Do you want to take Nala?”

“It’s better if we don’t; we are going in an indoor place. We can leave her to my mom’s house.”

As you left your house, you went to Alexia’s car; she opened the door for you and closed it, then hopped in and began driving.

She had both hands on the steering wheel, which was something new, as she would always take your hand or put it on your thigh. She watched the road when you took her hand, making her snap out of her trance and look at you. You put both hands on your thigh, making her smile at your action, then resuming looking at the road. Her hand never left yours, and you got it back when the night ended.

As you saw the car turning right to a pub, you squealed happily. “No, you didn’t!”

“I did.” She replies, wearing a proud smile.

“We haven’t been here in so long!” You add, hugging her arm.

“I know! We should’ve come here more often. That is why I decided to bring you here. This place means so much to us.”

You remember going to this pub for the first time after your first date with Alexia. It was a beach day trip; you had brought food, playing cards, and books. It was a beautiful date; you loved going to the beach and going together made it a plus. What you didn’t expect was the rain. You had planned to stay there also for dinner, but the weather made other plans, so you both ran to your car laughing, and after a while of wandering around the streets, you found this pub. It was old and broke many hygiene standards, but you didn’t care. You were hungry and wanted a place to stay for when the rain would stop. What actually made you fall in love with the place wasn’t the fact that the owners were crazy as fuck or that there was a pool table available. It was their impromptu karaoke/stand-up comedy nights.

The first time you went there, there was this guy you didn’t even know the name of who would sing or tell jokes while nobody was listening. He was bad. Like really bad. He would sing the most complicated songs: Amy Winehouse, Beyoncé, Celine Dion, all of them. On your date with Alexia, as soon as you heard him sing for the first time, your hope for a nice, quiet evening was thrown away. His bad singing skills caught you so off guard that you nearly spit all your drink on Alexia, choking on your drink, throwing a fit of coughs, making you go to the bathroom. Thank god he didn’t see you.

As soon as you got back to the table, you both burst out laughing and decided to invent a story around his persona: he had a really weird 80s-style haircut, so you named him John Travolta, but since he was Spanish, his name was Juan Travolta. He was a very important accountant for many big companies but burnt out all his money on pony races and dog beauty contests. Leaving him with crushing debts, he decided to live off his wild passion: entertain others. After his fantastic performance of ‘My Heart Will Go On’, he began ‘the second part of the night’, as he claimed. Which was stand-up comedy/improv. For the few people in the pub, you and Alexia were the only ones listening, too curious not to do that. It was your second drink, and you found it hard to not stop yourself from laughing at the absurdity of all of it; while Alexia was giving you kicks under the table, trying to make you stop, it only made it worse.

Somehow, his comedy was even worse than his singing. He would try to make some jokes, but they never landed. Once, he even tried to memorize the monologue of a famous comedian, but that still didn’t do the trick. You figured he wasn’t cut out to be a comedian or a singer, but you appreciated his resilience and confidence. You wish that you had his confidence.

Since that first time at the pub, it had become yours and Alexia’s place. You would go there for date nights, when you wanted to have a laugh or when you wanted to be left alone. And even though the entertainment was shitty, the food was borderline poisonous, and the drinks were questionable, it had become a tradition for the both of you to go there whenever you went on a beach trip. It wasn’t the greatest place, but it was your place, and the memories you made there were ones you would cherish for the rest of your life. There, Alexia asked you to be her girlfriend, and you asked her to move in with you. It was a special place for your relationship with her, so Alexia knew what she did when she brought you there for your date.

“Wait. Do you know if Juan Travolta still performs here?” You grin excitedly.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Alexia parks the car, and you don’t even wait for her to open the door for you, so you exit the car almost immediately. You quickly took her hand and dragged her inside. The place was exactly the same as it was the last time. Squicky floor, the same weird old owner behind the bar, and there he was. Juan. You smile excitedly, turning to Alexia, who rolls her eyes happily. Then you both sit at your usual table. You ordered some drinks and something to eat. While you waited for your order, you listened to Juan, who you thought was improving, shocking the both of you. Still, then he tried to make a high-pitched voice for a part of a song, and you realized that he was just as bad as you remembered him to be.

“I want him to sing at my wedding.” You say, clearly forgetting you were talking to the person you probably would marry.

“We are not making him perform at our wedding.” She says sternly.

“Our wedding?” You tease her, making her slightly blush.

“Yes, our wedding.” She says confidently.

“Where’s the ring, then?” You chuckle.

“Patience.” She remarks, making your heart flutter.

“If it’s not Juan, you would probably want Rosalia at our wedding; you are obsessed with her.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you do. And what is more concerning is that she would probably say yes, she loves you.” You add. “But Juan Travolta, for me, is still my first choice.”

It was good to be back with Alexia; you hadn’t had a date night in so long, and you finally felt normal again with her by your side. There were just some people that whenever you are with them, it just feels right. Like they are a small part of you. And even when you want to be alone with your thoughts, you don’t care if they are there because they belong with you. And that person was for you, Alexia. And in the same place you were in that very moment, a year before you realized that she was the only one it was worth spending your life with, and after that, you continuously left a piece of your heart for her to encompass and make it hers.

As soon as you finished eating, you both decided to have a shot at the pool table. Juan had just finished singing and now told some really bad and pathetic jokes.

“So, are we placing any bets?” You grin competitively.

“We can do that if you want.” She says, rounding the pool table and putting all the balls in the triangle.

“If I win, which I will, I want you to make me coffee for two weeks.”

“I can bring you coffee every day, but if I win, which I will, you’ll have to give me a back massage.”

“I can be okay with that. You know that I’m low-key obsessed with your back and all of your tattoos. It won’t be a problem.”

“And dye your hair purple.” She chuckles.

“Oh hell nah.”

“So you are walking out on the bet?” She asks competitively.

“Never. You’ll just have to lose. Simple as that.”

The competition was on. The pool table was isolated from the rest of the pub, meaning you could cheat a little. Your plan was to distract Alexia. A very challenging plan. Your captain had a mind and focus of steel.

It was your turn now, and Alexia was wearing her usual cocky smirk that would infuriate you at how good-looking it was. Fortunately for you, you were able to make two balls enter the hole, but then you missed. It was Alexia’s turn now. You were down one ball, but not for long. You casually walked towards her and saw her bend on the pool table, trying to take aim. You took your chance. You put your hand on her lower back under her shirt, and then you lean in, whispering in her ear. “If I remember correctly, you always loved bending like this for me, but you always had fewer clothes on than now.” You smirk, leaving a kiss behind her ear.

“Y/n.” She cautioned you reprimanding.

“What? I am just stating a fact. Come on, do your shot.” You smirk, leaving her a little flustered. She takes in a deep breath, but then you put your hand on her side, slowly going down. She took aim again, but she missed the shot, making you give her a mischievous smirk. Both of your competitive natures were about to arise, and that meant that Alexia would be playing dirty, too.

“I thought you had a nerve of steel, capitana.” You remark, making her look at you slightly annoyed.

“You started something, Y/n; I’m going to end it.”

It was your turn now, and you were hoping that Alexia wouldn’t be doing something that would make you not focus. You were ready to take aim when she basically put her whole front to your back, putting her hands inside your t-shirt and slowly massaging right under your breasts, “You are wearing this little top; that is making me crazy. So much skin to touch, I don’t know where to put my hands.”

She whispers, making your brain completely numb and very hazy. She smirked at your reaction, then quickly moved away from you, leaning on the pool table to your left, “Now, come on. Do your shot.” She repeats the same thing that you said before. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to take her out of your mind, but it is too late; the 8 ball goes in, and you lose the game. She wins.

“Fuck.” She chuckles, making a little bow and making you roll your eyes.

“You’ll get ’em next time.” She teases.

“I can’t even say that you cheated because I did it before you.” You hunch your back, defeated. “So purple?” you add.

“Yep. And a back massage.”

“No coffee?”

“Since I am a wonderful person and I am the bigger person, I can still bring you coffee. I would hate to see you sad that you lost your bet.” She says, trying to conceal a smile, “You poor loser.” She says while caressing your head, giving you some comfort. You slap her hand away from you, “I might be a sore loser, but you, Alexia Putellas, you are an asshole.”

“Well, this asshole is better than you at pool.”

“I want a rematch.”

“Maybe next time. It’s getting late.” The night was going so well that you totally forgot about the time. It was 10pm, and you promised Ava to be there for bedtime.

So you quickly exited the pub and went in the car. Without hesitation, Alexia put her hand on your thigh and drove. In the car, you began reminiscing about the places you went together and gossiped about your neighbors.

As soon as you got home, she walked you to the door and waited hesitatingly. “So you want to come in to say hi to the kids? They’ll love to see you.” You offer.

“Are you sure?” She smiles, hoping for a positive response.

“Come inside.” You take her by the hand and go inside your house with her. In the living room, you saw Mapi exhausted on the couch while Ava was sleeping with her head on her lap, and Lucia was nowhere to be found.

As soon as you went inside the living room, Mapi turned to see you, then she gently moved Ava and went to greet you. You went into the kitchen to not make noise. There, Mapi slaps Alexia on the shoulder, making her recoil.

“What was this for?” She whispers, annoyed.

Your best friend points the finger at her. “This. It’s for going MIA for two days without saying anything AND leaving Y/n. What were you thinking?” She pushes Alexia’s head with her fingers.

“Maria.” You look at her sternly.

“I’m sorry, Mapi, for everything. I was in a really weird place mentally, but now I’m good.” You could see that she was a little more convinced. “Can I have a hug? I haven’t seen you in a while now!” The two friends hugged and then began to catch up. After a while, your friend said goodbye and left, not without thanking her for what she did.

“I’m taking Ava to bed. Do you want to come with me?”

She slowly nods at your offer, and you both go to your living room. Lucia was still outside, which made you and Alexia share puzzled looks with each other.

You wake up Ava and tell her it’s time to bed. She slowly opened her eyelids and looked around, blinking twice when she saw Alexia.

“Alexia!” She says excitedly, still very sleepy.

“Hi, mi nena, let’s go to bed, it’s very late.” She says, smiling, caressing her cheek. She makes grabby hands for the older woman to pick her up, which she gladly does, always wearing her biggest smile; she probably missed the girls very much.

She picks her up and takes her to her bed. She then tucks the bed sheets, and you hear them converse.

“Go to sleep, Ava.” She says, looking at her like she is the world’s most precious thing.

“Will you come tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will. I’ll come whenever you want me to. Now go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

She exits her room and closes it, walking towards you.

“She really missed you.” You say to her while she hugs you on the side.

“I missed her too. But where is the other one? Is she still on the phone?”

“No, she just ended it; I’ll go to her.” You go outside, and you call out her name.

“Lucia?” You ask while she is still looking at her phone.

She jumps at your voice, nearly throwing her phone.

“Oh hey, Y/n!” She says as if she were caught red-handed.

“Do you want to come in inside? It’s getting cold.” You offer her.

“Okay.” She comes inside, gives an awkward wave at Alexia, and then goes to her room, saying goodnight to you before closing the door.

You turn around to Alexia, “She is definitely hiding something.”

“So for tomorrow.” She had her hands behind her back. She had this cute little habit when she was shying away from asking permission for something. You took her hands from behind her back and laced them with yours.

“Why are you getting so shy all of a sudden?” You chuckle, making her blush.

“I told Ava that I would be coming over tomorrow morning because she wouldn’t sleep if not. So, I was trying to ask you if I could come over?”

“Of course you can. You have to make me coffee.” You remark as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Then I should get going.” She says awkwardly, clearly not wanting to leave.

“You can always stay over for the night.” You push her more towards you, leaving only a few centimeters. “I really enjoyed the date. We went to our place, we played pool, and tomorrow morning, you have to be here, so why not?” You offer. She begins giving you kisses all over your face, minus the lips, on the cheeks, forehead, chin, and jawline. You really missed her kisses.

“No.” She looks at you, making you give her a puzzled look. “I want to do things the right way, and I don’t want to rush anything.” She gives you a kiss on the nose. “Plus, on a first date, you never ask someone to stay the night!” Making you chuckle. “You wait at least for the third date. On the first date, you only ask for one thing…”

You knew where this was going; she was going to ask you for a kiss. “What do you ask for?”

“For a kiss.” She states, getting all shy again. Then, her gaze softens, and her voice becomes serious. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, you can.” You take your hands and put them on her neck, slightly playing with the hair on the back of her head, while she takes your sides and gently leans in for a peck.

“Just that?” You chuckle. “You have to give me more than that. I haven’t kissed you in more than a month.”

Without asking twice, she pulls you closer to her for a more passionate kiss that takes your breath away. It was needy, and it was full of passion. You both haven’t kissed each other in so long, and the constant teasing of the whole night made the both of you react in a desperate way for each other. You were slowly going forward in your new relationship with each other, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss the small or big actions one did with the other’s body. You knew each other’s body perfectly, and frankly, you missed how much perfectly her lips would encapsulate yours or how she knew how much to push or how much you needed from her.

She pushes you to the wall and slowly traces her tongue on your lips, asking you for permission. You absolutely granted her that. Your mind was hazy, and you weren’t functioning properly. The both of you forgot that you were in a freaking house with kids that could walk in on you at any moment, but you didn’t care; you finally had your girl back. Both hands were roaming everywhere, clearly not containing your excitement. You always loved it when Alexia took control, and after a month of not feeling her body, hands, and lips on you, it made it all worse. After a period of time that was not enough for you, she put her forehead on yours, with the both of you panting for air.

She then begins giving you small pecks on the lips, “I.” Another peck, “Missed.” Another one. “This.” And finally, placing the last kiss on your lips, lingering a little.

“Wait, sorry. What did you miss? I didn’t quite understand. Can you show me again?” You tease her. She turns you around and then brings you even closer, lifting you in the air and kissing you again.

She then puts you on the ground and looks at you, giving you the smile that was only reserved for you. The real one showed all 32 teeth, but what made it special were her eyes. Whenever she smiled like that, her eyes would narrow, and her whole face would light up.

“I love you.” Before you can reply, she gives you another peck. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, mi amor.” And before you could reply to anything, she left the house, leaving you frozen in the spot. After two good minutes to compose yourself, you go upstairs to get ready for bed.

You were reading some book to get yourself tired and ready to sleep when you heard your phone buzz.

‘I just got home :)’

‘I really had fun today. I’m so glad you had given me a second chance.’

‘I’m glad too. But maybe next time, don’t run away like that.’

‘I won’t, I promise. Good night’

‘Goodnight.’

You put your phone away and go to sleep.

The next day was the last day before you, Alexia and Lucia would begin preseason. You were excited, but at the same time, you were a little worried about leaving Ava and sometimes Lucia for work. You hoped that when school for them would start, everything would get easier from there. It was 8 am, and as you got downstairs in your kitchen, you began your morning routine. Scroll through some news and wait for the kids to wake up. As you scroll on your phone, you receive a text from Alexia saying that she will be arriving soon.

You had to go to the hospital with Ava for some check-ups, and you were really worried. With all your experience with hospitals with Nico, you always hated going inside there for check-ups, especially when one of your loved ones was involved. So you really hoped that the visit would go well. And even though every month, you spent at least three hours in a hospital trying to cheer up children who went through the same condition that your little brother had, you felt that on this occasion, it was different. This time, you went with your child, giving you a different type of fear.

As soon as Alexia arrived, you and the girls had breakfast together; needless to say, it was very awkward. Lucia was still annoyed with Alexia; Ava was really tired because you had to wake her up early. And you were already worried about going back to the hospital, so you were deep in your thoughts, continuously zoning out.

When Alexia noticed it, she put a hand on your thigh to give you some type of comfort; you both shared a look that made you understand how each other was feeling. This is what you loved and missed about your relationship with her, the way that you understood each other in every way, almost as if you both could read each other’s mind.

As soon as you finished breakfast, the girls went to their rooms to get ready, which left you and Alexia alone to do the dishes. You were cleaning them while she was drying the mugs. You were weirdly silent and clearly in your head.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

Alexia’s voice made you snap out of the trance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just, today Ava has a visit with the oncologist, and I’m-“

“You are worried.” She finishes the sentence for you to understand how you are feeling.

“You already know that I hate going to the hospital for any medical reason, especially for people I care about. And I know that this is just a formality, but still, it’s making me have flashbacks of Nico.” You say in one breath.

“You don’t have to justify your feelings with me, okay?” She says, turning her head to you and giving you an earnest smile. You slowly nod, and then you finish up cleaning. “Do you want me to come with you?” She says while hugging you from behind, leaving some small kisses on your shoulders, trying to give you some comfort.

“You don’t have to. You might have some other stuff to do.” You say, turning your body around to face her.

“My family is more important.” She gives you a small peck on the lips, making your stomach flip.

“Do you love our little family so much that you would be willing to drive us?” You ask tentatively, with the both of you knowing how much you hated driving.

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Okay, I will.”

“So, what are your plans for the day?” You ask Alexia while she is driving you and the girls to the hospital.

“So you know, what happened at the World Cup?”

You nod.

“Well, my agent wants me to release a video or write a note explaining what happened.”

“Do you already know what you are going to say?”

“I’m retiring from the national team.”

“Wait. Really?” You weren’t that shocked at the news; after what happened with Jorge, you knew that Alexia wouldn’t have returned to play if he was the coach.

“Yeah, and it’s not going to be only me.”

“Who else?”

“For now, Ona and Aitana, they are waiting for me to break the news. But many others will retire, too. I’ll tell you everything later in the afternoon when you’ll dye your hair.” She sends you a wink.

This made both girls turn to look at you.

“Are you dyeing your hair?” Lucia asks.

“I made a stupid bet with Alexia, and I lost it, so I have to dye my hair purple. She’s going to dye it for me, as I hate going to the hairdresser.” You cross your arms while the two young girls chuckle.

“Can I help? Can I help?” Ava asks excitedly.

“You know what? I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want with my hair.” You say exasperated.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Alexia says, clearly mocking you.

“I’m not being dramatic.” You pout.

“Yes, you are being dramatic.” Lucia interjects, saying the first words since she got in the car.

“If it turns out bad, I’ll blame it on the three of you.”

As you got inside the hospital, you went into the oncology department, where basically everybody knew you from all the visits that you did in the past years with the other players; what they didn’t know was that you had in custody the two girls, making all the nurses from the floor give you a questioning look.

You sensed that Lucia was worried, too, so you nudged Alexia to go with Ava, leaving you with the older sister.

You put your arm on her shoulder and give her a kiss on the temple. “Everything is going to be okay. You have to be strong for her.”

“How do you do it?”

“What?”

“You are not worried. How do you do it?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m super worried, even though it’s just a check-up. I just try to cope with it.”

“How?”

“It’s not very healthy, so you probably shouldn’t do it.” She looks at you blankly. “Just whenever it gets too much, come and talk to me or to anyone. Don’t keep everything in. You are going to explode, believe me.”

She slowly nods and then thanks you. “And now that I have you for the first time alone, stop doing that thing with Alexia, please.”

“What thing?” She asks dumbly.

“Giving her the death stare, or not talking to her, or refusing to sit next to her.”

“I would never do such a thing!” She says defensively, even though you both knew that it wasn’t the case.

“Lucia.” You reprimanded her.

“Okay, she left you, us, without saying a word; you have basically forgiven her right away. I can’t let her just walk into Ava’s life again as if nothing happened. Maybe she’ll leave again, and Ava will be crushed, and I can’t let that happen.”

“Listen, I know that you are hurt, and you are kind of right from a point of view. But you don’t know the whole story. And I have known Alexia for nearly ten years now, and I know for a fact that she won’t abandon her family.”

“But she did.”

“As I told you before, you don’t know the whole story, and frankly, I don’t think you should because it is something between me and her. What I ask you is to give her a second chance. She deserves it. Will you try? Please.”

She nods.

As soon as you get to the waiting room, Lucia reminds you that Ava just changed doctors because her previous doctor had just retired. You hoped that her new doctor would be just as good as her other one.

What you didn’t expect is for you to know her.

As soon as the doctor’s office door opens, you almost immediately recognize her voice, soon after you recognize her.

“Y/n?” She asks, shocked.

“Oh my god! It’s you, then.” You walk to her and hug her.

Making the three other girls confused; you then turn to them and explain. “This is Emma; we were friends a long time ago.” You say happily.

“So, who are those people!” She asks you while resting her arm on your shoulder. She has always been very touchy.

“Well, this is Ava and Lucia; you have a visit with the little one, I guess. And this is-“

“Alexia.” Your girlfriend? You didn’t know what to call her. Walks up to her and shakes her hand.

“Are they yours?” She asks.

“We recently gained custody of them.”

“Oh wow!” She jokes. Then she kneels next to Ava, who was sitting down next to her big sister, “So you must be Ava. I’m Doctor Emma Fernandez. But you can call me Doctor Em.” Then she turns to you. So I know that you are in four, but only one of you can come with her.” You turn to look at Lucia, and you can see her distressed face turn into a defeated look. You knew that she wanted to be there, present for her sister, as protecting her was all she had ever known.

“Can you make an exception? I’m legally her guardian, but I’d rather have her sister come too, just to ease some nervousness.” You try to give her one of your most convincing smiles in the hopes that she will agree to your proposal.

She first looks at you, then the girls, and in the end, Alexia, then back to you. “Okay. Only because it’s her first visit.” She turns around to her office and lets you all in.

Thankfully, the visit went well, and you all returned home happy and grateful. Back home, the girl was minding their own business while you and Alexia were in the kitchen, figuring out her post on the national team.

You were sitting on the countertop while Alexia was sitting down on your left, very much focused, writing something on her iPad.

“So, do you know exactly what you are going to say?” Caressing her cheek, trying to make her divert her attention to you, she gives you a smile, leaning in the contact.

“I need to be cautious because I really don’t want to fall into any miscommunication or accidentally blame someone who’s not involved.”

“I really do believe that if you and some other big names put out a statement, things will change. But I know that you are in a very different position than I was when we sent that email. So whatever it happens, I understand, and I will support you.”

She turns her iPad towards you, “Read it.” She hands it to you, and you read what she wrote. It was a short note saying that she would be retiring from the national team because of some issues faced by the federation that put winning and pride over the well-being of the players. And then she added that what happened after the match against the USA with the coach was something inexcusable and unacceptable.

“I know that is very similar to what you said in the letter, so if you want me to change it, I’ll do it.” She says while you are still reading everything.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s similar if you tell the truth. For me, it’s perfect and very ballsy. If you want to post it, I’ll support you. But that’s my opinion. If you want a more objective opinion, I think you should ask Jenni or maybe Aitana to give you their opinion.”

“I already send it to them. I’ll probably post it tomorrow after I call my agent. What about you? I thought your agent told you to clarify about the kids thing.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Have you been ignoring the problem?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yep. I was about to make a post, but then I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it didn’t feel right to do it at that moment.” She looks at you, puzzled, “It didn’t feel right because you weren’t there. I was about to do it when you were at the World Cup, and we broke up and were on a break or whatever that was.” She turns her head to the ground, sadly, still a little ashamed and guilty of breaking up with you. “And it didn’t feel right to post about my family when a huge part of it was missing. I was hoping you’d come back to me. And I’m so glad you did.”

She looks at you shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you want to go public?” She smirks at you.

“I mean, we can, If you want that too. Maybe not now, but when things start to settle, we can. Again, if you want to, of course.”

As the night progressed, you were dreading the moment in which the girls would dye your hair. It’s not the fact that you didn’t want to dye your hair; what you hated about this was the fact that you would probably have to sit still for at least an hour, fully knowing that you couldn’t move in fear of ruining your clothes, but unfortunately, a bet is a bet and knowing that the girls would be doing that and that you would be having some family time, would make it worth it.

This left you sitting on a chair in your bedroom, with your head in your hands, while Alexia was trying to dye your hair, and the two girls were fighting for the music to play. After a while of convincing, they opted for a random playlist while Ava turned excitedly to Alexia, asking if she could do it. You genuinely didn’t know why she was that excited, but you didn’t care.

In the end, it didn’t look that bad

It was mid-August, so this was your last day before you went in preseason, and Lucia would be joining La Masia. Since she lived in Barcelona, she would stay there 5 days a week and return home on the weekends. So you finished the night by helping her pack up, making you, in the process, a little emotional.

It was 11 pm, and the girls just went to bed. Which left you and Alexia in the living room. You knew that it was late and you had to go to sleep, but both of you had training the following day, early in the morning. But neither of you wanted to leave.

“I should leave-“

“Do you want to come upstairs?” You both ask at the same time.

You both chuckle. “Are you sure?” She asks you.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You smile, taking her hand and leading her to your bedroom. As you both lay down on your bed, she turns to you, “So, are we back together?” She smiles shyly.

“Are you asking me again to be your girlfriend?” You tease while putting yourself on top of her.

“Yes, I am.” She replies confidently, moving her hands to your waist.

“So ask me.”

“Will you be my girlfriend once again, Y/n?” She grins excitedly in anticipation.

“Yes, I will.” You push yourself down to give her a small peck on the lips.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you so much, too.” You reply; while she looks at you in a way you always found so cute, you smile dumbly at her.

“What?”

“Oh, just fuck it.” You say as you crash your lips into hers, making her react immediately by lifting herself off the mattress, sitting right up, with you entirely on top of her with both of your fronts touching and ending the night with more than just kissing.

The next day, preseason had started, thus also starting the 23-24 season, one of the busiest and wholesome years of your life.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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yanderecrazysie · 1 year ago

Text

Curiosity (Yandere Tsukishima)

This was a Quotev request!

Title: Curiosity

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, swearing, suggestive themes, non-consensual touching, seriously creepy vibes from Tsukishima

Summary: Tsukishima seems like a normal guy, except that he’s always writing in that journal of his. When you decide to see what he’s up to, you learn that he’s anything but normal.

curiosity

/noun/

a strong desire to know or learn something:

DAY 1

It’s the first day of school again. (Y/n) looked beautiful as ever today, I missed seeing her in her school uniform. Of course, I’ve been following her around town over the summer, but I missed seeing her in a skirt. This is the last year I see that until I make a move, as I doubt she’ll wear skirts to university.

I’ll do my best to draw what she looks like, since this is a special occasion, but there’s no way my art can do her justice.

Tsukishima Kei was a quiet guy, which, you supposed, was common for smart kids. You hadn’t known him well throughout high school and you doubted you’d have much time to get to know him, since the end of your third and final year was nearly upon you both.

One interesting thing you always noticed is that he was always writing in a journal of sorts, sometimes sketching away in it instead of writing.

You always wondered what it said.

DAY 17

(Y/n) smiled and waved at me today. She does that to everyone, I know, but I couldn’t breathe when she turned her divine attention on me! I felt like, even for a second, I had her undivided attention! I’d do anything, ANYTHING to get that on me again. I’d fucking kill everyone she knows if that means she’ll look at me and only me.

Tsukishima always gave you the distinct vibe that he wanted a friend, especially after his only friend moved away last year, but that he didn’t know how to approach anyone. You sensed a sort of longing when he looked at you and you wondered if your friendliness appealed to his loneliness. Perhaps he was awkward or shy?

You felt bad that you hadn’t had time to talk to him, but life really was just too busy. You always tried to be friendly when you passed him in the halls or made eye contact.

It was the least you could do.

DAY 33

I love (Y/n) so much that I was willing to dig around in her trash can to find that lip gloss she’d thrown away. How many guys would do THAT for their girlfriends? She only wore it a few times since she didn’t like it very much, but that just meant I had so much of something her precious lips had touched.

I felt like I was in heaven putting it on- like I was kissing her! I had dreams about doing just that and I woke up feeling happier and more refreshed than I had been all year. I need more.

You’d always felt like someone was following you and like your things were disappearing, but you wrote those feelings off as paranoia. Maybe you should take those things seriously, but who had time for that? You were on the student council, an honor student, and preparing for college.

Why didn’t you see the red flags?

Were you really so colorblind?

DAY 52

I went to her house and climbed in through the window. Thank goodness she’s on the first floor.

I went straight to her bed and just laid on it and inhaled her scent from the pillows and blankets. She’s on vacation and I miss her so much, so I really couldn’t help doing all this. It’s her fault for leaving me.

I wonder if she wants our room to look like this or if she has a better one in mind. I’m not a fan of the color but, if she likes it, who am I to disagree? I just want her to be healthy and happy with me. I’ll make her.

You were a naturally curious person. That’s probably why you did so well in school- you had a thirst for knowing why and how that many people your age didn’t care for. You never just wanted to accept things without an explanation. Better to be informed.

Sometimes you were called nosy or told to mind your own business, but you couldn’t help it. You also had a bad habit of eavesdropping and “investigating” on your own. You’d do great in a Nancy Drew book, but it annoyed real-life people.

It’s really no surprise that, when you went to grab Tsukishima’s left-behind notebook, you couldn’t stop yourself from peeking inside and reading some of the entries and looking at the drawings.

DAY 82

I peeked through her window at just the right time and caught her getting undressed for a shower! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Words can’t describe the experience, so I’ll draw what she looked like instead:

You felt sick. For once, you wished, desperately, that your curiosity was nonexistent. If you could take back everything you’d seen in the last few minutes, you would.

You’d just go off to university, blissfully unaware, and never see that freak ever again. How could he write and draw such things? How could he violate your privacy like that? How dare he-

“You read it, didn’t you?”

The empty classroom went so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your horror felt like metal weighing down your stomach and throat. You couldn’t swallow, you couldn’t breathe.

Tsukishima was right behind you, inching closer each moment, but you couldn’t hope to turn around or run away. You were petrified, rooted in place like you were a statue. A statue with wide eyes and terror etched into your features.

You wanted to claim you hadn’t but the journal was still open in your hands, opened up to a disgusting drawing of yourself and your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from it. Even if you wanted to futilely make up an excuse, your mouth wouldn’t form the words. You couldn’t so much as squeak.

As he stands directly behind you, his hands caress your waist, finger pads sinking deep into the flesh through your shirt. You shudder in disgust, but that’s the most movement your body can even make.

Even as his fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, daringly searching upwards against bare skin, you can’t move or make a sound. You wished you were a fight or flee kind of person and not a freeze.

You feel his lips brush against your earlobe and you violently shudder as he speaks into your ear a few chilling words.

“Don’t you know what curiosity did to the cat?”

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!!#yandere one shot #one shot #yandere x reader #yandere tsukishima #tsukishima kei

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sickness-stricken · 1 month ago

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Analyzing Lily Orchard losing her fucking mind in real time

@lily-is-a-gooner has the post debunking the fact that this event was not staged, but I wanted to go over some of the noteworthy things I think are worth dissecting. Strap in, this one’s probably gonna be long.

Video link for anyone playing along at home:

youtube

[3:15] “You’ve got these things causing fucking car crashes, cuz they go off in people’s cars, startle them and cause them to veer into oncoming traffic!”

I’ll need to see a source on that before I believe it. Looking up “car crashes caused by amber alert” only brings up instances of kidnapped children that the amber alerts were for being involved in a car crash. Wouldn’t there be some study showing that reports for car crashes have an uptick within the hour of an EAS alarm being sent out?

[3:26] “AND THEY SEND THEM ALL THE GODDAMN TIME! […] You’re gonna get one of these things once a fucking week!”

No you won’t. Like. That is factually false. Excluding the test that just got sent out this month I get MAYBE one every three months. They are NOT common.

I thought maybe I was the outlier in that I live in Middle-of-nowhere, Alberta so I asked my Ontarian friend if they were more common there (you know, given the larger population) and what do ya know

[3:42] “We had one of these come out when Covid was happening! Like, Stephen, we all knew Covid was deadly, we didn’t need you to blow up everyone’s phones over it!”

I was ready to clown on this given I thought she was referring to Stephen Harper who hasn’t been PM since 2015 but I THINK she’s referring to Stephen McNeil who was the Premier of Nova Scotia in 2020. I don’t personally remember that alert going out (but I also have the memory of an anemic goldfish so that isn’t a high bar to clear) so maybe it was only a NS thing but I would assume for a national state of emergency that would be sent out by the NPAC? So, all parts of Canada? What would that have to do with Premier McNeil?

Don’t take this part super seriously I’m mostly just spitballing, this very well could just be an honest slip up on Lily’s part

[5:52] “I get amber alerts for shit that happens in Yarmouth! That’s a 3 hour drive away from me, the fuck you want me to do?!”

Hey, you know how earlier you said the amber alerts are usually about kids that wander off or are taken by a parent in a CUSTODY DISPUTE? Ya think that parent taking the kid is gonna STICK AROUND? They very well could be in Halifax by the time the alert actually goes out depending on how far the parent is willing to go. I myself jumped provinces to escape an abusive situation, that’s not exactly a long drive in comparison.

[6:36] (I’m gonna paraphrase this but essentially she’s talking about how 911 got swarmed with calls just bitching about the alarm going off in the first place and when they said not to abuse the line Lily calls this hypocrisy)

Lily the alerts are reporting imminent emergencies. If a kid (or really anyone) goes missing and they aren’t found in 48 hours it’s safe to assume they’re GONE. Calling 911 to complain about the alarm waking you up (despite them not being responsible for it) clogs up the lines when an ACTUAL report could be trying to get through. This is not comparable to a province using an emergency line for something that needs immediate attention just because it doesn’t affect you directly.

Feel like it’s also worth noting I’ve never seen anyone who wasn’t a conservative complain about the alerts at night. If it’s really that much of an issue you can turn your phone off at night (which you really should do anyway, it’s better for the battery) and get an alarm clock. If you know this to be an issue for you and the solution is completely within your control it is your responsibility to avoid this specific issue.

[7:46] (paraphrasing again: Lily is accusing people who are okay with the alerts going off at night of being hypocrites because they’ll just click their phones off and go back to sleep)

Again, this reeks of self-centrism and I’m once again unsure if Lily is aware that people who aren’t her exist. Yes, the person who acknowledges night alerts as a good thing may dismiss the notification. However, they acknowledge that people working night shift, such as hospital workers or those working at 24hr drive thrus/gas stations ARE awake and able to keep an eye out for certain descriptors, licence plates etc. This is not a hypocritical stance.

[9:10] “I can’t do anything while [the alarm] is playing. I just have to clap my hands over my ears and wait for it to end.”

…no??? You can literally swipe it away like any other notification and the noise stops. What are you talking about.

[9:30] (Not typing allat: Lily uses Japan as an example of how they use different alarms for different emergencies)

Oh hey look! Lily saying Japan did something good for once!

Gotta love how she picked the one country that doesn’t have an alarm that’s ominous as hell because literally almost every other country has an alarm that is just as if not more shit-in-pants worthy than Canada’s if it was played abruptly and at max volume

youtube

Maybe this is just personal opinion but I think it’s a good thing that all emergencies are regarded at the same level here. If we had a different, lessened alarm for when a child goes missing then people could immediately go “cool don’t care” instead of reading it at least once quickly to see what it says.

Alright that’s it for me I didn’t have a closing statement I’m gonna go take a nap… with my phone off

#lily orchard #lily orchard critical #Youtube

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cepetriwrites · 8 days ago

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Alicent Reverses the Hourglass Chapter 52 Memes Pt 3

Her husband, her castle. A voice from within whispered. Now even her gown.

Alicent dug her fingernails into her hand.

No. They existed in a different world now. The past should stay in the past.

AVPM anyone?

She literally had a magical witch call her out on her relationship with rhaenyra and Alicent is just: No thoughts. Head empty. Get dick.

~~~~~~~

He had shown little interest in matters of local politics, household structure or financial planning: all these things he was more than happy to leave to Alicent’s keeping.

The man who wants to be king everybody……

Daemon was too busy dying and tripping balls in Harrenhal to notice how much work ruling is

~~~~~~~~~

“Are you about to tell me how I may select mine own heir, my lord?” Daemon’s voice held an all-too familiar edge. “Do you imagine I require your opinion?”

Me:

This is what an ally looks like. If I had to choose between daemon and a bear…. I’d probably still choose the bear cause daemon loves killing people but if he did kill me, it wouldn’t be because of sexism, it’s just because he’s an asshole. Take notes men.

~~~~~

Corlys and Rhaenys looked at each other and everyone else brought their eyes back down to their plates.

Me wanting to be apart of that post dinner debrief/gossip

I just want to be the kid in the backseat of their parents car as they discuss the drama from the latest family function

~~~~~

All with the exception of Selman Sunglass who clapped his hands, eager to agree with everything coming from Alicent’s mouth no matter what it happened to be. “Well, I think it is a fine idea! Times are changing after all! Male, female: they will still be the Prince and Lady Alicent’s child.”

I’ll allow it. Raw as well.

~~~~~~

“My mother and he raised Viserys and I together. As one. I always intended to do the same with my own family.”

“I agree.” Corlys said.

Both Laenor and Rhaenys raised their eyebrows in unison. “ You do?” They spoke together.

Laenor when his dad implies he’s a present father

Me & laenor should get shirts for our club

~~~~~

Gwayne & Laenor going through a messy gay breakup at the dinner table

The dinner guests

It’s so sad when friends fight :(

Meanwhile cut to Laenor buried under blankets sobbing as he blasts casual by Chappell roan

Someone should introduce these boys to the concept of an affair…. Lord Corlys is pretty well versed on the subject……

~~~~~~

At that moment, Gwayne couldn’t help but feel horribly out-of-place. He gave another look to the back of Laenor’s head and then left, quickly before the next song began.

So ignoring your loved ones cries for help is just….. a thing you do… huh?

Someone tell Aegon it was nothing personal when she moonwalked away from him as he sobbed over the death of his son, she’s just allergic to the spectrum of human emotion

Aegon🤝Gwayne🤝Rhaenyra = getting ignored by Alicent during their times of need

~~~~~~~

Daemon glanced at her as if surprised. “I thought you would be pleased at the idea of our daughter being our heir.”

Anskdkslwksnd he thought his sexist wife, who did a coup that killed most of the Targaryens and dragons to put a younger son over the oldest daughter, would be happy about him equally valuing a daughter? Sir you are married to the Westerosi version of Phyllis Schlafly.

~~~~~~~~

“I saw him drink goblet upon goblet of wine,” Arthor’s eyes roved over her. “His temper will be soft and…malleable.” He came forward began to twist at the seam of her bodice until her cleavage spilled forth. “There. That’s better.”

Shoutout to reddish for writing such toxic people it makes me happier with my annoying family members. At least they’ve never tried pimping me out

~~~~~~~

He hoped that, at some point, he could cleave one of Alicent’s enemies in two. The look on her face: both gratitude and love. He was impatient for it.

She would see then that only he could be called upon to protect her and cast all memories of the Dornish knight or the Baratheon boy into flame.

His love language is literally murder. At this point I think he needs it to function the way we need food to survive.

Also not his anxious attachment still making him insecure over a Baratheon when Alicent was literally riding him like a stallion with an audience watching.

Good thing she’s not bi, the man would never know peace if he knew everyone was an option.

~~~~~~

“Wife.” His fingers drowsily grazed her arm, still between sleep and waking, the medicine addling him.

Koline chose not to speak. She straddled him instead, making sure that her scented skin was underneath his nose. He breathed in and seemed contented. {…} In the hollowness of the dark chamber, she did her duty.

Hey what… um… that’s um… that’s a….

I cannot believe I am using this video for TWO different people.

~~~~~

Alicent & Koline staring at each other after Alicent walks in on her mid sexual assault

~~~~~

Alicent feeling her brain chemistry change as she catches her husband “cheating” on her

Homegirl about to snap and take everyone with her

Memes Masterpost

#we’re already at part 3 #everything just going wrong with everyone huh?#alicent reverses the hourglass #reddishwork #ao3 #writing #HOTD #HOTD fanfic #alicent hightower #daemon targaryen x alicent hightower #daemon targaryen #mine

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danielmolloystits · 2 months ago

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looks just like an angel (Armand/Daniel, 1/1)

Summary:

The man in the chair—who Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collar—looks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes. “Hello,” the priests greets him. “Welcome.” “Um,” Daniel says. “Hi.” — The drug den Daniel wakes up in after his encounter with Louis and Armand gets busted, and Armand decides to pretend to be the priest at his court-ordered N.A. meetings. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Pairing: M/M, Armand/Daniel Molloy (Devil's Minion) Rating: E WC: 5,555

It’s 9:52 in the morning. Daniel’s mouth tastes like he ate roadkill for breakfast and his head is pounding so loud he wants to tell it to come back with a warrant. Across from him sits his probation officer, whose name he’s pretty sure is Sarah, wielding a kind expression and a notepad that contains a quick summary of Daniel’s many sins.

So far, he likes Sarah. Sarah is nice. Sarah is telling him how she’s going to get him through this without it destroying his entire life. Well, she hasn’t used those precise words, exactly, but Daniel has been able to glean the gist of it—she’s been saying things like “first offense” and “dismiss the charges” and it has all vaguely sounded like it might not screw everything up for him forever.

So that’s something, at least.

“Of course, pretrial diversion does come with some requirements on your end,” Probably-Sarah is saying, with a look of what appears to be genuine concern on her face. Maybe she’s a good liar, but Daniel thinks there’s a chance she actually cares about the dumb hungover kid who’s half-sitting, half-melting in her office chair. “You’ll need to start attending NA—Narcotics Anonymous, that is—and we’re going to administer periodic drug tests to make sure you’re keeping clean.”

Christ, he’s such an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot who’s just lucky to not be dead right now. His innards churn miserably in agreement with that thought, and Daniel hopes that they’re at the tail end of this pretrial check-in thingy. He really doesn’t want to throw up on this nice lady’s carpet.

Sarah continues, “But if you hold up your end of the bargain, then I’ll hold up mine.” She smiles at him, apparently oblivious to the imminently-threatening hostage situation that is Daniel’s stomach right now. It’s kind of sweet, though; she looks like she really believes he’s gonna make it through this program. Like she thinks he could maybe be somebody someday.

A bright young reporter with a point of view.

“And if all goes well, then after your probationary period is up, you’ll never have to see me again.” She tilts her head at him, and sure, it’s condescending. But, like, in the nice way moms are sometimes. “Let’s try to make sure that happens, yeah?” She passes him a stack of papers that repeat all of the information she just gave him verbally, which Daniel is grateful for, because it’s been challenging to try to pay attention when his insides are so valiantly attempting to become his outsides. “I’ll see you two weeks from now.”

Daniel nods and hurries out of the room, right as the hostage situation devolves into a massacre with no survivors. He swallows against the gastric acid and bits of egg that are currently attempting to escape his throat and rushes to the single-stall bathroom down the hall, sending a prayer of thanks to every higher power he can think of that it’s unoccupied. By some small miracle, he manages to keep his shit together until he is on his knees in front of the toilet, at which point everything he’s put in his body for the past week unceremoniously comes back out.

Idly, he wonders how many public bathrooms he’s done this in by now, how many times he has been in this same stupid situation—his mouth and nose hovering above a filthy fucking toilet seat that’s touched the asses of God knows how many strangers—as the choices from the night before come back to haunt him like an ex-lover after a bad breakup.

Too many, he thinks. Definitely too many.

He looks down at where the informational materials are still crumpled in his left fist, pastel-colored pamphlets with titles like Self-Acceptance and Am I An Addict?, and thinks he could probably use a break from living like this. Thinks maybe this won’t be such a bad thing if it leads to him finally getting clean.

After all, it sure as hell can’t get any worse.

***

Two nights later, Daniel arrives at the church closest to where he’s staying in the Castro, which the Welcome to Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet told him hosts meetings three nights a week. Our Lady of Most Holy and Ardent Redemptions, or whatever. He doesn’t actually remember, but he’s sure it was something like that: all overwrought and Catholic, a name that’s meant to imply you have to absolve yourself for the crime of being born.

As he walks through the vestibule, he’s surprised to find it utterly abandoned, blanketed in a thick layer of silence that clings to the dusty pews and eggshell-colored walls like a film. It’s eerie, almost, this conspicuous absence of life—if it weren’t for the printed-out sign attached to the back of the pulpit that reads NA meeting downstairs in Rosary Room!, he’d assume he’d gone to the wrong place entirely. As it is, he wanders around the nave with a vague sense of unease until he finds the stairs to the basement, then follows the unsettlingly-cheery instructions of yet more signs until he reaches one that says NA Meeting here!!! taped to a mahogany door.

For a moment, he has the absurd impulse to knock, as if he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. He shakes himself out of it and opens the door.

Inside, there isn’t much to look at: a handful of low bookshelves pressed snugly against the wall, a long table with a coffee pot and an unopened box of donuts, and seven or eight folding chairs arranged in a circle.

Only one of them is occupied.

“Hello,” the priests greets him. “Welcome.”

“Um,” Daniel says. “Hi.”

“It would seem you are our only attendee for this evening.” A sheepish little laugh rumbles out from the priest’s chest as he adds, “I suppose sobriety is not so much in vogue these days.” He has an accent, Daniel notes, like maybe he emigrated from England but was somewhere else before that. The way it squeezes around his vowels is dimly familiar.

“Guess not,” Daniel agrees, casting a sideways glance at all of the empty chairs. The poor attendance doesn’t bode great for the overall well-being of the Castro’s citizenry, he reckons; it’s certainly not because they don’t need to be here. “Isn’t NA supposed to be group therapy? Is it still gonna...work?”

The priest chuckles softly again, a light exhalation of air to break the stillness in the room. “Yes, though it appears our session will perhaps be a touch more intimate than most. I hope you don’t mind a bit of individualized attention.” His eyes sparkle, almost seem to shine, as he gestures for Daniel to take the seat across from him. “Please, sit. I’m Father Armand.”

He does. “Daniel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Daniel,” Father Armand says sweetly, and wow, he has really thick eyelashes. So thick and dark that Daniel wonders briefly whether he’s wearing mascara—though he isn’t sure whether priests are allowed to do that. “What brings you to Narcotics Anonymous?”

“Um.” He stutters, flushed and awkward with the weight of Father Armand’s undivided attention. “This is the part where I’m supposed to say I’m an addict, right?”

“It’s just us, Daniel,” the other man replies, in a low and conspiratorial whisper. Like the two of them are getting away with something, like this is a part of an inside joke they’ve shared for years. “You may say whatever you’d like.”

“What if I don’t want to say anything?”

“That’s fine, too,” Father Armand answers easily, a reassuring smile on his face. “Though we might not make much progress on the issues that brought you here if we sit in silence.”

“Fair enough,” Daniel says. ��All right, I guess I’m here because a court ordered it. I’d really rather not be.”

“This is not the outcome you’d have wanted, then, but perhaps it is the one you need.” And, warm and friendly as he is trying to be, the priest’s stare seems to cut straight through him, right down to the ugly things inside him that he endeavors to hide. It is wildly discomforting. “An intervention from a higher power, of sorts.”

“Not how I’d put it, personally,” Daniel says, simultaneously bemused and on-edge. He scratches an itch on his forehead. “More like an intervention from the SFPD.”

“Even the SFPD answers to God, Daniel.”

“O-kay.” Unsurprisingly, the fatalistic religious bullshit is not doing much to set Daniel at ease in this situation. “But yeah. I’m, uh. Here because I got busted. In a drug den.”

“What were you doing in a drug den?”

“Well.” Daniel blinks at him. “Drugs, mostly.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Father Armand says, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “But what compelled you to the drug den in the first place?” Then, before Daniel can answer, he continues, “Don’t say ‘drugs’ again.”

Daniel was definitely about to say ‘drugs’ again. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for here, man,” he answers instead, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally. “I like getting high. Not a lot more to it.”

“There’s always more to it,” the priest replies, sage-like and frustratingly stoic. “Whether we want to admit to it or not.”

“Orrr,” he drawls the single syllable out sarcastically, “maybe it’s just not worth telling. I was there because I wanted to do drugs and I got caught, dude.”

Father Armand hums thoughtfully. “Surely something in the evening must have led you there, though.”

“I don’t really remember,” Daniel says, and he’s maybe starting to lose his patience a little. “Probably on account of being radically high.”

“You can’t recall anything about the evening other than its conclusion?” In the dim lighting of the basement, the priest’s expression is difficult to read.

He frowns. “I might’ve met a guy at a bar, before. I think I was at Polynesian Mary’s, maybe?”

“Do you meet guys at bars often, Daniel?”

Immediately, he tenses, a frisson of indignation alighting in his gut at the priest’s thinly-veiled judgment.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He probably should’ve known better than to expect anything approaching compassion or understanding from the Catholic fucking Church. Lesson learned for next time—maybe the Episcopalians are running NA somewhere in the city.

“I meant no offense, Daniel,” Father Armand says, voice calm and composed in stark contrast to Daniel’s rising indignation. “I’m just inquiring as to your habits, to get a sense of where you could benefit from some lifestyle changes.”

“Oh, and I’m sure whatever you think I’m doing with these men is high on that list, right? This is the Castro, dude. Fuck you.”

“You have quite a lot of anger,” the priest comments dryly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as though he’s inspecting Daniel. “Is that what drives you to use?”

Is that what makes you fascinating?

“No, seriously, dude: fuck you. I’m not putting up with this shit.” He stands to leave, but Father Armand reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can, his grip unexpectedly steely.

“A reminder, Daniel, that your participation in this process is necessary if you wish to avoid jail time,” he says, still smiling that same, infuriating smile.

Daniel stops in his tracks. “Maybe not. I’ll work something out with my P.O., I’ll–”

“Yes, Sarah, was it?” Father Armand asks. “I wonder how she would react to news of your resistance to the process.”

“You–”

“I’m only here to help, Daniel,” the priest interrupts with an infuriatingly placid smile. “Now, are you intending to cooperate, or shall I go ahead and inform Sarah of your refusal to participate?” He gestures once more for Daniel to sit, his expression replete with a cool smugness. Begrudgingly, Daniel complies.

“Fucking—whatever, fine.” He closes his eyes and exhales noisily through his nose, trying to will himself into a state of calm. When he opens them again, the priest is staring at him expectantly. “I guess I use because I...I get bored.”

“Bored of what?”

“I dunno, dude.” He shrugs. “Sobriety. Life. Everything.”

Father Armand leans in even closer. “Interesting.”

“If you say so, man.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “Mostly it’s just tedious. I mean, all of it.”

“How so?” There is nothing but apparent sincerity in the question, which makes Daniel’s shoulders relax a fraction.

“It’s the same shit every day, isn’t it? Wake up, go to work, eat dinner, watch TV, over and over until you die,” he says, and the priest nods along as he speaks attentively. “At least drugs break up the monotony a little.”

The unnamed malaise you feel on Sunday afternoons.

“Sure,” Father Armand agrees breezily, his eyes never straying from Daniel’s. “If you do them once in a while, maybe. But they’ve become part of your routine, haven’t they?”

Daniel crosses his arms belligerently. “You don’t know me, man. You’re not my fuckin’ friend.”

“I’m not here to be your friend, Daniel,” Father Armand replies, tone clipped and succinct; annoyed, almost. But then, more delicately, he adds, “I’m here to help you get better. The first step is admitting you have a problem, no?”

“I guess.” Daniel slumps back in his seat, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “All right, so let’s say I have a problem. What next?”

“The next step is coming to believe in a power greater than yourself.” The priest’s hands are clasped together, his thumbs twiddling idly as he speaks, “One that is capable of delivering you from your illness.”

“So, what,” Daniel deadpans. “I’ve gotta convert to Catholicism?”

“If you’re so inclined,” Father Armand responds wryly, as if he’s privy to some great secret that eludes the poor, ailing addict. Daniel wonders in that moment how old the other man is. He can’t have too many years on Daniel, surely, but he seems so much older that it’s almost a little unnerving. “However, it could be anything, really; your love for your family, your will to live. It could even be me, if you wanted.”

He says it like it’s meant to be another bad joke, but something about it brings Daniel up short. Like he’s not really joking at all, actually. “You could be my higher power?” he asks flatly, unsettled and using a fair amount of bluster to cover it. “Isn’t that sort of sacrilegious?”

“I’m not suggesting you pray to me; I’m suggesting you allow me to carry some of the pain that troubles you. To share in the weight of the dreary mundanities that lead you to use.” The priest’s eyes bore into his, his tone soft and reassuring. “I assure you, Daniel, God will have nothing to say about it.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Father Armand smiles. “I want to help you. Is that so difficult to believe?”

And it is, really. But despite his misgivings—practically against his will—a sense of calm washes over Daniel at the sound of the priest’s voice; the crash of a wave lapping gently at a shoreline, soothing the impotent swell of restless irritation that has been building inside of him since he first sat down. All of that rage, those years and years of tiresome anger, snuffed out as easily as the flickering light of a candle. With nothing more than a few words, Father Armand has taken the heft of that burden from him, as effortlessly as if Daniel had handed it over to him willingly.

Rest, now.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much after all, he thinks—putting the confusing knot of chaos inside of him into someone else’s hands. Maybe it would be nice to give his will over to something greater than himself.

“Okay,” Daniel hears himself saying, as though from a great distance. He’s hardly even aware he’s speaking. “Okay. It can be you.”

Rest.

Father Armand beams at him then, and Daniel realizes for the first time how beautiful he is; he looks just like an angel in a Renaissance painting, like a portrait of a martyred saint. His eyes seem less brown, now, closer to the rich and vibrant glow of an ember. Of course Daniel can trust him. Of course.

“Excellent,” he says, and his hands extend to clasp around one of Daniel’s. The leather over his skin is cold. “You are safe with me, Daniel.”

Rest.

Mutely, Daniel nods. The part of him that wishes to object is so quickly subdued, as if smothered by an insistent hand.

“Now,” Father Armand begins, the dingy gold of the basement lights glistening off of his teeth, “you’re going to tell me about what happened before the drug den. What do you remember, Daniel?”

I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for.

As the unspoken words pierce through the veil of his cognition, Daniel jerks like a sleeper agent awakened. In between one moment and the next, his mind is inundated with lurid images of an apartment, the apartment he was in before he wound up in the den: a man—if he can even be called a man—who looks so much like the priest is hovering over Daniel, whispering devastating kindnesses into his ear until the fight slowly drains from his body. He tries to hold onto the shape of them, to remember what it was that happened, but the flashes slip through his fingers as easily as soap bubbles off of a dinner plate. As he reaches for them, grasps at them, a pressure builds in the base of his skull like a low roll of thunder, and a scream tears through his shaking body. He cannot hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he can feel it, feel it rattle his chest and reverberate in his bones. It is agony, unending and complete. It is torture.

The only comfort through all of it is the weight of Father Armand’s hand around his own.

“It hurts,” Daniel whines, instinctively trying to shy away from the throbbing fissure in his head by leaning further into Father Armand’s touch. Tears prick the corners of his eyes like pins.

“Does it?” the priest asks, voice steady and still like the face of a mountain. “Good. Pain is your body’s way of telling you to avoid something. If it hurts, move away from it.”

Daniel sobs, and the next thing he knows he is on the ground, having fallen off of his chair; the hard press of the floor underneath him is the only thing holding him up. “Please,” he begs, not really sure what it is he’s asking for.

A cool finger crooks under his chin to tilt his head up. Through his swimming vision, Daniel sees Father Armand looking down at him. “Do you want me to make it stop?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his body curling up into the fetal position like a dying cockroach. “Please.”

The priest frowns, dispassionate. “What would you do for it? What would you give?”

I could be on my knees in a second.

Another burst of pain blossoms underneath Daniel’s eyes and he winces, cries out. “Anything,” he promises, his fingers reaching out to clutch at the leg of Father Armand’s trousers. “I’d give anything.”

“Would you give me money, Daniel?”

He nods enthusiastically even as the motion of it only exacerbates his anguish. “Yeah,” he says, “everything I have.”

“Hmm,” the priest hums. His expression as he watches Daniel is calculating, frigid. Slowly, he lifts one Doc Marten-booted foot to rest on Daniel’s chest. “Would you give me your obedience?”

Instinctively, Daniel’s spine straightens under the weight of his heel, the firm way it presses down on him a strange but poignant comfort in his addled state. The feeling it grants him is not quite relief, but it is something adjacent to it, something that loosens the tightly-wound tangle of anxiety that squeezes his lungs. He craves more of it. “Yes.”

“Yes what, Daniel?”

He swallows roughly. “Yes, Father.”

Lowly, the priest murmurs, “Good boy.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, his gaze growing half-lidded and hungry. “Ask me what you can do for me, Daniel.”

A shudder runs through him, sharp and electric. His mouth tastes of ozone. “What can I do for you, Father?”

The priest grins at him, then, wicked and predatory. “Worship me.”

The words echo around Daniel’s mind like a hollow room, silencing all other thought. Silencing the terrible cacophony that has been threatening to rend his very self in two. He squirms with the ecstasy of it—the unparalleled bliss of reprieve—mewling his acquiescence to the priest’s demand.

He can feel Father Armand’s pleasure at his submission trickling like a leaky faucet down his spine. “Do you feel that, Daniel?” he asks, as calmly as if he were asking about the weather.

Tears are still streaming down Daniel’s cheeks; his nose is stuffed and snotty from crying. “Yes, Father,” he croaks.

“That is solace, my dear boy,” the priest tells him, unwavering and impassive. “I have given it to you, and I can take it away from you just as easily.”

At the thought of the pain returning, a fierce panic slices through Daniel, hot and pointed as a knife in his guts. “No,” he moans, his bottom lip quivering as he stares at Father Armand. “Please don’t.”

The boot presses down harder, pinning him to the yellowed carpet. “You forget yourself, Daniel,” the priest replies.

He whimpers and corrects himself: “Please don’t, Father.”

“That’s better,” Father Armand says with a mean twist of his lips. “Tell me: where is your place?”

And Daniel has played this role before, knows the script by heart. Could recite it in his sleep if he had to. “Beneath you, Father.”

The priest grinds his heel into Daniel’s sternum, then, wrenching a pitiful cry from between the boy’s lips. It hurts, of course, but in a different way than before; this isn’t the horror of his soul being cracked in half and poured over the ground. This is a familiar pain, a welcome one, one that Daniel arches up into like a cat stretching its back.

“Do you like that, Daniel?” Father Armand asks, a trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Do you like it when I hurt you?”

Wordlessly, Daniel nods, because he does. He always has. He’s always pining to feel something, anything. Whatever it takes if it means not being bored.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” Daniel wheezes, forcing the words out from underneath the weight on his chest. “I like when you hurt me, Father.”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” the priest purrs, half-aroused and half-contemptuous.

“Yes.” Daniel hisses, his fingers clawing into the carpet as his body curves to accommodate—to seek out—the press of Father Armand’s heavy boot. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, that he wants this after everything that’s happened today (the past week, some distant part of his mind whispers), but he does. Maybe he simply craves the release of oblivion after teetering over the edge of it. “Yes, Father.”

“I could make you feel good, too. If I felt like it.” He lifts his foot a fraction of an inch, enough to make Daniel’s lungs expand gratefully where they’ve been compressed. Then, slowly, he drags the toe of his boot down, down, down to where the boy is hard and aching in his jeans. He runs his instep along the shameful bulge that presses against Daniel’s zipper, pressing just lightly enough to tease. To threaten. “Do you want me to make you feel good?”

Daniel moans, a needful, pathetic little sound that makes Father Armand snarl. “I do, Father.”

“Do you think you deserve that, Daniel?” His boot pushes down a bit harder, and Daniel writhes into it, gasps at the delicious torment of the priest’s brutality.

“No, Father.”

“Beg for it, then.” Even though Daniel’s eyes are screwed shut, he can feel the burning weight of the other man’s stare boring into him. His boot steps harder still. “Beg for me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Daniel wants to reply, knows that he needs to reply, but he can’t; his mouth is too occupied with crying out, held captive as he is in a state of delirium.

“Pathetic,” Father Armand spits at him. “Must I speak for you now, too?”

He can do nothing more than nod, than accept the fate he has been dealt at the hands of this cruel master.

“You want me to fuck you.” It isn’t a question; rather, the priest speaks flatly, clinically, down at the boy he has pinned. “You want me to bury my tongue in your ass until your voice gives out from screaming and then fill you to the point of breaking, is that right?”

The words are torn directly from Daniel’s thoughts as though Father Armand heard them uttered aloud. As though he can read the twisted desires playing on repeat in Daniel’s mind as plainly as thumbing through a children’s picture book. The noise Daniel makes isn’t so much language as one of desperation distilled.

The boot lifts off of his chest, suddenly. “Stand.”

Daniel does, albeit slowly and on shaky legs that threaten to buckle from underneath him.

Father Armand smiles. “Good boy.” He gestures with his chin in the direction of the table, still covered in untouched donuts and cold coffee. “Bend over. And drop your pants.”

Sweating and trembling, Daniel feels more of a mess now than he did the day he awoke from his bender. Like the screws holding him together have been loosened and he is the lightest touch away from falling to pieces. Nevertheless, he complies, bracing himself on his elbows as he awaits further instruction.

“You’ve been insolent,” Father Armand comments as he slowly comes to stand behind Daniel. He runs the fingertips of one gloved hand over the swell of the boy’s ass. “Don’t you think you deserve to be disciplined for that?”

And Daniel is still beyond the point of language, so all he can manage is a thin, reedy little moan. Internally, he is only capable of thinking the word please on a recursive loop.

There’s a rush of air, then, followed by the sharp sting of Father Armand’s leather-covered palm striking one cheek. Daniel sucks in a harsh breath, an involuntary inhalation somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp. He gets almost no break before he is being hit again, then again, over and over until he can feel the blood rising to the skin from the burst capillaries. Almost as if from another room, he can hear himself crying out. Although the soles of his feet are rooted to the church carpet, he feels as though his consciousness has abandoned his body to wander elsewhere. The pain is practically transcendent in its savage persistence, the only thing anchoring him to this material plane the rhythmic pulse of the blood rushing to his cock.

Father Armand is relentless, and Daniel wonders whether he is going to be punished past the point where he can no longer withstand it. Until suddenly, the abuse stops, and the priest instead permits his cool fingers to trace over the damaged skin. His touch is surprisingly gentle, laced with a fragile sort of reverence; Daniel can hear the rustling of fabric as the priest crouches down, as if seeking out a better angle from which to admire his own handiwork.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, spreading Daniel’s ass open, the word ghosting feather-light over the sensitive flesh. Daniel whines, restless with the effort of keeping himself still against the overwhelming urge to arch into the contact. “What a beautiful little thing you are.”

The praise wrenches a strangled cry from Daniel’s throat, wanton and depraved. He wishes he still possessed the ability to speak, wishes he could beg for Father Armand to please, please fuck him now. Beg the priest to make him full, to try and satisfy the yearning cavern inside of him.

He’d do anything to not be so fucking hungry.

The priest laughs as though he knows precisely what Daniel is thinking and then, with no warning, he is blowing a teasing breath over Daniel’s hole.

The boy nearly screams, his mind still running on the frantic hamster wheel of please, please, please, please, please—

Father Armand interrupts that train of thought by dragging the flat of his tongue over the skin that his breath just kissed, carefully unraveling what little remains of Daniel’s sentience until all that is left in its place is a moaning, bestial creature. A thing composed entirely of impulse, the only thing he understands at this point being what it means to want.

Instinctively, Daniel tries to grind back into the sensation, but the priest does not allow it, his leather-clad hold on Daniel wrought in immovable iron. At the denial, Daniel merely whimpers, no longer able to beg with anything other than his body and sincerely running the risk of going mad with need.

Patience, Daniel, he hears Father Armand admonish, as if from a stereo system inside of his head while the priest licks over him once more. He doesn’t even question it, really, content to assume that the universe is fracturing around him and that reality itself is simply splintering. It certainly feels that way, with how Father Armand’s tongue writes filthy love poems into his skin, with how he fucks into Daniel just enough to torture.

It is not unlike he is drowning, stranded in the middle of a vast ocean and being pulled under by the grasping appendages of the monsters below. He is overcome with a pleasure too fathomless to name, one that threatens to steal the air from his lungs and fill them with something more volatile and fluid. It’s exquisite. He needs it to stop. He never wants it to stop.

Again, Daniel hears the priest’s voice inside of his mind. So very needy, aren’t you? Filled to the brim with unrealized desire, aching for anything that might scratch the persistent itch deep within you.

The words seem to strip him bare, to peel back his skin and the viscera that holds him together until all of his nerves are exposed to Father Armand’s touch. At this point, he is cognizant only of the places where the two of them connect, the world zeroed in like a pinhole on the press of the priest’s tongue against his ass. He has no self outside of this point of contact, he thinks, and he doesn’t care at all. Can’t imagine caring about anything else ever again.

He keens, his hips attempting to roll back once more. This time, Father Armand lets him, allows Daniel to ride his tongue in the way he so desperately craves, and he gasps with the relief of it, his face buried in the crook of his arm as he thrusts backwards to where the priest’s mouth is waiting for him.

Then, one of Father Armand’s hands snakes around to grip Daniel in his fist, and it only takes a few strokes before the feeling of it swells into a feverish crescendo, before Daniel is twitching and spilling messily over the priest’s fingers.

Good boy, Father Armand says, tongue still deep in Daniel’s ass as he works him through the spasming aftershocks. Now, I need you to do something for me.

Daniel slumps onto the table, barely able to hold himself up, and nods limply. Anything. He’d do anything.

Stay still, Daniel.

Father Armand’s mouth moves to lavish a hot, wet kiss to where Daniel’s pulse pounds in his thigh, his teeth scraping delicately over the skin there. Then, there is the sensation of ice piercing his arteries, of numb and cold and bad and wrong.

The world begins to grow dim around the edges. The last thing Daniel remembers thinking before it all goes dark is, Please don’t kill me.

***

When Daniel awakens in his apartment the next morning, he has a bruise on his butt the size of an apple, a killer headache, and a voicemail on his answering machine:

Hey Daniel, this is Sandra. I was wondering why you missed your first N.A. meeting last night; Father Reynolds said you didn’t show. If you need help getting to them, let me know and I’ll help you work something out. Either way, try not to let it happen again, okay?

As he listens to his P.O.—who is apparently not named Sarah—speak, a lot of conflicting thoughts occur to him at once. Most of them are confused, disoriented, wondering what the fuck happened last night and who the fuck Father Armand really was.

But perhaps the loudest of all of them is the realization that that part of him that is so constantly reaching, so constantly starving, is finally contented.

For the first time he can remember, he is satisfied.

#armandaniel #iwtv #iwtv 2022 #daniel molloy #devil's minion #iwtv armand #armand x daniel #devils minion #my fic

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