#at least not in 'texan' style

[bladesymphony]

i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't need cowboy boots i don't—

[sl-ut]

you should probably leave

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel is enamoured by his new neighbour, but old patterns will always be his downfall.

warnings: UNEDITED, slight age gap, slight smut, implied unprotected piv, protected piv, swearing, alcohol consumption, insecurity, angst, reader is given a birthday (she's a sag like me)

words: 10.8K (my longest fic to date)

date posted: 14/03/23

part two

(inspired by you should probably leave by chris stapleton)

OCTOBER 12, 1998

The weather was something that she was unsure if she could ever get used to. For her entire life, she had spent the entirety of the late autumn months dreading the first snowfall of the season before lugging out her extensive collection of knitted sweaters and fur-lined boots. Instead, her little archive of winter clothing was left in a cardboard box in her childhood bedroom, along with the majority of her other belongings that she had not brought with her on her grand adventure–if you could even call it that. 

The University of Texas at Austin had not been her first choice of school, or her second, or third; she actually had never even imagined going to school any further than a few hours from her hometown in Pennsylvania, and yet there she was, standing in front of her brand-new home, sweltering under the harsh Texan sun as she struggled to unload her packed car all on her own. Well, to call it her home would be a pretty tight stretch, as well as to label it as “brand-new.” 

The small bungalow-style house had caught her eye on a flyer in the grocery store, a listing for one female roommate in a cul-de-sac not too far from the city. It wasn’t exactly her dream home by any means, with an ugly yellow exterior and a kitchen that could certainly use an updating, but it she had recently been forced out of her own apartment due to her previous roommate preferring her boyfriend to live their with her instead and it was the nicest of the few places within her price range that would also accommodate the mutt she’d rescued during her first year. All things considered, it was quite literally perfect for her situation–plus her new roommate seemed to have been at least more considerate of her boundaries than the last, which gave her some hope that things might actually work out. 

Y/n grunted at the weight of the box, cursing herself internally for enrolling in school and owning so many textbooks as she lugged it up the front steps, dropping it just inside the door. She couldn’t help but grimace as she glanced up, meeting the watchful gaze of Manny, his furry little head tilting curiously–likely wondering why she was making so much ruckus and interrupting his nap. 

“Lazy ass,” she muttered under her breath at him, kicking the box to the side before trudging back out the door.

The next few boxes were filled with clothes and shoes, fortunately for her spine. She hauled several out, dropping each of them to the pavement of the driveway carelessly as she wiped at her sweaty forehead, apparently too enthralled in the work to notice the beat up truck as it turned into the neighbouring driveway.

“Hey there,” she turned to find a young man, his hair combed back to expose his effortlessly charming face to her, “You need a hand?”

She glanced down at the boxes at her feet, “I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

A young girl appeared at his side, wide eyes peering over at the older female curiously. The man shrugged, puffing out his broad chest as he moved. Y/n almost laughed at how obvious he was being, only seconds after meeting her. The man gave off the impression that he had always thought fairly highly of himself, probably the quarterback of the high school football team, maybe even involved in the armed forces–the navy, she was betting. He crossed the barrier between the two driveways in two long strides, extending his hand out to her as he came closer. 

“I’m Tommy,” he flashed her a grin, his accent coming out thicker than it probably would have normally. He glanced over his shoulder, motioning for the young girl to follow him into the neighbouring yard, “This is my niece Sarah.”

Y/n smiled politely, shaking his hand lightly, “Hi, I’m Y/n. I guess it’s nice to meet some of my new neighbours.”

“Well, Sarah, here, is your neighbour. Me, I live–”

“What happened to Stephanie?” Sarah interrupted, “I didn’t know she was moving.”

Y/n turned her attention to the young girl, “She isn’t, we’re just living together now.”

Sarah’s mouth formed an ‘o’, the gears visibly turning in her head as she formulated her next question, “Are you guys dating?”

“Sarah!” Tommy choked on his spit, “I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay,” Y/n chuckled at his response before turning back to the young girl, “No, we’re not. I guess she just didn’t wanna be living here all on her own anymore.”

Tommy’s shoulders relaxed, the mortified expression leaving his features in favour of one that she might have even considered relief. He shook his head at his niece, giving her a hard stare, “I’m sorry about her. I figured that she would have some better manners by now–my mistake.”

Sarah swatted at him, a pout appearing on her lips as her brows furrowed. The girl didn’t quite understand how the question may have been taken with offence by some, and was quite miffed by her uncle’s insult. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Y/n affirmed, “I think it’s actually a good thing that she knows about that kinda stuff.”

Tommy glanced down at the boxes, clear discomfort appearing on his features, “Alrighty then, how about these boxes?”

Y/n gave in, offering Tommy one of the heavier of the three boxes, while shifting the smallest and lightest to the young girl, who had been adamant in helping out. She instructed them to just drop the boxes to the floor by the door, not looking to take up much more of their time. 

A loud gasp escaped Sarah, her wide eyes falling on the mutt, who had appeared to have been equally as excited to see her as he rushed over, tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail flapping wildly. Sarah squealed when he barrelled into her, a fit of giggles leaving her mouth as he brought her to the ground and began to cover her face in slobbery kisses.

“Manny!” Y/n groaned, grasping the dog’s collar and pulling away enough for Sarah to sit up off of the floor, “Sorry, he’s just convinced that everyone wants to be his friend.”

“I’ll be his friend!” Sarah beamed, reaching out and squishing the dog’s face in between her palms, “I mean… Can I?”

Y/n shrugged, “As long as it’s okay with your…” She glanced at Tommy for help, unsure about Sarah’s parentage situation. He’d already made it clear that he did not live next door, but had never explicitly stated who did.

“You’ll have to ask your dad, Sarah,” He chastised her, “Anyway, we should get out of your hair now, let you settle in.”

Y/n nodded, “Yeah, thank you for the help, though.”

“No problem, ma’am,” He winked, southern charm on full display as he stepped out onto the front step, “Anytime for a pretty girl like you. C’mon, Sar.”

Sarah begrudgingly offered the needy pup one more affectionate squeeze before following after her uncle, leaping off of the step and bounding across to her own front yard. Tommy paused, hand resting on the railing of the step and giving it a firm shake. His lips pursed into a line as he let out a small huh as the bannister shifted out of its place, then back in under the pressure. 

“Yeah, Steph said there were all kinds of little things wrong with the place,” Y/n noted, “But hey, if it’s got four walls and a roof, it’s good enough for me.”

He chuckled at her, shaking his head, “You know, my brother and I are contractors, we could come over and help you fix things up if you guys wanted.”

She hummed, “I’ll mention it to Steph. Wouldn’t wanna just start making changes to her house while she’s not here, would I?”

Tommy hummed, “‘Spose that’s true. Anyway, I should go see where she ran off to, but I sure hope I’ll be seeing you around.” He shot her a cheeky wink before jogging back over to the neighbouring yard, leaving her and Manny among the mess of boxes in the entryway. 

Y/n huffed, glancing around at the mess, then at the furry little beast at her feet, who waited patiently for her to begin offering him her love and attention. She rested her hands on her hips, shaking her head softly, “Well, let’s just get this done, boy.”

– – –

Joel grunted as he clambered in through the side door of his home, sighing in relief as he slipped out of his heavy work boots and dropped the armload of groceries onto the kitchen counter. He could hear the TV on in the living room, drowned out by Sarah’s yell of a greeting. He rushed to put away the groceries, sticking the brown paper bags in the recycling before stepping into the dimly lit sitting area. 

Tommy was reclined on the couch, slumped into the worn leather like a pile of mashed potatoes as he balanced his can of Budweiser on his bent knee. He nodded to his brother briefly as he lifted the beer to his lips, hardly taking his eyes off of the football game on the screen as Joel plopped down next to him. The older brother leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to Sarah’s head so as to not disturb her as she worked on her homework on the coffee table in front of the couch before finally copying his brother’s position.

“The hell took you so long? You left the site the same time I did, and I had to go pick this shithead up from school,” he playfully kicked at Sarah’s leg, “plus I helped your new neighbour move in.”

“Supermarket was a zoo,” Joel moaned as he ran his palm flat over his face, then furrowed his brow, “What new neighbour?”

Tommy nodded his head back in the direction of the mustard yellow house, “Chick next door got a new roommate.”

“Uncle Tommy was flirting with her,” Sarah chimed in, not taking her eyes off of the math textbook in front of her.

Joel rolled his eyes, “Now tell me why I’m not surprised.”

Tommy shook his head, taking another large gulp of beer, “I know what you’re thinking, but this girl’s different. She’s not from ‘round here. Not sure where, but she’s got an accent. Canada, maybe.”

“You know what a Canadian accent sounds like?” Joel scoffed, knowing that his brother was prone to drawing his own conclusions. 

“Well, no,” Tommy frowned, “But I imagine it might sound like that. Doesn’t matter, I think I’m gonna ask her out.”

Joel grunted in response, turning his eyes to the game on the screen.

“She wasn’t flirting back,” Sarah grinned up at the two men, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her father’s growing smirk and giggling as his own laughter came tumbling out. Tommy kicked her again, only this time with a little more force, “What? You invited yourself over there and were all,” She puffed her chest out and deepened her voice, “Anything for a pretty girl like you.”

Joel rested a palm on his belly as he shook with laughter, his other hand landing on the top of his daughter’s head affectionately as Tommy crossed his arms, sulking. 

“I think she was flirting back,” he argued.

“She wasn’t,” Sarah reaffirmed.

Tommy leaned forward, “Now how the hell would you know anything about flirting, huh? You been doin’ a lot of it at school?”

Her face burned in embarrassment, sputtering for a response, “No, that’s gross!”

Joel frowned at her, shaking his head in feign sternness, “You better not be. Otherwise I might need to break out grandpa’s old hunting rifle.”

She didn’t utter another word, simply gathering her things in her arms and rushing off to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her as the laughter of her father and uncle followed her every step.

OCTOBER 17, 1998

Just under a week had passed since he’d first caught wind of his new neighbour, and Joel had yet to even see this woman. He’d noticed the new car in the driveway, and he’d picked up on the presence of the dog fairly quickly, especially after he’d caught Sarah tossing some of the vegetables from her dinner over the fence for him. Joel hadn’t paid it much mind, he was far too busy to be concerned with some young girl who didn’t seem to be causing much issues. 

He’d had words with Stephanie several times in the past; once for blatantly smoking pot on 

her front step when they were heading out for the day, then for leaving her garbage bin too close to his driveway, causing him to back into it and scratch the paint on his truck, and then once more when she’d had a little get together that ended up lasting until 4am, when the police arrived. He would normally have called himself a narc for having the party shut down, but it was keeping Sarah awake and the door had been shut in his face when he went over to ask politely. 

The day had been long, and normally he would have refused Tommy’s invitation to head over to one of the local dive bars, but after dealing with the shit-show that had gone on at the job site that day, he really needed a drink. Sarah was out of the house, anyway, having slept over at a friend’s house, so there was quite literally nothing keeping him away.

“Brother’s night, my ass,” Joel grumbled into his glass, glancing over to the corner booth, where his brother had joined a pretty brunette, leaving Joel to himself at the barside. He waved at the bartender, motioning for another top-up of his whiskey. 

A figure appeared at his side, leaning onto the bartop to call out to the bartender. Joel glanced over, his eyes raking over her radiant side profile in awe. He shot his gaze back to the glass of amber liquid in front of him, then briefly over to the girl once more. His eyes narrowed in on her pursed lips, noting how her brows furrowed in frustration as the bartender migrated to the other side of the bar. She turned to him suddenly, and Joel whipped his head back around to ensure that he wouldn’t appear to be some creep–though he was positive he certainly had been.

“Is it always like this here?” She asked him, tilting her head. “I swear, I’ve gone to three different spots along this bar, and buddy keeps looking in the other direction.”

He cleared his throat, “You not from around here?”

She smiled sheepishly, “Is it that obvious?”

Joel chuckled, “Just a little. You gotta get his attention, be firm. Here,” he tucked his index finger and thumb into his mouth and let out a loud whistle, nodding at the bartender as he rushed over. 

“Two vodka crans, please,” The girl smiled prettily at the bartender, then scoffed as he turned to begin pouring the drinks, “Shit, I guess I could stand to learn a thing or two.”

“It comes with time,” He frowned, realising that he may have implied that he was at the bar every other night, “I mean, not that I’m–”

She touched his arm softly, electricity running through her fingertips and into his bicep, “Hey, I’m not here to judge you if you’re not here to judge me, heh?”

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak once more when another figure appeared at her side. His smile dropped, taking in the sight of his next door neighbour, probably one of the last people he wanted to see on his night off.

“What the fuck is taking you so long–oh,” Stephanie narrowed her eyes at the older man, who simply turned and took another long swig of his whiskey, “Hello, Joel.”

“Stephanie,” he drawled, “How you doin’ tonight?”

She smirked at him maliciously, “Fine. Y/n, this is the guy I was telling you about.”

Oh, this is Y/n, he thought to himself, suddenly understanding Tommy’s instant interest in the girl. 

“All good things, I hope,” he sighed into his glass.

She shook her head, “Oh, just that you’re the neighbour from hell, and that you’re a narc.”

Y/n tucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, visibly uncomfortable at the confrontation. His eyes fell to her mouth at the movement, wondering what it might feel like to take that same lip in between his own teeth. 

“You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Steph,” he huffed, praying to any god that would listen that she hadn’t completely turned Y/n against him.

Stephanie sneered at him, grasping one of the drinks from the bartop and stomping off, leaving a thick tension over the remaining two. Joel met Y/n’s gaze once again, noting the visible embarrassment on her face as she began to laugh slowly.

“Sorry about her,” She laughed nervously, “For the record, I know that she’s a little dramatic.”

“‘T’s fine,” Joel grumbled, swallowing the last gulp of whiskey, “You ain’t gotta apologise for her, she can feel however she wants about me.”

Y/n chuckled, a genuine one this time and Joel couldn’t help but carve the melodious sound into his memory, “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He nodded, accepting the soft handshake that she offered, “So I’ve heard.” He noticed the slight furrow of her brow before he clarified, “I’m Sarah’s dad.”

Realisation crossed her face, “Oh, Sarah! She’s a real sweetheart.”

“Yeah, she is,” he smiled softly at the complement, “She sure likes you, and I’m assuming that it’s your pup that I’ve caught her feeding her broccoli to?”

Y/n giggled at him, “Huh, I’d noticed that he was especially gassy lately. Here I was thinking it was something in the water.”

Joel let out a loud laugh, then realised that he had not actually introduced himself, “Shit. Sorry, I just–” he coughed, “I’m Joel.”

“So I’ve heard.” She repeated to him, clearing her throat before turning to gaze at him through her lashes with a soft smile, “So Joel, is this seat taken?”

– – –

Y/n had not expected to have enjoyed herself quite so much when Stephanie forced her to go to the grubby little saloon, feeling incredibly out of place among all of the southerners. She had been hesitant to leave Manny on his own so soon after moving in, but the last thing that she had wanted to do was get on Stephanie’s bad side so early on. Then, she’d stumbled upon the devastatingly handsome man sitting all on his own at the bar, and her tune changed drastically. 

She sat on that stool for the better part of two hours after Stephanie had fucked off, leaving them to become acquainted with one another. Joel had offered her another drink, which she accepted under the terms that she would buy the next round, and against his better judgement, he found himself doing a shot of tequila with her as well. She smirked to herself when she took note of the flush that had crawled into his cheeks, and how cheerful his dark chocolate eyes looked under the dim lighting of the bar. 

Y/n had noticed Tommy in the corner booth, and how he had been blatantly pressing his southern charm onto the brunette under his arm in the very same way that he had to her, which made her feel much better knowing that he couldn’t possibly be that upset about her doing the exact same to his brother. 

Her hand had come to rest on his knee, leaning across to invade his personal space animatedly as she spoke, her own cheeks flushing each time that he grinned or laughed at her words, and she had lost count of the amount of times that she had rubbed her thighs together or considered smashing her lips to his. 

Tommy appeared at his side, clutching his shoulder in his firm grasp, “Hey Joel, you think you’re ready–oh, hey, Y/n.” His cheeks had turned red, one hand self-consciously rising to rub at his cheek, where the stark red lipstick stain had once acted as a trophy and was now an admission of guilt. Tommy pursed his lips, “Wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

She shrugged, “Steph forced me out.”

He nodded awkwardly, unsure of how to save himself in this situation. 

Y/n turned her head, catching sight of her roommate’s drunken attempt to seduce the bouncer before turning her attention back to the older of the two brothers, squeezing his knee once before sliding off of the stool, “Speaking of, I should probably leave, she’s gonna get us banned from here any minute now. It’s been nice, talking to you, Joel. See you, Tommy.”

Both men watched as she disappeared into the crowd, eyes trailing after her figure longingly.

Tommy huffed, “You think I still got a chance?”

Joel’s shoulders shook in a drunken fit of giggles, lifting his own hand to proudly show off the nine digits that had been marked into his skin, “Nope.”

Tommy’s jaw dropped, clear disappointment on his features before it was quickly replaced by pride, “Well fuck, brother. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

OCTOBER 31, 1998

Y/n wiped at the sweat on her brow, breathing picking up in delight as she turned the corner and the blinding yellow house came into sight. The sun had already begun to set by the time that she and Manny had set out on their evening walk, now settling low on the horizon and casting a golden hue to the world below it as Manny tugged on his leash, obviously also desperate to escape the heat. 

A loud honk sounded from behind her, muffled slightly by the music playing over her bulky headphones, drawing her attention to the dark pickup truck as it sped past, Sarah hanging out the back window with a grin on her face as she waved dramatically. Y/n chuckled at the young girl, allowing Manny to lead her into a faster pace as they grew closer to their house.

She slid the headphones down to rest around her neck, pressing pause on her walkman as Sarah rushed towards them. The girl paid very little mind to the woman holding the leash, instead dropping to her knees and reaching out for the excited dog’s face, laughing as he began to lick enthusiastically at her cheek. 

“Hi,” her gaze rose to find Joel as he rounded the bed of the truck, hand resting on the top of the tailgate as he tried his best to look casual, “sorry, this one never shuts up about that dog.”

Y/n smiled at him, warmth flooding through her cheeks. She’d only actually spoken to Joel a handful of times since that night at the bar, mostly simple greetings while Sarah occupied herself with Manny. Joel was too awkward of a person to try anything with Sarah present, and Y/n was too compassionate to question him about why he hadn’t bothered to call yet in front of his daughter. 

Y/n shrugged, “To be fair, he never shuts up about her, either.”

“Oh did he tell you that?” The man asked, brows raised playfully, “I didn’t know you spoke dog.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me yet, Joel,” She smirked at him, “Oh, happy Halloween, by the way.”

“Right,” Joel raised one hand to stroke his hairy chin, “Yeah, you too.”

Sarah glanced up from Manny’s pleading brown eyes, “Dad forgot.

Joel sent a sharp glare to his daughter, then smiled sheepishly at her, “Not too concerned about a holiday that’s got nothing to do with me, anyway–this one decided she’s too cool for trick-or-treating with dad this year.”

“Oh don’t feel too discouraged, I gave my dad the boot when I was even younger.”

“See?” Sarah pressed, glancing back at her father, “You don’t even like Halloween, I don’t get why you’re mad.”

Y/n widened her eyes and clutched her chest dramatically, “What do you mean, you don’t like Halloween? It’s like, one of the best holidays!”

Joel rolled his eyes, “Oh don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

She pursed her lips, “And just when I was starting to like you, Miller.”

His eyes met hers, curiosity pooling into the dark mocha irises as he considered her words. He almost appeared apologetic; could he feel guilty about not calling her? Y/n did her best to not appear too shaken by his lack of contact–she hadn’t expected anything from him the next day, but after two weeks and still no call? She’d taken that as a sign that he’d been a tad too drunk when he had been so shamelessly flirting with her, and that he had no intentions of ever pursuing anything. 

Y/n was thankful when Sarah interrupted the pair, preventing her from spiralling into a nervous breakdown from her own inner monologue, “What are you dressing up as?”

The woman shook her head with a mischievous smirk on her lips, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see when you come knocking at my door, huh?”

“No big plans?” Joel tilted his head, “I figured that roommate of yours would have you out on the town.”

She shrugged, “Steph’s out of town. Something about the drinks and the guys being stronger. Looks like it’s just gonna be me and my little guy here,” she gently clapped a hand against Manny’s side, “Well, us and a selection of horror movies.”

Sarah stood up, leaning into her dad’s side with her elbow, “How convenient, my dad will also be home alone tonight.”

Joel dropped his head in embarrassment–just leave it to Sarah to blatantly play the role of her father’s wingwoman. He refused to meet Y/n’s amused gaze, ears burning as Sarah continued.

“And he totally loves horror movies. He watches them all the time.”

“Oh really?” Y/n did her best not to burst out laughing, enjoying the sight of both Joel’s embarrassment and how confidently Sarah was trying to talk up her own father. She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her best to not make it too obvious how much she actually wanted to invite him to join her, but she didn’t want to display too much interest in him if he genuinely had none in her, “Well then maybe he should head to Blockbuster before all of the good ones are rented.” 

She raised her brow at him, signalling to him that it was his turn to make a move, as she would not be making any more. He nodded at her, red flooding his cheeks as he tried to muster up the courage to discuss the clear tension between them. 

Y/n smiled politely at them both, then glanced down at the heavily panting dog at her feet, “Well, I better get this guy out of this heat. See you guys in a bit, then?” She led the dog past them, glancing back over her shoulder, her lips pursed as she watched Sarah poke at her father’s side sharply. 

The young girl smirked at her dad knowingly, remaining silent, though the expression on her face made her thoughts very clear to the man. She scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “Christina’s sister is so right; all boys are stupid.”

The man scowled at his daughter, watching in silence as she moved around him without another word, disappearing through the front door without so much as another glance. Joel scoffed, shaking his head at her, and wondering how the hell his nine year old could be so goddamn right about the situation. 

– – –

Joel wiped his hands anxiously across the expanse of his thighs, attempting to rid himself of the nervous sweat that had collected in his palms as he stood on Y/n’s front step, mustering up the courage to finally knock. 

“The fuck am I doing,” He cursed to himself, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his face. 

Y/n was younger than him; not by a lot, but they were still in very different stages of their lives. He wasn’t willing to admit that he genuinely did like her, and considering that she was still a young woman and still in college, he wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for with him. Was it just some quick fuck that she wanted? Joel wouldn’t be opposed–hell, he was ashamed that he’d imagined such a thing more than a few times since meeting her–but he wasn’t sure if he could jump into bed with her and then move on with his life, nor could he expect her to be willing to just pick up the role of step-mother to his little girl. 

Joel had woken up on October 17, hungover as hell and struggling to recall any of his memories from the night before. He’d forced himself out of bed much earlier than he would have liked, needing to pick Sarah up before her soccer game. The man had stumbled his way into the shower, blindly going through the motions of bathing himself as the warm water slowly began to remove the fog from his mind. It was then, as he had reached out for his bottle of body wash that he noticed the smudge of blue ink on his skin, and then jumping in surprise at the memory of the beautiful woman who had given him her phone number–the woman who had him laughing like he hadn’t in so long and blushing harder than he thought possible–the woman who he hoped was now lying peacefully in her bed next door, preferably all on her own. 

The few times that he had seen her since then, he had thought about apologising for not calling and telling her the truth of what had happened, despite his embarrassment. He wanted to ask for it again, but every time, Sarah was there, making a fuss over the little pooch that never seemed to leave Y/n’s side. He wished that he were more confident in himself, more willing to speak to other women even if his daughter was there, but he simply would never be able to look at the young girl again if Y/n were to reject him. 

“Shit,” He swore loudly as he turned to rush off of the step, instead booting one of the carefully carved jack-o-lanterns onto the pavement of the driveway and watching in horror as it shattered on impact. 

“Joel?” He froze at the sound of the door creaking open behind him, smiling bashfully at the young woman as he did his best to not appear too guilty. Her eyes fell from his flushed face to the mess of orange at his feet, a surprised chuckle leaving her lips, “Damn, you really do hate Halloween, huh? Enough to come over here and start destroying my decorations, anyway.”

He sputtered for an answer, “I–it was an accident, I just knocked it off by accident on my way out–”

“Your way out?” She questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the doorframe, “So what, you were just loitering on my front step?”

He scoffed at her, “I was actually on my way to apologise, but if you’d rather I just get lost…”

Y/n raised a brow inquisitively, “I’m listening.”

“I just–I’m sorry for not calling,” Joel admitted with a sigh, debating whether or not it would be best to explain exactly why, “For what it’s worth, I would have if I hadn’t washed it off by accident.”

An amused expression crossed her features as she mulled over his explanation, “You…washed it off?”

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “I did.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were trying to decipher whether or not he was being truthful, “Okay.”

His gaze shifted from side to side, uncertain as to what she meant, “Okay?”

“Okay,” She affirmed, “So what time did you wanna come over tonight?”

Joel swallowed the lump in his throat, “Tonight?”

Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the butterflies that slammed at the lining of her stomach and threatened to erupt, “Tonight. You said it yourself, Sarah’s gonna be gone all night, so would  you rather be home alone or come over? Otherwise, I’ll just be here by myself, scared and in need of a devastatingly handsome cowboy to protect me from Michael Myers.”

Blush spread across his cheeks, his hands coming up to rest on his hips, “I don’t know about ‘devastatingly handsome’, but I think I could handle some asshole in a mask.”

She grinned at him wickedly, “That’s what everyone thinks, but I guess we’ll see tonight, around eight?”

“Eight.” He confirmed, then glanced down at the mess at his feet, “And sorry about your pumpkin.”

“It’s alright,” Y/n smirked, “You’ll just have to work extra hard to make it up to me.”

– – –

Joel anxiously adjusted his shirt, frowning at himself in the window of her front door. Despite dismissing Sarah’s teasing by claiming that this was in fact, not a date, he’d taken her advice in showering the moment that he had gotten into the house. 

He was aware that she was flirting with him, but until he had gotten out of the shower, towel sitting low around his waist as he wiped the steam away from the mirror and took in his shaggy appearance, he had not been at all concerned about what activities the night might lead to. Staring at his own reflection, nervousness quickly began to settle into his bones.

He had made quick work with the clipper, shortening the length of his facial hair after several weeks of negligence and leaving his lower face to be covered by a light stubble. He put a little more effort into his hair than usual, running a thin layer of gel through it while noting to himself that it was probably time for a haircut. He even took things a step further, dabbing a few drops of some woodsy cologne onto his skin; the bottle had gone untouched for two years, having been a Christmas present from his mother.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Sarah asked as she appeared at his side, face painted to resemble a circus clown, “I knew this was a date.”

“It’s not a date,” He argued, doing his best not to jump in fright at her appearance, “Shouldn’t you be out on the town by now, Ronald McDonald?”

“You showered, put on cologne, and you’re bringing candy? It’s a date.” Sarah listed, “And I’m Pennywise, by the way. Christina’s sister is coming to pick me up soon. She says that guys always dress up when she goes out with them because they want her–”

Joel grunted, glaring at his daughter, “I want you to stop hanging around Christina’s sister.”

Sarah ignored his comment, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Joel glanced down at his outfit–a clean pair of jeans and an old t-shirt that he’d probably gotten out of a beer box or something, “What’s wrong with this?”

“What’s right with it?” 

Joel considered his parenting style for a moment, wondering if he would be free of this headache if he had spanked his daughter once or twice in her life. Sometimes he forgot that the girl was only nine years old with how intelligent she was and how much more mature she seemed in comparison to other kids her age. 

“It’s not a date, Sarah.”

She rolled her eyes, “It could be. Come on.”

Sarah rushed past him, leading him into his own bedroom as she began to dig through his closet. She frowned with almost every piece that she picked out, tossing them behind her recklessly and ignoring her father’s scolding for the mess that she had quickly created. 

“Hah!” The girl pulled out an egg-plant button down and shoved it into his grasp, “I knew you had to have something that wasn’t that ugly.”

He grunted at her, but didn’t reply out of respect for her brutal honesty as he quickly shed himself of the worn t-shirt he’d previously been wearing in favour of the one that Sarah had chosen. Now, as he stood at her front door and internally decided for himself that this was a date, he couldn’t help but thank God for his daughter’s awareness.

Finally, after tugging at the hem of his shirt, he raised a fist and knocked heavily on the door. Joel choked on his own saliva when she appeared in the window, smiling sweetly at him when she pulled the door open. She had already changed into a pair of black yoga pants and a sky blue shirt that exposed just a tasteful amount of her midriff. 

“Hi, again,” she breathed, a smile forming on her face, “You look nice, purple is definitely your colour.”

Joel burned, “I–thank you. Sarah picked it out.”

Y/n turned to the girl, who had already ushered the dog up onto the sofa with her, “Well she has a clear eye for style.”

“She definitely thinks so, that girl damn near harrasses me about my clothes everyday.” Y/n laughed out loud, Joel’s ears tingling at the melodious sound, “You look great, too.”

Y/n beamed down at her outfit, shrugging to herself, “Thanks, I thought about keeping my costume on but I wasn’t entirely sure how much you would be into Strawberry Shortcake.”

Joel chuckled at her, glancing down at the object in his hand, “I brought beer, by the way. Wasn’t sure if I should bring anything, or if you even like–”

Y/n reached out, snatching the six pack from his grasp, “Ever the gentleman, cowboy. So, you coming in?”

– – –

The house was filled with laughter, both having nearly finished their first beer as they shared stories freely. Halloween played quietly in the background, though neither of them paid too much attention. Y/n did her best not to physically melt when she felt Joel’s arm drape across the back of the sofa behind her, resisting the urge to tease him for attempting to cover it up by faking a dramatic yawn. 

She brushed her fingers along the top of his thigh, smirking to herself as she watched his leg slowly shift closer to her, though he didn’t address the affectionate touch. He spoke to her softly, and made an effort to hold eye contact with her as he did to–she was starting to feel some guilt about the conclusion that he’d drawn about him after he’d failed to call her. Her own gaze continuously fell to his lips as he spoke, and she was sure that he had noticed by the way that his lips began to curl confidently. Her heart hammered in her chest, wondering how much longer she would need to wait before he finally made a move.

Joel, however, was wondering exactly how he possibly could make a move. While feeling confident around her, there was no way to escape the fact that he hadn’t been on a date in at least a year, and he could count the amount of women he’d slept with since Sarah’s mother on one hand. At various points throughout the night, he had considered leaning in to kiss her, but had successfully siked himself out each time. The first time, he’d been interrupted by the pooch who had been jealous of his owner’s attention being focused elsewhere, though he could only blame every other time on his own insecurity.

“Do you want another beer?” Y/n asked as he swallowed the last gulp out of his can, “Or I have wine and pop?”

“Pop,” he scoffed, chest rumbling with quiet laughter.

She raised her hand and slapped his pec as she stood up from the couch, “Fine, you don’t get anything.”

He laughed, watching as she disappeared into the kitchen and shamelessly admiring the shape of her backside in the darkness of the dimly lit living room. He sat there for a few moments, staring at the movie in discontent, sighing as he ran his hand over his face and murmured a nearly silent fuck it, and following after her. 

“Is it too late to apologise and get that beer?” 

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smirking as she shrugged coyly as she turned and leaned her back against the front of the refrigerator and holding the perspiring can out in front of her, “You’ll have to come get it yourself.”

Joel crossed the small room in two long strides, stopping as the can met his chest, though he paid it little mind as she stepped away from the fridge, pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips. He froze for a second, stomach clenching at the soft touch. 

“Sorry,” Y/n whispered, though her tone betrayed how unapologetic she truly was, “Was that okay?”

He didn’t respond, quickly taking the beer out of her grasp and tossing it onto the counter as he cupped her face, capturing her lips with his and pressing her back against the fridge once more. She smiled against his lips, fingers bunching in the material of his plum coloured shirt and tugging him even closer. 

His lips were chapped against her own, the telltale sign of a busy man who hadn’t been too concerned with his physical appearance up until now, though she could not picture another kiss that she had received in the last several years that would even compare to Joel’s. 

One of his hands fell, fingers splaying around her waist as he pressed even closer, parting his lips as he felt the tip of her tongue prod at the seam and allowing her to seek out his own. He moaned at her taste, fingers wandering to her hip and hesitating, almost as if he had been asking for her permission to move even lower. She grasped his hand, guiding it around to cup her bottom.

Pulling away for air, she giggled softly and fluttered her eyelids open to find him already staring at her with blown pupils. One of her hands slid up his chest, tugging at the collar of his shirt before her fingers trailed over his patchy beard affectionately, “I don’t know if this is too soon, but do you wanna move to my bedroom?”

Joel chuckled at her, squeezing her cheek through her yoga pants, “Lead the way.”

– – –

Joel worried that he might have gone into cardiac arrest as he struggled to catch his breath, back slouched against the headboard as Y/n slumped flush against his chest. The cotton sheets pooled around her hips as she continued to move softly, working them both through the aftershocks of their climaxes. The man sighed in appreciation as her lips continued to slide against his jawline and leave gentle kisses in their wake, her fingers still lost in his dark curls.

Joel’s own hands squeezed her hips as she finally slowed to a stop, helping her slide off of him and smirking to himself at the whine she let out at the loss of contact. She shifted, moving out of his lap and curling into the cool sheets on the bed next to him.

“How was that?” He panted, “Have I done enough to make up for lost time?”

She grinned at him, her own chest rising and falling with her slowing breaths, “I think I recall doing most of the work, actually.”

“Bein’ on top doesn’t mean you were doing any work, sweetheart, I think we both know that.” His eyes fell on the digital alarm clock on her bedside table, grunting to himself as he took note of the late hour, “Shit–how the hell is it ten-thirty already?”

She glanced over to the clock briefly, then back at him, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Staring down at her nude form, guilt began to eat away at him as he began to slide off of the mattress and begin gathering his clothes that had been scattered around the room. 

“Are you leaving?” His back was turned to her as he pulled on his jeans, though he could only imagine the look on her face from the emotion that dripped from her voice; she was disappointed, facing the reality that she would be abandoned after doing something so intimate. 

“I mean…” Joel coughed, “Yeah, I should probably leave. Gotta work early tomorrow, and Sarah’s got soccer practice, and–”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest in an attempt to regain her modesty, “I get it.”

Joel couldn’t help but wonder how many times she’d done this. She seemed disheartened, but not entirely surprised at his decision to head out, as if she was expecting this time to be different from the others–as if she was expecting Joel to be any different from the other shitty guys she’d met since moving to Austin.

“Darlin’,” Joel cooed, coming to sit at the edge of the mattress and cupping her face in his large palms, “It’s not like that. I want nothing more than to stay the night, but I know that I won’t sleep a wink tonight if I do.” His thumb stroked her bottom lip as her mouth slanted into a small, saddened smile. He leaned in, pressing three kisses to her lips, each one longer than the last before pulling back, “Can I get your number? I promise I won’t ask for a third time.”

Y/n smiled at him, kissing him once more before snatching a pen off of the bedside table and scribbling on his hand, “You won’t get it if you ask for a third time, Miller.”

MARCH 12, 1999

Y/n sighed blissfully, gnawing at her lip to prevent any moans of pleasure as Joel worked himself into her over and over, his hips meeting hers with slow, meaningful movements as he did his best to keep both of them quiet. Joel wasn’t normally one for booty calls, though he had hardly seen her in the past few days and couldn’t resist when his mind had wandered while in the shower–and for the first time in what felt like decades, he could rely on the help of soft, feminine touches rather than his own fast and rough tugs. 

Her thighs shook, teeth biting into the pillow beneath her face as she pressed her hips back against him and arched her spine in pleasure. She met his thrusts enthusiastically, fingers winding into the sheets tightly. 

“Shit,” She gasped, “Joel, I’m gonna–”

“I know,” He rasped, “Shhh baby. Let go, I’ve got you.”

She didn’t hold back, allowing the white hot pleasure to run through her veins, muffling her cries in the plushness of the pillow. Her walls clenched around him, gripping him for everything that she could manage as he fucked her through it, head rolled back in pleasure as his own orgasm teetered over the edge. His fingers tightened around her hips, hauling her back against him a few more times before his seed painted the inside of the condom. 

His hands slid up from her hips, one pressing on her back to force her to lay flat against the mattress while the other cupped the soft flesh of her belly to roll her over. Joel took in her figure, eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort before dropping to her breasts; the man was absolutely entranced by the shape of her breasts, eagerly pawing at them during makeout sessions and suckling at them with the utmost love and desire as he fucked her. She smiled at him tiredly, hooded eyes admiring his own figure as he slipped out of her, sliding off of the bed and disappearing into the ensuite. 

When he returned, he wore a pair of black boxers and carried a maroon washcloth in his hand, carefully parting her legs and sliding the cloth through her folds, puffy and sore from his touch. He whispered an entirely disingenuous apology as he pressed lightly against her abused clit, chuckling to himself as she jumped. Tossing the cloth aside, he settled into the mattress next to her, sliding an arm around her waist and tugging her into his side, sighing in relief at the physical contact. 

The rising sun had slowly begun to peek through the blinds, filling the room with a soft glow in the aftermath of the third round. Y/n glanced at the clock on the far wall, sighing to herself as reality settled into her bones. She hadn’t intended on staying so long, especially after how eagerly the both of them had initiated the first round, having allowed herself to remain at his side until she felt his member begin to grow against her thigh once more. Now, after taking him inside of her three times over the past six hours, she knew that she would eventually need to get up and leave–a habit that they both had and hated when they were finished. 

She pressed careful kisses into his flesh, lips moulding to the sweaty skin of his shoulder and neck affectionately while her palm rubbed circles into his firm chest. Joel nuzzled his head into her hair, his own lips pressing to the crown of her head as he, too, appreciated the afterglow. 

Y/n’s body and heart screamed at her as she finally pulled herself away from him, hopping out of the bed and collecting her clothing from the floor. Joel watched her with sunken eyes, his attempt to remain stoic as he easily recognised what she was doing proving fruitless.

“You don’t–you don’t gotta go just yet,” he called to her, desperation lacing his voice, “Don’t gotta be at the site till eleven tomorrow–”

“Today,” she corrected, “And that’s in seven hours. Besides, I don’t wanna fall asleep and risk having to run into Sarah. I should probably leave.” 

He nodded slowly, continuing to watch her as she dressed and fixed her appearance, preparing herself mentally and physically for her four A.M. walk of shame. Joel wanted to call her back to bed again, to convince her to stay with him and promise breakfast in the morning, but instead watched helplessly as she disappeared into the dark hallway, and closed his eyes disappointedly at the sound of the front door closing behind her.

JUNE 2, 1999

Golden rays of sun peeked through the blinds, trailing up the length of the bed with each passing moment before finally gracing over the soft skin of the woman next to him. Joel laid in his bed as still as possible, one arm around her shoulders to keep her flush against his chest, savouring the intimate, domestic moment before it would eventually come to an end–it always did.

The alarm clock flashed the time tauntingly at him, as if mocking him for wanting to keep her there for much longer than he knew he could. This was undoubtedly the latest she had stayed in his bed; it was nearing six A.M. and she had yet to stir from her deep slumber. 

His eyes trailed the length of her bare back, his fingers pressing gently at the indent of her spine as he pushed her body impossibly closer to her and bathing himself in the feeling of her nude body against his own. Joel resisted the urge to shake the growing ache out of his leg as pins and needles crawled up the length of his limb, too afraid to move and wake her–he knew what would come once her eyes had opened, as she had done it countless times now. 

It was the twitch of her fingers against the soft flesh of his belly that alerted him to her growing consciousness, nails following the pattern of hair that covered his abdomen softly, drawing a quiet moan of delight from the man beneath her. He felt the curve of her lips against his shoulder, turning his head to meet her eyes as they fluttered open.

“Morning, cowboy,” Her throat was dry and her voice was scratchy, but her words still held the power of causing an eruption of butterflies in his gut. 

“Morning,” He leaned closer, the tips of his nose brushing her own before she swatted him away, covering her mouth self-consciously and mumbling something about morning breath. Joel chuckled at her, moving her hand away and planting a soft, closed-mouth kiss against her lips. 

Her smile grew, hazy vision flickering around the sun-lit bedroom as realisation dawned on her, “What time is it?”

Joel’s own smile faltered as he cleared his throat, glancing over at the alarm clock again, “Five-to-six.”

“Shit,” She groaned, a hand settling on her forehead, “I should probably leave. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

Joel shook his head at her, “You ain’t got nothing to apologise for. I like having you here.”

She pecked his lips again, fondness creeping through her at the man’s admission, “I like being here. But I should go before Sarah wakes up.”

Joel caught her arm as she moved to crawl out of the bed, “Stay.”

“What?”

“Sarah knows you’ve been coming around and leaving early in the morning.” He told her, thumb smoothing circles against her wrist, “She says she’s happy for me, but she said that she won’t approve until you start bringing that damn dog of yours over here when you come.”

Y/n chuckled, her eyes growing a thin red rim along her waterline, “What are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to stay. Every damn night you spend here, you go rushing out like this is just a quick fuck, but I think we both know that it’s a lot more than that. Just come back to bed, please.”

Y/n shook her head at him, glancing over at the rising sun through the blinds in contemplation before she finally shrugged, crawling back into the bed and settling against his naked form with a sigh, her hand resting on his chest as she massaged small circles into his sweaty flesh. Both of them relaxed into one another, enjoying the silence of the early morning and dreading the unavoidable fate of the alarm going off in the coming hour.

NOVEMBER 27, 1999

Y/n tapped her nails against the hardwood of the tabletop rhythmically, doing her best not to make her dissociation too clear as her friends and family chattered back and forth. Her mother was busy on her left hand side, sharing dozens of her favourite childhood photographs to Y/n’s friends with a fondness that only a mother could have, while the seat to her left was empty. The watch that she’d received as a gift from her parents sat on her wrist, the time ticking away as grief settled in her stomach, the realisation that he simply wasn’t coming eating away at her pride.

Her birthday was not something that she generally liked to celebrate, but knowing that her parents, siblings, and a few members of her extended family had orchestrated a trip to visit and celebrate with her had her counting down the days, especially after she had convinced her unofficial boyfriend to join them for dinner at one of the nicest wallet-friendly restaurants in Austin. Now, as she sat silently and watched as her friends laughed and cooed over possibly the most embarrassing photos of her while picking at their slices of birthday cake, her mind only wandered to where exactly he was, and how much more fun she would be having if she were warding him off of any of those photographs–especially all of the ones from her junior high years. 

She hadn’t had the chance to speak to him at all that day, having woken up after he had already left for work and dropped Sarah off at school. At the time, Y/n had smiled to herself, thanking him mentally for allowing her to sleep in on her birthday, though she was beginning to wonder if she should have taken the lack of birthday wishes as a sign. 

She actively avoided Stephanie’s gaze, wanting to escape the oncoming I told you so, and made as little eye contact as possible with her mother, who watched her sympathetically, and her father, who silently raged over the presence of the empty chair. Y/n now felt embarrassed over how much she’d actually gushed over the man to her family before dinner, wondering if maybe she was more invested in him than he was in her. After all, he had yet to officially ask her to be his girlfriend, despite the fact that she and Manny had taken up residence in his home at least four nights a week and that she had been included in more recent movie nights with him and Sarah. 

Maybe she was reading into it too much–something must have happened. Something happened to Sarah, or maybe Tommy had been locked up again. There was no way that Joel had forgotten her birthday, there was simply no way.

– – –

Joel’s feet ached, crying out in pain with every step and sighing in relief as he finally kicked off his heavy boots. The crew that he’d brought on for his most recent and highest paying job to date had given him hell that day, leaving him aching for nothing more than a hot shower and a peaceful night at home with his best girls. He hated having to tack on extra hours to his day, but not arriving home until after ten was something that he would have to deal with in order to finish the job, and he was hoping to save up to take Y/n and Sarah on a little getaway for a weekend in the near future. 

The kitchen was dim when he stepped in, and he was somewhat surprised when he discovered no plate of food left for him in the microwave, nor was there a pan of leftovers in the fridge. Instead, there was a single empty carton of a microwavable dinner on the counter along with an empty can of Pepsi. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he shrugged it off, though he had grown accustomed to Y/n bringing dinner over and making sure that it was ready for him on days that he worked late. 

Soft footsteps rushed down the stairs, Sarah rounding the corner with a wide grin on her face as she held a small piece of paper in her hands. 

“Hey babygirl,” Joel kissed her head softly as he moved into the living room, even more confused when he did not find Y/n curled up on the couch with a stack of her textbooks, as she so often did while waiting for him to return. 

“Hi dad,” Sarah’s smile dropped, glancing back into the entryway in confusion, “Where’s Y/n? I made this card at school today but I figured I’d wait until after you guys came back to give it to her.”

The blood in Joel’s veins ran cold, his heart skipping a beat at the sudden realisation of why his house appeared to be so void of his girlfriend, “Fuck.”

“Dad?” Sarah’s wide eyes narrowed, all too used to her father’s undiagnosed case of short-term memory loss, though he had never ever forgotten something like this before.

“Shit,” He swore again, snatching his keys off of the counter and rushing to jam his feet back into his uncomfortable boots, “Sarah, go to bed. I’ll be back later tonight.”

The girl watched helplessly as her father raced out the door, tears welling in her eyes as she stared down at the happy picture she had pasted into the card and frowning as she feared the worst.

– – –

Joel arrived at the restaurant just before eleven. He knew it was a long shot, as the reservation was for seven-thirty, which he had purposefully written down and stuck to the fridge so that he would not forget. The few remaining staff inside shook their heads in pity at the man, quickly coming to understand his situation as he rushed inside, asking about the reservation with a bouquet of flowers in his grasp. 

His shoulders slumped as he parked in his driveway, trudging across the lawn into the neighbouring yard and knocking firmly on the door. He waited a few moments, cursing quietly as he got no response and knocking again. 

His frown deepened when the door swung open, a fuming Stephanie standing in his way. Her face burned scarlet, fists clenched at her side as she took in Joel’s pitiful appearance. She took a step forward, joining Joel on the front step and closing the door behind her. 

“The fuck do you want?” 

“Where’s Y/n?” He asked, ignoring her bluntness.

“She doesn’t wanna talk to you,” the girl sneered at him. “It’s one thing to stand someone up, even to forget their birthday, but to embarrass her like that in front of her family?” She scoffed, “you know, I warned her about you, but I took no pleasure in being right. You should have seen her tonight, barely spoke at all.”

The metaphorical knife in Joel’s gut twisted at her words, the fist clenching the bouquet tightening even further around the stems. He could picture her; all dolled up, chatting with her family as she eagerly awaited his arrival, her pretty smile dampening as time passed and eventual tears in her eyes as she realised the truth–he had forgotten about her. 

“Just let me talk to her,” he begged, “Please.”

Stephanie shook her head, “I think it’s best if you never show your face on my property again, Miller.”

“Joel?” Both of their eyes turned at the sound of Y/n’s voice, finding her peeking around the door curiously. “Steph, can you give us a minute?”

The woman sent Joel one final glare, patting her roommate on the shoulder before slipping back into the house. 

If the knowledge of what he’d done hadn’t been enough, Y/n’s appearance was the final blow to his gut. Her eyes were bloodshot, cheeks swollen and marked with visible remnants of tears. She wrung her fingers together anxiously, keeping her gaze lowered in shame as she closed the door behind her and turned to face him.

“Baby–” 

“Don’t.” Y/n interrupted, “Just explain.”

He sniffled, “I can’t explain it, or excuse it. We got held up at work, and I really need this job to be done and over with already. I’m so sorry, baby.”

She shook her head, lifting her sleeve to wipe at the underside of her nose, “You didn’t even say goodbye before you left this morning. Did you even remember at all?”

Joel bit his lip, “I’m sorry. Let me–”

“Joel,” Her voice cracked, “I love you.” His heart soared as she spoke those words for the first time, then shattered as she continued, “I understand that I’m not your first priority–that’ll always be Sarah and I can’t blame you for that. But, fuck, you suggested the restaurant, Joel. You spoke to my mom over the phone and promised her the best steak in town, and she sure seemed to like it, but you weren’t even there. I won’t ever be your first priority, but I can’t be your last, either.”

“Y/n–”

“I think my cousins liked it, you know.” She continued, wiping at her cheeks, “They’re the type to pray for your downfall, and I’m sure they were loving every second of the dinner once everyone realised that you weren’t coming. Hell, all I did all night was talk about how amazing you were, and then–” Y/n cut herself off with a quiet sob.  “You should probably leave.” 

“Don’t do this,” Joel cupped her face, dropping the flowers to the deck recklessly as he wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, “Tell me what to do. Hit me, yell at me, do something, but don’t ask me to walk away.”

She looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Joel felt hopeful that she might actually listen to him, though all hope was quickly diminished as he removed herself from his grasp, reaffirming her statement as she stepped back into the house.

“You should probably leave.”

[gavisuntiedboot]

We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Reader

Part 1

Warnings: None

Word count: 8.7k

A/N: After a lot of consideration, I have decided to start posting my Pedri series. I think that I can get a lot of interaction with these, and I think it is a good way to feed my soul and get eyes on what is happening in Palestine. So please, if you enjoy this series, consider helping out Palestine. Even if it's just with a click (second link!)

(Also if there are any continuity errors pls pls pls lmk)

Operation Olive Branch is an org working to help raise money to evacuate people from Gaza. I have decided to highlight Anwar and his family, who need to raise $35,000 in order to survive. Please donate what you can:

I will continue to highlight this family on all my posts until they reach their goal inshAllah.

Synopsis: Moving to a new country can be a pain in the ass. So can starting a new job when your position is completely different to what you thought. But nothing is going to stop you from achieving your goal of being the next Law Roach. Not the language barrier, your aching feet on the wonky streets, and definitely not your annoying, full of himself client. Because everything is going to stay professional, right?

~~~

"Bryce, can you please pay attention? God, I hate Americans."

The slow and thick laughter flowed through the line, peppered with static and cutting off whenever a particularly loud vehicle rolled past.

"Self-hating much? You are also American."

"I'm Texan, sweetheart. We are basically our own breed. Now can you help me?" You were finally able to flag down a taxi, stepping in carefully to make sure you didn't flash the driver. The stark white of the flowy skirt contrasted heavily with your bright orange cowboy boots, worn to match the white "TEXAS" baby tee with orange lettering. Your bangles clinked happily against your wrist as the door closed, hair mused by the late September wind. It was a comfort-from-home turned fashion statement, a way to stay close to your roots but show everyone at the office you were the type of girl that people saved on their "cool y2k outfit inspo" Pinterest boards. At least, girls back home would.

"How the hell did you move to a foreign country without learning the language?"

"Because I was supposed to be in PARIS, remember? I didn't minor in French just for mierde and giggles."

"Yeah, yeah, and then Paris decided to self destruct. I've heard the story. Just put me on speaker already."

Through the phone, Bryce's Spanish flows fluently as she instructs the driver to deliver you at your new place of work. Style Di Fortuna was one of the best styling firms in Europe, if not the world. Located a mere two streets from the Passeig De Gracia, there was nowhere better for a young woman to start her career in the fashion world. Except you weren't supposed to be here.

The plan had been perfect. After 4 years working your fingers bloody at UT Austin, you finally turned the bright orange tassel and accepted your B.A. in fashion. You were able to say "couture" with the perfect amount of phlegm to be taken seriously by the French snobs you had interned with, the ones who were supposed to be your colleagues after you graduated. The dreams of smoky cafes, bike rides through the city, and the lights of Paris fashion week were often the only things that helped you push through your professor telling you that you sewed like a blind sloth.

But then the French did what they do best: went on strike. For months. And after the long periods of no productivity and the destruction of half the inventory, you got the concise email that you would need to find employment elsewhere. About a week before you moved to France. So in a blind panic, you applied to every job you could think of within Europe, desperate to not have your first year post grad be spent at the soup kitchen or bagging groceries. You finally heard back from one of your contacts, another alumni from your school who said they could get you a job in Spain, but it was a little far from the type of fashion you wanted to do.

A "yes please I'm begging" email and 24 hours later, you had a job with SDF. Hey, fashion is fashion, and if you have to start by styling TikTokers in sparkly mini dresses before you could get to the good stuff, so be it. There were dues to be paid after all. So you grabbed your already packed bags and changed your ticket from Paris to Barcelona.

"I can speak Spanish. I lived in Texas for 21 years. Just not... Spain Spanish." You said quietly, rummaging through your bag for the ID that had been mailed to you the week prior.

"Right, and my white ass took it in school and he seemed to understand me just fine. So you, Miss Texican, need to stop with the perpetual fear that people will think you're stupid. Be confident and just speak. The company is Italian, anyways. Most of them will probably speak English, and if not, they'll think you're exotic and sexy."

"Mhm I'm sure."

"You're going to do great, okay? Just be yourself. You had like ten billion friends at home. It's almost impossible not to like you. You got it girl - go hook 'em."

Laughter bubbled out of you at her cheesy pep talk, feeling lighter already. She was right - even if you had gotten this job on the fly, your portfolio was super impressive, and people had no trouble liking you. So what was there to be worried about. After bidding her goodbye and having the courage to thank the driver in Spanish, you stepped out of the cab to the front steps of the new building. It was much taller than the surrounding, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the lower buildings and pale stone. Making your way up to the 16th floor, you were quickly ushered past bolts of bright fabric, racks of shoes worth millions, and some very stressed (yet very stylish) other employees.

"So excited that you're going to be joining our team! It is going to be so helpful having some international input to make sure we are not pigeon-holing our clients into fashion that is not received well globally. You will be reporting directly to Katerina, and she will report to me. Your colleagues are mostly male given the nature of the division. But Tania, Silvia, and Maria should be a good support as you move into the role. We also have Juliana who is between here and the Milan office. So it isn't a complete boy's club."

Huh?

After years in fashion, one thing you definitely knew was that it often was not a "boy's club". Sure, all the suits and big investors were often old and withered men, but most of the creative side of the business had been run by almost fully female teams (and the exceedingly rare stylish man).

"I'm sorry, the nature of the team? What do you mean?" You asked, trying to keep smiling while running after her towards a more and more barren part of the office.

"Sorry, was it not included in your offer letter? You're working in our athletics division. We are horribly understaffed in that department, especially now that we have taken on all the Adidas athletes in Spain. My word there are a lot of them. Bellingham alone needs three team members for every event."

No no no no no. This cannot be happening. You had come in prepared to style a lot of things: prom dresses, lingerie, even the scraps of fabrics that were rented out by the local burlesque show. But sports???

Now don't get it twisted, this isn't some "I'm a girl and I don't know anything about sports!" kind of thing. On the contrary. You were at every football game rocking the longhorns, cheering on your friends as they crushed it at basketball, and even tried watching a formula 1 race (there was a three car crash and you fainted) - you were totally hip with sports. Although you were not a fan of stretch materials or athleisure, you were willing to bite the bullet as a first step. The issue was the hidden undertones of your job. It was the fact that you would be working with, from what you could surmise, a lot of male athletes.

Bryce was right - it did feel like you had ten billion friends back home. Everywhere you went, you spoke to strangers with ease, and people warmed quickly, conversation flowing and bonds forming. But that's the issue: everyone seemed to warm to you, and so it meant a lot of male attention. And despite your best efforts, you always made a "too flirty" comment to someone's crush or "inappropriately smiling" at someone's boyfriend. And so as fast as they liked you, suddenly you were public enemy #1, and the drama became all-consuming.

No one seemed to understand. There was constant advice to just brush it off, to ignore the people who brought pain to your life. But you couldn't help it, laying in bed, stomach in knots, questioning why no one could see that you were just trying to be kind to everyone around you. The cycle of worrying had created a very isolating experience.

"Tania! Where are the other girls? I want to introduce you to the newest member of the team."

A girl with blown out black hair turns around, double nose piercings taking a back seat to a piercing charcoal stare. She was in high waisted jeans and a leopard print button up, the first two unbuttoned to show off the black strap of her bra. Her neck was adorned with a simple gold cross necklace, and she flashed a cordial smile as she stuck out a hand.

"I love your shoes." You said sweetly as you exchanged a shake, eager to make your first friend at work (and maybe in all of Spain).

"Oh, thank you. Dolce and Gabanna - they're friends of the firm. Your shoes are..." She gave a glance to the cowboy boots you had on, "muy naranja" (very orange).

You crossed your legs, self confidence waning after she addressed you like you had traffic cones on your legs. You were introduced to Silvia (a tall girl with short blonde hair and vintage Adidas Sambas paired with boxer shorts) and Maria (dark blue hair slicked back to show off her Italian football jersey). All of them oozed the coolest essence, and you were excited to get to know them.

"Alright, girls, not too much chattering. Barca arrives in 15 minutes, and there is not a single jersey in sight. Lets go! Rápidamente!"

A gasp spread across the room, accompanied with a groan from Roberto in the back, and there was suddenly a mad dash. Stretch fabrics in a hundred different colors were flying across the room, and it seemed like no one could move fast enough.

"I'm sorry to ask but... what is a barca?"

Silvia's sambas squeaked loudly as she came to a halt, whipping her neck towards you. Her eyebrows knitted together, looking at you like you had just said Jesus was a goat.

"Who is Barca? You cannot be serious. Please don't say anything like that when they walk in the door. Just stand out of the way and do some googling. We will fill you in when the team leaves."

You stepped back towards the mannequins, trying not get trampled by the other employees. A quick search on Instagram gave you the basics. Soccer (or well, football now) team that was super famous. SDF was tagged in their post from their TV series premier, so you came to the conclusion that they were long time clients. You were so consumed with your search that you didn't notice the gaggle of young men enter the constricted space until you heard a chorus of voices chant "Bon Dia, Pedri!"

You glance up, trying to see the man that the girls were addressing, but he was covered by a crowd, which was comprised of Tania, Silvia, and girls from the other departments of the building (you could have sworn that red head worked at the café in the lobby).

"Bon dia, ladies."

The giggles that came as response were far too exaggerated for just politeness, and before you could roll your eyes, you heard the gag from beside you and turned to who was ultimately Maria.

"Don't mind the girls. They aren't usually like this, but their brain turns to mush around the magician."

"The magician?"

Almost as if planned, the swarm of girls parted in that moment, a pair of sickly sweet molasses eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze in something that felt warm and almost intimate. His stubbled cheeks spread into an infectious smile, and suddenly a gorgeous man in a hideous pair of jeans was giving you a subtle wave across the room.

"Pedri "The Magician" Gonzalez, current reigning golden boy at FC Barcelona. Who knew God could pack so much talent and trouble into such a small package? Anyways, the other girls in the office are obsessed with him. They all think they're going to be the special little snowflake to pull him away from the line of Instagram models waiting to jump in bed."

As you listened intently to Maria's rant about the sports star, the two of you couldn't keep your eyes away. As Tania and Silvia went back and forth, talking his brain into oatmeal, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Who is the new girl?"

~

Pedri Gonzalez was many things: a generational talent, a laid back 20 year old, and (though less known) a shit-stirrer. These monthly team visits to SDF ranked very highly on his list of favorite activities. He was able to sit with his teammates as they watched some of the hottest girls in Europe fall over themselves just for a kind word or a prolonged glance. He just wished the boys would have seen the way they moved when he came in for personal sessions whenever there was a new Adidas campaign. Not even the king was served so wonderfully.

As the team bus parked outside the building, he lazily draped one arm over Gavi's shoulders, ripping his attention away from his phone screen.

"You know she does have a life outside of answering your texts, Gavi."

There was no attempt to hide or deny, just a continued scowl coupled with scrunched brows.

"She was really weird during the drive home the other day. After Martin was a little bitch on the field, she hasn't been the same. I think there's something wrong, but I don't want to push her away. I just want her to be happy."

"Ay, you'll have lots of time to make her happy after you confess your undying love in her passenger seat and kill her boyfriend." Pedri quipped back, taking a few careful steps off the bus and rushing into the building, the squeals of his name from adoring fans fading into the background.

"Okay, maybe not the best idea I've ever had, but now you do have work with Adidas and Springfield and all the other brands that want a piece of Pedri Potter." The nickname earned Gavi a light smack on the back of the head. "So in the end, I did you a favor."

The boys make their way upstairs, greeted at the elevator by Pedri's fan club.

"Bon dia, ladies."

"Bon dia, Pedri. We missed you."

Gavi tried to tone down the look of confusion that painted his features, watching these two girls trail behind his teammate in a way that was anything but professional. But there was a natural air to Pedri that had women swooning whenever he uttered a sentence, so Gavi supposed this situation would be no different than the one he had seen before in the club, at the beach, in the grocery store - basically anywhere Pedri went. He said a silent thank you to the powers that be that their types were vastly different.

The girls vying for his attention were promptly shooed away, with only the two who were actually part of their styling team remaining. Pedri scanned the room, making a mental note of who he would be looking up on the SDF Instagram once he was done for the day. He was a humble young man, but he wasn't self depreciating. He knew the number of women that wanted him was rising into 6-figure range, and he was not one to deprive himself of a pleasure that wasn't closely regulated by the staff over at Camp Nou. He loved entertaining the occasional tryst with an influencer or model or bottle service girl - whoever caught his eye for the evening. The world was his field, and boy was he ready to sow.

His newest playthings were his regular stylists. Since he was going to be spending a lot more time at the firm, he decided to at least enjoy himself a little bit. He dropped casual compliments, noticed the changes they made to their appearance, let them talk his ears off about how well he did in the previous match. Whatever they wanted he would provide. Why not? He was young and single. If they were to delude themselves into thinking he was going to settle down and take a wife at this stage of his career, then really they had no one but themselves to blame.

Tania and Silvia were nothing if not wholly entertaining. They always bounced around the office together, blonde and black hair making them look like a salt and pepper shaker set. Today, they dedicated themselves to dressing Pedri in the vintage Barca jerseys that were being photographed, leaving the rest of the squad to be dealt with by Maria, Roberto, and the bright spot in the corner of the office that caught Pedri's eye.

"Who is the new girl?"

He knew the question was going to cause the bile to rise in the throats of the two girls in front of him, who were already milliseconds away from killing each other if it meant he would take the survivor to dinner. But there was something about the flash of color that had caught his eye, hair falling in front of a pretty face that was glued to a screen and trying to stay out of the way.

"What new girl?" The response came from Tania, the more jealous of the pair by a mile. Pedri had often caught her stalking his account, his brother's account, and the account of every girl DeuxMoi "spotted" him with during the international breaks.

"Her. In the corner. She's new, right? That's someone I would remember seeing." He raised his head to get a better look at her, taking in the tight shirt and bright colors, watching her jewelry sway along as Maria (his least favorite in the office by far) called her over to help dress the rest of the team. The girls whipped around, taking in the same view that Pedri was.

"La naranja?!" Tania asked, disgust evident in her louder-than-appropriate tone. At the use of what was quickly becoming your office nickname, you looked towards the sound of the commotion, seeing Pedri staring intently at you once again. And while the depth of his gaze threatened to ignite a warmth somewhere within your chest, it was Tania's furious expression that had your heart racing in fear. You hadn't even been at work for an hour - what could you have possible done to have invoked such a murderous glare?

"I didn't think foreign girls were your type." Silvia said, much calmer but tone still icy.

"Maybe I just like the color orange." He replied smoothly, whipping off his shirt to slip into the one from 1980 that he would be modeling for the Barca site. The sight of bare skin was enough to make his playthings forget their rage, being replaced by lustful stares and lingering touches as they "adjusted" the fabric over his pecs about 20 times over.

"I think orange is a hideous color on girls." Tania couldn't help but mutter and she fixed his collar, putting in a couple pins so it wouldn't move as he walked to the photographer.

"I think the ugliest color on a girl is jealousy green." Pedri's eyes met hers in a silent warning. She was officially nothing more than one of his stylists. He was a busy man, and the last thing he needed was for his distractions to become a new stressor. He was notorious for being quick to cut girls off for the most superficial reasons, and Tania was not eager to be one of those deprived of his affections. She smiled sweetly, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Oh, of course. Especially when there is obviously nothing to be jealous of. Go welcome her on her first day - if she can even understand a thing you're saying. I don't think the American school system teaches Canarian." She left Pedri in that moment, calling sweetly to Ferran to come get dressed.

"Ay, Gavi, I knew you were short, but they can't even find pants that fit you now?"

The sudden voice behind you made you jump, causing a yelp from Gavi, who had been stabbed with a stray pin due to your scare. Your head whipped around, meeting that same smile that was brighter up close.

"Perdon, Naranja. Didn't mean to startle you."

Your eyebrows came together, a small frown on your features.

"I don't know what Tania told you, but that's not my name."

"I didn't think it was, but it's quite fitting, don't you think? A cute nickname for a cute girl."

The complement caught you off guard, and your mouth dropped open, reply unable to form in your mind. Was he seriously flirting with you? After half the office just threw themselves at his feet?

"Thank you, but I would really prefer if you called me-"

"Your accent is strange. Where are you from?" Pedri cuts you off, giving you a once over and taking in your figure, focusing intently on the writing across your chest.

"Texas. Can't you read?" You asked, growing more annoyed by the minute. Maria would be back any second to grab the boy who you were hemming, now identified as Gavi. You weren't eager to be seen as a slacker on day damn one.

"Houston?" He asked, accent preventing him from getting the "S" in the word quite right. "My brother used to live there for a bit."

"San Antonio, actually. But I went to school in Austin." As desperately as you wanted to make a good impression on your first day, something inside your chest wanted to make a good impression on Pedri, who was listening intently to the mini tour of Texas you were giving him.

"Is that close to Dallas? We are meant to play a game there in the summer. Maybe you can come along, show me around your city." He punctuated his sentence with a wink. You wanted to speak, tell him that Austin was actually several hours from Dallas, San Antonio even further. But your heartbeat was in your ears, and you could do nothing but nod along.

Pedri was not much better off. He had spoken to some of the most gorgeous women in Europe, maybe even the world in his mere 22 years on the planet, but something about the way you looked at him while speaking, eyes locked onto his, made his heart race in a way that was foreign but not unenjoyable.

"Hey! Hurry up - they need Gavi next. Or are you incapable of putting in a couple pins?" It was Silvia barking down at you, causing you to tear your gaze away from Pedri and back to Gavi's leg. Thankfully, the boy was typing away and didn't notice the break you had taken to chat with his teammate. "Pedri, stop distracting la naranja with your flirting and go get a pair of shoes from Maria."

You burned with embarrassment, the nickname turning from something affectionate to something sour, used to remind you of your outsider status as 'Cinderella' was reminded of her place by the coals.

"I was just being friendly." Pedri said, standing to follow her instructions.

"I think you have enough friends in the office." She bites back, shoving him lightly towards the wall of sneakers.

Your cheeks burn, embarrassment causing your hands to tremble as you continue hemming the trousers in front of you. Maria had gone out of her way to warn you that Pedri was off limits, and yet here you were again: persona non grata with your coworkers because some boy had taken an interest in you.

"You speak really good Spanish for someone from America." A quiet voice said from above you. Looking up, Gavi was gazing down at you, distracted by his phone every few seconds.

"I'm half Mexican, and most people in Texas speak Spanish anyways." You reply, trying to tone down the annoyance in your tone.

"Oh, I didn't know that. My friend- eh, physiotherapist also studied in America. She has this really cute accent when she says some of her words now." You watched his eyes glaze over in a way they probably shouldn't if he was just talking about his doctor.

"You don't have to make conversation with me, you know." You mutter back, scared that maybe this player was Maria's and you would sever the final connection you had left in the office inadvertently.

"Oh. I didn't mean to annoy you." The tone in his voice and his crestfallen expression made you feel like you had just kicked a puppy.

"Oh no! You're not. I just... It seems like I just pissed off the girls by talking to Pedri, and I don't want to make any other mistakes."

He laughed, eyes crinkling and head tilting back. "Pedri is a special case. When you flirt with everything that moves, someone is bound to be upset eventually."

The admission caused a pit to form in your stomach. Everything that moves? The romantic heat you felt earlier cooled into a slimy, sickening emotion. What kind of person toyed with people's feelings for fun? As you entertained the thought, you tapped Gavi on the leg, instructing him to hop off the stand and go get photographed. A shadow loomed over your form as you tidied pins from the floor of the workroom.

"So, I believe you were about to give me your address before we were so rudely interrupted." It was Pedri, returning with a grin, standing coolly with his hands in the pockets of his cargos. "Of if that's too personal, I'll settle for a phone number. Or an Instagram handle - I'm not picky."

"I can tell." You muttered back, unease still sitting in your chest. You avoided his gaze, chewing nervously on your bottom lip and directing your eyes to anything but Pedri.

"I'm sorry about Silvia. She can be... intense. And let me just go ahead and apologize for Tania as well, in advance. They're weirdly possessive over me for some reason." Pedri sounded sincere, eyes doing their best to catch yours and convey his message.

"Don't worry about it. I can see why you're so popular." You shuffled to collect stray pins off the floor. Pedri was not like any other guy you had ever been attracted to. Usually they were tall, lanky frat boy types, all blue eyes and khaki shorts. But the combination of beautiful brown eyes brushed by dark hair, chiseled jaw and plump lips, and strong arms that lifted a mannequin out of your way did weird things to your heart and your stomach.

"Can you now?" He was smirking. You could practically hear it in his voice, the amusement dripping from every syllable. He was obviously completely unbothered by your clear signs of distress.

"Yeah. Every girl I ever knew wanted to be the sugar baby of an athlete. Watch out or you'll get your bank account drained." Despite your best efforts to come across as cutting and sharp, he laughed at the statement. A full head thrown back and hands on his belly type of laugh.

"It's been a long time since I've spoken to a girl as funny as you." His eyes held yours, and the look was so captivating you simply couldn't avert your gaze. In that moment, it was also lost on you that you had, in fact, only made one joke. You responded with a half smile and heat radiating from you.

"Hey listen, a couple of the boys and I are going out tonight. You should come with us."

The invitation started to knock some sense back into you. Out? As in out out? Back home, going out usually meant getting shit-faced and riding a mechanical bull. It wasn't the best look to pull up to work the following morning looking like death and smelling like tequila. You were already on the way to holding the record for the worst first day in history.

"I don't know... I think Tania would put Nair in my shampoo if we were seen together when not contractually obligated."

You looked up shyly, and a part of you waited for him to insist, to feel somewhat special.

"Ah, I won't make you do anything you're uncomfortable with. Just DM me on Instagram if you change your mind. I'm not hard to find."

"Do you answer DMs from every girl that finds you?" You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

"No. But I'll be looking out for yours."

Another voice called out to Pedri, and he left you standing there slack-jawed. Who was this man? And what was so special about you to have piqued his interest? You asked these same questions of Bryce, who was now fully awake.

"Girl, the answer is obvious." She said through face time, words garbled by her teeth-brushing.

"Please don't say-"

"You're hot."

"That. Bryce, these girls in the office, they're stunners. 10s across the board. If he was going for looks, he wouldn't be going for me."

"I think you're over-thinking this whole thing. He just wants to talk to you for now," She paused to spit, "So talk! What's the worst that could happen?"

A shrill voice cried out 'Naranja!' and the trill of your new unwelcome work nickname was the signal that your lunch was over. You trudged back into the office, abandoning the warmth and sunshine for the cold front put up by Tania and Silvia. They bumped you every time they walked past, making comments about your clothing, your hair, the speed of your work, your taste level - everything. You stuck close to Maria, getting only two smug "I told you so's" before it was back to business. The boys left a disaster in their wake, with jerseys, trousers, socks, shoes, and all manners of accessories scattered about the workroom. Maria exchange stories of her childhood in Rome for your escapades in San Antonio and Austin, and the day passed with relative ease. Katerina click-clacks into the room an hour before your sweet release, huddling together everyone who worked with the team for a summary of what was accomplished.

"Great job team. I think Barca will be very happy with the photos, which will make me very happy. Now," Katerina handed out a series of files to everyone in the circle. "As some of you know, we have been fighting tooth and nail against Fordham Fashions for the new Adidas Rising Stars contract. Well, we have finally won! Here are the clients that we will be working with closely for individual Adidas campaigns, collaborations, and so on."

Opening the file, a familiar face grinned back from the first page.

"Everyone already knows Pedri, so we will move past him. Now, let us begin the style briefing for Bellingham..."

You stared for another moment at the bright grin on the page before turning it to take notes on everything Katerina was saying. The meeting wrapped 30 minutes later, with one final request from the boss.

"The new Predator boots have just come in from Adidas. We will be sending a pair to each of our athletes to allow them to adjust before we style and shoot in the coming weeks. And to avoid another, ehem, hair pulling incident, the new girl will be sending Pedri's. Sort the rest out among yourselves. See you tomorrow!"

The glares burned your skin before you even had the chance to process that the 'new girl' in question was you. Everyone scurried to the wall of blue shoe boxes as you looked over the brief again to find the man of the hour's shoe size. Pulling it out of the pile, you moved to a far corner of the workroom, but that did not seem to stop Tania from coming your way.

"So, you think Pedri likes you?"

The statement caught you off guard, hands slowing and your eyes widening at your coworker.

"Excuse me?"

"You think that now he's going to date you just because he laughed at one of your jokes? Because trust me, you're not his type."

You were prepared to rebut, tell her that she had completely misunderstood the situation, and you were just being nice to a client. But it died on your lips as the meaning of her words washed over you like an icy tidal wave, leaving you to pathetically whisper out,

"Why not?"

Her laugh trickled out lightly, delicate and beautiful and cutting all at once.

"Just look at you, Naranja. Anyways, this is a note from the agency that needs to be included in Pedri's box, so slip it in there, 'kay? See you tomorrow!"

Swallowing thickly, you didn't watch her walk away, staring at the table top to stop the flood of emotions that was clogging your throat. You knew you weren't ugly. Quite the opposite actually. It usually only took a coy glance and the bat of an eyelash for you to have people eating from the palm of your hand. But the self doubt started to eat away at you. What was wrong with the way you looked?

And then your eyes focused on the crisp white envelope on the table. The girly scrawl of Pedri was too... romantic to be a formal note. The green slime of jealousy seeped through every one of your veins. You took a quick look around the room, and finding no one, you carefully opened the envelope. Immediately a strong perfume assaulted your senses. The letter was a quick confession of love, and you couldn't help the increase in your heart rate. If your coworker was determined to hate you, then you should at least give her a reason.

Your childish antics came two fold. First, you tiptoed over to the cabinet with the stationary, grabbing a blank envelope and some corrector fluid. You carefully removed Tania's name from the bottom of the letter, writing in a little "S" with a heart beside it. You refolded the letter and placed it into the new perfume-less envelope. The letter found its home in the shoe box, and on your way out of the building, you dropped it off at the mail room. As you waited for your cab home, you typed five familiar letters into the Instagram search bar, and sent a message asking,

"Am I still invited out tonight?"

~

Pedri could not contain the Cheshire cat grin that lit up his face when he saw the DM from you. Scrolling quickly through your Instagram, he zoomed in on your pictures from the summer, swimsuits the same bright orange that had hugged your chest earlier that day. He responded quickly, telling you that you would be the highlight of the entire outing, and as he predicted, your phone number quickly followed.

"See, Gavi? I told you." He turned the screen to his teammate, who could not possibly be less interested. Being met with silence, he quickly snatched Gavi's phone from his hands, eliciting a protest.

"Gavi, this is an intervention. You need to stop this sad puppy behavior. After the sixth unanswered text, it's time to accept that she's not going to respond."

Pedri almost regretted it as soon as he said it, the sunken look painting Gavi's features being too much to bear. It was like taking a baby's favorite toy away.

"I just mean that she's probably busy, hermano. She'll respond when she can. Now, back to me."

Gavi rolled his eyes and leaned back against Pedri's couch. He displayed his most exasperated expression.

"Please, Pedri. Tell me again how you got a girl to swoon for you in a matter of minutes. It's always my favorite story."

Gavi barely missed the pillow chucked at his head, but pressed on anyways.

"Come on, Pedri. It's the same story every week. Find a cute girl, flirt, invite her out, sleep with her, and then block her on all your socials."

"Okay but this one is different. She's my first American."

Gavi gave him a look that told Pedri that maybe the joke should have been reserved for Ferran. Despite all the wisdom Pedri had imparted, Gavi hadn't listened. Instead of taking advantage of the swarm of women ready to show him heaven, he had gone and fallen in love with one of his coworkers. Sheesh. What a stupid idea. But he had never seen Gavi, or anyone really, care so much about a person. So he was being a good friend, just pretending that this love story wouldn't go down in flames (badum-tsss).

Pedri was not willing to be a hopeless lover boy. He killed himself on the pitch, and there was no way he wasn't going to enjoy life after the whistle blew.

"I just don't think it's an idea to start involving girls you're going to have to see again."

The statement cut straight through Pedri's daydream of what you would wear to the club that evening. Gavi may have been right. When messing with Instagram models, it was easy to avoid previous flings. A block online, a slip of their photo to Camp Nou security, and worst case scenario, when they came up to him at an event, he just put on his best confused face and asked, "Do I know you?"

But this was new territory. He had toyed around with Tania and Silvia for months now, but it never left the office. Inviting a girl who he would have to see again and again for work out was risky. But the risk-assessing brain cells were on vacation. All that was left were the party neurons, the ones that craved dopamine and finding out what your skin would feel like against his palms. So he pushed all of Gavi's valid objections into a dark corner of his brain. He opted instead to ask,

"So, are you coming out tonight as well?"

Gavi lifted his hoodie up to cover his face, using all his self control to not grab his phone from its place on the coffee table.

"I don't think so. I'm not in the mood to see Ferran or... anyone really. Just want to sit home and watch my show."

"Suit yourself then. I'll let you know how the night ends."

"I'm begging you not to."

~

You smoothed your hands over your dress one final time. You were pacing around your living room, eagerly waiting for Pedri to pick you up. Despite your best efforts to assure him that you could Uber yourself to the club, he refused, and you couldn't help the giddy feeling at the gentlemanly antics.

Staring at yourself in the mirror once again, you thought of the dates you had been on in your senior year of college. From darties on frat lawns to drive-thrus to fine dining, many guys had tried to win your favor. It wasn't that all of them sucked (even if the majority did). It was just that the guys back home in America were... boring. All of them were pretty self centered and shallow, nice to look at but nothing deeper. While a pretty boy was nice at 19, it was time to grow up and look for something more.

The buzzing of your phone knocked you out of the trance you were in. "Pedri from work" illuminated the screen as you rushed to answer.

"I was going to come in and knock on your door, but I can't get into your building."

You laughed lightly in response, apologizing about the door code while grabbing a jacket and heading downstairs. A low whistle greeted you, dark eyes tracing your figure with a look that you tried not to interpret for your own sanity. A shy smile played across your features as you allowed Pedri to open your car door, sweet talk you throughout the drive, and escort you in to what was more of a lounge than a club. Live musicians played just loud enough for ambiance, but not enough to completely drown out everyone chattering amongst themselves. The two of you walked up to a table of Greek Gods, which you assumed were his teammates.

Pedri introduced you to the group, making sure that his body was physically situated between you and Ferran. He was a good guy somewhere deep, deep down, buried under the anguish of his last girlfriend, who left him upon finding out about the pay reduction that came with moving from Manchester City to FCB. Pedri tried to stop him from taking out his rage on a coworker (and Gavi's crush), but he was hard headed and couldn't be swayed. Eventually he would calm down, and they could go back to being young and single and not bitter. Pedri's phone glowed with a notification from the boy on his mind.

[Gaviiii]: dude i foujd her outside my house just sitting in her car n cryng so im gonna take care of that

[Gaviiii]: dont tect me or call me im not gonna answer

The typos were normal, as it was hard for Gavi to avert his eyes for even one second when his most precious was in sight. Pedri shook off the text and turned his attention back to you, arm coming to rest around your waist in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You were not comforted. On the contrary, you were on the verge of throwing up. You were one of only two girls in a circle of incredibly attractive men, the other being someone's wife. You couldn't remember the names of any of them, except for Ferran, who you had been specifically warned about on the drive over. The devil really is a charmer. His short cropped hair showed the angels of his face beautifully, long lashes fanning against his cheeks. A few tattoos peaked out from under rolled up sleeved, and you had to remember that you were with his friend on a... what was this exactly? Pedri had never said anything more than that he wanted to be friends. But he asked you to go out with him, picked you up, gave you the pre-date compliments, and now was shielding you from other men. Were you on a date?

You tried your best to participate in small talk, listening to them go back and forth about football and training and life in general. The various accent were not kind to your brain that was barely used to the Canarian lilt to Pedri's speech.

"Are you okay?"

The whisper came softly in your ear, hot breath against you skin causing an eruption of little bumps. Pedri's arm had not left your waist, but now he was rubbing delicate circles into your skin.

"I'm fine. Just... a little overwhelmed? I feel sort of out of place."

"Don't worry, linda. No one can take their eyes off you."

The affirmation only increased your heart rate once again, the thump against your chest beating in rhythm with the base from the speakers. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his palm against your skin, radiating through the fabric of your dress. You loosened up as the evening progressed, participating in the conversation more confidently and laughing more freely. Slowly, the boys excused themselves from the gathering one by one, and soon it was only you and Pedri in the low light, talking about the most beautiful scenery you have ever seen.

He was lost in describing his home island, the clear waters and lush foliage that he called home. You leaned forward, enraptured by the passion that he spoke with about the places and people he loved. Slowly, you found yourself getting closer and closer, until there was only a few inches of space between you. The gold flecks interspersed in dark brown became clearer, and you struggled to breathe as you watched Pedri's gaze drift to your lips.

"I am getting the impression you want me to kiss you. Please correct me if that's not the case." Pedri breathed out slowly, more strained than you had previously thought. You don't know what you were thinking. Maybe you weren't thinking. You just acted on what felt right. Closing the distance, you joined Pedri's lips to yours, arms around his neck as you kissed with a hunger borderline inappropriate for the public.

You weren't usually this person. It was usually a couple dates before you would allow for a goodnight kiss, let alone the almost make-out you were currently engaged in. You pulled away from Pedri, the heavy breathing a commonality between the two of you. Maybe it was the being in Spain. Maybe it was that he was hot and young and famous. Maybe it was that of all the girls throwing themselves at him, including your coworkers, he picked you after an hour of conversation. Something told you to take a chance on what could be your love at first sight moment. So when Pedri leaned close and asked,

"Do you want to go back to your place?"

There was no answer but yes.

~

The following morning was filled with bliss. Pedri had woken up just as the first rays of sunlight were painting the stone. He kissed you on the cheek, whispering something akin to "see you around" before he left to training. You floated through your morning, making a coffee in a daze and dressing with a permanent smile. Bryce was still fast asleep, so you left her about 30 minutes worth of voice messages before you had the guts to step out and hail your own cab to work.

You walked into the office still riding the high from the night before. Your skin was ablaze, and every time you thought of the "activities", heat spread through you rapidly. Luckily the November chill kept you from sweating through your bones. Your bliss lasted for most of the morning, as you worked with Maria and a couple of people you had never met to create a mood board for an upcoming photoshoot. As you flipped through paint swatches, a piercing scream split the air, causing you to drop to the ground and cover your head.

"Why are you on the floor, Naranja?"

One of the boys looked at you with raised eyebrows, and a part of your brain registered that your new work nickname had trickled into other departments.

"Oh, sorry. I went to high school in America. Screams like that meant someone was getting jumped. Or shot."

Another scream rippled through the hallway as Maria helped you up.

"That was Silvia. Given recent history, your prediction about her being attacked might be correct."

The both of you scurried down the hall, the clicks of the other department workers followed behind you, eager for the newest and juiciest chisme. The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks. Roberto was holding Tania by the waist, apparently the only thing that was keeping her away from Silvia, who was on the other side of the room crying and grabbing her head. There was a trail of silver thread between the two hysterical women. No, not thread - hair.

"She cut my hair! She came up behind me and cut my hair!"

"She's a traitor and, more importantly, a whore! I should've slit her throat."

Katerina had finished ushering everyone who didn't work there out of the room, and now she was standing in the middle of the room ready to mediate.

"You two have 5 minutes to explain what the hell happened and why I shouldn't fire you."

Tania had calmed, no longer straining against an iron grip and gaze filled with slightly less murderous intent. She released the clump of hair that she had in her hand onto the floor, revealing the absolute carnage that had taken place. Safe to say Silvia was going to be rocking a pixie cut for the next few weeks. Both of the girls remained silent. The prisoner's dilemma in real time. Katerina clicked her tongue after the moment of silence and simply said, "Roberto."

You could swear you saw a smile on his face briefly before he cleared his throat and began.

"Tania gave the new girl a note with her phone number in it to send to Pedri. Pedri texts the phone number, but instead of addressing it correctly, he says-"

"HEY SILVIA. THIS MORNING HE TEXTS MY NUMBER WITH HER NAME." Tania's outburst had everyone stand up, fearing that she was going to lunge. She remained in place, but no one sat back down.

"So you decided to attack her because he can't tell you two apart?"

"She must have done something to my note. She-"

"No." Katerina interrupted. "I have hear enough. Both of you are no longer working on any project Pedro Gonzalez is involved in."

Protests came from both of the girls, suddenly sullen and docile. They began to plead to be punished with anything else, but not exile from their favorite footballer. As they whimpered to your boss, who reminded them they were lucky to still be employed, it dawned on you. This morning. He texted who he thought was Silvia this morning. In response to a flirty message. After he left your bed. Maybe before he had even left the apartment.

There it was again. The nausea. The urge to projectile vomit. All because of Pedro Gonzalez. Fuck a nickname. He was a rich fuckboy that had played you like a fiddle. You held the tears back as you went back to fabric swatches, taking a moment to block him on Instagram.

"So, how does it feel to be Pedri's personal stylist now?" Katerina startled you, and the shock caused a delay in processing what she had just said.

"His what?"

"Well, now that those two are not allowed to be within 50 meters of him, it's only you and Maria working the Adidas contract. Especially now that Roberto is part of the Olympics team. So you get Pedri, and she gets Bellingham. Perfect, no?"

You nodded, swallowing hard to push the bile back down. This very unfortunate one night stand maybe have been the worst idea you have ever had. You walked through the rest of the day with disgust and rage flowing through you. You decided to brave the cold of the November afternoon and walk home, stopping by a bakery to get something with chocolate to keep the tidal wave of intense depression at bay.

How could this be happening? You weren't this girl. You weren't someone who let yourself be gullible and played. Hell, you had gone the last four years with all of Texas and parts of Mexico vying for your affection. But this little Spanish boy took advantage of the connection you felt, and he had barely left your bed before starting to text your coworker. Your phone buzzed with several messages in rapid succession.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: My agent just told me you were my own personal stylist

[Pedro Gonzalez]: that's good to hear.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: At least I'll have a friend at all these long and boring photoshoots

No mention of the night before. No "I had a good time". No question about your wellbeing. Nothing except his own self interest. How the situation would be good for him. Again. You felt awful as you pushed a teenage boy out of the way, barely making it into the bathroom before throwing your guts up. What the hell. How did you manage to fuck up so poorly so quickly? It was day damn one. And now you were throwing up in a bakery bathroom in Spain because of a man that's 5'9". You sat at a table, cake and coffee cooling in front of you. You didn't trust your legs or your stomach just yet, so you decided to type out a response instead.

Pedri was in overall low spirits. His injury had had another flare up, causing him to limp to the locker room. The email from his agent brightened his day, as he saw your name in the email. He shot a quick text your way, excited at the prospect of seeing you again, only to sour at the response.

[Naranja]: dont speak to me pedro

[Naranja]: we are not friends

[Naranja]: and we never will be

[You can no longer send messages to this user]

~~~

A/N: Here it is! The first part of the new series! Just some preemptive answers: I don't know what my posting schedule will look like and idk how many parts it's going to be. I hope you enjoy this first part. It might be a little rushed because I just wanted to set up the main story. Please let me know your thoughts in comments and asks! I'll try to reply to as many as I can. I love you all <3

Palestine: I will try to donate $1 for every comment that has a watermelon or an olive in it. I will keep y'all updated with how it goes.

Here are some more links to please please please look at while you're here.

Care for Gaza: an org that has been getting help and aid to people on the ground -> https://www.gofundme.com/f/careforgaza

Daily click that donates money to help Palestinians -> https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

[sugar-petals]

I screamed when I saw Tim on your feed yes we love a pretty guitar man

finally a fellow Tim Henson enthusiast!! 🎉

guess we have a type (= overqualified youtube twink w/ a futuristic fashion sense aka the best young guitarist out there 🗣).

risky post incoming cuz he's HOT & i love hands

[for those who don't know who this pretty boy is: tim's yt | tim's ig | tim's twt | about his band polyphia]

i agree he's gorgeous: jealousy magnet, mr henson has it all!!

- the delicious ink 😍 (neck tattoo: the sign of a masochist)

- 0% gravity hair (those fluffy waves! looking so soft tim, geez 🤒)

- the sexy 8 string guitar, cause he can, how does he do that??

- the alt beauty (tim radiates haughty expensive power bottom who talks back to get punished ngl, he's prog rock's #1 it boy)

-the sweater game, all day, every day (unmatched)

-the best technique. ice cold (easily most proficient hands in the music biz as of lately 😏 people either 1. hate him to the death or 2. need him carnally for this lmao, love me a polarizing guitar prodigy)

-A WHOLE FEMBOY BODY (even his ass is huge as of recently!! and the waist keeps getting smaller helpp)

I'm going feral over his body linee don't @ me!! how smokin' could anyone be??

-the actual live skills, not just yt editing (needless to say! any straight or bi man should be able to move his fingers like that hhh there I said it 😂 tim keeps the standards as high as he is lmao)

-the studio (oh the things that should be happening on that chair! ...anyways: it's so modern but not boring, i like it)

-the stylish guitars with the floral fretboards (guitar fuckers assemble!!! finally nylon strings are back thanks to him 💕)

-even more gorge guitars YES model it for us legend!!

-plus he's got an all-round good taste in everything. quality is key! composition and character is always a matter of taste. but timmy never dropped a bad video, bad promo, bad album covers, bad vlogs, bad cinematography, bad advert, bad ig post, bad anything. he's always the sassiest gnc slayer short king golden boy in the room doing the most 👑

...and seriously tho tim being texan youth i respect him defying the status quo!! that's real rock'n'roll☝️ he dressed for women and tops on the internet just to serve and confound some boomers along the way! prince would be proud 😎

homophobes leaving him anti-androgynous/misogynist/bodyshaming comments just can't cope with the sexiness, which he never compromised🤘 i truly pronounce tim bi ppls' favorite. since apparently nobody except the guitar community wants him we now own this man 🔥

-BONUS: last but not least look at this silver ibanez. look at it! tim is a design and aesthetics icon i rest my case... that many people still don't know about him is beyond me. he deserves all the clout!

i mean even personally... he's the kinda guy where you don't know if you came for the looks/fit or the skills and you stay for both! his playing style never disappoints. i always look forward to him dropping new material. tell me what your fave tim piece to listen to is ❤️

[dev1lm4n]

4 + 1

pairings: bodyguard!joel miller x f!reader

summary: the apocalypse didn't happen. joel shift jobs into becoming a bodyguard for a billionaire’s wife. four times joel realized he's in love and the one time he actually did something about it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: explicit (18+), p in v, no protection, infidelity, implied domestic abuse (not by joel)

notes: this is my fav to write by far ♡ if ur a writer or loves reading, chat me up and let's be moots

Clementine hues of orange sauntered in through the slick frame of her kitchen windows, causing a layer of tinted filtering to be added throughout the boring beige paints littered all around. Everything was in honeyed tones, beautiful and soothing. He had to admit that there was something godly about your kitchen. Something he couldn’t resist.

It was much different compared to the heavy smell of paint and cement he’s smothered in back when he’s still dwelling in construction. Instead of the constant buzz of drilling and swings of hammers into wooden panels, he’s now embraced in an endless collection of Jazz. His shoes are now polished— he could even see his own beaming reflection in the shiny black. A fitted tuxedo snug against the broad of his chest— a total 180° change from his Texan classic style of flannels and denims.

Joel used to think that he’s all too ill-mannered to be participating in the posh bullshit rich families are prone to, but when he saw the ads your husband was posting out, he couldn’t possibly decline the offer. The pay was enough to get Sarah all the way through university without picking up loans and it came with barely a risk.

He was just there to follow a billionaire’s pretty little wife around, carry your bags of impulsive purchases, and drop you off to go drink martinis with your girlfriends. The gun tucked into his back pocket was merely for show. After all, his dirty scowl is usually enough to set people aside. So, he signed the contract and was tied to what he envisioned to be a snobby flashy gal.

But you were an anomaly. 

You were the opposite of the few descriptive words your husband mapped you out as, which he recalled to be ‘bimbo’ and ‘a pain in the ass’. You were lovely. The kind of girl that’d bake your husband a sweet tray of apple pie in your cute little dotted blue apron. He was guilty of watching your every move. Every bend, perk, curve of your body. Because, duh, he had to make sure you weren’t harming yourself. What if you accidentally set a fire off in the stove? At least, that’s what he’s telling himself to fend upon his guilt.

“Come on. Open your mouth, Joel!” you cheered excitedly at the sight of your glistening apple pie, cut open into perfectly eight slices. As the fork pierced through the warm, flaky crust of the apple pie, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and baked apples filled the air. The crust crumbled ever so slightly as the fork lifted a generous slice, revealing the warm, gooey filling. A persuasive look keen on your face as you raised your fork forward, just a few inches away from his pursed lips.

“I don’t think I should, ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“Your husband’s coming home soon..” he trailed off, uneasy about the increasingly delicate situation.

“So? Married people can’t have friends now?”

You could closely watch his determination waver, because god did your apple pie look good even from a distance. But he shouldn’t be doing this on the job, right? Playing kitchen with you out of all people.

“We’re not friends.”

“Oh, we’re not?”

“No,” he shook his head. 

Only to entertain you and play into your own rhythm of things, Joel sank his teeth into the tender apples and buttery crust, sweet flavors exploded on his tongue. The warm, rich filling oozed out of the pie and coated his palate in a heavenly blend of spices and sweetness. What made it better was the shy smile you had on your face, unmarred by what the world had to offer. Your eyes twinkle fondly, sparking what felt like fireworks in his belly.

“Good?”

He simply nodded. Joel chewed slowly, averting his gaze away from you because who knows what he might start to imagine if he’s constantly being presented that view of you.

“Mr. Waterford’s gonna like it,” he reassured.

“Wait. Joel. What does that spell out?”

You enquired, brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of the word he’d just put together on the tiled board. Your lips pursed and you tilted your head slightly to the side, as if trying to get a different perspective. It seemed that your feigned innocence managed to work wonders in your bodyguard’s head, because his brows knitted along with yours, seemingly worried that he might actually get the word incorrectly. It may have been the nth time that you toyed around with him childishly, but it’s not your fault he always had such a silly expression to share each time.

“Darling,” he read the word aloud innocently. Texas twang dripping from every syllable.

“Yes, honey?”

Joel looked away bashfully at your playful banter. You could tell he’s raking his head to find ways to try and guide the conversation back into a safe spot. To maintain professionalism, where his heart doesn’t have to race a million times per second and his palms doesn’t have to turn all clammy from a childish joke. But he’s failing. Miserably at that. He tried to muster up the courage to respond in kind, but his mind went blank, leaving him tongue-tied.

“I’m just joking. You’re not mad, are you?”

Of course, he’s not mad. He could never be angry at you even if you sometimes do the weirdest things he could ever think of, like that one time last week where you decided you should try out every single barbeque sauce available in the supermarket. You’re just too sweet to be angry at. Snow could melt if you were there beaming that same dear smile of yours, miracles could happen if it was you. Joel thought that this was his punishment. A karma for all the terrible things he did throughout his twenties, the girls he fiddled and the money he possibly swindled. It’s hard to watch you and not be able to put his hands on you. It’s unfair.

“No,” he whispered vaguely as he drew more tiles from the messy pile. Joel looked amazingly dedicated for a bodyguard who’s being forced to play Scrabble with his employer’s wife— you found it hilarious, which resulted in the delicate giggle you uttered.

“Why don’t you hang out with your actual friends, Mrs. Waterford?”

You frowned.

“First of all, never call me by his name. Second, why do you care so much about who I hang out with?” you seethed out petulantly.

Even when you’re throwing a silly tantrum, he still looked at you as if you held out the sun and the moon. As if you’re the beginning and the end, but you weren’t going to assume what might just be a figment to your foolish imaginations.

“Sorry. I just.. I don’t have to play the dutiful, elegant wife when I’m here. I don’t have to pretend like I enjoy tea times and chalky macarons.”

You hate playing dress up when you’re just there to be your husband’s little pet. Ready to serve him at your every move. It’s suffocating to pretend like you’re content with how your life turned out to be, to giggle at condescending jokes other wives make, or to let your husband degrade you in front of other members of the high society. You felt like a mannequin and you’d rather be here, comforted in your own qualms with Joel. Simple ol’ Joel from Texas who took such good care of you.

“I can’t say I understand.”

Joel chuckled, thinking back to his rather ordinary background. He didn’t think he ever had to participate in any social events unwillingly, except when his mom dragged him to church on Sundays when he was younger, but that was different. You were in another realm. Someone who’s not equal to him.

“Although, I’m glad you feel at ease with me.”

He’s so good with his words, you sometimes wonder if those sweet compliments actually meant a thing. You simmered at his encouragement.

Tonight marks the evening of the Annual Spring Ball. Joel, being the country boy that he is, didn’t have much clue regarding what significance this particular event held. Although, he guessed that it was a big thing considering the pile of dresses you’ve dumped carelessly in front of your walk-in closet. You’re always so messy. Maybe he liked that about you.

He stood aimlessly, feeling like a nervous boy waiting for his prom partner to reveal themselves. It crept from inside his stomach and the grip it had on his throat grew tighter and tighter the longer you took in that damned dressing room. You’re not even going with him to this presumptuous event. You’re going with your damn husband, so why is he getting ahead of himself?

“What do ya think?”

You came bursting out of the pale blue curtains like a ray of sunshine, cladded with a long fitted evening gown. He was convinced that black belonged to you. The gown was made of flowing, luxurious fabric that draped elegantly down the womanly curves of your hips.

He couldn’t help but take a peek down your classic plunging neckline, like a fucking pervert. A flattering scoop that showed off your delicate collarbone and décolletage. Viewing a glimpse of your soft mounds propped up by the tailored bodice had him shifting from one leg to the other. God, you looked like a goddess blessed you personally. Waterford is a lucky man having you by his side.

“Is it too much?”

“No. It’s just..”

Joel swallowed thickly. How he wished he could say how you’d stolen his heart and robbed him of common sense.

“You look beautiful. Mr. Waterford would’ve-”

“Can we not speak of my husband?”

You interrupted bitterly. He wasn’t sure if he saw it correctly, but he could see a look of solemn ghosting over your sweet features. How you suddenly stop being all chirpy and instead, settle on chewing your inner lip. Joel was worried and it took all of him not to prod into whatever it is you’re hiding behind all the kind and warm facade. He was simply your bodyguard and that’s all he’ll ever be so why impose?

“Will you help me with my pearls?”

“Of course.”

He swiftly walked over to the jewelry case he’s grown accustomed to, not because he ever had thoughts of stealing your precious belongings, more so because you’ve allowed him to enter and assist you in your bedroom way too often. He’s memorized every inch of the blush tinted room without fail, maybe because he was a good help or maybe.. because he’s undeniably infatuated in you. With much precision, he held the shiny pearls in between his rough fingers. Only to gently clasp the chain around your neck. The ghost of his fingers on your bare skin made you shudder in anticipation.

He might’ve overstepped his boundaries by tracing over the exposed skin of your back, feeling the bumps of your spinal cords as if he’s a professional harpist. His gaze settled on where you felt the most plush and smooth. How he wished he could feel more of you; was the rest of your unexposed skin this delicate? Did you like this?

A pregnant silence enveloped the both of you. A mutual understanding. You were nervous, enough that you could listen to how your heart pumped blood into your increasingly warm cheeks.

“What is this?”

He broke the sacred silence at the irregular hues blooming from beneath the velvet fabric. Blues, purples, some were still inflamed, red marring your sacred skin. You were bruised. Bad. His eyes went wide at the sight of permanent scars shaped like a long rod buried deep in your skin, the new skin much lighter than your skin tone. If he weren’t attentive, he would’ve missed the way it hid underneath the hemlines. 

The worst part was you didn’t say anything. Just showcasing him the same ol’ smile as you turned.

Ever since he saw your marks, the ones you’ve tried your very best to cover and withheld from the world, you’ve avoided him more than ever. Joel Miller was specifically assigned to you. To cater to your every need and protect you from the danger you might encounter, but it’s hard to do his job properly when the danger was from within.

He’s seen the way you lock your doors in his presence, leaving him uneasy as he guarded in front of your door. He’s also noticed how you stopped baking sweet apple pies, quit picking the juicy strawberries in your garden, and were lost in your own thoughts more often than anything. Maybe you’ve had enough of playing house with the lousy bodyguard he was. Maybe he was too old, too wrinkly, and too nosy for your taste.

“Joel?”

“Yes,” he answered almost too eagerly at the pleasant call of his name. His puppy-like brown eyes peaked through the small crack of your door.

“Come in. I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise for him? Didn’t you hate him? Joel looked almost entranced at the sudden knowledge. He took a determined step into your room, your wooden door creaking close behind him. You narrowed your eyes to strengthen your vision towards his striking figure. Without shame, you took in all of him. You’ve missed him as much as you hated to admit. Joel was a crucial part to your daily life. He’s a breath of fresh air. The only thing keeping you alive when you’re caged in this mansion.

“Winter’s coming.”

“It is,” he spoke softly, out-of-breath at the sight of you in your nightgown. His pupils dilated erratically at what you’ve blessed him with.

“I knitted you and Sarah matching scarfs.”

You pulled out the most beautiful pair of scarfs out of your side table, decorated with your favorite shades of ballet pink and powder blue. It wasn’t the cleanest work out there. A few loose and uneven threads here and there, but it was the most someone has ever done to him in a very long time.

It felt sincere and heartfelt. You even knitted one for his daughter who he’d only mention briefly during your time together. Once during your weekly Scrabble game and the other time when he entertained you during a house party. He smoothed the thick fabric down, tears pricking his eyes from the emotions budding from within.

“Are you seriously crying?”

You chuckled at the sight, arms crossed in front of your chest at the sight of your tough and grouchy bodyguard tearing up over some scarf. Joel meant more to you than you could ever admit. Maybe this’ll show him that part of you, just enough that your husband would never notice and you could still play it off as an act of kindness.

“That’s so lame, Joel.”

Fact is.. you were magnetic. The sweetest thing he’s ever witnessed in his long thirty six years of life, yet you’re stuck here playing wife of Waterford. Joel wanted to be your knight in shining armor and bring you to safety where he’d cherish you all his life, but what could he do? Should he just witness you wither away into an empty shell? The thought brought up the long awaited bravado and he was already bringing you up into his arms. Wrapping you in a tight embrace where all he could feel was you and only you. The softness of your pliant body, the smell of strawberries and cinnamon, and your undeniable warmth.

“You’re not happy,” he muttered underneath his breath, brows knitted and wrinkles evident.

“I will be.”

You paused.

“I have to be.”

You reassured him, pulling away from his grasp slightly. Your longing eyes bored into him with a tinge of emotion he couldn’t quite decipher, but it all became clear when you finally kissed him. You tasted better than he could ever imagine.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

His voice was tantalizing, the rough bristles of his scruff tickling the curve of your earlobes in a manner that made you feel small. You couldn’t really pipe up a sweet comeback to what he had to say. Not when you’re pinned face down onto your fresh floral sheets, the same one you’ve spent countless nights with your estranged husband.

The crisp fabric felt cool and smooth on your squished cheek, you could even smell the lingering notes of softener wafted through the air. Joel caged you in like some sort of feral animal. Thick muscular thighs pressing next to your own as he loomed over you.

“You’re driving me insane, darlin’. Bending over with that silly knitted dress of yours.”

He murmured out into the junction of your neck. Always so careful with you, he made sure to smooth down every inch of your pristine skin, over each and every one of your scars and marks. His fingers were electric, jolting you every time he made bare contact.

You whined a soft tone when he pulled the wool hem of your dress upwards. Leaving your perky butt exposed to the cold air with nothing on but the panties you’ve chosen specifically for him. The one with the pretty pink bow and lace rimming each side; the one you knew he’s secretly pocketed a few times.

“Fuck. Such a pretty cunt. Is this for me or for Waterford?”

You were just too good to be true. Someone so perfect like you was willing to let him have a taste of what heaven on earth was, even when your husband was downstairs mingling with the other party guests. Joel was ecstatic at the thought. His eyes twinkled with obsession as he pulled your panties aside, probing a finger into your sloppy hole. One of his fingers was swallowed whole by your throbbing cunt and all he could hear was the loud squelching noise it made. It was as if you hadn’t been filled to the brim for a very long time. What a waste.

“For you. Only for you, Joel.”

Joel couldn’t hide the smugness running deep in his expression, pulling onto each corner his mustache. The constant need to prove himself to you tipped him over the edge. He wanted to be gentle with you, to be kind and cautious, because you were his everything, but it’s harder when he’s already leaking in his boxers. Seven inch, uncut, and sensitive. His fat cock thrived at the thought of you aching beneath him.

“He didn’t fuck you well, did he? Left you all wet for me.”

He teased sweetly as he unzipped his pants eagerly, only to tug at his waistband swiftly. Joel felt the adrenaline rushing through his headspace. It might be fucked up but somehow he wanted to prove how good he is for you, how he’d let your husband barge in if it meant proving how you’re such a good fit for his girth.

At the thought, Joel leaned forward to nip at your pulse point. You whined for more. He cooed softly, making sure you were slick enough as he flicked his cock along your needy slit. His thick raspy groans were heavenly, yet sinful for you to hear. You’re married for goodness sake.

“Put it in me, Joel. Fuck me. Please. Now.”

Your incoherent begging was music to his ears, enough that he gave in to your requests. He prodded his leaking tip into your entrance. Joel was unable to hide his pleasure, lashes fluttering as he rolled his hips in one sharp movement. He had to stop immediately once he’s buried deep in your velvety walls. Knowing he’d burst if he was to continue. He let out a breathy chuckle, grounding himself with all his might.

“Joe-el!”

That’s all you could muster as you pushed your hips further back into his, babbling hopeless pleads in hopes that he’d move and solve the everlasting coiling need. Such a slut.

“I got you, darlin’”

He held you steady by the small of your hips, adding ample pressure to have you arching back nicely. Joel fulfilled his promise by sheathing himself entirely within you. Slick and sloppy, he pounded into you. You’re on cloud nine. Desperately muffling his name into your bed sheets as if it’d make a difference in the boundaries you’ve crossed on this eventful day.

The golden ring band encircling your finger taunted you whilst it glimmered underneath the dim lights: all about your failing marriage and your stupid affair. You knew this wasn’t going to last long. Hell, things could fall apart if your husband caught a whiff of Joel’s cedar cologne on you.

“Stay with me, please, darlin’”

Joel looped his tough arms over your chest, effectively straightening you upright against his firm chest. His tip probed deeper inside you at the new position, exploring places you didn’t think was possible. You couldn’t see him and you thought it might be better. For you didn’t have to remember how unbelievably hot he looked while fucking you from behind; you’d worry his name would slip in your head when Waterford finally required you to cater to his needs.

“Run away with me.”

He tried once more and you had to say, it was quite a romantic gesture to attempt when he’s twitching vulgarly inside you. There was a sense of need in his voice. He’s begging you to leave all this luxury and royalty behind for the love he had to offer. What was it.. modern times Romeo & Juliet? You let out an airy moan in response, backing up even further to fulfill your burning desire. The coily dark trim on the base of his slick cock scraped your soft skin. He’s inside you entirely. Without any barrier because god did he secretly want to pump you full of cum. Maybe he'll let you wander back onto your husband's arms with his cum still stuffed deep within you.

“I can’t.”

You shook your head, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as his grip tightened around your wrist. His nails dug out crescent shape marks into your skin uncomfortably.

“Joel. Shit. Don’t move.”

He obeyed. A small grin taking over when he witnessed the shake of your legs and how you looked heavenly even when you’re seconds away from climaxing. He relished in the way your tongue cutely darted out like a dog in heat. You’re still cute even when you’re all spread out for him.

“I love you.”

He whispered once more, voice fleeting against your ear. Joel needed to kiss you. Needed to feel your soft lips on him for what might be the last time. His nimble fingers gently guide your jaw to turn his way, wrapping you in such an emotional kiss. As if you’d wither away if he didn’t hold you down tight enough.

“Please say it back, darlin’. Please?”

And just like that, he submitted to your wishes and let the mighty dam fall apart. A soft groan you’ve never heard before mused out his parted lips. He’s filling you up so full with a taste of him to the point that it’s leaking out each side of your thighs. A white rim left behind. Tonight he thought that maybe white belonged to you as well, just like black did.

“I love you too, Joel.”

[velvetures]

omg hey just here to shoot a request, idk if you do gaz as well but only soap is ok too. maybe something like soap x reader where the reader is a transfer from the american sector and she's just this super energetic, "AMERICA SCRAAAWWW" kind of person but is also super in learning about cultures and stuff. then the boys take her to this texas themed pub that she just criticizes the shit ton as she's from texas. i think it'll be funny to see a scot x texan lol thxx

God Bless Texas... and Scotland

A/N: I believe my goal here is to make something a little more on the joking/humorous side here... I'm not trying to get into politics or country pride on a deep level. This is just for fun. Nevertheless, thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy the direction I went with this. This is sooo damn cheesy... Summary: On shore leave, you and Soap get into a conversation about what it was like in your home countries. A couple funny stereotypes and light-hearted argument later, the 141 decide that experiencing both sides of the coin are necessary to settle the score. T/W's: stereotypes ofc, cursing, friendly banter/teasing, and as always not proofread.

It all started when you came out of your private quarters into the shared living room with an old t-shirt on with the admittedly cliche statement 'God Bless Texas' printed boldly over the front inside of a state-boundary shape. Out of all of the members of the 141, you were undoubtedly the most... shall we say... patriotic. At least in terms of your state pride and your unwavering happiness of having family still living there who were so in support of you and your work. Having family in the first place was something different compared to the rest of the squad, and it made the whole pride of where you came from a lot more difficult to understand.

You'd spent years at this point being around the 141 and learning all kinds of very unique and traditional habits that they carried with them despite oftentimes not having a family to share them with. Most of those, they shared with each other, and after getting comfortable with you was extended as a way to bond with you outside of the missions and other job requirements that you did together. From Soap's requirement of the "First Footing" tradition on New Year's, Captian Price never missing a Soccer World Cup no matter where he is, and Gaz's refusal to have a Christmas dinner without Christmas pudding, there isn't a time when someone isn't explaining their desire to incorporate some country, cultural, or family tradition in one way or another.

So, naturally, Soap was ecstatic when he found out about some little niche place that had opened up an 'American, Texas-Themed' restaurant. He knew it would be totally overdone, as did everyone else, so they all thought it would be something of a light-hearted way to poke fun at your loyalties by taking you there as a "resident expert" that could point them in the right direction and away from everything else. Truly the idea of having at least on full hour of teaisng you with everything they could just sounded like a damn good way to spend an afternoon.

The place was a little hole-in-the-wall pub with a little bit of seating that wasn’t directly at the bar. Dim lighting made it feel pretty inviting, but the obvious country music choices including Texas natives: George Strait, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson made it feel a little cheap. Especially with the taxidermy Longhorn head above the bar and the “cowboy” style of practically everything hanging on the walls. Although it wasn’t quite the most miserable place you’d even been, it certainly felt like a little more than just a healthy appreciation.

“Home away from home, right lass?” Soap’s devilish grin only made the wound sting your pride that much more.

"Ya know... actually, not one bit." You answer a bit awestruck and looking around the place with bated breath and the hope that it wouldn't get much worse than it already was.

To your irritation, it got worse. Much worse.

After getting seated by an -obviously- British woman forced to fake a deep and southern drawl, you were all handed menus that named off the most "popular" foods in the Southern United States that not only made you chuckle out loud with disbelief but actually voice the total inaccuracies of certain dishes that the men sitting around you actually thought were legitimate staple items.

"You actually eat rattlesnakes often?" Gaz thought it was a bit far off since he spent quite a bit of time in his service in South Carolina, but thought he'd clarify with you anyway.

"For Christ's sake, Garrick. No!" You roll your eyes, taking a drink of the iced sweet tea you were actually shocked to see was listed as a drink option.

That in itself was the largest contention point with Ghost who stared at you with an iron-clad will of hatred seeing you pleasantly drinking iced sweet tea like you were enjoying the abomination. To his horror, you were quick to compliment that they'd actually gotten it pretty close to how you made it yourself or people at home did.

"What is a pecan pie?" Captain Price was quick to question the dessert menu before a waitress had even come back around to take main course orders.

His question sounded somewhat confused and downright scandalized at the same time. And to be honest, you really didn't know how to explain that it was simply a pie with corn syrup and brown sugar-based sweet filling, covered with pecans that were baked in a regular pie shell. You attempted to describe the basic ingredients and how it was made to the table of interested men, only to have them all stare in guarded horror... Save for Gaz. He'd actually tried it while in the States and said he'd enjoyed it. Luckily he was on your side for that particular topic.

The men as a whole hilariously didn't order anything that you -or they- considered uniquely "Texan" or "American". Soap insisted that you pick a meal that sounded the most authentic to you and that they would try some of the food off of your plate. Of course, the idea sounded good to them, but you weren't sure you wanted to share a plate of food that could possibly be decently "American" when it would still be months before you could go back home.

You folded quickly and picked a meal that you believed would be safe enough to keep them from being outwardly horrified with you but would still be interesting to compare to the meals you grew up with at home. The most simple and safe option was what they called the 'Home Run Special', most certainly a knock-off of the American chain breakfast restaurant. It came with pancakes, fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, sausage gravy, grits, and hashbrowns.

When the platter came out, you were pleasantly surprised at the look of everything, seeing as it visually had promise and even smelled just about right as well. With one glance around the table, you saw every single man staring at the three-plate meal sitting in front of you and couldn't believe that all of that food was supposedly for one person. That comment alone did make you laugh. It was one thing that you weren't afraid to admit. You could eat a whole lot. And it was a family thing that you never could be shy to not own up to. Eating all of that breakfast to them might've seemed totally unacceptable, yet for you, it looked very accomplishable, given the food tasted good. They each wanted you to give your own personal opinions before they tried anything and watched you intently for any sign of your acceptance or lack thereof.

By the end of the meal, the men had all tried everything and had mixed opinions of what they thought was actually good or not. You believed the biscuits and gravy were totally garbage and vowed that you could make them better, and wouldn't even allow them to taste them for fear of cementing an even more concrete belief that biscuits weren't meant to be savory. They were half-and-half on the bacon, some saying it was really good while others complained it wasn't enough meat for so much grease. You... were quite pleased. Eggs were fine, they all didn't really pay them much mind, while the grits were such a contested topic that you weren't sure if they lost respect for you since you finished the entire serving.

"Although I've enjoyed the majority of the food and I was surprised with it... this isn't anything legitimate." You mutter with a full stomach, looking around the place and beginning to feel a little more homesick than you thought such a tacky pub could produce.

Soap, who was finishing off your pancakes nudged your shoulder a little and smiled. "You'll have to take me home with ya. Then I ken' really find out why ye' think Texas is so damn special."

"You have to take me home with you too Johnny," You take the fork out of his hand and eat one more bite of pancakes. "So I can see if God blessed Scotland, too."

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated

[paddockbunny]

Hi! 20 and 52 with Danny Ric. Him coming in your mouth calling you a good daddy’s girl 🥵 Im already drooling

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Summary : Daniel LOVES Austin. And he's going to love it a whole lot more once you take the cowboy thing into the bedroom. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : 1,527 Warnings : NSFW, adult material, 18+, language, oral male receiving (+ swallowing), dirty talk, pet names, idk if there's anymore but its smutty so you've been warned. Gif Credit : @iguessricciardo

Austin, 2021

It was Daniel’s favourite race and for the whole two weeks before it he kept annoying you with his fake Texan accent and calling you ma’am all the time but his excitement was kind of cute. So, with a few days to spare till the GP circus started, Daniel requested you go with him to his favourite western outfitters to pick this year’s outfit with him. You warned him you wouldn’t be joining in. You had already picked out a nice little paddock outfit and sure you could be convinced to add a little Stetson but if he thought he could get you all dressed up like Doris Day in Calamity Jane, he was mistaken.

You trailed through the rail of almost comically cheesy shirts and joked that perhaps he should make his own and he looked like he genuinely mentally noted that suggestion. It was enough to make you roll your eyes amusingly. His obsession with the whole culture was interesting to say the least, but he was overjoyed and happy while he was immersed in it so that was all that mattered. Daniel pulled out some cream number with rhinestones and you could practically hear his thoughts. He wanted to know if there were matching pants to go with it and you burst out laughing. “Ok, Lone Ranger. Just calm down a bit.” He pouted and side eyed you but kept the shirt in his hand anyway and giggled like a naughty child. You pulled out a much more subdued black number and held it up to him. He observed it and nodded and you went round to his side of the rail and handed the shirt over to him. “I like it.” He stated but a few minutes later you noticed him putting it back on a different rail. He wanted the Rhinestone Cowboy look, evidently.

Race Day

Austin was such a great atmosphere and the crowd seemed to love Daniel in all his cowboy glory. The vibe alone carried your rootin’ tootin’ boyfriend into finishing P5 and so he was in a very, very good mood after the race ended and you guys headed back to the hotel. Still wearing his western, Stetson styled hat and snakeskin boots, you couldn’t wait to celebrate with him in private because, ok, you had to admit it, Daniel pulled off the look he had gone for the other day while shopping. He pulled it off very, very well. And even now, clad all in black with the hat and the boots there was something deep inside you that made your panties dampen at the sight of him.

Chucking his bag away from him on the floor, the noise signalled to you that thankfully you now had him all to yourself. He had done well today – ok it wasn’t a win or a podium but still did well all things considered – and you knew how horny he got when he done well. So when you pulled off your jacket and tossed it on the floor, he was practically on you instantly.

“Howdy Ma’am.” His voice deepened and he pressed against your back. His hands snaked around your waist and with a very quick jolt he pulled your butt back at the same time he bucked his hips forward and you could already feel his instant erection. “Well, Howdy Cowboy.” You finally joined in like he had been so desperate for you to do. Daniel ground his hips against you, clearly desperate for some friction, and you let out a soft moan. Just as Daniel’s hands went to reach for the hem of your little sundress you swiftly and abruptly turned around to face him. He drunk you in like you were a tall drink of water and he had just made it through the desert. Those fucking eyes that always made you melt were full of lust and passion but he wasn’t going to have full control tonight.

A shaky, amused breath left Daniel when your hands trailed down his chest and you made the teasingly slow decent on to your knees. You kept eye contact with him and observed him as he let out a deep moan before his teeth sunk into his lower lip when you went for the large buckle on the belt (one that he had also purchased a few days ago in that western store) that strained to contain his rock hard cock. Your mouth watered as your hands confidently finished your task and you roughly yanked at his jeans to pull them down. Daniel let a confident laugh roar from him.

“So eager…” his words flowed with such pride that you were so desperate to taste him and were so hungry for his cock. And seconds later you got exactly what you wanted. You knew the first bold stripe you licked up the underside of his thick, lengthy cock always gave him Goosebumps but tonight the Goosebumps were joined back a thigh shake and his hand already gripping the back of your head.

“Fuck…baby…” Drool and precum mixed together and dribbled down your chin as you continued sucking on Daniel’s throbbing length, pausing every now and then to pay attention to his sensitive, purple tip with the underside of your tongue. The veins that ran up and down his wide shaft looked fit for bursting but you didn’t want to stop unless he begged you too. Blowing him was truly one of your most favourite things to do. No guy had ever made you feel this wet while you gave him a blowjob but the constant praise and vocal admiration Daniel lavished on you was enough to have you touching yourself to have your own pleasure from the moment. As his hand – with your hair wrapped around it – helped keep you moving at a steady pace you moaned as his cock slipped effortlessly down the back of your throat. You breathed out through your nose and let him stay there for a few moments because you could feel how he was starting to loose it. He was right on the edge of control. Then he let his grip loosen and you eased him back out before you looked up at him with wet eyes and your cheeks hollowed out while you returned to sucking.

“Keep going…fuck…y/n.” He was right on the brink. His orgasm was so close you would win a bet on it. He jolted forward a little and you noticed the way his thighs tensed and then with a large groan, Daniel finally came in your mouth. The salty taste of Daniel’s cum was all you could think about. You had desired it all day and in some weird way you always desired it all the damn time, you rather liked the taste and knowing it was you that got him off made your pussy tingle. Your eyes had remained on him the whole time so you got to watch as his face changed. His brow furrowed, his mouth fell open and he was overcome with pleasure from your mouth.

When you were sure that he was completely finished, totally spent, you pulled back and observed him now lazily smiling down at you.  You knew what he wanted. He wanted to see it, see his cum – the product of all your work – on your tongue. You learned very quickly how much it turned him on and how it was one of his kinks. He tilted his head backward a fraction and it was like a silent signal for you to open up. So you did. Teasingly slowly you let your jaw fall open and carefully you stuck your tongue out. You didn’t want to spill a drop. Once you were satisfied he had his fill of the scene before him, you tilted your own head back, receded your tongue, closed your mouth and swallowed dramatically.

“You’re Daddy’s good girl, aren’t you?” Daniel purred and you felt the aching for him between your legs intensify. You were now desperate for him to return the favour – because no one could EVER give head like Daniel could – so nodded enthusiastically. Without skipping a beat, Daniel grabbed your arms and pulled you to your feet. His large, veiny hand went to your cheek and you stared straight back into his eyes hoping he would pick up on how desperate you were for him. And in a millisecond you remembered the hat that was on top of his head and that silly little saying printed on one of the t-shirts in that store he took you too a few days ago popped into your mind. Somewhat arrogantly (and cock drunk from the blowjob you had just given him) you smirked before saying boldly; “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” With a wink and Daniel’s loud laughter filled the room. “At your service, Ma’am.” And without skipping a beat, Daniel swooped you up clean off your feet and carried you over to the bed.

Safe to say, after that night in Austin, it would be your favourite race too.   

[t00thpasteface]

So my brain just had a wild idea that

King of the Hill would be even funnier dubbed over comic panels in your art style.

I don’t know why.

I just needed to share with you.

as flattered as i am by hearing "funny cartoon would be even funnier if you drew it" (seriously as a cartoonist i am TOUCHED) i think the comedic appeal of king of the hill IS its incredibly humble, down-to-earth art style.

as a texan, that neighborhood is totally MY neighborhood, except instead of four white guys on the street drinking beer and shooting the shit while the day goes on around them, it's two black dads, a vietnamese dad, and then my mom (she is totally dale). the way everyone talks and acts is just so intensely texan suburbia. if you live around here, you've met the characters and have probably been to at least one backyard barbecue with them to boot.

the real beauty of the comedy in king of the hill is less about wacky shenanigans (a la the simpsons) and more about the quiet, simple absurdity of existing in this neck of the woods. not an explosion of hilarity that knocks 'em dead instantly, but a consistent background radiation of ridiculousness that only starts to take effect after years of chronic exposure.

[ludinusdaleth]

opal and dorian for send you a character!

for opal:

First Impression: im probably the least intimate with aimee carreros work of anyone in this cast, im curious if ill like what she does

Impression Now: oh opal my sweet south texan girl.... im so so sorry

Favorite Moment: "NANCY" or her spritzing lolth with perfume

Idea for a Story: it's sad as all hell but, her & fy'ra rai trekking to war, when another figure joins their side. zerxus, trying to comfort this girl so much younger than him, made into a pawn for choosing to try to help a betrayer as he did. fy'ra rai & zerxus defending her like family. zerxus telling her shes still beautiful, still young, still full of potential. maybe some luxon thread in both of them understands the other.

Unpopular Opinion: i dont know if i really have one, beyond, aimee's play style is extremely funny and she shouldnt get hate for it

Favorite Relationship: her & fearne or her & morrighan

Favorite Headcanon: shes the best at rodeo and will always make jokes that she rides the best of anyone in byroden

for dorian:

First Impression: ohh, robbie daymond AND an aesthetically pleasing character!

Impression Now: god robbie is one of the best dnd players out there

Favorite Moment: maybe the coriolis scene, but also "if i were a gem id be a diamond because im HARDASAROCK-"

Idea for a Story: a much older dorian who had to accept kingship who is tempted by the sway of something like lolths crown again but steeling himself, old eyes closed in remembrance.

Unpopular Opinion: he is not fundamentally more interesting for potentially being with orym one day, and is absolutely brilliant on his own.

Favorite Relationship: him & dariax

Favorite Headcanon: he has scruff, especially on his chin.

[spann-stann]

Setting Map: Viceroyalty Latinidad (REWORK)

CorpEmp Macrocommunities:

Aridoamerica: Northwest Mexico. Miffed they didn't get the Rio Grande, even in the 2800s.

Central America: Central America plus Panama minus El Salvador.

Chile: Rump Chile run by Tradcath Gremialists. At least they don't have to deal with the Mapuche anymore...

Grand Bajio: North-Central Mexico. Home to massive Neo-Chichimec and Purépecha industrial estates.

Gran Colombia: Colombia, Ecuador, and Venezuela. Bolivar was a corporatist all along!

Hispanola: Haiti, Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico. The only islands of the Greater Antilles that weren't seized by the U.M. and W.C.O.F..

Indo-Caribbean: Trinidad-Tobago and the Guyanas. The Hindu Heartland outside of VR Jambudvīpa.

Kalingo Archipelago: The Lesser Antilles (sans T-T and Montserrat), home of Carib restorationist movements.

Matto Grosso: Brazil's Center-West. Like to see themselves as the heirs of old Brazil.

Maya: Yucatan, northern Guatemala, and Belize.

Mesoamerica: Central Mexico. Declared the Nahua and Zapotec homelands, dotted with Hispano-Gaelic enclaves.

Nordeste: Brazil's northeast. Finally free from Brazilian internal neocolonialism.

North Rio Grande: Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas. Once a Texan satellite state, its relationship with the First Dynasty's home made the N. Rio Grande an influential member of VR Latinidad following its formation.

Paraguay: Slightly larger now that it's acquired the Argentine Chaco. Provinces like styling themselves as the old Jesuit Reductions.

Patagonia: Southern Argentina and Chile, the homeland for the Mapuche people, as well as some Welsh enclaves.

Peru-Bolivia: Peru and Bolivia, back together! Styles itself as Neo-Incan, with a few acquired Japanese stylings.

São Paulo: Formed from the Brazilian state, plus Minas Gerais. One community of note within is the "Confederado Tribal Zone".

(South) Rio Grande: Southernmost Brazil. Lots of German, Italian, Polish, and Ukrainian enclaves.

Tucumán: Northern Argentina. A Neo-Diaguita and Tonocote project.

Non-CorpEmp Territory:

Cordons Sanitaire: The Falklands, Mexico City, Brazil's Federal District, and a large buffer zone between Buenos Aires (U.M. territory) and Uruguay (W.C.O.F.).

Green Consensus: A good chunk of the Amazon, Galapagos, and a restored Montserrat.

United Markets: The militarist Milleist Free State (Buenos Aires), Central America's Crypto Coast, Jamaican FVEM , and the Sandals-Bahamas Free Market Zone.

World Congress of Freedom: The Zapatista Federation (Chiapas), Cuban Republic, the Rio-Santo strip (Brazil), and Peoples Republic of Uruguay.

Reserves: Millenarianist, pacifist, and survivalist enclaves across the Viceroyalty, and several (formerly) uncontacted peoples in the Amazon.

CPC Activity: Organized criminal groups use the Mexico City and Brasilia Cordons Sanitaire as staging grounds for trafficking operations. Massive depots are usually seen built and rebuilt in the Amazon. Several descendants of Guantanamo detainees have formed pirate groups in the Caribbean.

[hevanderson]

for the character breakdown: sebastian??, lauren, tina !!

- sebastian -

how i feel about this character

my worstie. i hate him and he lives in my brain forever and ever and i can't free myself

all the people i ship romantically with this character

jesse st james.. also blaine but only in a very toxic way that ends after approximately 4 episodes

my non-romantic OTP for this character

sebastian shouldn't have friends. ❤️

my unpopular opinion about this character

people need to realize he SUCKS. he is a bigoted guy who has a quota of one microaggression per sentence. there is no getting around that!

one thing i wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

NO REDEMPTION ‼️

- lauren -

how i feel about this character

i adore her. legend. my texan icon. unbelievably sad that she's only really in one season but at least she was in the best season

all the people i ship romantically with this character

puck, quinn, and occasionally mercedes..

my unpopular opinion about this character

erm i have none. she's done nothing wrong in her whole life

one thing i wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

stayed in the club and graduated with the s3 cast because why the fuck was she in s4??? she could've singlehandedly saved s3 i believe in her

- tina -

how i feel about this character

i love her. my silly rabbit. i don't have a lot of deep thoughts about her but i enjoy her throughout the series!

all the people i ship romantically with this character

rachel, mike, and mercedes! occasionally quinn as well

my unpopular opinion about this character

she is just as fun to watch in s4 onward as she is in seasons 1-3

one thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

stayed goth </3 or had a more sensible style transition throughout the seasons instead of just switch flipping yknow

[miss-morgans-lover]

Kendall Morgan- Canon vs. Headcannon vs. Vamp!AU:

Canon (what do we know?):

She is 26

She's the purple ranger (after Albert)

She's the rangers scientist

She's the museum director

She met Keeper after she started at the museum

She can sing

She can fight (at least somewhat)

My Headcannon (What do. believe about her?):

She did music, paleontology, Latin, business and the sciences at college/university

She started college/university at 17, because of being moved up a year, and finished at 21

She started the museum up herself, using old family money to buy it at 21, and it opened to the public when she was 22

She trained in different fighting styles since she was young and continued to into adulthood. She rarely trained with the rangers, but has on occasion.

She is bisexual, preferance for women, but does still like guys

She drives a motorbike and wears leather jackets

She has a plesiosaur tattoo on her lower back which only a couple of the rangers has seen (Chase and Koda accidentally), she got it way before bonding to her energem

She is the leader of the rangers, she has the final call on anything and has the power to suspend the rangers from action for a given time

She can sing well, and does perform a couple times a month to help pay for the ranger stuff

She is a dominant in bed

Vamp!AU (how does my vamp!AU differ from canon?):

(Including all the prior as well)

She was changed/bitten at age 19 by a teacher she was in a relationship with

She was abus3d during her childhood. Her birth parents neglected her and most of her numerous adoptive parents abus3d or neglected her.

Her birth parents died in a car crash she was in, they were drunk and she was the only one with a seatbelt. She got pulled out seconds before the car exploded.

She had 2 unhealthy coping mechanisms: alcohol (17-21) and sex (21-25) - for the alcohol she didn't know what else to do but she wanted to forget, and the sex, she needed positive touch and that was the only way she knew she could get that

She started college/university at 17 because she was escaping her adoptive parents

She is part of the Whitlock Coven (yes, from twilight), her nickname is The Mistress

The Mistress is also an alter, her vampire side which presented due to trauma

She performs at a local vampire bar multiple times a week (the bar is a "VIP" bar to the humans). The money goes towards the rangers mostly, some goes to the coven's group account.

G'Ma Betty was one of the only good parts about her childhood, and she got back in contact with her after she was well enough to do so.

She wears a more alternative style of clothing when she isn't at work and whilst she's performing

She is from Texas, and has a Texan accent, but she has to hide it because too many people are into it - she had a lot of people getting meetings with her just to ask her out.

She doesn't show her face or voice on camera (due to vampirism and not wanting people from her past to find her so easy) - Chase does all the interviews for her

She has fire powers/pyrokinesis. Most of the time she can control it, but when she feels strong, negative emotions such as: anger, fear, jealousy she can't control it and it almost just bursts out. She can control whether or not the fire is harmful, though it's harder when she can't control it. It can be harmful to one person and not to the rest of the wants, but only for a short time.

She is (soul)mates with Shelby, and fell for her soon after Shelby turned 18.

Vamp!AU Aesthetic

@spookyblazecoffee @the-gays-ever @rawrloooool and the others (can't remember your users off the top of my head)

[muldxr]

2022 writing review 🤍

another year has come and gone! i was tagged by @neondiamond @beardyboyzx @wabadabadaba @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 18

2. Word count posted for the year: ~56k

3. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction

4. Pairings: Harry/Louis, with a dash of Zayn/Liam in my new fic

5. Story with the most: Kudos: greased lightnin’ [155] Bookmarks: Hill Country [54] Comment threads: Hill Country [17]

the rest is under the cut!

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): Hill Country was a creative experience from start to end. I mentioned this one a lot this year, but there's nothing major I would change about it. I will always, genuinely, enjoy re-reading it and I thank everyone who gives it a chance

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why): it was a really hard year so i don't want to be negative about any of my works <3 they all have their strengths

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: I appreciate @lululawrence for kindly reccing dark blue on her June podcast episode here! I was in awe because it is a fic that i didn't think anyone would enjoy - and she COMPARED IT to other iconic crackfics, and it's just a big honor to have this underrated gem on that list.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: lately my writing motivation has dwindled as the daylight disappeared, and i didn't have a very fun time writing in aug-oct but i'm prepared to do better in 2023

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: does Figs count? i loved the creativity that came with this style of poem and the 'scene' it sets up. i have been testing my limits with writing shorter but more impactful works this year

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: this is from after hours and i can't resist a scene where all hope is lost

“Harry, please, leave it.”

“I’ve been trying to hold onto something, to find something good out of the bad. Why don’t you?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“You said I’ve been too quiet. You said I wasn’t helping you figure it out, but I was. And I can’t be positive about it like you are, because the answer’s fucking obvious.” He makes a sweeping gesture at himself, an absolutely broken flick of the hand. He doesn’t bother to look at Harry. “It’s my fault.”

Then Harry can’t get a word in while Louis passes him, walking into the house. He doesn’t follow, not right away. Sooner or later he’ll have to go up, work through the stubbornly silent treatment to console Louis, and come up with an easier way to separate their guilt from what they have to do. 

That, and because, when the sound of footsteps returns, Harry realizes he has the keys.  

13. How do you hope to grow next year: 1) I want to continue betaing/cheerleading, so hit me up! 2) I hope i can write another 15k+ fic! that would be great because I enjoy the chance to sit with a plot/cast of characters for longer than a few months

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc): people who tagged me in snippet games!! i don't post those very often because it's hard for me to write more than a few sentences at a time and I have a lot of scattered dialogue and incomplete scenes, but i enjoy interacting with everyone

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:  this is a deep-dish-pizza-loving household, thus after hours gave it the attention it deserves. hill country also held a lot of texan essence~ and i'm glad i poured it in there. I-80 was inspired by a roadtrip. see-see was based on 15+ years of movie-going experiences (if i figure out how, i might write a longform deaf au, emphasis on might). i think that's it? i try to be creative and pull inspiration from things, but if it turns too personal it's difficult to not want it to be 100% perfect

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: not to say this applies to everyone - but I have learned in the last 1.5 years of writing fic, it's important to take things in moderation when planning wips and committing to fests. i learned this the hard way, and it made me reevaluate my connection to writing and taking care of myself

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: it's a slow year! I am working on fics for @harryrarepairfest and @omegaharryfest due in March before I take a personal break. Then two more projects finished by November? I'm also open to writing for other fandoms 🫣

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read. @allwaswell16 @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @onlythebravest @tommokat @beelou @phd-mama @littleroverlouis @starsweredible @thedevilinmybrain and who else wants to share!

[thesinglesjukebox]

BEYONCÉ - "MY HOUSE"

Beyoncé drops too late for the Jukebox revival? Never mind, Wayne’s made sure we’re across it…

[5.43]

Aaron Bergstrom: It can be disorienting to remember that Beyoncé exists on the same plane of existence as the rest of us. After all, she's the alien superstar. She's one of one. Imagine Beyoncé eating a sandwich. It's not like she doesn't have influences, or contemporaries, but she's taken great pains to create a personal aesthetic of otherworldly perfection, and to position her most recent albums as self-contained objects that arrived fully formed, the product of a singular genius. She is above us, beyond us. Then you hear the first thirty seconds of "My House" and you realize, "Oh. Right. Houston." Beyoncé is from Houston. She comes from a lineage that is Southern, Texan, and influenced by identifiable strains of late-'90s and early-'00s hip hop. She does it better than pretty much anyone else, and by the end of the song she has transformed those fairly mainstream reference points into something that probably only she could make, but still. Real person, from Houston. Probably eats sandwiches. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: We tend to grade artists on a curve after a certain point. Beyoncé has been making hits since two months before I was born -- how am I supposed to compare her to anyone aside from her? In this context "My House" is too much and not enough all at once. Beyond its literal status as an end credits song, the song still feels like a multilayered rehash -- emulating not only the thrills of Renaissance but also her long tradition of tossed off, post-album cycle excursions in swag rap. "My House" is fun but in its own way slightly threadbare -- it piles on boasts and hooks with an almost haphazard glee, with little regard to how these parts hold together. It's impressive, but only to the extent that "My House" feels like Beyoncé operating at roughly 50 percent of her usual capacity. [6]

Alex Ostroff: A slightly less fluid version of the "Pure/Honey" trick of stitching together two disparate songs. "Pure" started off as a cunty ballroom track, then shifted into the impeccable Vanity 6 riff of "Honey" -- and, importantly, Beyoncé convincingly embodied both modes perfectly. "My House" begins as aggressive rap and pivots into a minimal blippy-bloopy house track. Historically -- since at least a decade ago -- one would expect Bey to pull off the first half of this off more easily than the second. But after immersing herself in the sounds of Renaissance, she's more compelling imperiously telling the audience to get the fuck up out her house over top of chanting vogue crowds and gospel choirs. The first section has promise, but I can't help but wish the instrumental loop was a Homecoming-style marching band with a full drumline and a bunch of tubas instead of synths. Mostly, it makes me wish that Act II fulfills the promise of that "I Been On (Remix)" with Bun B, Scarface, et al. by giving us an entire chopped and screwed Houston rap album of Bey spitting fire. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: The drum programming on this starts off frustratingly bad. If it had been done by an actual drum line before cutting the coals, it would sound good, rather than demo arrangements done to prepare for the rehearsals. The actual arrangement below the chant sounds good -- it's just so flat it can't move, pump or jam. The mediocre choir chorus does work a cappella - it sounds full by at least four voices and ends on a warm note -- and the delicious bass stab towards the back end of the song does help, but it's already too late. This is why we rehearse, and why some songs have good ideas but don't make the album. Would you take off "Plastic Off the Sofa" for this? [3]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang:

Alien Superstar [10]

Heated [10]

Pure/Honey [10]

Plastic off the Sofa [9]

I'm that Girl [9]

Cuff It [9]

Cozy [9]

Virgo's Groove [8]

America Has a Problem [8]

Break My Soul [8]

Church Girl [8]

Thique [8]

Energy [8]

My House [7]

Move [7]

All Up in Your Mind [7]

Summer Renaissance [7]

*Subject to change [7]

Katherine St Asaph: One producer Beyoncé continually re-hires is The-Dream, even as her former, once-feted collaborators disappear from her unsparingly curated house. Hey, about that, remember how he was accused of assaulting his pregnant ex-girlfriend last decade? But it's not like this was enjoyable before I knew who produced it, either. [3]

Will Adams: Basically Renaissance's "7/11": a throwaway track, only mildly fun, ultimately a distraction from its otherwise exquisite parent album. That alone is enough of a disappointment from Beyoncé; in light of recent pushback, though, a lyric like "let's heal the world, one beautiful action at a time" makes it that much more eyebrow-raising. [4]

Taylor Alatorre: When I was young, I used to annoy my dad all the time during TV commercial breaks, asking why McDonald's or Coca-Coca had to run advertisements when every living person on the planet already knows what they are. Of course, at the age of seven, I had no knowledge of concepts like brand perception, market share, consumer loyalty -- for me the only purpose of an ad was to inform you that a product exists. However, there is something to the idea that companies often devote an excessive share of resources to marketing and PR as opposed to improving the quality of their goods and services, so maybe my seven-year-old self wasn't completely off-base. It is in that spirit that I ask: why does Beyoncé need to release a song like this when she is Already Beyoncé? [3]

Alfred Soto: Enough already. [5]

Brad Shoup: She's most believable on "get the fuck up out of my house": she strings the vogue and Dirty South sounds together like a top-of-the-line security system. I guess anything could be a revolution if you're the sun. [5]

Ian Mathers: I think the thing that most surprised me about "My House" is that it doesn't just sound like an end credits song, it sounds like a whole bunch of them. The part where the track downshifts feels just like when the credits cut from the maximalist, triumphant "credits song" that tends to get promoted as such to another track (usually by another artist, or maybe even just from the score). You can practically hear it switching to the part where each line of the credits has like four people in a row. But, crucially, it sounds like it does so for one hell of a movie. [8]

Micha Cavaseno: Y'know, of all the nostalgia ticks for Beyoncé to hit on a recent single... I wouldn't exactly have figured we'd get proto-crunk Atlanta Rap in the style of Hitman Sammy Sam while doing the cadence of Chuck Roberts to be something she'd go for. Transitioning it into electro-house rather than indulging in a brief detour over to Atlanta Bass is understandable, but I can't help but that might've been a perfect piece de résistance. Nevertheless, it's perfectly solid music that features Knowles really continuing to rely on dancefloor rollers instead of pop smashes or R&B storms to keep her concerts heavily anchored. She's clearly transitioned into a touring event rather than a mainstream presence, and it makes perfect sense the more she transitions into her "mother" stage: career, personal life, Beyhive Queen analogies, the gay icon definition... whatever perception you prefer. Beyoncé is now a force to herself in the way that few pop stars are lucky to solidify themselves as, and Knowles knows that her ship runs on fuel and showcase, less on staking and striving. [6]

David Moore: I didn't begrudge Renaissance its world-beating rep, but at the same time there was something inaccessible to me about the project; the whole thing seemed like if you ever tried to really touch it, someone would brusquely remind you to stay behind the rope. More than any other celebrity archetype, Beyoncé reminds me of a television star of the '90s who made the prestige move to cinema and never looked back, even as television and cinema merged into the same formless blob of Engaging Artistic Narrative Content: she's like George Clooney or Jennifer Aniston, carrying the torch of a pop culture upward mobility that everyone says they've moved past even though they still treat the legacy holdouts with the reverence of a bygone era. Of course, Beyoncé's music is usually much better than anything George Clooney or Jennifer Aniston does. (Usually.) [5]

Oliver Maier: A microcosm of the Renaissance experience: expertly put together, more structurally inventive and surprising than the vast majority of pop music currently doing the rounds, never electrifying. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[samshinechester]

@thehighfiveproject, thank you for this challenge :D I had a lot of fun finding & commenting fics!

OLD FIC:

The Only Twenty-Four-Hour Bookstore in New York by tsukinobara Jared is the proprietor of The Moose and Mayhem, New York City's only twenty-four-hour bookstore. It takes up most of his brain but he loves it – the employees, the customers, the shelves and shelves of books. Jensen is co-owner of Two Brothers Bar, Red Hook's finest purveyor of bourbon, beer, and country bands. It takes up increasing amounts of his time but he loves it – the bartenders, the customers, even line-dance nights. Jared's weird year begins on No-Pants Day with the unusual presence of people riding the subway in their underwear in January. Jensen's weird year begins with an impulse to cross the river into Manhattan at three in the morning to see if the tall Texan guy he met a week ago is as cute as he remembers. But neither of them is expecting the challenging year that follows, and they'll need the things about New York that keep them sane to help them survive it.

RPS Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles ~38k

This is such a feel-good fic! It languished in my TBR list for a long while, which is a shame because it's a sweet one. Sweet with a dash of angst and a lot of realism, which is the best compliment I could pay to a story. I wish I owned a bookstore too (not even kidding here) ~

<1K HITS/100 KUDOS:

Indiscretion by Heartlesskids You could find everything you want in the South’s brothels, even what you did not know you wanted, and sometimes everything you needed. (au: Robb is a North king a bit at lost in the South, and Theon a skilled courtesan/prostitute who, maybe, used to be a Greyjoy.)

ASOIAF Robb Startk/Theon Greyjoy ~around 1k

Ehhh, I guess I'm cheating? A bit? This story doesn't have any kudos or visible hits, as it's from the kinkmeme. On Lj, things were different, but we had spectacular works nonetheless; you just had to dig to find them. Case in point, this fic. It's a short one, with Robb as King (I like it when Robb is alive and crowned), Theon as a prostitute (because I love my recurring themes), and they make it work while staying IC.

IC and writing style are my conditio sine qua non when it comes to fics, and the author can juggle them both in an effortless way. Bonus Hand!Jon <3 ~

FANDOM CLASSIC:

Full Service Firm by Rivkat Jensen's ego is stinging four weeks after being dumped by his long time boyfriend. He's been turning down guys left and right because, while he wouldn't mind some nice, no-strings-attached sex, he's more than a little scared of any kind of rejection. Enter the hot guy in the expensive suit who's been drinking the bar's best all night. Jensen nearly swallows his tongue when hot guy sidles up and says he'll pay double Jensen's going rate if he agrees to leave right the fuck now. Jensen's more than a little peeved that the guy thinks he's a hooker, but when he names an outrageous price off the top of his head, and the guy agrees without blinking an eye, he feels all his insecurities vanish. At least until a few months later when he realizes he may be in love with his one and only regular.

RPS Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles ~12k + companion piece available

I already left kudos there, damn XD but this fic. This fic, omg. It deserves a full, well-articulate squee in the form of comment. It's funny, it's well-written, it's an AU featuring my favorite fake jobs & tropes for the Js (hooker! Sort of! Lawyer! In love!), it's so beatiful I come there and reread it quite often <3

"How many clients do you have?" Jared asked, an unusual strain in his voice as he leaned back against the headboard.

Jensen suppressed the powerful impulse to say "one," because Jared had made it pretty clear how things stood between them. He thought about work, the client numbers it seemed like he dreamed about. "Four or five," he said, hoping it sounded plausible.

ASFDGFGDFGDF GFG. Besides, paragraph 131. Go read it now. ~

UNDERDOG TROPE:

The Old Gods Return by fleshflutter The envelope is waiting for them behind the desk of the motel when they try to check out. It's made of a thick, coarse brown paper and Sam can't stop touching the flowing script in black ink that's the only marking on it: Mr Samuel Winchester. HP Lovecraft & SPN

SPN Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester ~16k Ah, mpreg. It's not my thing, not really, as it tends to involve 99% sex and 1% vagueplot. Here, though? It's all plot! Well, they do fuck and Dean gets knocked up, but there is a reason behind it - a solid, terrifying and 100% IC reason. Casefic with a side of believable mpreg :D the writing style is, of course, superb, and the eerie atmosphere feels real. I adore this fic.

I just found out it has a sequel! So, if you'll excuse me...

~

RARE PAIRING:

Lead the Way from All Is Lost by Somehowunbroken 'Cam isn’t sure what he’s expecting to see when he walks into the General’s office, but he knows for damn sure that it’s not a man, dressed in base uniform, slouching in a chair with his arms crossed behind his head, staring unconcernedly at the ceiling while General Landry does his best to glare a hole straight through him.'

SGA/SG-1 Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard ~25k

I keep going back to this fic. Every once in a while, since 2010 (it was still on Lj back then? I can't remember), I just have to get back and read it all over again. The author handles the recovery aspect in a realistic way, and their Cameron sounds so real. He's caring, he's compassionate, he's firm yet respectful of John's boundaries. The scene with the general is satisfying under every aspect - I'm always happy to see justice being served.

~

FREE SQUARE:

Why Ned Would Have Executed Theon by Redrikki Would Ned have killed Theon if Balon had rebelled before Ned’s death? It’s a tricky question. You can’t prove a counterfactual and the narrative offers clues that could go either way. Ultimately though, the answer is yes.

ASOIAF Gen, meta ~1k

Self-explanatory title, interesting meta. I read and appreciated many fanfictions where Theon doesn't lose his head despite Balon rebellling again. They satisfy my little Theonstan heart a lot. Like, I'm writing one myself as we speak.

In all seriousness, tho, they're implausible.

Ned would have killed him. Robert would have killed him (in 0.5 or less). Robb, as much as it pains me to admit it, would have killed him.

It's a matter of culture, which is medieval and brutal, and context. Even today, modern States et al, the 'no dealing with [insert random threat here]' is Public Show of Force 101; in a medieval setting, fake or otherwise, a show of weakness would have disastrous consequences. You don't keep your word and save the hostage = you're a weak King and we'll raid your land in 1-2-3. Would they have regretted it? Robb, yes. Ned and Robert, ahem. And Balon, who has been giving minus zero fucks about Theon since his failed first attempt, wouldn't have regretted it either. Acceptable loss is the technical term.

From an impartial point of view, that's it. What saddens me is that the enormity of it - can you imagine living with such a Damocle's sword hanging on your head? Theon's levels of anxiety must have been through the roof for years, spiking even higher every time a raven showed up - doesn't really transpire in the books. ~

AO3 WARNING:

Cupid's Got a Gun by geckoholic Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again. They've tried, and it doesn't work, too many bad memories from what's been done to him downstairs. A case that involves a cursed cross and a vengeful witch takes that choice away from them, though...

SPN Sam Winchester/Dean Winchster ~13k

I struggled with this one, because I don't pay attention to warnings, so recalling a fic with one of the big three or chose not to has been kind of a bitch. I only check if the summary sounds interesting and the style is good. If both check out, I'm in. That said, if you like a trope-subversion fic mixed with post-hell Dean and established relationship, look no further. The casefic part is believable, and the curse is horrific, even more so because of the flashbacks. ~

NEW FIC:

The Perfect Bride by Anagrrl The guy ducks his head, rubs his jaw briefly. "Sorry, of course, right. Trust but verify, right? It's Rodney. Rodney McKay, it's great to meet you."

Rodney's a genius, but sometimes, he's also kind of dumb.

SGA Rodney McKay/John Sheppard ~4k

Pretty new fic (October was, like, yesterday) and entertaining AF. I have a soft spot for arranged marriages, but the modern spin *and* the John-left-at-the-altar/misunderstanding twist are... I don't know, how did Anagrrl make a perfect idea even more perfect?

It's funny and lovely, they're a delight to read, and I enjoyed it from the very first word. ~

<1K WORDS:

Last Train Home by Sparkagrace “‘s me. Your pal, your buddy,” he hiccups, “your Buuuuuucky.” He drawls his name out, the word feeling like cotton in his mouth. “I can’t feel my teeth.”

- Bucky takes the last train home to Steve

MCU Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes ~995

This is so good! I love how Sparkagrace used a line that screams angst, pain, and sufferance, and turned it into something sweet. Drunk!Bucky is so cute it's ridiculous, I went all 'awwww' over him and Steve. ~

NEW AUTHOR:

Eldritcher with Carnarium His dreaming brides of death.

ASOIAF/House of the Dragon Balerion ~3k

I'm cheating a little because I left a comment on Carnarium right before this challenge started, but I left another one today! It's a magnificent fic. Poor Balerion, poor Aerea, poor... everyone, really. I feel for them all 💔

Also, Eldritcher's writing style! No praise can do it justice. Wow.  It's-atmospheric, evocative, and it's a style I appreciate a lot. It offers a diversion from 'regular' writing (apologies, uncorrect term here), and while I love a story that focuses more on actions than on spirit, the latter has a certain je ne sais quoi.

So good. ~

>10K WORDS:

The Price by Theroguesgambit Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Teen Wolf Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale ~18k

This is one of my newest pairings (I really branched out during 2022, what can I say), and I still have that kid in a candy shop bursting feeling, no? To me, old fandoms are like expensive wine tasting, when I get to pick and choose as I already know my way around; with TW I don't, not yet, so every author I discover is a supernova in the feels.

Case in point.

The author took me on an exquisite pain journey. It was delightful just as much as it was gut-wrenching, and the end left me even more satisfied because of it. I legit stopped reading around chapter 4 and told my kid that The Price was scooping my heart outta my chest (paraphrasing). I can't recommend it enough. ~

UNDERDOG PAIRING:

Rising from a long night as dark as the grave by Janie_tangerine In which Stannis holds Storm's End for a year. GOT Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth ~9k I don't really read Stavos (probably I'm looking in the wrong places?), but I gave this fic a try because I knew the author and their Throbb fics are e x c e l l e n t. Rising is excellent as well: I adored the characterization of them both, and the one I loved best is the one I care very little about in canon. Janie's Stannis is real and raw and visceral, and I found myself going 'ohnonono' with every hole in his belt. Marvelous, marvelous job. ~

OUTSIDE FANDOM:

Chicago's Most Wanted by Speranza "Of course he got the money--he's Fraser, he's organized, he's a fucking criminal mastermind, what do you think?!"

Due South Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski ~42k

I'll read anything as long as it's well-written, and that's a blessing (most of the time) and a curse (right now). A blessing because I'll never run out of fics to read; a curse because I don't really have outside fandoms?

I've been hearing about DS since its inception, but I never tried it out, back in the day. ~

1ST/2ND POV:

I Would Cradle You Tight in My Arms, Always by Oxoniensis You promised yourself, you'd always keep Sammy safe.

SPN Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester ~1.5k

I struggled a lot here, because first or second povs are so not my thing. It takes a lot of talent to handle these povs, and there's always the real risk of getting repetitive af - the 'I-I-I or You-you-you' syndrome, you know?

I read enough stories of Oxoniensis, though, to know that they're able to handle a difficult pov in a marvelous way. It reads effortless. Natural. I mean, wow. The story itself is achingly beautiful, and Dean, oh, Dean <3 ~

UNDERRATED FAVE:

Take What You Want by bertee Jensen and Jared are happily married. Jensen is an ex-prostitute who satisfied the rich and famous, Jared is the rich businessman who fell in love with him and OMC is the asshole who recognises Jensen on one of Jared's business meetings/poker evenings/whatever and who thinks that Jensen is still on the market.

RPS Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles ~3k

This fic is so underrated it's criminal. Yes, it was on Lj during the good ol' fandom heydays; yes, it's by a wonderful author who has many other fics recced to everyone and their mother (and rightly so! They're awesome!); no, it's not on reclists. Why.

(I hoard reclists like a dragon hoards gold, I should know. C r i m i n a l.)

3k words and each of them is a punch in the gut. There's a despicable outsider pov, there's justice being served, there's a victim who serves that justice himself. I've read it more than once, and every time I find a new detail to focus on this time is Ben's life crumpling around him. Amazing.

Great, great story. ~

EPIC >100K FAVE:

The Stars Incline Us, They Don't Bind Us by Pangea, Ikeracity Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

X-Men Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr ~162k

My first foray in the X-Men fandom and it steamrolled all over me. In a good way. One my favorite tropes is justice being served, and in here it is served to a great degree. Plus, AU, space, enemies to lovers, bamf!characters who save themselves, and a realistic ending? Sign me up.

My first foray in the X-Men fandom and it steamrolled all over me. In a good way. One my favorite tropes is justice being served, and in here it is served to a great degree. Plus, AU, space, enemies to lovers, bamf!characters who save themselves, and a realistic ending? Sign me up.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #288: HEAVY METAL!

February, 1988

"When Wakes THE SENTRY SINISTER!”

The Avengers are dealing with a lot of old robots lately.

Super-Adaptoid, the Awesome Android, and now the Kree Sentry-459.

Almost like its a theme, of some sort.

Or maybe the Super-Adaptoid is just lonely and is trying to make friends with other robots.

Maybe if he had better role models, he’d be a good guy?

So of what happened previously: during the Masters of Evil attack on Avengers Mansion, Super-Adaptoid got out of capsule captivity and changed places with the Fixer.

In guise of the Fixer, he got captured and sent to jail but broke out because the Fixer’s gear had a failsafe that mind-controlled some poor schmuck named Todd Martin.

The Fixer-Adaptoid tried to retrieve the Awesome Android but took off when the Avengers showed up. The Avengers fought the Android and She-Hulk defeated him by punching him in the armpit.

Next, the Fixer-Adaptoid went to meet with the Fixer’s old pal, Mentallo, and tortured him to lure the Avengers out. The Avengers survived the boobytrapped villain lair and rescued Mentallo but by that point the Fixer-Adaptoid was meeting with Machine Man.

Which brings us to now. Maybe Machine Man will be a good influence on the Adaptoid?

Or maybe the Adaptoid will be a bad influence on Machine Man.

Aaron “Machine Man” Stack doesn’t need a lot of prodding to be an asshole, let’s be honest.

So Fixermentallo-Adaptoid (yes, that red and goatee is because he absorbed Mentallo’s powers too) and Machine Man arrive at a BIG TOURIST ATTRACTION! in the Texas Panhandle.

Where people can SEE THE AMAZING GIANT ROBOT from OUTER SPACE!

There’s some skepticism from some of the tourists.

Not that amazing giant robots from outer space exist. I mean, geez, this is the Marvel universe. Amazing giant robots from outer space are plausible. One of the tourists is prettyyyyy sure that the military has a bunch of aliens in Nevada.

But this? Total scam. Yeah, no way

this thing is a real amazing giant robot from outer space!

Hi, Kree Sentry-459!

You’ve had a long and eventful life to wind up as just a tourist attraction.

There’s actually something charming about that. You’d think that the military or Avengers would haul the sentry off out of the public eye but everyone just left it where it was and some enterprising local made a business out of it being on his property.

Good times.

Well, they were good times.

Because, Machine Man and the Fixermentallo-Adaptoid show up.

They start repairing the Sentry, thanks to the amazing fixing powers of the Fixer and the mental powers of Mentallo.

The stereotypical old Texan man with a gun, beard, and suspenders running this tourist trap tells them to stop fucking with the attraction.

This guy is a treat.

Delightful.

After the two don’t listen to him tellin’ them to amscray, he immediately unloads his gun into the Adaptoid, claiming no jury would convict.

And when the Adaptoid is unscathed this guy is just... baffled. He’s like wait why am I seeing things I’m not drunk, people die when they are killed.

The Adaptoid and Machine Man Aaron just ignore this dude’s comedy stylings entirely.

I feel in a more 90s-ier comic, this dude would be as dead as Farmer With A Shotgun from Dragon Ball but it’s actually funnier that they just give him no attention.

Anyway, they get the gol-durn thing working and the three go traipsing away, on a route the Adaptoid calculated to face the least resistance.

And the dude who ran the amazing giant robot from out of space attraction just loses his mind.

Old Texan Man: “Hey, dadburnit! Get back heah! Ah can’t make no livin’ just ranchin’ this dust pile! Ah got bills tuh pay! What am ah gonna show folks when they come around heah... the spot yuh used’ta be in?! What am ah gonna tell ‘em? The man from Mars plum got up an’ walked hisself away?! Git back heah, yuh ungrateful pile ‘a scrap! Ain’t ah always been good tuh yuh? Ain’t ah always washed an’ scrubbed yuh Saturday night an’ polished yuh up proud fer Sunday visitin’? Answer me, durn yuh! Answer me, yuh big bag ‘a bolts! COME HEAH!”

Supervillains are so insensitive to the plight of the small businessman.

Later, at Hydrobase....

What the fuck.

I...

Okay so I knew a few things about Hydrobase.

But I don’t think I knew that the Avengers moved THE ENTIRE MANSION TO THE ISLAND!

Geez, they’re really going all in on Hydrobase being their new base of operation.

And, hey, this is a way for the new to be tempered with the old. Maybe I’d be more receptive to the Clearly The Last Dungeon In An RPG Avengers Tower if it had the Mansion plopped on top, like how Xanatos Gargoyles did with a castle.

Why the hell does Avengers Tower look like a doom fortress anyway?

Anyway.

Dr Druid comments on what a momentous occasion this is and says that its a shame that nobody is videotaping the moment.

Captain Marvel clearly takes this as a passive aggressive jab.

Captain Marvel: “As leader of the Avengers, doctor, you know I’ve had a great many things on my mind -- the least of which was filming this occasion. Please stop questioning my every move.”

Here here. Hear hear? Whichever.

Dr Druid says he meant no offense. But he would say that, wouldn’t he? -squints suspiciously-

But Black Knight arrives on his Atomic Steed with news! Literal news! A literal news clipping from an actual newspaper!

My god!

So, this is how superheroes get their leads.

I joke but I like the worldbuilding detail of the Avengers having an off-panel support staff of people paid to read every newspaper for stuff that the Avengers might need to deal with.

Wonder if I could get that job. I can read. I can cut paper with scissors.

I also like that when Dane says he has news, the first thing Captain Marvel wants to know is whether its about Captain America. Good to see that she’s still on that plot thread.

Anyway, a small Texas newspaper printed a story with a picture of Machine Man, the Super-Adaptoid, and the Kree Sentry.

It’s the lead on the Super-Adaptoid that the Avengers have been waiting for!

And I remain shocked that news media is the Avengers’ best leads on supervillain activity. I know that the government cut them off but... Uh. I don’t know how I was going to finish this sentence. I guess I don’t really think about how superheroes get their leads. Spider-Man just swings around, I guess. The Avengers watch the news and have people clipping articles. Hmmm... that makes the X-Men the most fantastical in terms of superhero teams because at least they use a psychic helmet to get leads...

Captain Marvel draws a line between the data points and notices that the Super-Adaptoid is recruiting other robots. And its enough of a lead to investigate.

Black Knight says that they should just track down the Adaptoid, find out that way. Captain Marvel expects that the Adaptoid will probably lead a cold trail so it might not be worth chasing their tails until they have a better idea of what he’s up to. Dr Druid suggests that since the Adaptoid went after Mentallo, maybe the robot pattern isn’t a pattern at all.

And Black Knight re-suggests that Captain Marvel should go to Texas to check out the trail since she can get there at literally the speed of light.

While she’s gone, she orders Dr Druid and Black Knight to pull up all the files the Avengers have on super-robots and androids. Get started on that lead.

And then she nyooms away.

As she flies, she ponders how frustrated she is about this Super-Adaptoid situation. How he escaped in a truck while the Avengers were busy with the Awesome Android.

Meanwhile, Machine Man, the Super-Adaptoid, and the Kree Sentry walk along the Grand Canyon.

Machine Man suggests that maybe they should hijack an airplane. Because the Sentry is really slowing them down by being unable to fly.

The Adaptoid doesn’t really answer his concern. Just says that they’ve got an additional stop before New York.

Machine Man reminds himself that he’s doing this for Jocasta and wonders if humans would find it weird that a robot can love.

And then he gets philosophical.

Machine Man: “Adaptoid, are you familiar with how baffling the concept of robotic life is to most of humanity... yet, how pervasive the idea of the machine is in aspects of many cultures? I’ve read extensively -- It’s startling how humans see themselves so often in machine-like terms. In 1662, the philosopher Descartes, published DeHomine, a theory of man and animals as machines. He even made a theoretical model of a mechanical man -- like me. By the beginning of the 20th century, every major model for the explanation of human behavior was mechanical. Darwin even used the machine model for evolution. Newton saw the universe in mechanistic terms -- like an unwinding clockwork. The humans refer to their most advanced societies as the most mechanized. It’s fascinating.”

Super-Adaptoid: “Have your vast readings on the subject led you to any practical conclusions?”

Machine Man: “Practical? I read only to learn -- to discover what it is I am. Knowledge is its own reward.”

Super-Adaptoid: “Then, in truth, your time was ill-spent, for your knowledge has brought you nothing.”

Wow.

He just listened to Aaron’s entire speech and then told him he was an idiot for not focusing on more practical things.

Super-Adaptoid is pretty incurious about the arts, I guess.

Anyway, Captain Monica Marvel returns to Hydrobase and oh wow!

Look at this new Situation Room for the Avengers!

Its huge! Possibly unnecessarily huge!

Rooms in Avengers Mansion tended to shift between appearances. But meeting rooms, communication rooms, computer rooms... they tended be cramped more than cavernous. Having to fit everything under a mansion that wasn’t originally intended to be a superhero base will do that.

I guess Hydrobase gives them more room to work.

Captain Marvel reports that the trail in Texas had run cold, as she feared. And she wouldn’t know the Super-Adaptoid if she ran into him since he can change his appearance.

But at least while she was gone, Dr Druid and Black Knight have been busy pulling up information on all the robots and androids in the Avengers’ files.

Lotta robots.

Aww... poor Jocasta.

Captain Marvel asks if its necessary to bring up information on destroyed robots but Dr Druid says its better safe than sorry.

AND Y’KNOW. MONICA. The Adaptoid reactivated the Kree Sentry. So maybe don’t discount the possibility that he’d fix a robot considered destroyed?

Black Knight tells her that the most likely suspects are Ultron, TESS-One, Machine Man (womp womp), and the Sentinels.

So she calls an Avengers meeting to go over what they know with the Avengers who haven’t been on research duty.

New meeting room!

My god. Everyone has elbow room. But there’s no icons on the chairs. Kind of a mixed bag in terms of an improvement.

Chair icons are top tier as a superhero base design element. So goofy, yet so charming.

Anyway, Captain Marvel splits the Avengers between the various deactivated robots/possible targets of the Adaptoid.

Dr Druid and Black Knight will investigate TESS-One. I’m reading on marvelpedia that Tess-One was a prototype super-soldier hunting robot greenlit by FDR out of fear that an army of super-soldiers might return home from the war and take over the country.

Wow, they really didn’t trust their boys in blue, white, red, and cowl.

But when Professor Erskine was killed after making only one super-soldier (Captain America, duh), FDR decided ‘why the hell am I funding this?’

Anyway, the scientist creating TESS-One decided to take the project home and finish it on his own terms and also program it to kill Captain America. As ya do.

Anyway.

Namor and She-Hulk will look into the Sentinels in Washington DC.

And since the West Coast Avengers (specifically Wonder Man) destroyed Ultron most recently, Captain Marvel has asked them to take care of that.

Marinna is on Operation: Stay at Hydrobase because she’s not an Avenger and Monica isn’t about to be responsible for her safety.

Namor gets mad and says that only he decides whether his wife has to stay out of danger or not!

This time Marrina tells him that its fine, they should listen to the team leader.

And She-Hulk, being She-Hulk, thinks ‘oh sweet, alone time with Namor.’

God dammit, Jen.

While everyone is doing what she told them to be doing, Captain Marvel will investigate the robots marked destroyed.

If anyone sees that Adaptoid, contact Hydrobase.

As everyone leaves to their tasks, Captain Monica has some private doubts.

Captain Marvel: Yeah. Good luck. Sure wish Captain America would come back to us. I don’t know if I’m cutting it with these folks. I seem to be going through the motions of leadership. I’m not sure I believe it any more than I think they do.

Hmm.

I should talk a little about this.

So in the upcoming future, Captain Marvel’s tenure as chairwoman of the Avengers is gonna end so that Captain America can be leader again. This was an editorial mandate from Mark Gruenwald, who did quite like Captain America.

Writer Stern agreed to make this change but drew the line at Gruenwald’s insistence that Monica be shown as incompetent as chairwoman, to justify Cap(tain America) taking over.

This is likely why last issue was the end of Stern’s run.

Yes. Right in the middle of a story. Ralph Macchio and Mark Gruenwald handle the rest of the story. And then Walt Simonson’s run starts.

(Spoilers: Which does indeed end Monica’s leadership and her superhero career for a time. And leads to the Avengers breaking up. Fucks sake, Simonson or Gruenwald.)

So all this recent stuff about Monica feeling like she isn’t suited to lead the Avengers or other characters thinking badly of her... I have to wonder whether it was intended to be part of whatever is going on with Dr Druid. Or editorial pressure to undermine Monica as a character.

Quite a bad look for Gruenwald.

So if this is the beginning of the end, I will say that Monica has done a good job so far as a competent if believably green team leader.

ANYWAY.

Black Knight and Dr Druid, who is here for some reason, arrive at an air force base in the Midwest.

They don’t have the special priority clearance, since the government is still mad about Vision trying to take over the world, so in order to get clearance to land, they faked engine trouble.

Then, in order to get the soldiers to let them see TESS-One, Dr Druid uses his vast MENTAL POWERS to Jedi mind trick the soldiers.

Under the influence of his MENTAL POWERS, the soldiers load TESS-One onto the Quinjet and then the Avengers take off with the deactivated anti-super-soldier robot.

Black Knight is worried that the soldiers will snap out of it and try to shoot them down but Dr Druid reassures him.

Dr Druid: “You see, the military mind is quite used to receiving orders, therefore, they are sometimes more susceptible to commands than the undisciplined mind.”

Black Knight: “You don’t say.”

Black Knight also points out that Captain Marvel wanted them to watch TESS-One where it was, not bring it back to Hydrobase.

Dr Druid: “Hmmph, she lacked foresight in this matter. What were we to do -- stay on the Air Force base until the Super-Adaptoid attacked? She will see that we did right.”

Then they lose control of the Quinjet and Black Knight is forced into an emergency landing.

Black Knight tells Dr Druid to send a message to Captain Marvel that they may be under attack by the Adaptoid but Druid refuses.

Dr Druid: “Uhh -- Perhaps the ship has malfunctioned naturally. We mustn’t turn in a false report. We need evidence.”

Then the Kree Sentry tears open the Quinjet.

HOW DOES BEING WRONG TASTE, DOCTOR?

The Kree Sentry pulls Black Knight out of the Quinjet but he uses his extremely cursed sword to lop off its hand.

Unfortunately, its still holding on tight, forcing him to very awkwardly cut himself free finger by finger since if the sword draws any blood, the curse will overwhelm him.

Its such an awkward position which requires so much focus, that Black Knight can’t keep his cape from leaking into his thought bubble.

I’m sorry colorist Max Scheele. You don’t deserve me mocking coloring errors thirty-six years later. And yet.

Dr Druid tries to levitate away from the Super-Adaptoid but can’t outpace the robot’s jetpack.

So he changes tactics and uses his MENTAL POWERS to summon illusions of Thor and Namor.

Which has no effect on the Super-Adaptoid.

Super-Adaptoid: “Hah! Such parlor tricks, doctor! An all-encompassing intellect such as mine -- cannot possibly be fooled by these phantasms! I see through them -- beyond them -- as no other brain on Earth could!”

That having failed too, Dr Druid concedes that he needs to send a message to Captain Marvel but he can’t do it if he isn’t given room to concentrate.

Over with Black Knight, he’s finished cutting himself free of the Sentry’s hand. Only for Machine Man to show up with snark.

Machine Man: “Well, I’d give you a big hand for that performance -- but it seems as if you’ve gotten one already!”

Womp womp!

Seeing that Machine Man is on the Adaptoid’s side, Black Knight doesn’t waste any time. He immediately swings his sword to decapitate Machine Man.

Unfortunately, Machine Man can just decapitate himself to avoid the blow and then pummels Black Knight with his detachable fist.

Huh. I thought Machine Man had stretchy telescoping limbs... not ones that popped off.

Anyway, Black Knight has a bad time.

He has a bad time and then he gets smooshed by the Kree Sentry.

Meanwhile, Dr Druid gets chocked out by the Super-Adaptoid. Insult to injury, the Adaptoid also copies his MENTAL POWERS, adding them to his repertoire alongside Mentallo’s.

Since the Fixermentallo-Adaptoid already had a beard, is he going to get Druid’s mustache? Or his bald head? I demand that he change shape for every power he absorbs.

Dr Druid manages, with his last bit of consciousness, to send a psychic distress signal toward Hydrobase. According to the narration. Except it really goes to a cave in Northern Florida where Captain Marvel is.

Make up your mind, Druid.

Anyway.

Where Captain Marvel is is in a small cave melting the Doomsday Man.

He was already destroyed but can’t hurt to melt him into a puddle.

Fix that, Fixer-Adaptoid!

But as she turns to light and nyooms away, Dr Druid’s psychic distress call arrives a micro-second too late and hits the slag.

This raises a lot of questions about how psychic powers work!

Like... I pictured it more like brains are senders and receivers. So a psychic signal wouldn’t go to a geographic location, it’d go to a brain.

The psychic signal does follow after Captain Marvel so maybe it is homing in on her brain. But the signal missing her and hitting where she was threw me into a confusion.

When Monica arrives at the Avengers Situation Room, she hears a faint voice but dismisses it as her imagination.

Womp womp.

Back at where Dr Druid is being choked out by the Super-Adaptoid, the Super-Adaptoid finishes choking him out. Although, the robot actually claims he used the combined Druid-Mentallo psychic powers to besiege his mind.

Feels unnecessary if you were already choking him out but I guess he wanted to flex on Druid. Completely understandable.

With Dr Druid and Black Knight out of commission, the Super-Adaptoid tells Machine Man to get rid of them.

Machine Man flies off with them.

Later, Captain Marvel, Namor, and She-Hulk meet in the Situation Room. The government actually cooperated with the two Avengers, telling them all the Sentinels were accounted for and promising to alert them if anything happens to their Sentinel storage area.

Since Dr Druid and Black Knight didn’t report in, Captain Marvel flies off to go check on them.

Nyoom.

Just missing their torn-open Quinjet arriving on Hydrobase.

The Super-Adaptoid, Machine Man, Kree Sentry, and TESS-One used it to get to Hydrobase without setting off the artificial island’s defenses.

Super-Adaptoid: “But the time for stealth is past. We are here to conquer, not skulk! This island is ours! I, the Adaptoid, claim it in the name of HEAVY METAL!”

Aw, that’s cute. He gave his new friend group a name.

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