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whocaresstillthelouvre · 16 days ago

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The Return

Batter Up Chapter 7

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After a month of being away from the game and the girl he loves, Joel Miller is back and ready to play. Warnings: smut, making a sex tape, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (reader has an IUD), cream pie, also regular pie, joel miller's dirty mouth, wine. Words: 5,000

A/N: Thank you to my dearest @devineconjuring and her beautiful brain for beta'ing and being my grammar goddess.

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The crowd chants Joel’s name, lights flicker through the stadium, the ground feels like it’s shaking beneath his feet. He loves this feeling—the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, the loud crowd drowning out every doubt he’s ever felt. After three weeks on the injured list and another week rehabbing in the minors–a month away from the big leagues–Joel Miller is back.

He walks to the plate, digging his heels into the dirt and tapping his bat against the plate as he soaks in the moment.

“Miller, good to see you back,” the catcher says.

Joel nods, and grunts an acknowledgment back.

His eyes settle on the pitcher, some young phenom throwing 99-mph with almost every pitch. Don’t worry kid, you’ll get old like me.

The first pitch whooshes past him—ball one.

Ball two.

Strike one.

The pitcher’s keeping it a little outside, Joel inches closer to the plate, squaring up. The pitcher winds up again, Joel takes a deep breath, feeling the vibration of the bat as it connects with the ball. The crack of the bat reverberates through the stadium as the ball soars past the infield, over the outfield, and disappears beyond the right-field fence.

Home run.

The crowd erupts, the celebratory bell tolls as he rounds the bases. His eyes scan the club box above third base, finding you amidst the cheering fans, your arms raised high, that smile of yours lighting up his heart.

Joel Miller is back, doing what he loves, and now in front of the woman he loves.

You’re so proud of him. You wipe the tears from your eyes as Joel’s feet touch home base. His recovery wasn’t easy. Every week away from the game for someone as old as him means double the work versus a young kid just in the game. Forty year olds aren’t known for being pro athletes.

With the long Labor Day weekend, you were able to take time off from work and travel by train to Philadelphia to witness Joel's celebrated comeback, which had turned into a legend after his grand slam. Suddenly, all of your worries are lifted away. The stress of telling your families that you're a couple, your demanding job as a column writer at Sporting Digest that revolves around the ebb and flow of games, trades, and record breaking moments–none of it matters now.

Your responsibilities at work have been stacking up over the past few weeks. Churning out articles on everything from college football predictions to analyses of NBA draft picks. When you were hired you agreed to not cover baseball, what with the conflict of interest and all. Now, you dream of the headlines you could write about your boyfriend’s triumphant return.

You’ve barely been able to leave your laptop. Last week, you spent three days shadowing a tennis star at the US Open, scribbling notes on her training and the pressure of being labeled the “next big thing.” You’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone do laundry, go grocery shopping, and, most importantly, be there for Joel. You put in countless hours of work to make this long weekend possible, just so you could witness his big comeback firsthand.

“Heck of a player that Miller is,” you hear the TV in the corner say. “He sure knows how to show everyone he’s still got it, doesn’t he?”

You clutch his number dangling from your neck, you’re so proud of him, always proving everybody wrong. Well worth every sacrifice.

The Liberties win, 4-0, all thanks to Joel’s grand slam in the first inning. Sports radio is going to have a field day with this.

You make your way down to the stadium’s corridors, where staff rush around with more important tasks than yours.

The Liberties clubhouse sits just ahead of you, the two large blue doors stay closed to onlookers. You rest your back against the cold cinder block wall and send Joel a text, telling him to take his time.

A year ago, you never could’ve imagined this. Joel Miller—rugged, no-nonsense baseball star, the man who occupied your teenage dreams—now your boyfriend. The man who keeps your favorite pasta sauce in his pantry. The man who goes mattress shopping with you. It feels surreal, yet so real at the same time.

Every time that damn blue door opens your heart skips a beat, hoping you’ll find Joel walking out. False alarm after false alarm.

Until…

Joel emerges, hair slicked back, wearing a gray Liberties shirt, khaki pants, and those cheesy white New Balance sneakers you tease him relentlessly about. Joel, you’re way too rich to be wearing these damn ragged shoes.

“Hi baby,” he smiles as he wraps his arms around you, pushing you further against the wall.

“Hi,” you breathlessly respond, smelling the body wash on his skin. Damn, he showered. “Good game.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile at how happy he is, back where he belongs, doing what he loves.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you close. “Let’s go celebrate.” His arm stays around your waist as he leads you through the corridors to his car.

It’s so freeing now, being able to cheer for—and love—Joel out in the open, for all eyes to see.

“You know you made me cry today, right?” you say, reaching for his hand resting on your thigh.

“I did, huh?” he replies with a smirk on his face.

He always looks so confident as he drives. Philly’s narrow streets, filled with potholes and pedestrians, are nothing like Austin’s, but he navigates them as effortlessly as he does everything else—injuries, tough teammates, media storms. He handles it all like he handles a fastball: with ease.

“Yeah, I’m really proud of you,” you tell him softly, grabbing his hand harder. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m just so happy to be here for you.”

He smiles that quiet Joel smile. “That’s how I feel watching you handle everything too.”

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, noticing you're not on the route to his apartment. “I hope I’m dressed okay,” you say, looking down at your simple red gingham dress.

"It’s a surprise. You’ll be fine, you look beautiful baby," he says.

The car winds through the city. You glance over, watching the city lights flicker across his face as the car turns off the main road, slipping into a quieter neighborhood.

The car pulls up to a small, unassuming brick building tucked away on a quiet side street. No flashy sign, no valet—just a discreet, vintage lantern hangs above the door. It’s definitely a place Joel prefers.

He turns off the car and turns to you, his hand still resting on your thigh. “Thought we’d keep it low-key,” his deep voice rumbles in the quiet of the car.

You nod, your smile widening. “Perfect.”

He steps out of the car and, ever the gentleman, comes around to open your door before guiding you toward the entrance. You wrap your arm around his, leaning into his warmth as he leads you inside.

—

“Mr. Miller, welcome to Vetri Cucina. We’re happy to have you here. Let me show you to your table.”

“Silvio," Joel says with a firm handshake. "Good to see you. Thanks."

Your eyes scan the cozy space. Shiny worn floorboards, warm amber walls, a glistening chandelier that hangs from the low ceiling–you’ve never seen a place like this before. Little did you know that behind the unassuming brick row home exterior there would be a whole functional restaurant. It feels like the perfect mix of a place for the two of you, rustic and intimate.

Silvio leads you both up a narrow staircase to a private room on the second floor. A table for two sits in the center of the room. A red glass chandelier hangs above it, candlelights flickering shadows across the golden walls..

“So, we’re still hiding our dinners with each other away from prying eyes?” you tease as Joel pulls the chair out for you and you take a seat.

“Not exactly,” he says, taking your hand in his. “I just wanted to show off that I can get us a private table at one of the best restaurants in Philly.”

You laugh. “I’m sure there’s a Golden Corral around here.”

Joel chuckles. “Very funny. But trust me—you’ll love it here. They’ve got all the fancy dishes with those French words you like.”

“You know me too well.”

“Better than you think,” he says, his eyes gleaming under the golden light.

—

A waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face. “Good evening, and welcome. My name is Royal, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. We have a special tasting menu prepared just for you, personally selected by our chef. It’ll start with an appetizer, followed by a pasta course, a main, and dessert.”

Your mouth waters as Royal pours you a glass of wine.

”Each course will be paired with a wine from our grand collection. Your first course will be out shortly. In the meantime, is there anything else I can bring you?”

Joel shakes his head. “We’re all set, thanks.”

“Wow,” you say once the waiter leaves, glancing around the elegantly set table. “I feel a little underdressed for a tasting menu.”

Joel shrugs. “I have a feeling they won’t care what we’re wearing once I pay the bill. Besides,” he says with a smile, “I like you in that red dress.”

“Atta boy, Texas,” you say, smiling as you sip your wine.

—

After a couple courses of delicious appetizers that you happily eat, but Joel barely touches, the water returns, presenting the main course with a flourish.

"For your entrée, we have our signature dish: salt-crusted tilapia with a bread salad of parsley and tomatoes, alongside grilled artichokes on a bed of smoked squash puree."

You glance at Joel as the waiter expertly cracks the salt crust, revealing the perfectly cooked fish underneath. You know Joel hates fish and artichokes. The waiter sets down two glasses of white wine and disappears, leaving you both alone with the dish.

"Baby, what are you going to do?" you ask, eyes wide as Joel picks up his fork.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m here to impress you,” he says with determination before spearing a piece of the fish. He takes a bite, his nose crinkling ever so slightly as he chews.

“How is it?” you ask, biting back a smile.

Joel grimaces. “I’ve had better.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Please don’t eat it. I know the only fish you like is fried.”

“Always been more of a Filet O Fish man myself.”

“I don’t think they’ve got tartar sauce here, so please, for me, don’t force yourself.”

He sets down his fork with a relieved sigh, his hand finding yours again. “Anything for you.”

When the waiter returns, he doesn’t comment on Joel’s barely touched plate, but you notice a subtle, appreciative smile as he clears away your empty dish.

“Well,” you say, leaning back, happy and full from dinner. “At least there’s dessert.”

“Never said no to dessert,” he chuckles, before looking you in the eyes with adoration.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and serious, "I couldn't have done this without you. Coming back after my injury—”

Joel's voice trails off as he searches for the right words. His eyes stare into yours. You squeeze his hand encouragingly, needing to hear more.

“It wasn’t just physical,” he continues. “It was mental. Wondering if I still had it within me, if I was too old, if it was time for me to hang up my cleats. But you—you never doubted me for a second.”

Tears pool in your eyes as his thumb brushes back and forth against your knuckles.

"I’ve always been your fan, Joel. I’ll always believe in you.”

He nods, a small smile lighting his face. “I know, and that’s what got me through. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile through tears.

The waiter approaches with dessert, you silently thank the interruption so you’re not left sobbing in the middle of this beautiful restaurant over how much you love your boyfriend.

A familiar slice of pie is placed in front of you and Joel.

“Uppercrust?” you excitedly ask, your eyes widening at the large, glazed pecans laying atop the golden crust.

Joel gives a shy, satisfied nod, his lips curving into that familiar, gentle smile. "Thought we’d end the night with our favorite. Had Sarah overnight it to the restaurant."

“Jooooel,” you breathe out, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. You stare at the pie, stunned by how deeply he cares for you.

“All for you baby,” he says softly as he lifts his fork and cheers with a playful smile. “Cheers to Austin and that hotel bar.”

You laugh, grabbing your own fork and tapping it against his. “Cheers,” you whisper, trying to steady your voice.

“Oh my god,” you moan around the fork at the first taste of sweet pie. “I can’t believe you got this. You’re too good to me.”

He barks a laugh. “Baby, this is nothing, I owe you so much.”

The pie is sweet, but your boyfriend is sweeter.

The sweet wine served with the pie warms your body, Joel’s smile from across the table warms you even more. You sneakily slip your foot out of its sandal, and run it up his leg, making your way up to his crotch. He jumps in surprise, his eyes leer at you as he takes a sip of wine. Your foot finds its target, against the soft fabric of his pants, thankful for the white tablecloth that hangs from the table. He places a hand on your foot, pushing it closer to his crotch. You giggle as your toes wiggle back and forth, teasing him.

“So, what’s next?” you ask, with a mischievous grin.

"Well, after we finish dinner, I'll pay the bill, grab some leftover pie for later...and then take you home and fuck you," he responds confidently.

A small hmph escapes your lips at the promise. “Is that so?”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replies, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leans in close, his voice lowering to a secretive whisper. “Just think about it—my place, those fancy sheets of mine you love so much…”

His hand wraps around your foot, pressing it harder against him.

“Now you’re just making me impatient,” you tease.

—-

The plates are cleared, the leftover pie is boxed up, Joel settles the bill and rises from his seat, extending his hand to help you up.

Your fingers lace together as you step out into the warm summer night. Joel leads you to his car, unlocking it and opening the door for you. You lean over and seal your mouth over his, relishing in being able to kiss him out in the open. You pull away and give him a smirk before getting in and sliding across the passenger seat, your heart racing with anticipation for the next stop—Joel’s apartment.

Your time together has been precious and few. Your career keeps you north in New York, Joel’s training and rehabilitation game have kept him busy and all over the states. But now, you finally have three nights together—the most time you've had since his injury a month ago.

He glances over at you and winks before he adjusts the rearview mirror. You miss his truck back in Austin, the front bench seat allowing you to slide over and cuddle him close. You curse the existence of the center console.

“Buckle up, baby,” he says with a grin. Your heart races at the double entendre.

—-

Taking the elevator up to Joel's penthouse brings back memories of that first night together, when you couldn't believe how handsome he looked in that golden elevator at the hotel, not believing you were about to sleep with Joel Miller. Now, his body presses against yours as you lean on him, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he leaves sweet kisses down your skin to the matching pendant of his number you wear, leaving a kiss against it before his eyes meet yours.

“I can’t tell you how much I love seeing this on you, baby,” he says before licking his way up to your mouth, sealing his over yours. He grabs your ass, lifting you into his hold, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your arms wrap around his wide shoulders.

The elevator doors open and he carries you into his penthouse, crowding you against the entryway wall. His mouth moves against yours with fervor, deepening the kiss as your fingers tangle in his hair. You gasp against his mouth, the cool wall chilling your overheated skin.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath warm and sweet against your lips. “I’ve missed this—missed you.”

He turns and carries you to the living room. The ambient city lights shining in from the floor-to-ceiling windows light Joel’s way. He gently sets you down on the couch and slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss.

“Let me show you how much I’ve missed you, baby,” he whispers against your lips, pausing to look into your eyes.

You nod, breathless and eyes wide. “Please,” you whisper.

He grins, standing back slightly, taking in the sight of you sprawled on his couch, dress askew. “You look so damn good.”

His hands rest on the hem of your dress and, with a cocky grin, he slowly lifts it up, exposing the soft skin of your thighs.

“God, this is all I’ve been thinking about. Drove to the ballpark thinking about you, stepped up to the plate thinking about you, and, baby,when I saw you in the stands… all I could think about was you naked in my arms.”

“Joel…” you struggle to find the words, already lust-drunk on his words.

“I need to taste you.”

He drops down to his knees in front of you, his large fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear and sliding them off.

You bite your lip as he grips your thighs and spreads them apart.

He breathes out a deep sigh at the sight of you. A low whistle leaves his lips. “There she is, she’s so fuckin’ pretty.”

He leans closer and places soft kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly slow, making your heart race even faster.

“Joel…” you plead.

He spreads you wider, warm breath teasing against your core. He licks a long, slow line from bottom to top, humming appreciatively at the first taste of you.

Your back arches, a gasp escaping your lips. "Oh my God," you breathe.

His rough palms grip your thighs, thick fingers digging into the flesh as he holds you steady. His hot breath tickles your skin as he licks you. "God, you taste so good," he murmurs against you, his voice vibrating against your cunt. “Missed this taste.”

His tongue explores you as your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the soft waves of his dark strands.

Two thick fingers slide inside you, stretching you perfectly. Plush lips close around your clit, sucking and lapping at your sensitive nub.

It's been almost a month since he last touched you like this, and now with his skilled mouth and fingers all over you, your body is ready to let go.

“Joel,” you moan. “C-close.”

He enthusiastically hums against you, deep brown eyes staring into yours from under furrowed brows. His fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your pussy pulses against his thick fingers, squeezing them as you bloom under the pleasure of finally feeling his touch. Goosebumps rise all over your skin, cheeks heating, legs trembling, and your eyes tightly shut… and when he curls his fingers upwards inside you, your orgasm crashes into you, your pussy soaking his hand and your voice screaming his name. He doesn't stop, continuing to lick and tease you through your orgasm until it's all too much and you're pulling at his hair.

He pulls back with a satisfied smile and kisses your inner thigh before standing and placing a kiss on your lips. You taste yourself as he licks into your mouth. His plush lips sucking against yours.

Before you can catch your breath, Joel scoops you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you into his bedroom. You giggle as he smacks your ass and growls.

He sets you on the edge of his bed, the crisp white sheets cool against your overheated skin. He steps back, his eyes roaming over your body.

“Stay right there,” he says as he moves to the closet, rummaging around for a moment before returning with a black camera and tripod in hand.

Your breath catches at the sight as he sets them up, carefully adjusting the angle.

The tiny red recording light blinks on and the little screen lights up. There you are, all disheveled—dress hiked up, your lips full and swollen from Joel’s mouth.

His eyes meet yours. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, excitement running through your body. “Yes,” you breathe.

He grins as he removes his shirt, tossing it to the side before he steps out of his pants. He stays behind the camera, standing in the shadows like a director. “Go ahead baby, take it all off.”

You stand slowly, your heart racing at Joel and the camera’s attention. Dark brown eyes watch you intently from behind the camera, his eyes never leaving your every movement. You reach back and unzip your dress, pulling it down, as you slowly slip the straps off, letting the dress fall to the floor, the red gingham fabric pooling at your feet.

"God, you're gorgeous,” he whispers.

You reach behind to unclasp your bra, staring at Joel as you let it fall away. Your breasts are exposed to his eyes and the camera, your nipples hardening in the cool air. You’re completely bare now except for the necklace with his number.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," he instructs softly.

You smile, running your hands slowly up your sides, cupping your breasts. Your fingers glide over your nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks before you back up against the bed and lay across it, spreading your legs wide for the camera and Joel. Your hand snakes down your body, across your stomach, down to the apex of your thighs.

You lock eyes with Joel as you slowly circle your clit, your breath hitching. His gaze is dark from behind the camera, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the outline of his cock straining against his boxer briefs as he watches you pleasure yourself. Your fingers dip lower, sliding into your wet heat.

"That's it, baby," he groans. "Show me how you like to be touched."

Your other hand kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple.

Joel steps out from behind the camera, moving to the edge of the bed. He strips off his boxers, his thick cock springing free. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growls.

You whimper at his words, your fingers moving faster. "Please, baby,” you whine, “I need you."

He grabs your foot and turns you on the cool, slick sheets. Glancing over at the camera’s small display screen to check the angle of your body.

He climbs on the bed and you instantly welcome the warmth of his presence and his broad body. He positions himself between your legs, gripping his cock and running the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Your breath catches as he slowly pushes inside, a smile lighting your face at finally feeling him inside you.

"Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering closed as he bottoms out. "You feel so good, baby. So tight and wet for me."

You moan as he starts to move, his hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. Your hands glide over the expanse of his shoulders and down his muscular back, relishing in feeling the flex of his strong muscles with each thrust.

He leans down, capturing your lips. His tongue tangles with yours as he picks up the pace, fucking you harder.

"Look at the camera, baby," Joel murmurs against your neck. "Let's show it how good I make you feel."

You tilt your head, looking directly at the camera lens with heavy-lidded eyes. The knowledge that you are being recorded, that Joel will watch this later, that the two of you will get off while watching yourselves… it’s a new thrill for you. You moan louder, arching your back higher as Joel fucks you.

"Touch yourself for me," he commands.

Your hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your clit.

"Oh god, baby," you moan, your fingers working furiously at your clit as he pounds into you. "I'm so close."

Joel's rhythm falters slightly as he watches you touch yourself, sweat glistening on his brow. "That's it. Cum for me. Let me feel you."

Your voice echoes through the room as you cry out Joel’s name, your body trembling as your walls clench tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips snapping against yours. “So fucking good, you cum so fucking good for me. So fucking tight.”

He pulls your body towards him, sitting up on the bed, his cock still buried deep inside of you. You take control and ride him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you grind down on him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you.

“That’s it baby. Take what you need from me,” he growls.

Your hands tangle in the short waves of his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues exploring each other’s mouths, bodies glistening with sweat.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his nose bumping against yours. “I love you. God damn baby, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you moan as he thrusts up into you.

He captures your lips again. “I’m close,” he groans against your mouth. “Cum with me baby. Give me one more.”

His hand snakes down between your bodies, his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles against it as you bounce on his cock.

You cry out his name as you orgasm, Joel’s fingers and cock working in tandem to push you over the ledge. You turn your head to the camera, staring into it as you chant Joel’s name while your walls clench around his cock.

“Oh fuck baby,” Joel groans, his hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he chases his own release. Your hands run down his back, feeling the flex of his muscles with each thrust.

"Cum for me, Joel, I want to feel you cum inside me."

With a final and deep thrust, Joel stills above you. He groans your name as he empties himself inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt. He fills you with his release, still gently fucking you with soft thrusts, pushing his seed deeper inside you.

He leans over and grabs the camera, his cock still plunged deep inside you. With a sly smile, he films your face, capturing the bliss across it.

“Look at you,” he admires, “smiling all sweetly, all drunk on my cock and cum, aren’t you baby?”

You moan a response and nod eagerly.

He chuckles as he pulls out, shuffling his body down to settle in between your legs. Joel positions the camera between your thighs, spreading them apart and running a finger through your cunt, swollen and slick with his spend pulsating out of you.

“Look at you, leakin’ everywhere,” he groans, collecting himself across his fingers and sticking it inside you. “Can’t have that, now can we?”

His eyes stay focused on the little screen, watching his fingers pump in and out of your overworked cunt.

“Fuckin’ filthy baby,” he angles his fingers, your slick squelches loudly across the room.

Writhing and whining under his touch, your skin is overheated, your pussy radiating heat across your body.

He pulls his soaked finger out, wiping it across your folds. “Show me how you drip baby, let me see.”

A gush of his cum leaks out of you, the warm liquid runs down your ass, pooling on the bed.

“Fucccccccccck,” he growls. “Can’t stop looking at this.”

He zooms out, capturing your whole body in the frame.

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” he instructs.

“Yours,” you breathlessly respond.

“That’s it baby,” he growls, before his eyes lift from the camera and into yours. “I love you,” he softly says, his eyes rounding in reverence.

“I love you too.”

He grins, standing up from the bed and switching off the camera before placing it down on the bedside table.

“That was incredible,” you sigh. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

A smile spreads across his face as he leans down to give you a tender kiss on the lips. "We'll have to watch it later," he says before heading to the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel and gently wipes between your legs, before planting a kiss on your forehead and turning to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” you slur, too blissed out of your mind.

“To get pie. I’m starving.”

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Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #baseball au #baseball joel #joel miller tlou

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v6quewrlds · 1 month ago

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❝ all that matters, j. burrow. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: joe burrow will always be a stubborn, ohio boy. even when his wife's brother is a 4-time nba champion for the cav's rival team.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: this was a cute request sent in by an anon. i had so much fun writing this one. might turn this into a cute little mini-series that i revisit every now and then, we'll see though.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: fluff, some language, joe wears cavs colors to a warriors home game.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x curry!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3k.

You leaned into the bathroom mirror, your hazel eyes scrutinizing the smudge of mascara you had just applied. It was a rare evening when you had the luxury to play around with your makeup products; the rigors of your soccer schedule usually had you rushing from the pitch to your London flat and back without much time to breathe. But tonight, you had promised Joe something special: a date night.

The youngest of the Curry siblings, you had grown up in the shadow of your older brother's fame, but now you were a star in your own right, a forward for Chelsea FC, making waves across the pond.

Your honey-blonde hair, the result of your most recent self-care Thursday, was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and you adjusted your custom Warriors letterman jacket with a smile. It was a nod to your brother and the Curry family's accomplishments, but more importantly, it was a declaration of where your allegiance lay tonight.

Joe emerged from the walk-in closet, grinning wide as his blue eyes crinkled, wearing a wine and gold vintage Cavs shirt underneath a black jacket. "Ready to rep the O-H-I-O?" he teased with a flex of his muscular arms.

You rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at him with a laugh. "You're insane for wearing that in the Chase Center, Joe. The Warriors' fans are going to eat you alive."

Joe shrugged, unbothered. "I'm not worried. Besides, it's just a game, right?" He winked, the singular dimple in his cheek deepening, and you couldn't help but smile back. Your fun rivalry was all part of your dynamic, a playful tug-of-war that had begun when you first started dating and had only intensified as your respective athletic careers had taken off.

"Steph's gonna kill you, babe." You laughed as Joe spun around, striking a pose in the middle of your luxurious hotel room.

Joe chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he'll love it. Besides, I'm not scared of a little trash talk. I've faced down 300-pound linebackers, I can handle some rowdy Warriors fans." He kissed your forehead lightly, and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You had been married for a year now, but with the distance and your hectic schedules, moments like these felt like a first date all over again.

You stepped out of the hotel and into the brisk San Francisco night, the air buzzing with the electricity of game day. The lights of the Oracle arena shone like a beacon, a stark contrast to the darkness beyond. Fans were already streaming in, slightly tipsy, jerseys donned, and voices raised in chants. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and pretzels, the sweet scent of victory and hope.

Your Uber pulled up, and Joe held the door open for you, flashing a grin. "Ladies first," he said with a dramatic bow, which earned him a coy eye roll in return. You climbed in, the leather seats cool against your skin, and headed towards the stadium.

"You know, if you keep that up, people might think you have a crush on me," you quipped, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you stuffed into the backseat of the sedan.

Joe leaned in, whispering, "But what if I do?" His breath tickled your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You giggled, swatting him away, the warmth of his touch lingering.

As you approached the arena, the crowd grew denser, a sea of blue and yellow interspersed with a few brave souls in wine and gold. Joe pointed each group of Cavs fans out to you who simply rolled your eyes in return. You made your way to your courtside seats, the anticipation of the game mingling with the excitement of your date night. Ayesha and the kids sat upstairs in their family suite, recognizing that the excitement of the floor would be too much for little Caius. The arena was a cauldron of noise, fans stomping their feet, the echoes of their chants reverberating through the rafters.

Your heart swelled with pride as you caught sight of your brother, Steph, warming up on the court. His movements were fluid, a silent symphony of skill and athleticism. You knew Joe was watching him with a mix of admiration and competitive spirit. Despite being from different sports, they shared a deep respect for one another's talent.

As you settled into your seats, the Jumbotron blazed to life, displaying a montage of the players' faces. When Joe's filled the screen, the crowd booed playfully at the sight of his Cavaliers jersey, and Joe laughed amusedly, soaking in the attention. You elbowed him gently, whispering, "You're asking for it." He just grinned wider, his amusement more pronounced than ever.

Your face was displayed after his, and the stadium erupted in cheers, a wave of love that washed over you, making you feel both awe-struck and invincible. You smiled in acknowledgment, flashing a shy grin that could only be described as uniquely 'Curry'. The contrast between Joe's jeers and your cheers made you both laugh.

The game tipped off, and the atmosphere was electric. You were in your element, both of you were used to the roar of the crowd and the thrill of competition. The Warriors played with a finesse that was a testament to their unrivaled teamwork. Meanwhile, Joe remained unfazed by the glares of the die-hard fans around you, occasionally throwing a peace sign or a thumbs up, his charm doing wonders to lighten the tension.

You watched your brother closely, your heart racing every time he had the ball. Each shot he took was a masterclass in precision, and each pass was silent communication with his teammates that seemed almost telepathic. Despite the noise of the arena, you could hear the sweet symphony of sneakers squeaking against the gleaming hardwood, the swish of the net, and the thump of bodies colliding. It brought you back to your childhood, watching your father play in arenas just like this one, and then your brothers in their AAU leagues.

Joe's hand found yours, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your palm, grounding you in the present. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I know you're enjoying this, but don't forget we're still on a date."

You turned to look at him, your smile brightening slightly. "You're right," you conceded, tearing your eyes away from the mesmerizing dance of athletes on the court. You shared a kiss, quick and sweet, that seemed to echo in contrast to the pulse of the game around them.

The second half began, and the Warriors picked up the pace. Each basket scored brought the stadium to its feet, and the air was charged with excitement. The tension grew as the clock ticked down, the score neck and neck. Joe, despite his jovial exterior, couldn't hide the tension in his grip on your hand.

Your eyes remained glued to the game, your heart racing with every play. You felt a strange kinship with the players on the court, a shared understanding of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into every win and loss. Your mind drifted to your own training sessions, the countless hours spent perfecting your craft, and you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for your brother's success.

The third quarter ended with a dramatic buzzer-beater, and the stadium went wild. The energy was intoxicating, a heady mix of adrenaline and anticipation. As the players took their seats, the kiss cam made its reappearance. Though the two of you had been lucky enough to evade the cameraman the first round, this time, it found you this time around. The crowd's cheers were mixed with good-natured jeers at Joe's persistent loyalty to his Ohio roots when he appeared on the Jumbotron again.

Joe leaned over, whispering, "I dare you," his eyes alight with challenge. Without missing a beat, you turned to him, your own eyes twinkling. The cameraman hovered above you, waiting. And just as the spotlight hit your faces, you leaned in for a kiss that was more passionate than any you had shared in public before. The crowd erupted into applause, and even the die-hard Warriors fans couldn't help but cheer for the star-studded couple.

Your kiss played out on the giant screen, and even Steph couldn't resist looking over from the bench, shaking his head in feigned disapproval. The sight of your brother's amusement only made your heart swell more. You were a family of champions, bound by love, competition, and a shared love for the sports that had defined your lives.

The final quarter was a battle royale, with each team fighting tooth and nail for every point. The tension in the arena was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. Joe was on the edge of his seat, his eyes never leaving the court, even as he held onto your hand tightly. You, too, were absorbed in the game, your nails biting into your palm as you willed the Warriors to victory.

As the last minutes ticked away, the score remained tight. The crowd was a blur of color and noise, a symphony of hope and nerves. Then, in a moment of pure magic, Steph took the ball, dribbled around two defenders, and launched a fadeaway three-pointer that swished through the net, giving the Warriors a lead that would ultimately seal the deal. The stadium exploded in a cacophony of cheers and high-fives, and you jumped to your feet, screaming with pure elation.

Joe leaned back, a look of mock defeat on his face. "Well, I guess the Currys wins again." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his smile unwavering.

You couldn't help but laugh, pushing your husband's shoulder playfully. "You say that like it's a surprise," you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. "You married into a family that doesn't like losing. Get used to it."

The final buzzer rang out, echoing through the arena, and the Warriors emerged victorious. The sea of fans around you surged to their feet, a wave of euphoria crashing over them. The Jumbotron played highlights from the game, and Joe couldn't resist pointing out every time the camera caught him looking less than thrilled. "Look at this face," he said with a chuckle, "It's like I'm at a funeral."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't wipe the smug smile from your face. "You're just salty," you said, leaning into his side. "It's okay, you have to lose sometimes. It builds character."

Joe squeezed your hand, his competitive spirit not quite letting him admit defeat. "Yeah, yeah," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I'll just have to beat you at something later to make up for it."

The stadium lights dimmed, and the players made their way to the locker rooms. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and victory, the cheers slowly morphing into a low murmur as fans made their way out. The arena staff began to clean up, and the reality of the night's end set in.

You and Joe waited patiently for the crowd to thin out before being escorted down the tunnel alongside a few other Warriors' family members. As you approached the waiting area, you spotted your sister-in-law Ayesha settling baby Caius in her arms. Your nieces Rylie and Ryan were engaged in a hand game with your nephew Canon, mysteriously all fully awake in anticipation of seeing their father and auntie.

"Is that the Currys?" You called out, your voice a mix of excitement and fatigue. You haven't had much time to spend with the kids since your move to London so any chance to see them was a blessing. Ayesha's face lit up as she saw the two of you approaching.

"Hey, Joe," she said with a knowing smile, eyeing his outfit. "You're a brave man."

Joe grinned back, his confidence unshaken as he leaned over to embrace her warmly. "I'm an Ohio boy, Ayesha. I wear my colors proudly."

You stepped forward, kissing Ayesha's cheek then Caius'. "How did the little ones survive the game?"

"They're all about the snacks, not the score," Ayesha said, her own eyes sparkling with mirth. She handed Caius to his aunt, and the baby's tiny hands reached for your letterman jacket. The sight of your brother's name and number on the back of his onesie made you chuckle.

"He looks just like Steph, square head and everything," you said, bouncing the baby in your arms. Caius gurgled happily, oblivious to the sports allegiances swirling around him. The three other children's laughter filled the otherwise empty tunnel, a reminder of the joy that these games brought to your lives, beyond the wins and losses.

"What's going on, champ?" Joe offered a fist bump to Canon as he knelt down to the kids' level, Rylie and Ryan flanking his sides with hugs of their own. Canon's eyes widened with excitement as he attempted to recount every thrilling play of the game in dramatic fashion, his enthusiasm bubbling over like a pot of boiling water.

You couldn't help but feel a tug at your heartstrings. Despite the chaos of your lives, these moments with your family grounded you. You looked over at your brother, who was signing autographs and taking selfies with fans. His eyes met yours, and you knew he felt the love too.

"You guys have fun?" Stephen asked, making his way over to the group of you with a bounce in his step. His oldest three children took off in his direction, their laughter bouncing off the walls of the tunnel like the echoes of the game.

"Always fun to watch you kick butt," Joe said, giving him a hug that was half squeeze, half pat on the back.

Steph grinned, his teeth gleaming against his tanned skin. "Thanks, man. Always a pleasure to send your sorry-ass fan club home where they belong." He clapped Joe on the back, the teasing glint in his eye never fading.

You hugged your brother tightly, feeling the warmth of his post-shower skin against your cheek. "Great game, Wardell," you murmured into his ear, the sound of his government name falling off your lips drawing a scowl from the basketball player.

"Don't start with that," he spoke back, his voice a mix of affection and annoyance. He took another moment to greet his wife and infant son before turning his attention back to Joe. "No seriously, how you gonna wear that in my house?" He nodded towards Joe's shirt, feigning disgust.

Joe just laughed, shaking his head. "I gotta represent, even if it's in enemy territory."

Steph rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his amusement. "As long as you keep that one in line," he nodded towards you who simply kissed your teeth, "I'll forgive you."

"I'll do my best," Joe replied, looping an arm around your waist. "She's quite the handful most days. But luckily for her, she's got good taste in quarterbacks," he added, planting a kiss on your cheek.

The adults shared a laugh, your bonds unbreakable despite your playful arguing. The night was still young, and the promise of more teasing and laughter lay ahead. The tension of the game had been a welcome distraction from your daily routines, but now, as you stepped into the cool San Francisco Bay breeze, the reality of your careers crashed back in.

You knew your time was limited; tomorrow, you'd be back in the grind, preparing for your upcoming training camp with the US Women's National Team. But for now, you cherished every second with Joe and your family, the joy of the victory still buzzing in your veins.

As you made your way out of the arena, the cool night air greeting you like a refreshing splash of water, you whispered into Joe's ear, "Thank you for flying out with me. It means a lot."

Joe looked down at you, his blue eyes warm with affection. "Anything for my favorite girl."

"You got more than one girl, Burrow?" You teased with a squint of your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Just you and the football, baby." He whispered back. You strolled down the crowded streets, the distant echo of the game still reverberating in your ears, mixing with the chatter of the fans leaving the arena.

"Unless you have something you wanna tell me?" He continued with his low whisper, his thumb brushing across your stomach as he held your waist delicately. The conspiratorial tone hinted at his most persistent wish in the last few months, one that had become a running joke between the two of you.

You playfully elbowed him. "Don't start with me, Joe. You haven't upgraded yourself to baby daddy yet." But the smile on your face gave away your secret longing. The thought of a baby had been a topic of gentle teasing and hopeful glances for a while now. It was a future you both craved, but one that had to wait until your schedules allowed.

You continued to walk in comfortable silence, the cacophony of the city blending into the background. The night was alive with the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement, the distant honks of cars, and the occasional cheer from a passing fan. As you approached your Uber, Joe paused, looking around at the bustling streets of San Francisco.

"You know, I could get used to this," he mused, his eyes taking in the scenery. "Maybe we should get a place out here."

You looked up at him, your smile growing. "You'd leave the Bengals for me?"

"Woah, I didn't say all that," Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "But maybe a second home wouldn't be the worst idea." His eyes searched yours, hopeful and playful all at once.

You felt the weight of his words, the hint of a future where your paths didn't have to be so separate. "We'll see," you said, your voice softer than you intended. The thought of having Joe all to yourself away from the bustle of his Cincinnati fame was tempting, but you knew your careers weren't going anywhere, not soon enough for the two of you to seriously consider a second home anyway.

You slid into the Uber, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of Joe's hand in yours. You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the city lights blur by, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breath against your hair.

#&. cassie writes.#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x ofc #black!fem!reader #black!oc #black!reader #cincinnati bengals #x black fem reader #x black reader #bengals #joe burrow bengals

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silentscrying · 1 month ago

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🏀 buzzer beater | chapter SEVEN.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, so many character cameos, denial is a river in egypt, chaos. || sfw. 2.4k words.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE Utahime's not in this welcome party," Gojo grumbles as you descend the steps off the jet. You just snort, and then Yuji skips the last three steps and starts running across the tarmac. Nitta, despite your insistence that she didn't need to, has met you at the airport along with two of the Samurai players.

“Christ,” you say as Yuji drops his bag on the ground, leaving it unattended.

“Choso!” he shouts, practically leaping onto the player on Nitta’s right. The taller man has a mess of brown hair wrangled into space buns, and he ruffles Yuji’s hair when he sets him down.

“Good to see you before we beat your ass.”

The man beside Choso opens his arms expectantly. “No love for your brother?”

“Todo.” Choso crosses his arms. “I’m actually his brother.”

“Half,” Todo retorts.

“Half is more than you.”

“We’re bonded by the college oath,” Todo says solemnly, pulling Yuji into a hug.

“Kari!” you yell, and she grins and meets you halfway. “Oh my god. It’s been too long.”

Akari Nitta, your small forward in college and also your senior year roommate. “I missed you,” she says as she pulls you into a hug. “How’re the Sorcerers? You like it there, they treat you well?”

“Good, yeah. I’m happy,” you say, honestly. “You?”

Akari’s been with the Samurai for four consecutive seasons now, and you already know she has no intention of leaving. She loves it there, loves the team, and you can’t deny how excited you are for this round of the competition.

It’s the best kind of game, you think, when the teams are evenly matched and actually respect one another. But you’re still worried—the issue now isn’t that they’ll play dirty, like the Phantoms. It’s that they’re good. Really good.

“Nitta,” Kento greets, holding out a hand. “Good to see you.” He glances over her shoulder, at where Yuji is talking animatedly with Choso and Todo.

“You too, Nanami.” Nitta follows his gaze and chuckles. “Haibara’s wrangling the rest of them at practice. I said family only, and then Todo basically forced himself into the car. At some point it’s just easier not to fight him.” Kento chuckles and nods at Nitta before falling back in with the rest of the team.

Haibara played for the Sorcerers before getting traded a couple of years back. You don’t know him personally, but you know your team is very fond of him. Ieiri catches up with you and strikes up a conversation with Nitta, and the three of you follow the team through a wide hangar and to the line of vehicles waiting outside.

“Still think you should’ve stayed with me,” Akari tells you as you board the bus that’s taking you and the team to the hotel.

You grin. “It’d be preferable. But I have to babysit.” She laughs and squeezes you on the shoulder before pulling Choso and Todo away from Yuji, herding them back into the car to get back to their own team.

You watch the old city go by through the bus window, thankful you don’t have to try to navigate driving the streets of Savannah yourself during rush hour. The scattered horse-drawn carriages and swarms of warm-weather tourists punctuate every street corner, and though it’s nowhere near the same extent as the chaos of New York, you don’t envy the ones who have to focus on the roads instead of the river, running silvery-blue in the evening light.

Gojo briefly tries to sing again in the back of the bus, and he only gets as far as “concrete jung—” before somebody silences him with a thud that you assume is a backpack, if his offended squawk is anything to go by.

"What part of this place looks like concrete to you?" Megumi asks dryly.

Even the day before the game, you see Samurai jerseys and hats dotting the sidewalks, a few flags hung in the doorways of shops.

First seed, you think, staring out the window at the slowly darkening streets. You hope the team can pull through.

—

Iori Utahime is looking at Gojo like she’s going to castrate him on the spot.

“Utahiiiime!” he sings. “It’s been so long!”

“Not long enough,” she says, crossing her arms and turning up her chin. Long, purple-streaked hair falls past her shoulders, the back tied up in a bow you’ve never seen her without. “Any chance you’re less of a menace than you used to be?”

“No,” says a voice from behind you, and you’ve never seen a person’s entire countenance shift so quickly as Utahime catches sight of Ieiri and immediately breaks into a grin. She sprints toward her, launching into her arms.

“Shoko!” she shrieks, and Ieiri laughs and wraps her arms around her. “I missed you!”

“Utahime,” she says warmly. “How’ve you been?”

They launch into conversation—or, Utahime launches into conversation while Ieiri smiles pleasantly and nods along—and Gojo is forced to abandon his quest to annoy Utahime in favor of actually doing his job and playing basketball.

“She just doesn’t get me like you do,” he whispers on his way past.

“I don’t get you,” you retort, but he’s already gone.

The atmosphere in the Samurai stadium is entirely different than the rest of the games you’ve been to—this is a rivalry, sure, but a friendly one. Players greet each other across the court, the boys ecstatic to be reunited with Haibara, and the fans seem to be aware of the connections across the two teams. There’s significantly less hostility than you’ve gotten used to as the Sorcerers are introduced.

You catch a glimpse of blue hair in the front row of the home side and realize Kasumi Miwa is here. She’s already attracting quite a bit of attention, a massively successful WNBA player herself. You played with her in college, too, but you know she’s here for their point guard, Kokichi Muta.

Gojo stands at center court, ready to take the tip-off against Noritoshi, the other Kamo on the Samurai. You don’t remember quite how he’s related to Choso, but it’s amusing just how intertwined all the players on the court are right now.

For a second you think Kamo’s going to win the tip-off, but Gojo’s arm shoots up out of nowhere and then he’s running with the ball. He darts around Kamo and passes to Yuji, and the Sorcerers are 2-0 within the first thirty seconds of the game.

And then Haibara gets one in, and they’re tied. And then Gojo nails a three-pointer. And then Choso does, too.

Your neck is starting to hurt from how much you’re snapping it back and forth, both ends of the court in constant play as the advantage shifts every other minute. Megumi isn’t starting today, and you can feel his anxiety even from your place near the hall doors.

This game is insane.

Toward the end of the first quarter, Megumi subs in for Toge, and the second he hits the court he plays as if he never left. Kento lobs the ball his way and Megumi scores another three, and then Ino slips by Todo and leaps, fingers almost touching the hoop as the ball slams in.

It’s one of the tightest games you’ve seen in a long time. They’re always within five points of one another, back and forth, back and forth. The Sorcerers are leading at halftime by two, but it’s not a lead anyone is confident in.

While the team is back in the locker room, you slip over to the home side to talk to Kasumi. She grins and tugs you into a hug. “Alley-oop!”

You laugh, the stupid nickname so familiar falling from her lips. “Kasumi!” You pull back and smile. “How’re the Shadows? Do you love it? You fucking killed it this last season.”

She flushes a little, never having been big on accepting compliments. “Ah, I’ve got a great team.”

You arch a brow. “And they’re lucky to have you.” Taking mercy on her, you switch the subject. “So things with Kokichi are going well.”

She gets that dreamy look in her eyes, and you decide Kasumi and Muta are maybe the only couple you’ll accept being this fucking sappy all the time. They’ve been together since your senior year of college, and you’re pretty sure the basketball gods made them for each other.

“I think he’s gonna propose soon,” Kasumi whispers, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a squeal.

“Kasumi,” you gasp.

She giggles. “Don’t say anything. He just can’t keep secrets from me. He’s not slick.”

You mime zipping your mouth and tossing the key, and she pretends to unzip it as she asks, “What about you? How are things in the Southeast?”

“Hot,” you say. “Humid. Busy. But good.”

“And Gojo?”

You blink. “Gojo?”

“Uh, y’know, star player, six three, easy on the eyes?” She raises her eyebrows like she knows something, and the implications hit you all at once.

“Oh my god, Kasumi.”

She blinks innocently. “Reunited after three long, long years. No romanticism in that?”

“We work together,” you hiss, which feels like a gross understatement. “And he’s…”

She raises a brow, waiting. You can feel the heat creeping to your cheeks. It’s such a ridiculous notion that you don’t even have a proper response.

“I honestly think he just became tolerable,” you say. “God, I wouldn’t date—”

“Oh, you say that now,” she says, a smug curve to her lips.

“What does that—”

“Oh, look at the time.” You follow Kasumi’s gaze to where the players have started filing back into the gym. “Back to your coworker, you.”

“Kasumi Miwa—”

“I love you too!” she beams. “Good to see you. Really.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave your left hand at her, pointing discreetly at your ring finger as you retreat across the gym. You watch as the bright red returns to her cheeks and return her smug grin from earlier.

God. Easy on the eyes.

It’s not like Gojo’s not attractive. Girls fawn over him and you can understand why, objectively. Tall, strong, all lean muscle, those stupidly bright blue eyes and whiter-than-white hair. But he’s one of those guys who’s just hot until he opens his mouth.

Even if he hasn’t been quite as annoying lately, the natural progression of a conversation about Kasumi’s soon-to-be-fiancé should not be to start talking about Satoru Gojo.

On the sidelines, he winks at you, and your roll your eyes but have to turn away before he sees the heat rising to your cheeks. Not helping right after Kasumi decided to put those thoughts in your head.

Fucking hell. What’s wrong with you?

You shake off the encounter as the game starts back up. You might’ve had the lead before the half, but the Samurai come back strong. Very strong. Todo is impossible to get around, he’s everywhere at once, and Muta is making shots from insane distances while Choso just keeps dunking. The disadvantage to having played with Haibara is that he knows the way the team plays, and he seems to have relayed whatever tips he can to his teammates.

But it goes both ways. Kento knows every shot Haibara will take before it happens, and Yuji and Todo are so tuned into each other’s movements that they can’t get the jump on the other.

It’s insane and it’s stressful but it’s damn good basketball. With damn good people, too. Yuta gets knocked down and Todo helps him back up. Choso keeps making faces at Yuji across the court. When Choso dunks right over Ino, you even hear Gojo let out a low whistle of appreciation for the shot.

When the buzzer signals the game’s end, the Sorcerers have lost by three. Muta scored the winning shot, and after the game is called he runs right off the court to sweep Kasumi up in a hug. Across the court, you see Gojo terrorizing Utahime again, Kento bumping fists with Haibara, Choso and Todo crowding Yuji as Megumi watches in amusement.

Nobara sighs as she looks up at the scoreboard. 81-78.

God, it was close. Really, really close.

It’s one game, you tell yourself. They can swing it. They’ve got time.

The mood after the game is a weird mixture of excited and tense—the guys knew they were walking into a match with a better ranked team, but now they’re feeling it. It’s the hardest they’ve had to play in a while, and Yaga and Kusakabe are talking strategy before they even hit the locker room.

You get back to your hotel room late, another night of emails and scheduling and a too-bright screen, and when you get back, Ieiri is smirking at you.

“What?”

She nods to your bed. “Had a visitor a while ago.”

You follow her gaze to a folded pile of blue and green fabric on the end of your bed, a note on top of it. “Oh my god.”

You know what that is. You’d know it from a mile away, because you wrote the renewal contract for it, because it’s been scattered throughout the stands at home games, because you’ve approved ads and worked on shoot screenings with Nobara.

The shirt is soft in your hands, and you pick up the note, scrawled on a piece of paper torn from the hotel notepad.

figured our star manager deserved free star merch, right? you’re welcome!!!!!!

His handwriting is messy and slanted, the line of exclamation points nearing horizontal toward the right edge of the page. It’s so incredibly boyish you have to stifle a laugh, and in place of a signature Gojo has doodled his own face in the corner: a little circle with spiked up hair and a black headband, tugged over his eyes like a blindfold. Probably because he didn’t want to deal with drawing eyes, you think.

The shirt’s in your size, a long-sleeve that starts out blue and washes into a light green in a vertical gradient. LIMITLESS is printed across it in a thin sans serif, a Nike swoosh twisted into an infinity sign above the T.

“Idiot,” you mutter. Star merch. Arrogant idiot who sneaks into hotel rooms to leave his own merch and assumes you want it. Actually, he probably knows you don’t. That’s why he didn’t give it to you in person. That makes it worse. He’s just taunting you in his typical Gojo way.

You toss the shirt into your bag and slide the note into your laptop case, not seeing a recycling bin. Ieiri chuckles, and you look up at sharply. “What?”

She holds her hands up, palms out in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

When you try to fall asleep, staring at the shadowed popcorn ceiling, you’re reeling. Kasumi’s words pinball around your skull like it’s an echo chamber. The Limitless shirt sits heavy in your bag against the wall. Gojo winks in your mind’s eye. You feel his hand curled over yours, pen in your fist.

You hope you don’t dream.

directory. || prev. || next.

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soapbubbles511 · 2 months ago

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Thinking about what could have changed between March when David said it was the end of the road for finding a new home for OFMD and now where he's now spent several weeks posting about how it's still available, specifically mentioning Netflix.

The industry is still a mess. Streaming is a dumpster fire. They were already realizing they don't have a viable business model which only got accelerated by the strikes last year.

There's been grumblings for a while that WBD has been particularly bad to negotiate with. Like they think they're playing hardball but really just have unreasonable demands. The most egregious example being them losing their long time contract with the NBA.

There was already speculation that changes could be coming within WBD. Around the time David started posting again it was announced that a key member of Zaslav's merger team was leaving. And then when I went to find that again, I see that another high level member of Zaslav's team is also leaving, announced a few days ago. Is this leading up to Zaslav being out? Is he just shaking things up trying to hold on to his job? The next earnings call is in about a month.

So was WBD a roadblock in OFMD being potentially picked up somewhere else? Was David meeting with Netflix earlier this year and they seemed potentially interested? Are some of the roadblocks potentially breaking down? And he's letting Netflix know that he's still interested? Who knows. I'm just speculating. But something has definitely shifted in David's public attitude towards this in the last few weeks.

#ofmd #our flag means death #david jenkins #zaslav 🔪#all the homies hate david zaslav #somebody just give me my show back 😭#we're only asking for one more season

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atinycafe · 1 year ago

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hard hours thought LORD all I can think about is cocky and mean dom wooyoung who teases the poor reader until their overstimulated and crying (if you can't tell I'm a slut for mean doms oh my god I'm foaming at the mouth)

warnings: nsfw under the cut, fem bodied reader, dom wooyo, slight dumbification, clit play, use of pet names (woo, wooyi, baby), mean wooyoung!!!, slight dacryphilia, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don't do that), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, reader lowkey has a degradation kink, cream pie, slight hair pulling, slight manhandling, 3.3k wrds author's notes: yes yes YES, bae you're a visionary i was alr writing something like that be4 you even wrote that request, mean doms r the best masterlist

"you're not going out wearing that dress," he says, as you step out of your hotel room and into the living room, having just finished getting ready with your makeup and hair done, holding your heels in your hands. perplexed, you glance down at the small, flowing white dress, then back up at him.

he sits on the white couch before you, legs spread wide, meticulously adjusting one of the cuffs of his snug white dress shirt. the shirt clings tightly to his well-defined chest and biceps, which flex as he tries to fasten a button at his wrist. you try to ignore the effect his physique has on you and focus on the matter at hand.

"what's wrong with it?" you inquire, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. you gaze down at yourself again and then turn to the floor-to-ceiling mirror beside you, searching for any flaw in the dress.

"you're just not going out dressed like that," he repeats, his eyes fixated on your exposed legs. the dress barely covers your buttocks, accentuating your thighs. once again, you shift your attention to the mirror, puzzled about what he finds objectionable.

"but it's a cute dress, bought it especially for our trip in venice," you reply tentatively, unsure if he genuinely dislikes the garment. your hands smooth over your stomach and love handles in an attempt to flatten any bumps caused by the fabric. "don't you think it's pretty?"

"yes, baby," he sighs, rising from the couch. he runs a hand through his purple locks and approaches you from behind, standing tall and strong as he gazes at your reflection in the mirror. he places his hands atop yours, just above your navel, and leans in to whisper in your ear, "the dress looks stunning on you. that's precisely why i don't want you to wear it outside. don't want men seeing all this, only i can do that baby"

suddenly, realization dawns upon you, and what wooyoung thought would be a sweet compliment strikes you in the wrong way. you push his hands away and turn to face him, gasping and lightly hitting his firm chest.

"you bought it for me!" you exclaim indignantly, and he responds with equal surprise, a pout forming on his face.

"i gave you my card, but i didn't buy shit," he places a hand on his chest, playfully brushing off imaginary dust.

"i showed you the picture before i ordered it!" you remind him.

both of you were lounging on the couch in your south korean home, shoulders brushing against each other. he was engrossed in the game displayed on the large tv screen, controlling virtual players as they chased after a basketball. his thumbs moved forcefully over the buttons of his controller, while you found yourself fixated on an online shop, absentmindedly nibbling on your thumb as you scrolled through various dress colors. "babe, should i go for the pink dress or the white one?" you had asked, holding the phone up to his face, partially obscuring his view of the nba 2k23 game. he whined, shifting to the side and slumping on the couch in an attempt to get a better glimpse of the ongoing match. you playfully straddled his lap, feeling the strength of his thighs beneath the shorts he wore, pouting at the lack of attention. when he continued to ignore you, you reached out and placed your hand on his bulge, successfully capturing his focus as he turned to you with surprise. he pushed his gaming headset microphone up, muting himself completely, and raised an eyebrow at you. biting your lip, you ground against his bulge, your skilled fingers knowing just how and where to apply pressure. he tossed the controller aside onto the couch, his now-free hands finding their way to your waist, pressing firmly against your flesh. just as he leaned in to kiss your neck, you pushed his chest away, firmly holding him against the couch. you thrust your phone in front of his face. "pink or white?" you scrolled between the two dress pictures, and wooyoung glanced at you, a hint of annoyance in his expression. he quickly glanced at the phone in a disinterested manner before snatching it away and tossing it beside his controller. "white, baby. now move and let me fuck you. my dick hurts," he exclaimed, his voice filled with desire.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, fully aware of what you're trying to do. "you damn well know i wasn't looking at no picture."

you move past him, making your way to the couch he had occupied just a moment ago, and begin slipping one heel onto your foot, struggling with the pesky little latch. you bite your lip, forcefully closing your mouth, briefly contemplating asking wooyoung for help with the heels. "i'm not changing, woo," you assert, not even bothering to look up from your task.

"baby, come here. let me show you something," he calls out in a gentle tone, beckoning you with two fingers. reluctantly, you get up, leaving one foot bare on the floor.

once you're within his reach, he swiftly grabs you and maneuvers you so that you're facing him. he bends you slightly, placing a hand on your shoulder and another on the lower part of your back. as you're bent, he moves his nearest hand to your face, forcing you to turn and gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

as you continue to stare at yourself, your eyes fall upon the edge of your dress, which does absolutely nothing to conceal the flesh at the bottom of your buttocks. you were aware that the dress was on the smaller side, but you didn't realize it rode up this high.

embarrassment floods your face as you imagine how mortifying it would have been to walk outside like that and only notice later. you notice wooyoung's smirk as he witnesses your expression crumble, and you bite the inside of your cheek. he's right, but you'd rather perish than admit it. so, you push his hands away, feigning indifference.

"my butt looks cute," you shrug nonchalantly, staring back at him. he gazes at you with annoyance, clenching his jaw, "i don't mind if people look at it." his tone is firm and leaves no room for argument as he issues his order.

"well, i do mind, so go put on some pants."

"or what?" you smirk internally, observing how his ears start turning red and the veins in his neck become more pronounced. he's so adorable when he's angry, and you can't resist challenging him. besides, he always fucks you exceptionally well when he's like this.

"watch your tone, i'm not playing with you."

bingo. now all you need to do is push him a little further until he snaps, and you know you're in for an unforgettable night.

"you're so insecure. do you think 'm going to find someone better than you out there? is that why you're acting like this?" you giggle mischievously, managing to attach the little strap to your ankle, stretching your foot as you admire your recent pedicure.

"one more word," he reaches for his patek watch, unlatching the lock and removing it. you stare at him, letting out a small hum of confusion. he remains silent as he places the silver watch on the nearby furniture, gripping the wood tightly until his fingers turn white. he chuckles, "one more word, and i'll fuck you until you're crying on my cock."

he notices the subtle clench of your thighs, but his expression remains composed, his gaze piercing through you. innocently tilting your head, you look up at him with big doe eyes for a moment before dropping the act and revealing a sly smirk.

"do you think i'll find a man with a bigger dick than yours out there?" you ask, resting your chin on your palm. in just two strides, he's in front of you, gripping your hair tightly in his fist. you bite your lip, fighting the urge to smile.

"such an attention whore," he whispers, and you hold your breath in anticipation. "should i fuck the attitude out of you? you'd like that, would you?"

you nod, and he snorts, but there's no amusement in his eyes, and his laughter feels purely mocking. "what a slut. i bet you're already soaking," he mutters, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. he lifts you up by your hair, making you whine before ordering you to be quiet.

he turns you around and forcefully bends you over the sofa, your delicate hands finding their place on the armrest. without giving you a moment to think, he swiftly pulls your dress up and yanks your lacy panties down to your heels. a dry chuckle escapes him as he notices the glistening trail of your arousal connecting your panties to your swollen pussy, and you flush with embarrassment.

"don't tease," you whisper as you feel him collect your wetness on his finger, gliding over your folds but intentionally ignoring your throbbing clit. he delivers a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh before tightening his grip on your hair.

"do you really think you’re in a position to give orders? know your fucking place," he growls, his voice laced with a commanding edge, as he swiftly retrieves the abandoned panties and tucks them away in the depths of his pocket. asserting his dominance, he places a strong hand on your back, urging you to arch your body in submission. enthralled by his forceful touch, you release blissful moans, your face seeking refuge in the shelter of your forearms.

"no you don't get to hide."

he raises you from your previous position, effortlessly hoisting you onto his shoulder, your body perched upon his frame. in a bold display of dominance, he delivers a stinging slap to your butt, evoking a surprised squeal to escape your lips. as he strides into the room, you find yourself airborne for a moment before landing upon the bed, the impact causing a playful bounce. your dress rides up, revealing your bareness, laying it bare for his eyes to behold.

with a gaze filled with smoldering intensity, he casts his eyes upon you. nonchalantly, he unfastens the top buttons of his shirt, revealing a glimpse of his chest, and methodically rolls up his sleeves, exposing the sinewy veins on his forearms. the sight of his pulsating veins elicits a whimper from deep within you, anticipation building as drool pools within your mouth. without hesitation, he seizes your ankle, firmly dragging you towards the edge of the bed.

"didn't shut your mouth when i told you so i'll shut it for you," he asserts firmly. swiftly retrieving your black lacy panties from his pocket, he presses them into your mouth with a forceful intensity, effectively stifling your cries, while the taste of your essence lingers upon your tongue. unzipping his pants, he exposes his fully aroused and throbbing member, its vibrant hue accentuated by its eager glisten, "so fucking loud."

he positions the tip of his member, allowing it to penetrate only an inch before he locks eyes with you, "beg." a smirk dances upon his lips, knowing full well your current predicament leaves you unable to utter a word. the fabric restricts the passage of air, pressing against the beginning of your throat. as he catches the sound of your muffled whimpers, he feigns concern and queries, "you don't want this dick? thought you were my dumb cockslut, thought you were my cum dump, you don't wanna beg?"

as you begin nodding frantically in response to his words, a smile creeps across his face. he observes the tears streaming down your cheeks, evidence of the ache within your pussy. despite his proximity, there remains a tantalizing distance between you, heightening your sense of helplessness. as you clench around his crimson tip, you feel the faintest of thrusts, the motion minuscule yet undeniably present, intensifying your sobs. his grin widens as he witnesses the drool spilling from your lips, relishing in the control he holds over you. "fuck, i love it when you cry, makes me so hard."

responding to your fervent plea, he swiftly retrieves the panties from your mouth, granting your desire to speak. without missing a beat, you launch into a desperate plea, your voice filled with longing and need. "pleaase please pleaseee, wooyi i need it so bad, give it to me." your begging appears to have an effect, as he places a hand upon your trembling thighs, parting them gently to create more space, heightening the anticipation. yet, despite the enticing position, he remains motionless.

"who's my dumb slut, mmh?" he grunts. in response, you mumble a string of submissive affirmations, your voice barely audible as you confirm your role with each whispered "me." finally, yielding to his desires, he thrusts deeply, fully penetrating you. "i've been too nice with you, too lenient you forgot your place." with each snap of his hips, you emit a piercing cry, your fists clenching tightly onto the blanket beneath you, lost in a whirlwind of overwhelming sensations.

"such an attention whore," he moans, "i thought you were mine alone, but clearly, for a cock-hungry slut like you, nothing is ever enough." his relentless thrusts reverberate through the room, the rhythmic collision of thighs filling the air, while his pubic bone grinds harshly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasurable fuzziness cascading through your body.

"'m sorry nngh only you," you whine, feeling the tightening in your stomach as your next orgasm looms near. "please, let me…mngh, cum. please, please?" you babble out, your desperation evident in your words. wooyoung responds with a hearty laugh, his large hands pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs.

"you're so fucking dumb, i can't even understand you. always talking back now look at you, y'can't even speak," he pants, his tone dripping with a mix of condescension and control. bringing his thumb to your swollen clit, he rubs it with a cruel and unyielding pressure. "baby wanna cum?" you nod eagerly, your hair swaying with the movement, tears streaming down the sides of your face, "then cum."

in just a matter of seconds, the overwhelming intensity engulfs you, causing your stomach to tighten and a high-pitched whine to escape your lips. expecting him to cease his actions and provide respite, you attempt to take a deep breath, but to your dismay, he continues without relenting. panic grips your senses as you desperately try to convey that it's becoming too much, that you need him to stop. yet, as you lock eyes with wooyoung's hooded gaze, a smirk playing across his face, the realization dawns upon you. this is your punishment. you should have known better. it had been far too easy to coax him into fucking you. normally, he would relish in being just as much as a brat as you, drawing out the tantalizing foreplay for hours, until your begging reached the point of voicelessness. fighting fire with fire.

"s'too much, woo, no, please," you plead, the desperation heavy in the room. however, since you haven't used your safe word yet, wooyoung's pace remains unyielding. he pinches down on your swollen clit, causing a silent scream to escape your lips, your back arching from the bed. your nails dig harshly into the skin of his hands. "why would i listen to you?" he taunts, his words laced with a hint of retribution. "you're nothing but a brat who refuses to listen to me, s'only fair if i get back at you, don't you think so? isn't that what you wanted."

you find yourself devoid of the strength to respond, only broken gasps escaping your trembling lips. your eyes roll back into their sockets as he lifts one of your legs, positioning your white heel on his shoulder, allowing him to hit a deeper spot.

the climax engulfs you once more, sweeping you away in a torrent of pleasure and desperation. a cry escapes your lips, a fusion of ecstasy and yearning. as you gaze back up at wooyoung, your chest rising and falling rapidly, he returns your gaze with a gentle smile. his cold hand brushes against your cheek, caressing it tenderly. finally you're done. you smile back, matching the softness in his expression. however, his laughter startles you, shattering the illusion. "you really thought we were done huh." your eyes widen when he snaps his dick into, the collapse harsh on your clit which makes more tears come out of your face.

the pain courses through your body, causing tremors to ripple across your trembling form, yet you know that the discomfort will soon transform into pure pleasure. wooyoung tenderly takes hold of your ankle, planting a gentle kiss upon it, momentarily offering a contrast to the intensity of his actions. a flicker of hope ignites within you, driving you to beg once more, maybe he'll stop after this one if you manage to convince him. "w-woo, baby, please," you stammer, your voice fractured and strained, your tongue heavy and uncooperative. "i c-can't do it anymore mnngh 'm sorry so sorry sorry s'too much,"

"my baby's so dumb, of course you can take it. i know your body more than you do. you can give me another one. acted like a slut now you get to be one, so take it." with a hand pressed firmly against your stomach, his thrusts begin to slow down, each one deep and forceful, "need to cum in you baby, can't stop until you're filled with my cum, need to see it dripping from your pretty pussy, need to see you cry."

as you nod, you release uncontrollable sobs, your tears intermingling with the shared intensity of the moment. your desperate desire to please him consumes you entirely. as he begins to vocalize his own pleasure, moans escaping his lips, you know that he's nearing his climax. your mind flickers in and out of consciousness, the sheer magnitude of pleasure rendering you temporarily lost in a blissful haze.

"you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me. only me, nobody else," he rambles, as he releases himself inside you, his head falling back to reveal the inviting expanse of his neck. the sensation of his warm seed filling your quivering walls pushes you to the precipice. overwhelmed by pleasure, your body convulses in a powerful climax, marking your third orgasm of the night.

after withdrawing from you, he maintains a firm grip on your ankle, using his thigh to keep your legs open. as he tucks himself back into his pants, his gaze remains fixated on the sight of his cum slowly oozing out of your well-used hole. a silent contemplation lingers in the air before a smile graces his lips. he tenderly pulls your dress back into place, ensuring your modesty is restored. bending down over you, he gazes at your exhausted visage, wet with tears and traces of drool clinging to your chin.

he affectionately licks your chin, savoring the remnants of drool before capturing your lips in a passionate and messy kiss. despite your exhaustion, you muster the energy to respond, your tired lips meeting his. within the intimate embrace, he smiles, his satisfaction evident.

"did so good for me baby, next time just shut your mouth when i tell you to."

#sade.requests #NEED HIM 2 PUT ME BACK 2 MY PLACE!!!#wooyoung.thirst #ateez #x reader #hard thoughts #hard hours #wooyoung #thirst #brain rot #x y/n #x you #imagines #scenarios #smut

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cherryxcadbury · 2 years ago

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OK HERE'S YOUR NEY REQUEST:

You know that drake song "childs play"? In the intro of the song a guy says something along the lines of "if your girl asks you to go to a nba game.. she is probably fcking some guy on that team". My idea for you: how would ney react to you asking him to acompany you to a man city game? Idk maybe mix in some sweet jealousy and him being excited when haaland loses?

Love ya take care xoxo

love love love you xx

I used to not understand anyone’s attraction to Neymar, bc he’s a bit older than me. but now, I get it, I really do.

2nd person pov

“Look what I got!” You smirked as you walked into the sitting room where your boyfriend, Neymar was lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You flashed him two tickets, Manchester City vs. Arsenal.

“Come with me to the Man City game! They’re going to be playing in London, Emirates Stadium.” You begged.

Neymar sat up, his phone barely hanging onto the sofa.

“Why do you want to go watch this game? It’s just a regular premier league match.” Neymar questioned.

You rolled your eyes at his question.

“It’s going to be such a good match. Arteta, Jesus, and Zinchenko against their old team! And I finally get to see Haaland live!”

Neymar narrowed his eyes at the last part of your sentence.

“Haaland eh?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “He’s so good! Honestly better than Mbappe.”

Neymar furiously shook his head, “There is no youngster better than Kylian.”

You had to stop from laughing. It was clear he was a bit jealous.

“Whatever. So you coming? Or are you too jealous?”

His eyes bulged out of his sockets.

“I’m not jealous.”

You rolled your eyes at his clear lie before he pulled you to sit on the couch with him. He cupped your face, and kissed you deeply.

You pulled away at a loss for words, while he pulled away with a smirk.

“Still want to go to that match? We can just stay here you know…” He suggested.

It was your turn to smirk now.

“Of course! I spent a fortune on those tickets. Come on!” You had decided. ***

“Right here.” You gestured to a set of two seats in the fourth row.

Despite your wishes to wear a kit from one of the teams playing, your boyfriend had convinced you to wear one of his many Brazil hoodies. You wore a gray set of leggings underneath, paired with the viral ugg booties. Neymar on the other hand, wore a plain white hoodie with some branding, and tight black jeans with slight rips in them. He of course paired this with a baseball cap and some trendy Jordans.

Once a fashion icon, always a fashion icon.

You both sat down into your seats and got comfortable. The match was just about to start.

“I’m thirsty.” You whispered to Neymar, signaling for the bottle of water in his hand.

“Thirsty?” He smirked.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier we could’ve just stayed home in Paris an…” He began to say.

You slapped his leg and shot him a look, “Get your head out of the gutter idiot.”

“How am I supposed to when you’re sitting there looking like that in my sweatshirt?”

You rolled your eyes at his lack of self control.

Within a few minutes, the match had begun. Manchester City was very clearly dominating, as expected. Haaland had several chances courtesy De Bruyne but had been unlucky thus far.

Neymar had told you he’d be rooting for Arsenal. This was a bit strange to you because he’d never been an Arsenal supporter in the slightest. He claimed it was because Arsenal had a more overwhelming number of Brazilian players than Man City so he needed to support “his boys.” To you however, it just didn’t add up.

He was enjoying the game though. When Arsenal went up 1-0, thanks to a Jesus goal, his grin became wider. Neymar would constantly look over at you to see what you were thinking, what you were feeling.

Things changed however in the 86th minute, when Man City scored on a Haaland goal. Like many other away fans, the terrific strike brought you to your feet and you cheered as loud as possible, much to Neymar’s disappointment. You’d figured he was a bit jealous. And if he wanted to play this game, so be it.

“COME ON!” Cheers were heard all around you.

Neymar face curled up into a scowl as he watched you clap for Haaland’s goal. Once you finally sat back down, his arm was again around your waist, trying to bring you as close as possible to him. Your head rested on his shoulder while his head rested on yours.

“City’s gonna win.” You whispered to him.

“Not if my boys have a say in it.” He mumbled back, kissing your cheek.

You turned to face him and stuck your tongue out at his smug look.

Truth be told, on the inside, he was praying Arsenal didn’t lose. He couldn’t bear watch you cheer for City again.

In the 89th minute, his wish came true. City defender Nathan Ake was unable to track back fast enough, and was so match for Bukayo Saka who received the ball and banged it in the net.

Your mouth had fallen open, and Neymar had gone to his feet, cheering as loud as possible.

He looked down at you in your seat and shot you a wide smirk while you gave him a pissed look. He sat back down and grabbed your chin before kissing you again. The stadiums cameras had been able to find you two meanwhile.

After pulling away, you and Neymar had realised you were on the cameras (pretend they do this at the Emirates, idk if they do). You looked down and blushed while Neymar shot a wink at the camera. Eventually, the cameras found someone else to bother and the match ended, with Arsenal winning. Neymar had a smug look on his face when you two were leaving the stadium.

“Just say it.” You sighed.

“Haaland was kind of invisible today, don’t you think?” He smirked.

“He still scored Ney.”

“Yeah but they lost.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “He’s still a star.”

Neymar furrowed his brow, “And me?”

His jealousy was insane.

You turned to face him, and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You’ll always be my superstar.”

as a spurs supporter, writing abt an arsenal win was quite painful.

as a side note, thank u sm for ur requests! I’m writing them based on which ones I’m feeling! but at some point, they’ll all be done.

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bedabug · 21 days ago

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is it my chicago bias or my age that is leaving me incredibly bewildered that people do not know michael jordan left basketball to play baseball after his dad was murdered (baseball was his dads favorite sport)* and it was a huge deal and he actually wasnt that bad (he was significantly worse than he was a basketball player but his actual stats are better than most people remember)

and then he came back to basketball (and did space jam which then nearly outright states he went back to basketball because of the looney tunes) and won 3 straight championships (his second 3-peat)

*there are many claims this was actually due to gambling. he did have a well known gambling problem (no evidence he ever gambled on sports. just usual casino gambling addiction) so people assumed the going to play baseball was actually a secret cover for a gambling on basketball scandal. the people who think this forget that there was also a nba player strike when he "retired" to go play baseball. the reality that players were striking, he was grieving his father who was murdered, and so he thought he might as well try his hand at his dads favorite sport, which was also the first sport his dad taught him how to play. makes more sense than a covered up sports gambling problem

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nba24highlights · 1 year ago

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UNDISPUTED | Shannon reacts Derrick White strikes at Buzzer, Celtics stun Heat 104-103 to force GM 7 #undisputed #skipandshannon #skip #skipbayless #shannonsharpe #sharpe #nba #nba24highlights #nbahighlights #heatvsceltics #celtics #boston #miamibasketball #celticsvsheat #foryoupage #foryou #fypviral #fypage #シャッフルダンス #fyp #viral

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beeclops · 3 months ago

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Cartoon Network’s Website Was Deleted. That Should Scare You All.

Warner Bros. Discovery is deleting some of our most beloved movies and TV shows—and some may be gone forever.

The most remarkable feat that Warner Bros. Discovery CEO and president David Zaslav has accomplished this decade may be his rapid transformation from relatively little-known network executive to name-brand villain of the culture. For this, he can thank such disastrous high-profile decisions as stonewalling the striking writers and actors, crudely stereotyping his properties’ audiences, and tanking much-hyped movies that were all but ready for release—all of which reflected poorly and played out rather publicly.

Lest you be inclined to defend all this as just a hard-nosed boss making tough-but-fair decisions, consider that Zaslav continues to be very, very bad at making money and managing a media conglomerate—just ask the investors who depressed WBD’s stock value to a near-all-time-low valuation of $6.62 per share on Monday. Or look to the company’s loss of its long-held NBA broadcast rights to Amazon, the $9 billion write-down of its other TV assets, and its nonstop waves of steep layoffs. Or even its wildly unpopular move to shutter Cartoon Network’s iconic 26-year-old website, scrubbing an almost historical archive of clips, show episodes, and digital games in order to direct young viewers to sign up for the clunky streaming platform known these days as “Max.”

Nuking a kids’ network’s digital presence is hardly a sin on par with, say, killing Cartoon Network altogether, as was rumored to have occurred last month. Even though Zaslav didn’t go that far, it wasn’t unreasonable for so many to assume he had. Since April 2022, when he finalized the megamerger that fused his Discovery Communications juggernaut with WarnerMedia, Zaslav has repeatedly invited mass criticism for actively degrading and torching so many of the treasured creations that made his media empire such a highly valued asset.

First came the sudden cancellations of already-completed films like Batgirl and Coyote vs. Acme, then the secretive removal of dozens of HBO originals (e.g., Westworld, An American Pickle) from the HBO Max streaming service—which subsequently received an unholy intrusion of selected titles from Discovery+, the streamer that shuttered just so that HBO Max could just become Max.

Max kept shedding beloved entries from its historic catalog, including large chunks of Sesame Street and Looney Tunes. This continued into 2023 with the erasure of Cartoon Network and Adult Swim classics such as Dexter’s Laboratory and Space Ghost Coast to Coast, along other Max Originals like Game Theory With Bomani Jones, which was soon removed altogether. Later that same year, Zaslav’s mismanagement of the treasured Turner Classic Movies channel spurred Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, and Paul Thomas Anderson to basically stage an intervention.

In fairness, many (though not all) Max Originals are either available on other services, on physical media, or via video on demand. Some other shows from WBD have been licensed to Netflix. Still, in light of CartoonNetwork.com’s demise, it’s worth keeping in mind something key about David Zaslav, who hasn’t made an effective turnaround in valuation or revenue after two straight years of nonstop cuts across all his properties, extending into last month’s CNN layoffs.

It’s worth taking stock of how many of your favorite shows, networks, catalogs, and films belong to Warner Bros. Discovery, because it weighs a ton. In addition to every entertainment behemoth already mentioned, the company once known as WarnerMedia brought TNT, the CW, and DC Comics to the WBD marriage. In turn, Discovery imported its namesake channel, Animal Planet, TLC, Food Network, HGTV, GolfTV, and the Oprah Winfrey Network, among many other names.

Unless you grew up without any electronic screens, you’ve likely seen at least a couple of shows and flicks from any or all of those brands. You probably have a meaningful attachment to those works and thus a vested interest in making sure they remain available so you can share those experiences with your friends and loved ones. If you’re of the nerdier variety, you view all this media as an invaluable resource of important cultural markers. Where would cinema and TV of all kinds—comic, prestige, edutainment, reality, talk, news—be without these rich treasures, and how much would our collective consciousness have suffered in their absence?

Zaslav should understand this better than anyone. He’s had a front-row seat to shifts in media consumption since the fall of communism. He also ushered some of those major changes into being through his role in helping to launch CNBC and MSNBC. He should know the importance of preservation better than anyone, having gauged early on how rapidly physical media was subsuming into pixelated microscreens, and how urgent it was to ensure his brands retain their recognition, familiarity, and quality in the midst of that transition. What better exhibition of that than a rich, thorough catalog made readily available to consumers via a streaming platform?

But this man, to put it gently, couldn’t give a flying fuck. Because, much like Paramount’s decimation of the online MTV and Comedy Central archives, Zaslav’s own butchering of the Cartoon Network website is a cheap ploy engineered to force viewers into signing up for his own increasingly enshittified streamer—and at a time when the internet as we’ve broadly recognized it is rapidly crumbling.

In recent years, we’ve seen once inescapable media disappear from the internet at a frightening rate, whether it’s general-interest blogs and websites closing down (or worse, turning into A.I. slop factories), popular old browser games losing their adaptability and functionality, pre-Spotify music streamers tanking their servers, social networks collapsing into the void along with all their memories, hyperlinks degrading in functionality, or copyright-flexible artworks from an older internet age getting hit with suits by rights-holders and then being pulled from distribution.

The Internet Archive can only do so much to preserve all of this, especially when the nonprofit is already staving off endless, expensive lawsuits (and making steep cuts to its own selections while at it). The great irony is that modern life and culture’s hapless dependence on a functional internet—CrowdStrike, anyone?—makes it imperative that vast troves of history be copied in some form onto cyberspace; otherwise, it might as well not exist. This goes for a classic movie missing from any digital service or a publication of yore finding a new life and preservation online.

To seal off great works of art behind increasingly paywalled, pricey, and ad-choked streamers is to rob an already overwhelmed public of any actual choice in creative exploration. It’s further maddening when you never know that a given show, movie, or special will even remain on that service. If it does indeed go away, you may not even be able to find it through a physical copy or via some weird black market of cast-offs. No wonder the production company behind Adult Swim’s The Venture Bros. is currently offering a DVD sale of the complete series while the show itself remains in limbo between its recent Max removal and its upcoming Netflix entrance.

This is no way to treat some of our greatest cultural legacies—but it’s inevitably the result when we trust them with the David Zaslavs of the world. We should look at streaming-service erasure as an issue on par with that of greater internet fragmentation and the worsening digital amnesia that results.

It’s only going to get worse, especially as creators rightfully concerned about A.I. apps training on their hard work elect to take their stuff off the digital commons to protect their artistic contributions from cannibalization by the power-hungry networks attempting to supplant them. The data centers lose their higher-quality building blocks, but keep churning along in order to make something more artificial and just plain terrible. David Zaslav will stand by, burning more cash and trashing more titles, only to keep failing, and making our culture—as well as our history—all the poorer for it.

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