#rising star trainers

[fad1d]

Rising Star Trainer by tsuwitchii84

[pokemon-npcs]

[jadeazora]

Some preview shots for Friday's episode!

Looking forward to seeing Spinel in action. 😁

Also, unrelated to the anime, but we have the full art of Ortega from Ruler of the Black Flame!

Some new art via the Project Kabigon account! They're dancing 😁

[9823678]

[loveemagicpeace]

🦁Star Notes🦁

U can see the death when u look at the Capricorn rising. They have this death look. The devil look. What I also find fascinating about them is how much respect they have for themselves. They will never, ever allow you to disrespect them. And they know how to mark their border. The power that they have when they are silent is amazing.

I always know when someone is virgo rising cuz they have that angry look. They often look as if they are angry, but in reality they are not at all. In fact, they often worry about how they look in front of others. But they will always give their opinion or give advice if you ask them for it.

I feel like sagittarius rising are the one when they will always start a conversation or a debate when they meet someone. They also tend to look for intelligent people and will be very attracted to someone who has good thinking and communication skills. They really appreciate these things on a person. And they really like to joke, so you can laugh a lot with them.

The difference between Taurus & Libra. Libra rising like nice clothes but more elegant clothes, more expressed beauty and in a way they like simpler things. Taurus rising sometimes likes that it is more extra, especially if they have fire placements in their chart and they like jewelry, trainers. Taurus can sometimes go overboard with jewelry and really wear a lot of it.

The most transformative house you can have is the 8th house. Whenever you have transiting planets in the 8th house, the energy of that house is visible. You feel as if you are going through an emotional transformation and perceive things around you very deeply but at the same time beautiful, because you know that something beautiful always comes from something deep. The 8th house shows the awareness of what is really important to us deep down, and we begin to perceive relationships differently than seeing which relationship we really feel and which one we don't. What deep down we really need and brings us satisfaction. How others can meet our needs. How far we will go for others. It shows sacrifices for others and how others sacrifice for us. This house also shows everything we can gain from others and what we share with others. Usually during this time we share a deep pain with others and go through a difficult time with a person (or there is someone who helps us in need or we help them). We share a soul with another person.

I have seen many couples who are Cancer & Gemini. And I notice that many times the relationship works in the long run. They really hit it off together and find a lot in common. Both of them are somehow inclined to look for family and people with whom they can connect and create a home. I would say that someone with placements in the 3rd house is not so unstable (but the person just needs a lot of communication and understanding). They are mainly looking for someone with whom they can talk a lot.

Capricorn rising are very sincere people and I think they are one of the people who will never think of themselves as something more than others. They hold their value and respect and will not give everyone their energy because they have the mindset that not everyone is worth their energy. But they will never consider themselves to be something more (they are actually very simple people).

A lot of people who have taurus sun or 2nd house sun, venus are very materialistic. Maybe it won't be seen on the surface, but many times there are people who will spend a lot on money (especially because the sun represents the ego and it is in a way what guides you, where you are the most egocentric and stubborn, at the same time where you will work the most selfish).

9th house represents long journeys. Traveling across the sea. The sign and planets you have here represent how you look at the world and what places you like to travel to (also a sample of trips, what excites you the most). For ex.: pluto in 9th house - you like to travel to places that are dark, raw and you have a lot to see from other cultures as well. You like places where you can explore myths and legends. Places where the truth is presented to the wolf (for example, kurti parts of the city, poverty, etc.) you like to learn through history. Sun in 9th house- you will like to travel to places that inspire you (especially sunny places, places that are very stimulating). Places where you can find your joy, you can return many times to the places you used to go as a child. Places that bring you sunshine. Venus in 9th house- you like to travel to places that are lovely, rich. You also like to travel to trendy places.

Libra rising people always have some enemies who talk behind their backs, they can often attract people who wish them ill or are jealous of them. I have noticed many times that it can also be their relatives or brothers and sisters who do not allow them certain things. Often the relationship with them is not so good either. They have Pisces in their sixth house, which means they are very self-sacrificing when it comes to work and everyday things and routine.But mostly at work, so many people can use them when it comes to work or they also have hidden enemies at work. In their 12th house is virgo which also means that people never really know what kind of work they do, or people are jealous of the work they have.

People with earth mercury are usually very pessimistic. Their thoughts are often too realistic, and they often do not believe in things they cannot see or touch. Mercury is how you perceive things and how you think. People with fiery mercury are optimistic, positive and quick-thinking (which means they will quickly change their thinking or decide on something quickly. People with watery mercury think from an emotional point of view and will always perceive things and people emotionally. They are also the best at manifesting and They dream a lot and usually everything comes true.

Sometimes having Neptune in the 1st house is like being constantly in a meditate state. Things are sometimes not real to you and at the same time Neptune is part of your personality here and you can be very delusional and almost always in your own world. You are 80% in your world and 20% in reality. Even as a child, you can create your own world in which you live and it seems to you that you are living in two different worlds.

Fire venus/mars always want to have everything clarified in relationships. They will never leave without saying their last word.

Saturn in the fourth tends to restrict the flow of fourth-house energy so that one feels that nurture is limited or curtailed. Uranus signifies that the flow is erratic, unpredictable, or occurs in unusual ways. Neptune often gives the feeling that the nurturing flow is weak, without vitality, or occurs on an abstract, nonphysical level. Pluto in the fourth does not particularly restrict the flow of energy; in fact it may increase it to the point where one becomes trapped or bound by its effects, resulting in the persistence of infantile issues or behavior into adult life.

A large number of planets in the seventh indicates someone who feels incomplete alone and strives to fill the void with close partnerships or intimate confrontations. Such people function better in interaction with another. They may even encourage others to become dependent on them, thereby maintaining the relationship they need. The seventh is not really a Venusian house, contrary to what is implied by those who equate the seventh, Libra, and Venus. Venus does refer to relationships, but only ones that are loving and warm. The seventh house has no such inherent connection with love. Most planets in the seventh merely signify the kinds of energies experienced through relationships.

Saturn in the eighth resists transformations, which is why the older astrologers associated this placement with a difficult death. It is not so much a sign of a difficult death as of resistence to the idea of any kind of change.

Venus in Cancer- venus is how u love and they way you love. For example, if you are a man you may not propose marriage until you have some reliable means of earning a living; if you are a woman you make sure you won't end up sharing your lover's poverty or struggling to support him.but also how u want to be loved. As a Venus-in-Cancer person you are romantic and sensitive. Being loved is more important to you than almost anything else.

Venus in Taurus- you are affectionate and romantic, but you don't give your love away too quickly. To you, love does not exist without sex. You are very demonstrative and generous toward a lover, sometimes too much so.

Venus in Scorpio-being in love is an all-consuming experience for you. There is a profound intensity to your emotions. Your sex life is passionate and demonstrative. However, you also put love on a spiritual plane. Your deep need is to possess a lover wholly, to make your partner surrender to you body and soul.

Venus in Sagittarius-You like to experience the excitement of love in the same way you search for diversion in the rest of your life. You want passion and this is very important for you when it comes to love. Venus-Sagittarians are high-spirited, outgoing, and highly imaginative. You tend to attract powerful and influential friends. Luck in creative affairs surrounds projects undertaken in foreign countries or far from home.

Venus in Capricorn- are as careful and cautious about love as about anything else. Sometimes even too much. They can also be hard to open up. When in love, you are loyal, faithful, and dependable. There is a dichotomy between your emotional life and your sexuality: You have earthy passions but keep them separate from your mental attitude. Venus in this position indicates a personality that is jealous, possessive, and fearful of rejection.

-Rebekah✨🌻🦁

[p0orbaby]

Hey! Could you write a blurb about Leah being really stressed (maybe due to not playing in usual form & getting critiqued from fans) and reader surprises her after training with a pamper night? Like having a bath together etc

-

Leah looks like she’s been chewed up and spat out by the day. The second she steps through the door, you can tell training has been brutal—probably more mental than physical. She’s got that look in her eye, the one that says she’s been running drills in her head more than on the pitch. A defender with a bone to pick with herself is a dangerous thing, especially when the critics have been out in force.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “Rough day?”

Leah drops her bag with a thud, the sound reverberating through the hallway. She sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and mutters, “Something like that”

Her shoulders are so tense you half expect them to snap off and roll down the hall.

You follow her into the living room, watching as she slumps onto the sofa, her head tipped back like she’s trying to merge with the cushions. She doesn’t even have the energy to kick off her trainers. That’s when you know it’s bad.

“Alright,” you announce, clapping your hands together. “Stay there”

“What?” Leah lifts her head, suspicious.

“Stay. There,” you repeat, pointing a finger at her. “I’m sorting you out”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Sorting me out how?”

“Just trust me,” you call over your shoulder as you head for the bathroom.

It takes some time to set up the full operation, but you work quickly. Bath: running. Candles: lit. Bath bombs: selected with the precision of a Michelin-starred chef. You even sprinkle in some rose petals because why not? If you’re going to pamper her, you’re doing it properly.

When you return to the living room, Leah is sitting up, looking marginally less miserable. She eyes you warily. “What’s going on?”

“Come on,” you say, tugging her to her feet. “Bath time”

“Bath time?” She almost laughs, but it’s more out of incredulity than humour.

“Bath. Time,” you insist, dragging her towards the bathroom.

When she steps inside, her mouth falls open slightly. The steam rises around the edges of the tub, carrying the scent of lavender and vanilla. The candles cast a soft, flickering glow, and the water is tinted pink from the bath bomb. It’s borderline romantic, but you don’t care.

“You did all this?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“Obviously.” You nudge her towards the bath. “Get in”

She hesitates, looking at you like you’ve just handed her the cure for every bad day she’s ever had. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. And I’m getting in with you, so move over”

Leah laughs then, a small, genuine laugh that makes all your effort worth it. She starts stripping out of her training gear, her movements slower than usual. You follow suit, and soon you’re both sinking into the warm water, her back resting against your chest.

For a while, neither of you speak. The water laps gently against the sides of the tub, and the tension in Leah’s shoulders slowly starts to melt away. You run your fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and she lets out a contented sigh.

“This is nice,” she murmurs after a while, her voice soft and drowsy.

“Yeah, well,” you tease, “someone’s got to look after you”

She tilts her head back to glance at you. “I don’t deserve you”

“True,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs again, the sound lighter this time. “Alright, don’t push it”

[verstappenf1lecccc]

heyooo could you write a long one shot where Fernando is readers mentor when he “retires” teaches her everything she needs to know.: however then he returns to F1 and can’t mentor her anymore is instead a rival but pushes her off the track accidentally he thought it was ocon.. and he retires the car .. because along the way he’s fallen in love with her… again lots of angst and fluff I’m down for it ahah

comments are always appreciated:)

Red Flags and Green Lights

When Fernando retired he himself thought that it was the end of his career especially towards Motorsport. His last season was gruesome and frankly disappointing. McLaren had let him down big time it was almost as if each race was a joke. Poor strategy Poor performance Poor car.

At the end of the season Fernando knew he couldn’t take it much longer and had decided to draw the curtains up towards his impressive career.

To get away from the cameras and the journalist Fernando had decided to seek refuge in a small Spanish town just off the cost. The salty Spanish air made the Spaniard thrive. He had no intention of ever going back to anything related to Motorsport.

Beginnings

The first time Fernando Alonso had seen you on track, he had raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the usual dismissive look he gave young drivers—those hungry, wide-eyed rookies trying to make a name for themselves. No, you weren’t like them. You were different.

You had come from the junior ranks, a rising star in a new generation of drivers, but there was something about you that intrigued him. Your precision, your ability to adapt to a car almost too quickly. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you handled yourself off the track—there was a steeliness to you, a quiet confidence that made him think: This one, she’s got it.

Fernando had never been a particularly warm person, but he’d learned the hard way that talent alone wasn’t enough to succeed in Formula 1. Mentorship—that was the missing ingredient. He’d had great mentors, but his relationship with them had been less than ideal. He was determined to be better. To be the mentor that you didn’t know you needed.

And so, he took you under his wing. At first, it wasn’t obvious what he was doing. He wasn’t the type to sit down and give long speeches about racing. Instead, it was in the small moments, the subtle lessons.

“Don’t overdrive the car,” Fernando would say, tossing you a casual glance during a debrief. “The car doesn’t care about your ego. It’s about balance.”

At first, you’d bristled at his bluntness. But as you spent more time together, you realized he wasn’t being harsh—he was just pushing you in the only way he knew how. And you respected that. In a world of flashy trainers and corporate personas, Fernando was real. He demanded nothing less than your best.

But there were softer moments, too. When he’d see you frustrated, or exhausted after a long race weekend, he’d quietly hand you a bottle of water with a knowing smile. “You’re getting better,” he’d say. "But don’t burn yourself out. It’s a marathon, not a sprint."

Sometimes, after a race, when you’d sit on the pit wall, Fernando would join you. The two of you, silent, watching the crowd disperse, the paddock buzzing around you. He’d stare into the distance, and you could see the weight of his years in the sport, the regret, the battles won and lost.

“You’ll be in my shoes one day,” he’d say, almost absentmindedly. “Just... don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

You’d always chuckle. "I'll try not to." But deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

You were learning not just the technical side of racing, but the psychology of it—the mental toughness that could make or break a driver. How to handle pressure. How to handle failure. Fernando was a master of that.

The Return

It had been a year since Fernando had “retired.” You were now racing for a mid-tier team, working your way up. You had started to gain attention, but it wasn’t easy. Racing was still a brutal sport, and no one cared how much potential you had if you didn’t win.

It was late in the season when the rumors first started. Fernando was coming back. You tried to ignore it, but it was everywhere. You told yourself it was just gossip. He’d never actually return.

Then, one afternoon, you were sitting in the debrief room, eyes glued to the telemetry, when your phone buzzed. It was a message from your PR manager: "Fernando's back. Announced this morning."

The room around you seemed to close in. It hit you harder than you thought it would. Fernando Alonso, your mentor, your friend, your rival. You had always admired his fiery passion for racing, but this—this felt different. He was coming back *to take your spot.*

The news hit you hard, but you swallowed it. You had worked too hard to let it defeat you. Yet, the sting of betrayal wasn’t easily ignored. He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t warned you. He was coming back to take the very thing you had worked so tirelessly for.

For days, you were a mess. Racing weekends became a blur of frustration. Every time you saw Fernando’s name on the timing sheets, every time you heard the roar of his engine in the distance, something inside of you twisted.

Rivals

The first time you went head-to-head with Fernando on track was at the Monaco Grand Prix. The streets of Monte Carlo, narrow and unforgiving, had always been a playground for him. You had grown up watching him win here, his aggressive style perfectly suited to the challenge. But now? Now, he was your competition.

The tension in the paddock was palpable. You hadn’t spoken much to Fernando since his return—an awkward, strained silence had settled between you both. He was now racing for Aston Martin, and you were still with your current team, fighting for every point.

Race day arrived, and as you suited up, your heart pounded in your chest. The press had been relentless, comparing you to Fernando—asking if you were nervous, asking if you felt the pressure. You couldn’t let them see you break.

As you lined up on the grid, your eyes drifted to Fernando’s car. He was in his familiar spot, just a few rows ahead of you. When his eyes met yours, you felt a twinge of something—regret, longing, but also something else. The rivalry. You had to put it all aside now. You weren’t his protégé anymore. You were his equal. And that meant you had to beat him.

The race was a blur of tight corners, full-throttle accelerations, and the constant threat of losing grip. Fernando had a knack for reading the race, for making late-breaking moves that left you on edge. Lap after lap, he pushed you, forcing you to respond with everything you had.

But it wasn’t just the pressure on the track that had you on edge. It was the way his presence haunted you. Every time you braked too late or took a corner too aggressively, you could almost feel him beside you, his voice in your ear.

Don’t overdrive the car. Control your emotions.

And then, it happened.

It was the final lap, and you were battling for position. You had the inside line heading into the chicane, the tires on your car worn and your concentration slipping. Fernando, pushing hard from behind, wasn’t giving an inch. You could feel his car getting closer, so close that his rearview mirror almost felt like it was inside your helmet.

You took the corner too sharply, trying to block his line. And that’s when it happened.

Fernando’s car clipped your rear tire. The next thing you knew, your car was spinning, the track blurring around you, the world upside down.

In an instant, you were off the track. The gravel crunched under your tires as you skidded to a halt. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"Shit! Are you okay?" Fernando’s voice crackled through your radio, panic in his voice.

You gripped the steering wheel, a lump in your throat. He didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident. But it didn’t change the fact that it was him the man who had once mentored you, the man who had taught you everything you knew, the man who had now put you in the gravel.

You sat there for a long moment, trying to regain your composure. The race was over for you. But it wasn’t over for Fernando.

You heard the engine roar as his car raced past. And then, as he crossed the line into the pits , he was the one who had retired without any reason to.

The Apology

The days after the incident were heavy. The press had made their usual spectacle of the crash. But you were quiet. You kept your distance, kept your head down. Fernando had won, of course. The car was still fast, even if he had been a little too aggressive.

He didn’t come to you right away. It wasn’t until the next race in Austria that you finally saw him, walking through the paddock, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. His eyes met yours, and for the first time since Monaco, you both stopped.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I thought it was Ocon.”

You blinked, trying to hold back the flood of emotions rushing to your chest. The apology wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the walls you’d built around your heart begin to crack.

“Fernando,” you said softly, “I know. I know it wasn’t intentional. but” You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “You could’ve hurt me. You could’ve ruined everything we worked for.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he wasn’t the driver who had taken your spot. He was just Fernando the man who had shown you how to drive, how to fight for everything you wanted.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been a fool.”

You were silent, looking at the ground, feeling the weight of the last few years crash down on you.

And then, finally, you looked up at him. “You taught me how to race. But you also taught me how to let go. Maybe... maybe it’s time for it for us to let go.”

Confessions

Months had passed since the Monaco incident, and the tension between you and Fernando, once thick and palpable, had slowly faded into a quiet understanding. The rivalry had not diminished the bond you shared, but it had forged a new dynamic. There were moments when you'd catch him watching you, his gaze steady, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something deeper.

It was after the Italian Grand Prix, a race that had been as unpredictable as the season itself, that everything finally came to a head. You had managed to finish in the points, a small but significant victory for you and your team, while Fernando had taken a step back from the podium, frustrated with his own performance. As you made your way through the paddock, you saw him standing near the garage, his eyes distant. You walked over, unsure of what to expect, but the warmth in his gaze when he saw you took you by surprise.

“Not bad today,” he said, his usual teasing tone absent, replaced by something genuine.

“Could’ve been better,” you replied, glancing at his tired eyes. "But you, you’re still a threat on the track, Fernando. Always will be."

He chuckled softly, then fell quiet. The noise of the paddock, the usual chaos of post-race analysis, faded as the two of you stood in that small, private bubble. It was strange, how it had always been with him. Every time you were around, you felt seen—truly seen, in a way that no one else could.

“You’ve come so far,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I don’t think you even realize how much you've changed, how much you've grown since I first saw you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk pulling at your lips. “It’s all thanks to you, isn’t it?”

He looked down at the ground, almost as if hesitating. The silence between you stretched, and then Fernando looked up, his eyes locking with yours. “Maybe... but it’s not just that. There’s something I need to say to you.” He took a deep breath, his hands gripping the edge of the pit wall.

You felt your heart skip a beat. "What is it?"

“I never meant for things to get so complicated between us,” Fernando started, his voice low but clear. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that it was just the rivalry, that it was all about racing. But the truth is I’ve been holding back for so long. Holding back from telling you what I really feel.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what he was about to say, and yet, hearing it aloud made the words seem more real than ever.

“I care about you," he said, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. "Not just as a driver or a mentor, but... more than that. You mean more to me than I’ve let on."

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, staring at him, your heart racing. The past few months had been a whirlwind conflict, growth, understanding but now, in this quiet moment, everything felt clear.

“I care about you too, Fernando,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself, on being the driver you helped me become, that I never realized how much you meant to me until now.”

There was no dramatic confession, no grand gesture. Just two people, who had been through so much together, finally acknowledging the feelings that had been there all along.

Fernando smiled, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “So, we’re not just teammates anymore?”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Definitely not.”

He stepped closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. It wasn’t a rush or a need to act on anything. It was just a simple, unspoken connection—one that had been building for so long, and now, at last, it was out in the open.

“You’re incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “I’ve always known that. But now I get to see it up close. I’m lucky to be here with you, to be a part of your journey.”

You smiled, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. The competition, the doubts, the uncertainty—it all melted away in that moment. You were no longer just a driver fighting for recognition. You were someone with a future. A future that, for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel quite so lonely.

“We’ll see what happens next,” you said, your heart lighter than it had been in years. “But I’m ready for it. Whatever it is.”

Fernando nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a silent promise between the two of you.

The next race came and went, and although the rivalry remained on track, it had transformed into something deeper something that was no longer just about the competition. And when the season came to an end, it was not just your achievements that filled your thoughts, but the quiet moments shared with Fernando: the conversations after races, the supportive glances across the paddock, and the realization that you were no longer fighting alone.

In the end, it wasn’t the checkered flags or podiums that defined your journey. It was the person who stood beside you, someone who had seen you for who you were and who you could be. And for the first time, you weren’t just racing for yourself. You were racing for both of you.

[minnlahzz]

friede with an introverted s/o.

requested.

this guy is really interesting. i hope they stretch out his character more, because all he's known for is just being the hero when liko and roy are getting cooked. it's not enjoyable anymore the 1st time, but im glad we got to know more about his backstory and pikachu, i think that episode was more enjoyable than the recent ones, because it actually felt like i was watching pokemon the anime. anyway sorry for the yap, this was fun to do.

— NOTE : LOWERCASE INTENDED

since friede is definitely a social house, people wonder how you guys met. it's like opposites attract, or sun and moon.

he's dedicated into making sure you're comfortable around the environment of the ship. friede asks you to go but never forces you out during their bonding moments, (picnics)

and he'd talk for you when there's way too much people, or tell this people to go away for you. he's straight forward anyway.

you're introverted (of course,) so you've never really talked to the kids, but they've always wanted to talk to you, just too shy to do so. liko and roy would ask friede, and he'd all go all golden retriever (or pikachu) mode. he rambles about you, in the most inlove way possible

captain pikachu always had a liking to you, this electric rats love for you probably competes friede's love for you! like pokemon like trainer, what can i say? friede's also not bothered with it, he thinks of it as his two favorite people bonding.

speaking of bonding, when everyone else in the rising volt tacklers are asleep–he'd take you out to ride charizard, not anywhere special preferably just a stroll around places or star gazing if you're a fan of that.

he'll do anything you'd want when he has free time, journaling? he'll journal and make crappy stickers to design it with! reading? friede has alot of books from his time as a passionate professor (not that he's not passionate anymore.)

he encourages you to socialize with others, but remember that it's alright to take things slowly.

when you do socialize with others, friede is watching far away proud. he knows you have a social battery though, and can take you out of the conversation when you feel discomfort.

and he's pretty supportive in whatever you do! he'll support your boundaries and make sure other people support and respect them. friede isn't always there, but captain surely is, when you're missing friede there's always this gremlin rat as a replacement.

[rootedinrevisions]

Masterlist: Glen Powell

This is the hub for all my works featuring Glen Powell. These are all stories inspired by his life and career. From behind-the-scenes glimpses of Hollywood to fictional takes on his charm and charisma, you'll find everything centered around the man himself right here.

Explore the stories below, and let me know your favorites! As always, thank you for reading and supporting my work.💫 (UPDATED 12.1.24)

GLEN POWELL (HIMSELF)

**DRABBLES (Under 1k words)**

Welcome Back Kisses (Glen x Reader)

Glen's been gone for almost three months filming his latest project, but he's home now, and seeing you is the first thing on his to-do list.

Cute When You're Jealous (Glen x Reader)

Glen misses out on an event the two of you had planned to go to together. So a friend takes you instead, but it leaves Glen feeling a little jealous.

**ONE-SHOTS**

More Than a Game (Glen x Reader)

When you join Glen Powell for a night under the bright Texas stadium lights, you expect an evening of football and fun—but what you don’t expect is the sting of an offhand comment that shakes your confidence. As Glen’s world of fans and flashing cameras surrounds you, he’s quick to remind you of where you stand: by his side, as the one who holds his heart. With every protective gesture, from offering you his jacket to placing his prized Stetson on your head, Glen shows the world that you’re not just another face in the crowd—you’re someone special. FLUFF.

Texas Orange (Glen x Reader)

Heavily based on the song "Tennesse Orange" by Megan Moroney. You're in the early stages of your relationship with Glen and he takes you to a Texas football game with him. FLUFF.

Between Sets and Scenes (Glen x Reader)

As a dedicated personal trainer in Washington D.C., you've worked with high-profile clients before, but when actor Glen Powell steps into your gym, life takes an unexpected turn. What starts as a simple fitness transformation for Glen quickly evolves into something more when the lines between professionalism and attraction begin to blur. A chance encounter outside the gym leads to late-night conversations, unexpected connections, and the realization that sometimes the best chemistry happens off-screen. But with Glen's rising star and your grounded life, can you keep things casual, or is something deeper already taking shape? FLUFF.

**SERIES**

In the Wings (Glen x Reader)

When you're offered the chance to work as a hair and makeup artist on Top Gun 3, it feels like a dream come true. Leaving behind your routine for a Hollywood blockbuster, you arrive on set with high hopes but little expectation of the whirlwind to come. That all changes the day you meet Glen Powell—charming, grounded, and quick to make an impression. As your professional relationship grows, so does a spark between you, but you're still keeping things strictly work. For now, the only thing you're certain of is that this job will be like no other. FLUFF

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 I PART 7

[octuscle]

Full investment

Martin had been very lucky in his life. He founded his first start-up at the right time, sold it at the right time and invested the proceeds wisely. Of course, it wasn't just luck; Martin was clever, hard-working and charismatic. And with this combination, he was bound to succeed. The fact that he was extremely good-looking didn't necessarily hinder him. Martin was at every party, Martin knew everyone and Martin was at least one of the first followers of a new trend. If he didn't set the trend himself. That's why he was very annoyed when he got talking to a cool, masculine and sporty-looking guy at a party at the Turkish Embassy. The young stallion turned out to be a rising star in the mixed martial arts world and ran a gym in one of Stockholm's hipster neighborhoods. And in the course of the conversation, Mete asked Martin why he wasn't investing in the fitness sector. Martin was fascinated by Mete's engaging manner. And they shook hands on Martin's entry into Mete's gym.

The press conference was a date to Martin's liking. He was in his element. Not that Mete was not photogenic, but Martin loved the camera. And the camera loved him. One of the reporters present asked if Martin would now train here too. Martin was taken aback for a moment. He hadn't expected that. Normally, he trained with his personal trainer at his gym at home. But this was the moment Mete had been waiting for. He threw a bag with a pair of sports trousers and a pair of gloves to Martin and said it was time for them to train together. Martin hesitated only briefly. He looked good in a suit. But he also knew that he looked at least as good with his shirt off. The pictures of the sparring session were amazing. The success for the gym was overwhelming. And Martin had to admit: this kind of training was something completely different from training at home.

Martin's daily routine changed soon after he joined Mete. Mete regularly picked him up in the morning to go jogging. Martin and Mete often had breakfast in a Turkish café near the gym, and Mete created Martin's new nutrition plan. Mete provided Martin with food supplements, the contents of which Martin did not question, especially since the green packaging only had Arabic writing on it. Mete created a training plan for Martin that required a lot of time in the gym… But Martin was happy to have a real physical balance to his otherwise very stressful job. And at the moment he was only active as an investor, he didn't have to run his own company. So why not give it everything you've got in sport? And he gave it everything. Running with a lead vest, weight training, sparring, technique training… At some point, Martin was practically living in the gym. And Mete and Martin also spent more and more time together. So much so that Martin moved into the apartment above the gym, which he had originally only intended to use as a second home. So much so that at some point he went with Mete to his Turkish barber. And so much so that, out of curiosity, he went to the mosque with Mete on a Friday for the midday prayer. Mete and the Imam spoke a lot and quickly with each other. The two of them smiled a lot. They said goodbye warmly. Martin hadn't understood a word. But for some reason it felt right to be here.

At the beginning, Martin's short hair was the most obvious sign of his change. His increasingly athletic body was also impossible to miss. Martin grew a beard. Martin started wearing a prayer cap. And more and more Turkish and Arabic words crept into his speech. And while he was only sporadically in the mosque at first, a Friday without the midday prayer and without an exchange with the imam soon became unimaginable for him.

Of course, his change did not go unnoticed. There was unrest in his network of companies. Mete advised him to withdraw from the public eye. His social media accounts were dormant. Martin withdrew from most of the supervisory boards of his holdings. This task was taken over by a few guys he had met at the gym, in cafes or in the mosque and whom he had come to trust. Martin enjoyed the freedom he gained as a result. He had more time to prepare for his next fight, more time to learn Turkish and Arabic, and more time to devote to his prayers. Even though Mete had to spend more and more time managing the prospering gym and the other businesses Martin had entrusted to him, he made sure that Martin, who he increasingly called Mehmet, continued to receive optimal training and nutrition plans. And, above all, with the right nutritional supplements. The side effects of the pills and injections were becoming increasingly obvious: a dark fur was growing on Martin's chest and his beard was getting darker and darker.

MMA shorts and thobes… At some point, there was nothing else left in his wardrobe. At most, when Mehmet helped out at the gym reception or when he was supervising at the gym or training customers, he wore a tracksuit. But basically, he no longer felt comfortable in it. Fortunately, Mete gave him quite a generous allowance after Martin had given him and Iman extensive powers of attorney. This allowed him to get through the month without having to work. However, Mehmet still had to work from time to time as a temp at the gym to pay for the expensive nutritional supplements. He didn't have to overcome any great obstacles to do this: he was at home at the gym and he was proud to be part of this gym. And as a trainer, he had close contact with the hottest guys in the gym. Even though Mete was the only one who was allowed to fuck Mehmet, there were enough holes that Mehmet's cock could fill after the wounds of the circumcision had healed.

Hardly anyone recognized Martin at Mehmet's new appearances on social media. If you looked closely, you could have seen Martin's blue eyes in the otherwise more masculine features of Mehmet's face. But hardly anyone looked at Mehmet's eyes. There were other body parts that attracted the public's attention.

Ole had been following Martin's latest investment closely. Martin's new CEO, Mete, was very active in the Swedish startup scene and Mete and Ole met regularly at various events. Mete needed more capital to finance the planned aggressive growth of the gym chain. And Ole was ready to get on board. The business figures were simply too tempting.

The press event to mark Ole's entry into the gym empire was a great success. It was accompanied by the opening of a new gym in Martin's former house. And by the victory of the Swedish MMA heavyweight title by the star of the gym, Mehmet. At the photo shoot, Ole was surprised at Mehmet's good Swedish. Actually, he would have expected less from such a monkey. But never mind, Mehmet wasn't there to speak. The photo shoot with Ole and Mehmet was followed by a training session in which the two men demonstrated their skills. Mehmet did everything he could to make Ole look good. But at the end of the session, he said that Ole could do a little more to improve his fitness. After all, he was now a figurehead for the gym. Mehmet had already prepared something: a training and nutrition plan. And Mete had also already procured a few dietary supplements.

[thedarkcircuswritings]

🎉 The (Late) New Years 🎉

Shadow Milk is definately very delighted when you want to spend New Year's Eve with him, mostly because he knows that you'll be his even after the ball drops.

After all, who else would you rather be intertwined with other than the beastly jester himself?

Shadow Milk uses strings to wrap around your waist and pull you in close for the last kiss of the year.

After that will be the biggest party the jester has ever created! A party is needed for New Years, after all!

Even so, Shadow Milk still spends most of his time with you, giving you kisses all over and clinging onto you eagerly. Why would he ever want to leave the side of his doll?

He still hasn't let go of you, even when the party comes to an end.

Fancypants, of course, also holds a party on New Year's Eve, although it is something much more upper-class and luxurious, with sparkling water, the best foods chefs can offer, and even a front-row seat to a classy fireworks show.

Even with all of the sparkles and flashes, his eyes are still on his most expensive thing yet: you.

Fancypants is at your every beck and call, making sure everything is perfect for you on this night. After all, you deserve the world!

Starlo feels his heart skip a beat when you decide to spend New Years Eve with him, and he's one clingy cowboy for the night, smothering you with kisses and reminding you how much he loves you.

There's nothing too fancy for when it becomes the New Years, simply spending the night with Starlo, keeping him close, and wrapping each other up with sweet nothings.

Hornet doesn't exactly celebrate New Year's Eve or New Years, considering her society is much different than ours, but she does have something to show you when you decide to spend the night with her.

Instead of sparkling juice or loud fireworks, the night sky is lit up with soft fireflies that dance in coordinated precision, creating a quiet ballet for you and her to admire until the sun begins to rise.

When the morning sun hits your faces, Hornet bows to you and asks for you to be her first duel for the new year. It would be an honor to be her first fight to be with you, after all.

Lear has made many extravagant and luxurious preparations to this day. He's a prince, after all, he has to make all of these spectacular things happen... and yet his eyes stay on you for the night, and he can't pull his gaze away ever since you chose to spend your New Years with him.

Even as the cheers of trainers and Pokemon surround the night, Lear's mind is on you, wondering if this will be the year he could make you his royalty.

Lear doesn't want to outwardly show that to you of course- he's not blushing, it's just the light that's playing tricks on you!

Bill is both ecstatic and disappointed about the New Years. Ecstatic since his disciple chose to spend the time with him, but also disappointed since he was told that he couldn't plunge the world into complete chaos. But fine, if that's what you wanted...

...Although maybe he could bend time a little to spend more of it with you? Just a bit?

You're the one who chose him to be with, it's not his fault time decided not to start the New Years yet! Although Bill might have to answer to Time Baby later.

It's at least worth it for you, just so he could have you close and see you smile...

Maybe when the night does end, you can figure out how badly a triangle can actually blush.

Star Dividers: here!!

[fad1d]

[pokemon-npcs]

[hellsburners]

stumblin' back to bed

summary: peter's partner is very drunk and very clingy pairing: tasm!peter parker x gender neutral reader word count: 1.2k warnings: alcohol consumption, drunk reader, some kissing, mentions of sex, slight smut a/n: from another lovely request! (btw this is a scheduled post im on a semi-hiatus rn bcs life)

masterlist | more peter parker

Peter kisses you with your back against the door. His hands cupped your face as you cling on his shirt. His lightly stubbled face pricks your cheeks while his warm lips weave into yours, tongues dipping into each other—the hallway filled with the sound of sloppy kisses, some whimpering as your centers rub. 

“Let’s get in first,” he said, fumbling for his house keys. 

You stood beside him, the floor spinning around, your head confused. The alcohol had done its magic, your gait was funny, your joints loose, and you almost fell before entering his apartment. 

“Woah, those tequila shots were something—,” you slurred, Peter held onto you for stability. 

You grabbed him by his belt loops for another kiss, like your own personal bottle of liquor, you took Peter Parker’s lips like the freshest glass of tequila, bitter and addicting. You stumbled to his kitchen counter, he lifted you so you were sitting on it, your legs on his hips. 

“I need some water,” he said in between kisses. He pulls away, much to your dismay, to grab a glass. “Want some?” you shook your head, your head still spinning. 

He comes back to you, his head mounted on your neck, sucking and kissing, leaving marks. His hands roam your back, large hands warm on your cold skin. Your hands roam his torso, feeling his muscled abdomen until you reach the barrier between his skin and underwear. Later, your touch fell to his growing hardness. 

“Woah—baby,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Peter it’s so hard,” you ached. 

“Only for you—” he whimpered, nibbling on your neck. His hands came to cup your ass, pulling you in so your crotch rubbed on his. He started to hump in between your legs, using the friction for pleasure. Your fingers trail through his soft brown hair taking in his scent, a mix of alcohol and musk. 

“The room is spinning like crazy,” you said. You felt yourself become more sensitive, the hairs on your skin erecting, his mere touch made you shudder. 

“We can stop,” he lets out. 

“No. Don’t stop—,” you gasped, his hand going underneath your underwear to touch your sex. You moaned from his fingers, moving so gracefully to pleasure you. He pulls back but you wrap your legs around him pulling him in. Your hands find his neck, pulling him from there as well. 

“Let’s take this to the couch—more comfy.”

You move on his couch, straddling him. The two of you are in the middle of a heated make-out session before you feel your stomach turn, and bile rising to your throat. You suddenly pulled back, covering your mouth. Peter sat there confused. Your body shuddered as you made a gagging sound. 

“Oh god, let’s get you to the toilet,” he said. You refused, waving your hands. 

“I’m fine.”

“Water then? Let me get you a glass,” he said. You later took the drink, downing the water alleviating some of the dizziness and the gagging. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I promise babe I’m good.”

“Let’s go to bed then,” he pleads. 

“I’m fine!” your words start to slur again. He pulls you to the bedroom, the sudden change in speed almost made you throw up. He sits you down on the bed to get you a change of clothes.

He kisses you again, “I’m not fucking you like this, too messy.” 

He hands you a cold glass of water. You chug on the liquid like a parched dog, the cooling sensation tracing down your warm throat. 

He takes the empty glass, your body swaying loosely. You look up at him, lips pouting. He looks down on you with a smile, stroking your hair before your body betrays you, eyes going dark as you fall back on the soft sheets. 

——————

You wake up to the smell of bacon. You check to see your clothes changed to a pair of trainer shorts and a Star Wars graphic tee. Your breath reeked of alcohol as you let out a yawn. 

You check to see Peter standing near the stove, his torso bare with only his boxers on. His hands skillfully flipping bacon and eggs on a greasy pan. 

“Hey handsome,” you called out. 

He turns around, a smile plastered on his face. His arms spread wide to take you in his arms. His skin was warm against yours, your cheek flush against his chest. 

“You slept well?” he asked. “You were knocked out good.” 

“Oh god, that bad huh?” you gasped. He places a kiss on your forehead, hands through your hair again patting it over and over. 

“Yeah, you said something about how madly and deeply in love you are with me and how you wanted me to and I quote stuff you up.”

“I did not!” you hit his chest with the base of your fist. He laughs hysterically. 

Smoke started to gather behind him, and the smell of charred meat started to fill the room. The two of you checked to see the bacon starting to turn black. “Shit. shit. shit!”

Breakfast was spoiled. Peter tried to salvage it but those were the last pieces. He tried to look for anything in his cupboard to eat but he found nothing. 

“It’s alright Pete,” you coo, smoothing his back

“It was supposed to be a perfect breakfast!” 

“Well, we could have something else,” your hand traced down his spine, teasing the edge of his boxers. 

“Oh,” you pin his back on the kitchen counter, pulling his underwear after. His hard cock springs free, aching red. 

You look up at him with the same pleading gaze from last night, slowly inching your lips closer to his tip. You gave it a few licks, your wet tongue dragging on his frenulum, Peter’s body heaved from the pleasure. 

His grip on your head was getting tighter, guiding your mouth as it bobbed on his cock. The thick shaft rubbed smoothly on the flat of your tongue, the head barely hitting the roof of your mouth. 

You hollow your cheeks to create more suction, Peter lets out a groan, his head falling back. You held onto his thighs, your neck pulling back to suck up to his sensitive tip. A string of clear liquid connects your lips to his sex. 

“You’re so good, baby,” he moaned. “Taking me so well.” 

Sweat trickles down from his forehead to his toned abdomen, your fingers tracing the lines to his sparse hair near his belly leading to his crotch. 

Your other hand went to stroke the remaining length of his cock, the combined sensation led Peter to the edge. He was a panting mess, chest heaving, toes curling, his long fingers digging into your scalp.

“I’m gonna—“ he gasps, cum shooting down your throat. His body convulsed as you held your stance, tears forming in your eyes as he fucked into your mouth. 

You stood up to wipe the spit all over your lips and pecked Peter’s lips. “So what’s good food around here?” 

[lokideservesahug]

Can't Get My Mind Off Of You

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x gn!reader

Warnings: Identity crisis, Carlos being a pining idiot but what's new? Y/A means your initial

Notes: This is for the nichest audience ever (less so because its gn ig). But as long as it makes someone happy (I'm looking at you @alcqraz )... And please give feedback on this because I'm very conscious that there are probably so many errors...

Summary: Carlos is smitten with you. He looks for you in every room, his thoughts are plagued by you. But he just can't seem to get a word out when he's around you...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Your words wrap around him like a warm embrace. His native language rolling off of your tongue like it was made for you. The plosives formed just for your lips to take advantage of the air. The same air that Carlos swears down he is so lucky to breathe, the same as you. He watches as your arms flex. To most it looks likes he's watching you, seeing if the rising star makes any mistakes. Carlos' eyes scan your form as if looking for cracks in your form. But Carlos knows deep down that he's trying to map your figure. Paint a picture of the way your muscles ripple as you take another serve. He lets out a deep exhale. You're just such a good sportsman. That's what's luring him in...right?

He tries his hardest not to look at your competitor, fairly certain that his gaze would actualy burn holes into him. Carlos isn't quite sure if he's jealous that the man across the court is playing against you, as opposed to Carlos being on the other end of your hard (yet attractive) stare or that he's trying to beat you. Either way, the man on the other side of the net to you is underlying of your time or attention Carlos thinks.

Carlos watches as you finally turn towards him once again, face flushed. He tries to not let his minds slip to when else you'd be covered with the same sheen of sweat... He shakes his head. What has gotten into him recently? So lost in his own thoughts, Carlos fails to notice that you're back to practising but is broken from his thoughts by the sound of your grunts. The same sound that the Spaniard can't seem to get his mind off of recently...

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Carlos stares at his phone, scrolling mindlessly on Instagram. There isn't much substance to the social media but anything is better than being left alone in a quiet lift with his own thoughts; especially with how wild they've been raoming especially when it comes to matters of a certain Y/H/C tennis player. The subtle pat of trainers on the floor makes him glance up. Only to be met with the sight of your eyes. Carlos feels the breath become knocked out if him as you give him a small smile. You nod and turn away from him, leading Carlos to just stare at the back of your head.

And gosh, he didn't know lifts were so warm... Ah who's he kidding Carlos knows that the only reason his heart rate feels like it's beating out a samba is because of the close proximity of the two of you. He could just reach out and feel your- Carlos shakes his head as he feels his fingers twitch. Gosh what a perv-

He should should talk to you, like a normal, sane human being. He takes a deep breath in and looks up, only to be met with the sight of your retreating figure walking out of the lift doors. Damn-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Gosh Carlos must be dreaming. Well not again. He cursed himself this morning when he was ripped away from the domestic image of the two of you this morning. The dream of the both of you wrapped up in warm embarces, chaste kisses and silk sheets runied by the sound of his alarm. But now, as he arrives to the tennis courts early, the Spaniard is sure that you two are a match made in heaven.

Even some of the most dedicated and successful tennis players Carlos has met throughout his career have given him strange looks when he mentioned waking up especially early on the daily to practice early. Something about "A goodnight sleep is really your best frie-" well Carlos didn't pay that much attention to what they were saying in all honesty.

But now, as he watches you bend down and collect the balls that you've clearly been hitting at the wall for the past few minutes, he's sure that you must be his soulmate. He doesn't even focus too much on the vision of you near folding in half as you pick up yet another tennis ball! But at least he can save the image for a rainy day (that knowing him would come sooner rather than later).

Suddenly, you turn around and your eyes meet Carlos'. You freeze for a moment and tilt your head, smile dancing across your lips. You furrow your brows for a moment but just walk towards the bench where your bag lies. You place the tennis balls down haphazardly on the bench and rummage around in your bag.

Carlos' gaze remains fixed on your figure. Gosh you make even the most mundane of things look attractive. And as you take a swig of your water bottle. Carlos, oddly enough has never wanted to be a droplet of water more. As he watches it run around the curve if your lips and drip down past your chin. He'd give anything if he could just be that small bit of water as it drops just above the neckline of your shirt. Carlos has to look away in embarrassment as his cheeks heat, looking at the mixture of your sweat and water glistening on the skin, peeking out of your shirt.

He doesn't notice you put the bottle down but he sure does notice you lift the bottom of your shirt to wipe the sweat from your brow. Carlos feels his mouth drop as his eyes scan across your muscles. Gosh he never knew why people were so wierd when admiring the human form... but now? Looking at you? He gets it. He understands every sonnet, every love song, every dedication in every book and every tear shed over the concept of loving a person so dearly.

Love. Carlos not long ago would have laughed at the word but now? He's sure that just looking at you brings meaning to the word. You meet his eyes and as is common practise these days, his gaze falls to your lips. You smirk and Carlos feels the breath get caught in his throat once more as you go to open your mouth, clearly with something to say.

"Y/L/N." Your eyes widen and if Carlos wasn't mistaken you almost looked sorry? Maybe it was just his imagination. He turns to looks at the intruder of your moment (that if it wa sup to Carlos would be a confession of love and a marriage proposal) and as the two of you greet in a small handshake, Carlos finds it the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Besides, he wasn't ready to speak to you. He'd probably have frozen up and looked like a fool again.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

As Carlos sits in the seats, waiting for one of the courts uou lean forward on the railings. Carlos looks up from his phone and is startled by the newcomer in such close proximity to him. All is forgiven however, when he realises its just you.

You smirk and look him up and down. "You're cute Alcaraz but gosh are you slow." He tilts his head and his eyes glisten with confusion. You hold back a giggle at him and his puppy look all but proving your point. You shake your head and give him a pat on the shoulder as you both hear a distant call of your name. You look behind your shoulder and then back into Carlos' eyes, carefree smile painted on your face that Carlos doesn't think he'll ever shake from his memory.

"Call me." You wink and skip of behind him. Carlos goes to call out after you but you're already too far away. "But you didnt-" He shakes his head. Once again, he'll have to wait until next time. But now, for once in his life, Carlos knows he feels a new sense of determination.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

The Spaniard walks up to his car and freezes. Carlos pats his back pockets for his car keys. He reaches into one of his jacket pocket only to pull out a pack of gum and a few notes. Carlos huffs as he tries the other one. However, his fingers instead feel an unfamiliar paper sensation. He grabs at the foreign object and unfolds the note.

-Call me, Alcaraz ;)

xxx-xxx-xxx-xx

-Y/A

And gosh, Carlos knows he made a vow to himself to tray and act less hopeless. But even the just the sight of your handwriting makes his heart flutter. He fumbles to reach into his back pocket to find his phone and save your number to his phone. And lets just say that there were many questions when Carlos arrived a out half an hour later, chattering teeth, complaining about the cold but still, somehow with his signature grin.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

And special tags for: @yungbludz ofc and @alcqraz who inspired me two write with less of a female reader in mind (and sorry it's not male per se)

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

The Injured List

Batter Up Chapter 4

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel's just a baseball player and his back is killing him, good thing he has you to take care of him. Warnings: smut, joel gets injured and can barely move though he's still horny af, joel watches you masturbate for him, cum swallowing, riding joel's fingers, hand job. Words: 3,500

Masterlist Series Masterlist Playlist

⚾️⚾️⚾️

“And I don’t know folks, doesn’t look good for Joel Miller,” the announcer intones, but his words disappear, all you can focus on is the image on your screen. Tears begin to stream down your face as you watch Joel writhe in pain on the dirt. This can’t be happening, you’re literally packing your bag for the flight home to Texas in a few hours. He has the All Star Game in two days, and right now he’s sitting on the ground shaking his head and grimacing as his manager, teammates and trainer surround him, their faces all shrouded in concern. The shirt you were folding drops out of your hand as you walk closer to the television, as if being next to the broadcast will change the outcome. 

“Come on baby, come on,” you chant to yourself, nervously bouncing in place. You have nobody to talk to about your worry, except the man currently being helped up off the field by his trainer and coach. He looks pissed as he hobbles to the cart, you swallow hard realizing how angry and destroyed he looks. There goes the All Star Game, there goes his swan song of returning back to his hometown and old home field during what should be his final year of playing. 

Your heart shatters for him, for you, for his career. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you still pack your bag. You text Joel that’s you’re leaving now. 

“What a shame. Miller’s out…” Your dad texts you later that night. Little does he know you’re reading his text as you take the elevator up to Miller’s apartment. 

The sound of Joel’s keys in the lock startles you out of your daze, you jump from the couch, hopping over the ottoman to meet him at the door. 

He looks haggard and tired.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, his face looking less defeated at the sight of you. “You didn’t have to come here, m’sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. I wanted to be here,” you delicately wrap your arms around his neck, rising up on your tip toes and giving him a kiss before grabbing his bag from his hands. “I couldn’t not be.” 

It’s the first time you’ve been together in over two weeks, this is absolutely not the scenario you were expecting. Usually the first time you see each other after long stretches of time your first stop is the bedroom, both of you excited to touch each other and get all of your long distance frustrations out in bed. Tonight, it’s different, the first stop is the bedroom, but the only thing on your mind is taking care of him.

“I appreciate it baby, you’re too good.”

“I know I am. Now, come on, I got the bed all set up for you.”

——

“Well, I better get used to this damn room for the next week,” he grumbles limping into his room.

“Good thing I already have the next week off so I can keep you company.”

“You can still go home, ya’ know?” Joel plunks down on the edge of his bed. "Don't want you missing the game and your family on account of me."

“And leave my injured boyfriend all alone? What am I a monster?” You kneel down in front of him, unlacing his shoes and pulling each one off. 

“No, just feel bad you have to give up your vacation to take care of me,” his voice is soft as he grabs your chin and pets your cheek. 

“Listen,” you climb up his legs, placing your hands on his thighs, “I get a week of you stuck in bed, that’s better than a beachfront villa in Tahiti. Plus, I refuse to let a nurse or anyone else help you get undressed and bathe.” You untie the ties of his joggers. “Now, let’s get you in bed and I’ll take care of you.” 

You hold out your hands to help him stand, he takes them and rises with your assistance, grimacing as his back moves. 

“Should we ice it, or is the heating pad good for now?”

“Heat’s fine,” he croaks. 

“You alright?”

“I’m fine, just really fuckin’ hurts.” 

“Here, I’ll help with your clothes, do you want sleep shorts and a shirt?” 

“No, just a pair of underwear’s fine.”

“Right,” you turn and head for his closet to grab a new pair. 

“Hold up, just… I’ll get it.”

“Why?” You turn around, shrugging your shoulders. “You can hardly move.”

“Just, don’t do any digging, okay?”

“…..Okay, I’ll grab the first pair I see then,” you angle your eyebrows at him.

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” you say as you turn and walk into his closet.

“Damnit.” You hear him groan from the other room as you open his underwear drawer. 

“Don’t do anything I can help you with!” You shout grabbing the top pair of boxer briefs fighting the urge to look through the drawer. 

Joel Miller is always cool, always put together. You don’t think there’s ever been a day that he’s looked pathetic, up until today and the sight that greets you when you walk out of his closet.

“This sucks,” he miserably huffs, standing by the bed, his pants halfway down his legs, the hem of his shirt rumpled up around his chest. 

“Oh baby,” you giggle. “See, how could I leave you in this state?” 

You kiss his cheek and bend down in front of him, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling them down. “Step out,” you instruct, looking to find he’s staring down at you, his eyes hooded, the same look he gives you in bed. “Don’t get any ideas Mr. Miller you can hardly move.” 

“Could probably move enough.”

“Bullshit, it’s not happening tonight Joel,” you stand. “Trust me, I want it too, but it’s not happening. Now, let’s get your shirt taken care of. Can you raise your hands for me?”

He nods and raises his arms, trying to disguise his frown.

You lift the hem of his shirt gently rolling it up his chest while trying to ignore the fact that he’s now almost fully naked in front of you. 

“You know,” he says as you slowly roll his shirt up his head and outstretched arms. “Just because I’m out of commission doesn’t mean you have to be.” 

“Joel,” you breathe out placing his shirt on your shoulders. “Stop.”

“I missed you— ’n your body, if I can’t have it, at least lemme look at it.” 

“We’ll see,” you bite your bottom lip, the angel on your shoulder is telling you the best thing for him to do right now is rest and sleep, the devil on your shoulder that looks like your handsome boyfriend is telling you to let him watch you get off. “Hate to say this now, but I have to take your underwear off.” 

You kneel down in front of him, thinking how stupid you are that you’re now face level with his crotch… and he’s already half hard. 

“Fuck, this sucks,” he tips his head back exasperating as you grab his waistband and begin to pull his boxer briefs down. 

“I know it does,” you whisper your mouth beginning to salivate as you expose his half hard cock, it feels like you’re unwrapping a forbidden present, "but I’m here to take care of you baby.”

“You can’t call me baby,” he sighs, “when you’re... down there.” 

Joel’s underwear pools at his feet, you stare straight forward at his half hard cock, your mouth dropping open at the sight. 

“I’m also going through things too,” you whisper as you tap on his legs so he can step out of the fabric at his feet. “I gotta put your underwear on.” 

“Mm,” Joel lifts a leg as you pull his underwear up, your hands forced to feel the skin of his legs, the hair is soft against your touch. 

“Christ, can feel your breaths against me, you gotta stop,” he whines. 

You hold your breath as you pull the black fabric up over his crotch, finally hiding the temptation. 

You stand back up, focusing on getting Joel ready for bed, the stick of your soaked underwear against your skin getting harder to ignore. 

You spread the heating pad out on his side of the bed, bending over to plug it into the socket behind his bedside table.

“You look so good bent over like that, hate my goddamn back,” he bitterly mutters.

“Can’t stop you, can I?” You chuckle. “I’m just glad you were able to shower at the ballpark.”

“I’m not,” he huffs out sitting on the edge of his bed gingerly twisting and lifting his legs up, resting his back against the wall of pillows you’ve placed against the headboard. 

“You good?” You hand him the remote control and the heating pad controller.

“Yeah, m’fine, thanks.”

“Need anything?” 

“No, just want to feel you in bed with me.”

“I know, just have a few things to do first.”

You gather Joel’s dirty clothes in your hand, depositing them in the hamper inside his closet. Your eyes glance over at his underwear drawer, why does he want you out of it? You know it’s not a ring, it’s too early, he knows that. It could just be nothing at all… you let the wonder escape your brain with a shake of your head. No need to worry about it right now.

You take your clothes off, sighing internally at how wet your underwear is with your arousal. 

“Where’s the sleep shirt you’ve been keeping for me?” You peek out of his closet.

“It’s already in my suitcase on the floor.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

“You naked in there?” 

You roll your eyes at his question. “Yes.”

“Lemme see.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you unzip his suitcase, finding the shirt folded right at the top, as if he couldn’t wait to give it to you as much as you couldn’t wait to receive it. 

“Please baby, it’s been a long fucking day and an even longer two weeks.” 

“Fine,” you walk out of his closet, the only piece of clothing is his shirt in your hands. Joel’s eyes darken as you walk over to the bed. “Happy?”

“Thank you,” his eyes roam your body. “Missed you pretty girl.”

“Missed you too,” you blush.

“Come lay next to me, it just hit me how little I’ve gotten to touch you.”

“I should probably get our phones from the living room, just in case."

“Please don’t, it’s all a bunch of texts and articles I don’t want to deal with right now, I just want to be with you right now.” 

The frustration in his voice makes you climb in bed and lay next to Joel, carefully placing your head on his chest. 

“This okay?”

“Of course it is. Wish I could wrap my arms around you and hold you close, fuck, you feel so good.” His hand comes up to your face, rubbing his thumb against your chin and lips. “God damnit, this really sucks.”

“I know, but I’m happy doing this too.” You grab his hand away from your face. “Can’t believe I never asked you, what does this mean?” You trace the three circles on Joel’s hand. 

“Had a bullseye board my dad used to use for hunting practice, would put it out in the field behind my house, my brother and I would spend hours trying to hit the ball off the tee and have it hit the target. Went ‘n got this the night after I won Rookie of the Year.”

“Cute,” you bring his hand up to kiss the tattoo. “I remember that banquet, I thought you were so hot. God, I thought that since I was eighteen maybe you’d talk to me because I was older. Ridiculous.”

“Dark blue dress, your hair was pulled back ’n you had a gold headband.”

You audibly gasp, dropping his hand out of yours, his palm thudding against his chest. 

“Yeah… yeah, that’s— wow, that’s what I was wearing.”

“I know, and I would’ve talked to you if your dad wasn’t the one signing my checks or holding my future in his hands. I remember talking to your mom, and you were right behind her, you looked so beautiful it was hard for me to pay attention to her.”

“I remember that, I loved listening to you talk. God, I can’t believe we’re here. Look at us now.”

“Look at us now,” his low chuckle vibrates against your head. “Speaking of looking, I’d really like to look at you.”

“You have been Joel.”

“No, I want to look at you, please, I’m gonna keep pulling the injured card, but let me watch you touch yourself.”

“Joel… I don’t think that’s doctor’s orders.” You want to touch yourself, you're so wet, just from being near him.

“Please, darling, it’ll make this day not totally suck.”

“Ugh, I can’t argue with that. Joel Miller wins again. Where do you want me?”

“At the foot in front of me, wanna see all of you.”

Your body thrums as you climb down his bed. You love how excited you are to touch your pussy for him, he adores your body, worships it. 

“Spread your legs for me, wide, want to see your pussy drool all over my sheets.” 

You sit up and face Joel, leaning back on an outstretched arm opening your thighs wide, your naked body lit by the soft glow of the lamp on Joel’s bedside table.

“Fuck baby girl, look at that, can see how wet you are, you’re absolutely fucking soaked.” 

You can see how his cock is hardening underneath his boxer briefs. It drives you even crazier. 

“Rub your pussy for me,” his eyes burn into yours, the timbre of his voice urging you forward.

Your hand snakes down your torso, dipping in between your folds, a moan leaves your lips feeling how wet you are, Joel groans as you begin to touch yourself. 

You do this all the time for him on FaceTime, but you’ve never done this in person, your leg draping over his, your arousal dripping onto his sheets. You love how you can see the way his eyebrows wrinkle as his big eyes dart from your eyes to your pussy and back. 

“That’s it baby, you look so fucking amazing.” 

You can’t believe your luck, both good and bad. Good luck that you’re close enough to watch Joel grow harder as he watches you fuck yourself. Bad luck that Joel can’t be the one fucking you. 

“Stick a finger in, lemme see it,” his hand dropping down to grip his bulge. “Not gonna do anything, pressure’s just helpin’ me.”

“You okay?” You ask, your finger paused at your entrance.

“Course I am sweetheart,” he smiles, “I’ll be just fine. This is good, real good. Stick it in for me.”

You raise your hips to meet your finger and begin pumping it in and out of you, your palm resting against your clit. You focus on Joel’s thick fingers forming around his sheathed hard cock, you stick another finger in to try to stretch yourself the way he stretches you.. It’s nothing compared to him.

“Greedy girl,” he growls, his fist tightening around his bulge. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Thank you for doing this for me.”

You want to give Joel a show, he deserves it. 

“Joel,” you whimper sticking a third finger in. “You always feel so good in me, love it when you fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He breathes. “Love how you squeeze me, you squeezin’ your fingers for me?” 

“Mmhmm,” you moan, your legs beginning to shake as you fuck yourself harder, your palm knocking against your clit. Your heavy breathing and the sound of your fingers shoving in and out of your hole growing louder and faster bringing yourself closer to your climax.

“That’s a good girl, missed you so much, missed that sweet pussy of yours. Can see you getting close, you close for me?” 

You nod as an idea pops into your head. You scoot yourself forward, your cunt now right in front of his free hand resting on his thigh. 

“Touch me, just, stick your fingers in, don’t move them, let me do the work?”

“Fuck. Yeah? Okay baby,” he sounds practically giddy at your suggestion. “How many?”

“Three, I need to feel you,” you order as you kneel on your knees hovering over his hand.

He nods, his face with a serious, determined expression as he sticks his fingers up for you. 

You lower your pussy on them. Fuck. His fingers are so fucking thick, opening your cunt even wider as you sit on them. Joel lets out a long, low groan as you bury his fingers inside of you. 

“Baby, oh god, you’re fucking soaked for me. Jesus, you feel so fucking silky and soft. Fuckin’ squeezing me so hard.”

You begin to rub circles around your clit, bringing your other hand to cup your breast as you begin to ride his hand. The feel of his skin against yours, the way his eyes bore into you as you slide your cunt up and down his thick digits, the guttural gasp he lets out as you squeeze his fingers tight chanting how much you wish his fingers were his cock edge you even closer.

His head thuds against the pillow as you grind harder against him, your wet dripping down against his knuckles. His hand still grips his cock, you place your hand on top of his, tracing the tattoo with a finger, the same circles you draw over your clit. He stares at his hand, his brows furrowing as he watches you trace the ink on his skin.

You move your hips on him as he stays still, he’s being so good to you, knowing you’ll worry about his back if he oversteps his boundaries. 

“Feel so good when you touch me,” he whispers, his hand clenching and unclenching around his length. “Just a fuckin’ finger on my hand and it’s driving me crazy.”

You love him so much, you know today has been hell for him, you’ll deal with that later, right now all you want to do is let him forget about everything using your naked body as a distraction.

You can feel your orgasm beginning to peak, your cunt clamping around his fingers. You’re close, so fucking close.

“Oh, babygirl, you’re going to cum aren’t you? Fuckin’ strangling me, wish it was my cock so bad. Let go for me, lemme feel it.”

It’s been so long since you’ve felt his touch and now your cunt is pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuck,” you stare open mouthed as you notice the dark spot on Joel’s underwear from his leaking cock. Your orgasm waves through you at sight, your slick gushing out soaking Joel’s fingers. You grab his cock and yank it out of his underwear as you rock through your climax, fuck your self imposed so-called “doctor’s orders” you want to touch him.

“Stay still, stay still,” you pant as you spread his precum all over his shaft, stroking him. 

His head nods ferociously, eyes widening as he bites his top lip, his hand curling into a fist resting atop his chest. 

“I know, I know,” you raise up off of his fingers, leaning forward to kiss him. “Cum for me Joel. Give me your cum,” you moan against his lips.

“Yes,” he chokes out.

“You’re being so good, laying so still, letting me do the work for you.” 

You stroke him faster, twisting the tip the way you know he likes it, he lets out a long groan, letting you know he’s there. You quickly clamber down the bed sealing your mouth over his cock. His body stays perfectly still, the only thing moving is his head nodding against the pillow and his cock throbbing as his seed shoots down your throat. You swallow all of it down, happy to be able to finally taste him.

“Thank you baby,” he whispers, “needed that. You’re so good to me.”

“You deserve it,” you smile wiping your mouth and pulling Joel’s underwear back up. “I know today wasn’t easy on you, but I’m going to be here for you every step of the way.” 

“I love you,” he sighs, his eyes already turning heavy with exhaustion.

“I love you too,” you lay down next to him, making sure to gently rest your head on his chest. 

“You’re so good at turning my bad days good. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

——

Joel falls asleep quickly. You sneak out of bed and softly pad out to the living room to grab your phones, remembering you need to set an alarm for his meds.

They sit on the coffee table, right where you left them.

Joel has too many missed texts. 

You have a few texts too, the most recent being from your mom.

Your stomach drops as you read it.

“Aren’t you flying in tonight? Why are you in Philadelphia? Please call.”

A/N: Hello, there is an awful lot of foreshadowing going on here.

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