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lixies-favorite-cookie · 3 months ago

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an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really.

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion-

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through.

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs.

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages-

Your love was often-

Lost in translation.

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages?

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction.

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities.

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out.

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms.

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard.

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table.

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills.

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character.

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered.

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest.

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down.

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably.

Fuck it

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully.

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically.

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ.

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n.

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice-

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop.

You're right back where you started.

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before-

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created-

You run away.

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched?

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters.

Every atom erupting in flames.

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do?

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking-

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction-

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book.

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

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milo-igidk · 5 months ago

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something thats SO important to me in unraveled is Keefe just being surrounded by art. art is such an important aspect of human nature, i want him to see that, i want him to visit an art gallery, to see street arts, graffiti, to see the million ways humans choose to express themselves, the different clothing and hair, how different they all look from each other. the streets and shops all chaotic and imperfect.

furthermore i want keefe himself to be surrounded by art, to be able to create as much as he wants without anyone there telling him to stop, i want him to paint and draw, i want him to spray paint smth SO BAD it would fix me, i want his hands dirty with paint and chalk and all the different mediums, i want him to have a god damn healthy coping mechanism for once

i want him to discover simple entertainments, movies, comics, music?? let my boy discover music likeee?? walks in nature or on the different london streets, sightseeing, SHANNON IF YOU TRY TO TELL ME THAT A BOY WHO WAS LITERALLY STUCK IN HIS HORRIBLE HOME ALL DAY SINCE YOU CANT EVEN GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT NEEDING TO LIGHTLEAP, AND HES BEEN GOING THROUGH HELL AND BACK IN THE ENTIRE BOOK SERIES WOULDNT APPRECIATE THE FREEDOM THAT HE HAS NOW???? LIKE BE SO SERIOUS

this isnt him just running off and settling in some hotel, this is a boy on his own and free for the first time trying to figure out how to actually live instead of surviving, helping himself like hes always had to. Surviving alone, that he can do hes been doing it all his life, now its time for him to figure out how to be content and happy with himself, giving it a try and making an effort to stay afloat and take his happiness into his own hands and save himself, try to learn that life doesnt always have to suck and that he can be happy and im sorry im just so emotional over him

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc thoughts #kotlc fandom #kotlc keefe #keefe sencen #kotlc stellarlune #kotlc unraveled #kotlc unlocked

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azzibuckets · 5 months ago

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now that we don’t talk [part 2 | paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige reunite, but in the worst way possible

a/n: i wrote this part like a month ago but i never posted it. im not sure about continuing this series because i dont have a vision for how i want it to go

word count: 3.4k

prev | next | masterlist

You shut your eyes, exhaling. The breath that came out was shaky, and you hated it. You hated feeling this weak and unstable before a game, when usually you were all collected and confident.

Your brain was a battle of emotions. Your school, USC, was facing off against UConn in a pre-season match today, and since it was the first game of October, the administration on both teams had agreed to dedicate this game to Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

In a kind gesture that had left you at a loss for words, your head coach Gottlieb had organized custom pink shirts for the entire team to wear during warmup, with a painting of your grandma’s face in the front and one of her quotes on the back - “Strength is not the absence of fear, but the courage to confront it.” Your grandma had been a force in the basketball world, being one of the founders and fighters of the WNBA, and you knowed that part of the reason why both USC and UConn were rallying so hard for breast awareness was because both coaches knew of your relationship with your grandma.

After taking a few more deep breaths, you felt calm enough to rejoin your team as they warmed up their shooting. Looking around, you laid eyes on Paige, who was silently stretching in the corner. You took her in - her blonde hair was up in her typical game day do, with her braids in the front and the rest of her hair collected into a tight ponytail. She looked good, her cheeks slightly rosy, her eyes concentrated. You felt your heatt flutter as you examined her, but your heart suddenly dropped when you realized what she was wearing.

You knew this was bad idea, but you couldn’t help yourself. You found your legs pacing towards Paige, carrying you with a level of authority you didn’t know you had.

“What the fuck is this?”

Paige turned around, her resistance band now hanging limp in her hand. She did a double take once she realized who’d just spoken to her, her eyes carefully and unashamedly taking you in. “What?”

You gestured aggressively at her ahirt. “Take it off.”

Paige’s eyes hardened as she leaned back from you. “Excuse me?”

“I said, take it off.” Your voice was icy and unfamiliar to your own ears. In your peripheral vision, you saw heads starting to turn, as girls from both teams watched with curiosity as you stepped closer to Paige, anger drawn on both of your faces.

“Where did you even get it from?” Your voice trembled as you studied Paige’s shirt again. It was familiar to you, because you had the exact same one, just in different colors, hanging up in your room. It was your grandma’s jersey, from her high school team in the 1960s. As far as you knew, she only had a few, and she’d given one to you, one that you’d viligantly taken care of since you’d received it.

Paige raised her chin defiantly. “She gave it to me.”

Those words knocked you off your feet, and you stumbled even though you’d been standing still. “No, she didn’t.” Paige only gritted her teeth without responding. Desperate for a reaction, for anything than just silence, you continued, “She wasn’t even your grandma.” It was a low blow, and you knew it. Over the course of your friendship and then relationship, Paige had gotten almost as close to your grandma as you were. They had adored each other, and back then you had loved the way they loved each other. But now, you couldn’t seem to hate anything more.

You were spiraling, a destructive disarray of grief and bitterness and jealousy. When your grandma had died two months ago, you’d wished that Paige would’ve done more then send a couple of DMs on Twitter. But she didn’t, hadn’t reached out after that, which you couldn’t exactly blame her for because she owed no obligation to comfort you. You guys weren’t even dating anymore. But you’d hopelessly wanted Paige to do more, to show up on your doorstep and take you into her arms.

Paige, seemingly unaffected by your desperate words, regarded you coolly. “How would you know?” she asked menacingly, the hostility in her tone sending shivers down your spine. “You weren’t even there for her in the last few months.” She paused before landing her final blow. “But guess who was?” Her eyebrows cocked as she brushed past you and went back to her team on the court.

It felt like Paige had physically hit you, the way your heart stuttered and your mind reeled. You clenched your first, wishing you’d never came over here in the first place.

“Hey.” A gentle hand brushed your shoulder. Familiar perfume filled your nostrils, and you turned around to see Caroline.

Holding back a sob, she opened her arms and you fell into them. This was too much. Your nasty exchange with Paige, combined with the loss of your grandma still achingly fresh in your mind, along with the guilt of seeing the team that you’d left without so much as a goodbye. You’d been avoiding their looks the entire warmup. Nika had tried to talk to you earlier, but you’d brushed her off. And now, Caroline was standing in front of you, with the softest smile on her face as if you hadn’t ghosted her for the last year.

Caroline, one of your closest friends from your two years at UConn, comfortingly rubbed your back as you embraced her. When you pulled back, you almost couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasped, looking down.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” The kindness in her tone almost sent you into another fit.

“But I do.” You bit your bottom lip. “I transferred to USC without telling any of you guys. And when I left, I didn’t even bother to say goodbye. All I did was send a stupid text.” You kicked the ground, chastising yourself for how you’d treated your closest friends.

“You were hurting.” Caroline squeezed your arms. “We all understand. None of us are mad, alright? We all just miss you.” When you didn’t say anything, too overwhelmed with guilt, she nudged you. “You wanna make it up to us?”

You nodded quickly. Anything.

“Come hang with us after. At my place. No bar, nothing public. Just you and us. We can catch up, you can tell us all about USC and we’ll give you all the latest drama here.”

Thoughts of Pauge flashed through your mind before you shut it down. It was time to stop putting your feelings over Paige before your friends. You had to rebuild the gap, for the sake of the girls that you loved. “I’ll be there,” you responded, and Caroline’s eyes lit up with a grin.

“Great,” she beamed. “And about your grandma. I’m so sorry, babe. She was a really good person.”

You nodded. “Thank you. She really was.” Caroline gave you one last hug before you both parted ways to finish warming up before the game.

———————————-

Sweat dripped off your temples. You blinked roughly, trying to stave off the fogginess creeping in at the edge of your vision. Your muscles ached, screaming for oxygen and a break from the constant back-and-forth of the game. Whenever you opened your mouth, your throat burned from all the screaming you’d done over the past hour to attempt to communicate as well as UConn was doing.

It was no use. You’d been part of the UConn system before, and the drills that Geno had spent hours on, making sure you guys talked through every play, calling out unders or overs on screens, back door cuts, and picks, made the defensive coordination of UConn the best in the nation. Your team was starting to loosen at the seams and fall behind, and you could sense it.

The entire game had been intense, a battle of aggression between the two teams seemingly fueled by the personal vendettas between you and Paige, each captains of your respective teams. She was relentless, having scored 30 points with 2 minutes left in the last quarter. You’d yet to defend her, which was a relief. You didn’t know if you could bear all the aggressive contact, the tensions, the overflow of emotions that would occur once you started to guard her.

After Aaliyah posted up to score another latup, Gottlieb signaled for a time out. “Alright,” she declared, focusing her eyes on you. “You’re taking Paige. I want you to press her hard. Keep your weight off your heels and don’t cross your feet.”

You squirted water into your mouth, nodding. You guys were down by 5 points, and shutting down Paige was the main priority right now. USC broke, but Juju grabbed your arm. “Hey,” she said lowly. “Keep your emotions out of this, alright? Focus on the game.”

You clenched your jaw, avoiding eye contact with your best friend. “I got it. I want to win just as much as you do.”

“Okay.” Juju clearly didn’t believe you, but she released your arm and jogged back to her spot. You rolled back your shoulders. Right now was not the time to think about how Paige was looking at you, or how her girlfriend was sitting court-side, just a few feet from your assigned spot. You wiped the bottom of your shoes, trying to get rid of the sweat in your palms and add some traction to your feet. Leslie eyed you the entire time, smacking her gum loudly. “Come on, Paige!” she cheered with an obnoxious grin as soon as she made eye contact with you. You clenched your jaw, feeling Juju give you a warning look from across the court.

One of your teammates unbounded the ball, and you took off across the court. Rayah stepped out to set a screen, but you drove baseline away from it. You received the ball as you reached the post, and you passed it to Juju, who was waiting at the 3. The play ran beautifully, but as the ball arched towards Juju, a hand reached up and knocked it down.

Paige grabbed the ball and passed it down the court to Nika. You sprinted to defense, heart pumping, fueled by the humiliation of getting a pass intercepted, and by Paige of all people. You reached Nika, lunging for the ball in a desperate last second attempt, but she side stepped you for the layup, sending you flying across the floor.

You heard the oohs of the crowds as you landed hard on your butt, your ankle twisted underneath you. Biting your lip to muffle your shout of pain, you clenched your jersey to try and assuage the throbbing in your tailbone and leg.

You heard a commotion around you, and suddenly there was Paige, standing above you, concern etched into her eyebrow. She held out a hand, but Juju quickly appeared, bending down to touch your elbow and offering her own hand. Ignoring Paige, you wrapped both of your hands around Juju’s as she heaved you up.

Paige stepped back, her mouth in an unforgiving line. “You okay?” she asked, tone haughty and neutral.

“She’s fine,” Juju snapped, stepping protectively between the two of you. “Give her some space, will you?”

Paige held her hands up in surrender and took a couple steps back. Her gaze on you stayed with unwavering intensity, though. But you avoided it, like you’d done the entire game, and let the trainer examine you.

“You good?” Nika ran up to you, chest heaving. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah.” You smiled in reassurance at her. “Not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

Nika nodded as the trainer helped you up and led you off the court. Paige’s gaze burned into your back, but when you turned around, she quickly averted her eyes.

You hadn’t injured yourself, only taken a rough fall, but you still sat on the bench for the remaining minute of the game. Unfortunately, with your dominating presence out, USC couldn’t catch up, and your team lost by a single heartbreaking point.

You walked slowly as USC and UConn formed lines to wish each other a good game. You’d been nervous beforehand, thinking about what to say to the girls, but Caroline had told the truth. None of them seemed to have anything against you, all pulling you in for a tight hug and telling you how good you played and how much they missed you. So although you were exhausted and your ankle was starting to throb again, you knew that you had to go to Caroline’s hangout.

—————————-

“Oh my god, come in!” You chuckled as Azzi opened the door and practically started jumping on her heels from excitement. You grabbed Juju’s hand and led her in from behind you. She was there for backup, a familiar face in a sea of once familiar faces. When you’d asked the Uconn girls if she could come, they’d all happily agreed, saying that they’d been wanting to meet the freshman phenom that had taken the basketball world by storm.

The girls were scattered around Caroline’s apartment. Some of them were sprawled on the couch, watching an NBA game as if they hadn’t had enough basketball for the night. Others were drinking wine in the kitchen and picking at a charcuterie board. Thankfully, you didn’t see any sign of a blonde when you scanned the room, and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Hey guys, this is Juju.” Juju waved her hand shyly, and everyone clambered up to meet her. You smiled at the scene. Despite rivalries on the court and the vigor that UConn played with, you knew they left behind all of that once the shot clock buzzed for the final time. These girls were the nicest you’d ever met, welcoming everyone as their own.

You and Juju found a spot on the couch. You were almost getting comfortable before the door swung open and a familiar laugh filled the room. You didn’t bother to look up, trying to play it cool, but when Juju laid a hand on your arm in warning the same time an unfamiliar voice resonated, you realized that a certain brunette had came too.

Masking your face with indifference, you congratulated yourself for having the power to control your facial expression once Paige and Leslie tumbled into the family room, Leslie’s hands attached to Paige’s waist as they both laughed, obviously already having put some drinks into their system before coming here. You ignored the silence that had fallen over the rest of the team as they realized the awkwardness of the situation.

“I’m so sorry,” Caroline mouthed from her spot on the armchair. “I didn’t know she was gonna be here.”

You only shrugged, your eyes focused on your lap as you tried to maintain your facade of apathy. Juju shifted closer to you in support, and you’d never loved her more.

“Okay!” Caroline said brightly, cutting through the heavy tension in the room. “Who wants a margarita?” All the girls cheered, and the ambience in the apartment returned as conversations resumed.

This is only awkward if you let it be awkward, you thought. You and Paige had broken up over a year ago. You could be civil. You were so over her. But you knew you were lying from the way your insides jolted when Leslie leaned in to press a loud kiss on Paige’s cheek.

Soon, some of the girls started recording Tiktoks and doing silly dances. You turned down their offers to make a cameo in their videos, content with just watching. As you observed rhem, it dawned on you how much you’d missed them. Their silliness made you laugh in a way you hadn’t laughed at in a long time. Throughout the entire night, you tried to pretend as if Paige and Leslie didn’t exist, although it was hard with the exuberant amount of PDA they were showing. They were sitting on each other’s laps, their hands wandering, and they weren’t making out but you almost wish they were so that you wouldn’t have to see either of their faces.

“Paige! Did you come here to celebrate or eye fuck your girlfriend the entire time?” KK yelled, waving a Nintendo controller. “Come play Smash Bros.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but she caught the controller that KK threw at her. She wrapped around Leslie, who was still on top her lap, and started to press buttons on the controller as she chose her chatacter. You stiffened at the memory of Paige doing the exact same thing with you, all those late nights she’d played Fortnite with the team, you falling asleep with your head in the crook of her neck as she gamed. It’d always ended with her carrying you to bed, tucking you in and wrapping her arms around yours.

“Watch out KK,” Leslie joked. “P is a beast at Smash Bros.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at smashing,” Paige teased, her words dripping with sexual undertones. Everyone groaned, and Leslie giggled, a high pitched and screeching noise that you thought could be used as torture for prisoners if put on replay.

Leslie reached for her margarita, but her movements were sluggish from her tipsy state, causing the alcohol to slosh over the side of the cocktail glass. Immediately, Paige jumped up, hurriedly removing Leslie from her lap as she examined herself. It was only then that you realized that Paige had taken off the sweater she’d arrived with and was now in your grandma’s jersey, a jersey that now sported a large wet stain.

“Leslie, oh my god.” She yelled, her voice panicked. “I told you to be careful.”

“Oh shit, my bad.” Leslie set down her drink and reached for Paige, who stepped backwards and away from her touch.

“You fucker.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew it, and all eyes in the room turned to you. Juju kicked you nervously, but you ignored her. “How could you?” You rushed over to Paige, looking closely at the jersey now reeking with alcohol. You held back tears as you saw the print already starting to fade. The jersey was 60 years old, already fragile and old, and you knew that it was now as good as ruined.

Paige turned to Leslie. “I thought I told you not to fucking drink while you were around me. You know how important this jersey is to me.”

Leslie stood rigid, her expression now calculated. “You guys are being so dramatic. Let me have the jersey. I’ll go wash it and bring it back good as new.”

“Don’t you dare fucking touch it.” You turned from Leslie, gently touching the frayed ends with shaky fingers. “You can’t just wash it. It’ll fall apart. Oh my god, you just ruined one of the only things my grandma left us.” Your voice was choked now, tears forming at your eyes. “Shit!” You slammed your first into the ground in anger.

The team exchanged hesitant looks, worry clear in their eyes. Juju came up from behind you. “Come on, babe,” she whispered. “I’m sure we can do something about it. Let me take a look, hmm?”

You moved aside, but from the look on Juju’s face as the faded patches and stressed seams became visible as she studied it, you knew there was no use. The tears started falling then, an uncontrollable stream that left you feeling broken. “Excuse me,” you whimpered, and you ran into the bathroom, locking yourself inside.

You heard murmurs of the team outside. You heard the front door slam. Soon, someone knocked softly on the door. “It’s Juju,” your friend called, and you resignedly unlocked the door and let her inside before shutting it again.

You slumped down on the ground, you face in your hands. “Oh,” Juju whispered, and she knelt down next to you as you started to sob.

Another knock came in, followed by a tentative voice calling your name. You exchanged looks with Juju, who got up and slipped outside.

“Are you serious right now?” Juju’s voice was muffled, but you could still hear the fury radiating from her words. “You know you’re the reason she’s crying right now?”

“I know.” A pause. “I need to apologize.”

“She doesn’t wanna see you right now.”

You heard Paige‘s sharp intake of breath. “Juju, please.”

You could practically feel Juju’s hesitance, but she must‘ve relented, because when the door opened, it was Paige who stepped in.

#paige bueckers #uconnwbb #anst #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb

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macfrog · 1 year ago

Text

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself��?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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hiddenzev · 9 days ago

Text

Take A Shot : Chapter 1 [ Kick Off ]

Pairing: Joel Miller x soccer player f!reader

Chapter Summary: You return to your hometown where your history with Joel started.

Chapter Warnings --- no beta, fluff, light angst, Idiots in Love, childhood friends

WC: 7.7k

series masterlist, AO3

A/N: Finally another fic is out! I've been busyyy and I know this is not going to be a consistent updating as my previous fic but I will try my best because this was more fun to write. Also, my favourite football (soccer) team is not performing well since a few weeks ago and it's been depressing yall...im not okay...fuckkk Hope yall enjoy this one even tho yall may not be soccer fans.

— May 2024 —

"Dad! Let's go!"

9-year-old Sarah stood by the truck, waiting for her dad to get out of the house. She tapped her foot restlessly, annoyed that Joel was taking longer than expected to get ready to go. She was excited to watch her favourite soccer team, Austin Violet Football Club, play the first game of the new season. She was dressed in the home jersey and shorts, pairing them with the team's scarf around her neck, hair styled as space buns with the help of Joel. The club director invited her to watch the game after signing a 2-year contract for the Austin Violet Football Academy—a part of the Austin Violet FC consisting of both men and women.

Sarah was an aspiring soccer player. She fell in love with the game at 6, when her great-grandmother played it on TV while she was babysitting her. Since then, she had been going on and on about soccer, and Joel signed her up for a youth soccer club nearby that honed her soccer skills to be selected for Austin Violet Football Academy. It was the most ecstatic she had ever felt in her 9 years of a lifetime when Joel told her that she was selected to join the youth academy. Nothing could compare to the endearment in his heart when he witnessed Sarah explode with joy.

"The game ain't going nowhere, baby girl. We still got time." Joel said over his shoulder as he locked the door.

Sarah groaned loudly, exasperated, seeing her dad taking the whole time in the world as if he were doing it intentionally. Her shoulders slumped forward, the AVFC scarf around her neck swaying slightly at both ends to her movement. With keys dangling in his hand, he opened the passenger door for Sarah, and she side-eyed him before climbing into her seat, complaining under her breath. Joel sighed heavily, having to deal with her daughter's attitude again.

-----

The Violet Crown Football Stadium was almost packed with thousands of supporters from the home and away teams. Everyone was hyped with the anticipation of the first game, chanting endlessly, as loud as they could. The setting sun painted the field orange mixed with the green grass, blanketing it with warmth. The smell of summer is swaying to the beat of the surrounding air. Sarah looked around in awe, watching the fans around her cheering for the team. She could not help the smile appearing on her face as she immersed herself in the moment.

They were seated in the suites section, which was where other VIPs, players not in the squad, players' family members, or other relevant individuals were seated. The suites were at the middle level, where the game could be clearly viewed. While Sarah was busy scanning everything around her, Joel was on his phone, talking to Tommy about work.

Even though Joel was supportive of her passion for soccer, he did not take the time to be fully invested in AVFC. He knew the rules of the game and only of her favourite player at the time, Kiara King, the striker for Austin Violet women's team. He supported the team in his own way. Without Sarah's love for soccer, he would not have watched soccer but be indulged in baseball instead. There were underlying emotions and memories stuck deep inside him that he did not want to resurface again whenever soccer came to mind.

"Enough about work; Sarah must be real excited about the game," Tommy said.

"Tell me about it," Joel sighed. "She was rushing me until we got in the stadium today."

Joel turned his head to look at Sarah, whose eyes were sparkling with admiration as she watched the players walk out of the tunnel. The whole stadium roared with claps and howling cheers. It was getting harder to hear Tommy through the phone, with the loud noises filling the stadium.

"I know you don't follow the team that much but they signed a new player at the end of the summer break," Tommy updated him with the news.

"Oh, really?" Joel said in a disinterested voice as he looked down on the field. Due to the distance, he could not see the players' faces.

The display screen started to show each player of the home team while the announcer introduced them one by one, starting with the goalkeeper and slowly progressing to the attackers. The stadium erupted with cheers for each of the players that had been introduced.

"You won't believe who their new signing is," Tommy's voice sounded distorted in Joel's ear.

"I'll call you back later! I cannot hear you right now! The game is starting already. Bye!" Joel shouted into his phone before ending the call without waiting for Tommy's response.

Sarah stood in her seat, jumping up and down, shouting excitedly with the rest of the supporters while Joel stared at her lovingly. The announcer started to announce the midfielders and the name he had long forgotten blasted through the stadium speakers, catching his attention back to the screen and confirming his doubts.

There you were, waving to the crowd that welcomed you with big arms and a smile on your face. The smile that played a significant role in his childhood was now back in town. He was confused with the longing he did not expect to feel as he looked at you, guilt on his face. Suddenly, the noises around the stadium died down—muffled in his ears—the long lost memories with you that he continuously tried to lock away flooded his head. He could not erase the image of you, eyes brimming with tears as you turned to leave him 12 years ago. Out of his life. Now, you were back to haunt him.

"Dad! Look! She's wearing my number!" Sarah shook him out of his thoughts, pointing at your jersey number—20–the same as her birthdate.

What kind of a sick game is the universe playing with him, seeing the coincidence of you wearing Sarah's favourite number on your back.

-----

23 years ago, your family moved from Dallas to Austin due to your father's job, and moving into a new home brought you a lot of emotions. You were excited to live somewhere new but also sad to be unable to be with your friends anymore.

It was the first day of school. You were sitting at your table, waiting for someone to sit beside you as your table partner. The kids in the class looked wary as they came in, not knowing what to expect for the first day. A few kids had reddish eyes because they were crying and were not emotionally ready for 1st grade. You were not one of them.

Your father had already trained you to be tough from the get-go. He was teaching you soccer right when you started learning to walk. Little did you know, he did it to live his dream through yours. He was the definition of tough love. He did not go easy on you during his home training. Sometimes, losing his patience, hurling insults and hitting you, but you took everything like a champ because if not, the anger in him would be thrown toward your mom.

Growing up, you witnessed the treatment that your mom got from him. You got in between them most of the time, wrapping your body around your mom to protect her, but what can a small and frail kid like you could do compared to the tall and big figure of your father?

"Hi! I'm Joel. What's your name?"

A voice beside you brought your mind back to the classroom. You turned your head to find a boy with a smile that could light the whole classroom brighter than it already was. His hand is out towards you, expecting a handshake.

"Hi, Joel." You replied, taking his hand as you gave him your name.

"That's a pretty name," he said, his dimples on display as he smiled, which rendered you speechless. Your heart stopped for a beat at that moment, and it felt very strange because it was the first time you had felt that way, especially by a boy.

"Thank you." You thanked him with a shy smile sent his way.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. He followed you everywhere you went, and you did not mind him at all, enjoying his company. He talked to you about everything, be it his favourite TV show, his favourite animal, or even his embarrassing moments. He was not afraid to tell you about his grandma, who was taking care of him and his baby brother once his mom left after their dad's death the previous year.

You saw his forlorn eyes as he told you the story. You empathised with the amount of hurt in his voice as you listened. In return, you confided in him about your parents. About how strict your father was towards you and how it pained you to see your mother's suffering, not being able to stand up for herself.

You were surprised when he pressed himself against you, arms circling your body. He was hugging you, and you learned that it was his way of comforting not just you but himself as well.

The two of you bonded through the traumas and the amount of time you spent together during and after school. Although, most days after school, you couldn't play with him and the other neighbourhood kids due to your father's intense training sessions, he always filled you in on the things you missed. He always welcomed you like no other kid does. He did not judge you because of the circumstances that you were living in.

Even though he lived at the other end of the street, he would cycle past your house just to see how your training was going in your front yard. Your father had noticed him cycling past a couple of times, but he did not say a word; he only sent his hardened glares towards Joel, which the brave 7-year-old did not cower away from.

There were times when you got distracted by Joel, which resulted in you receiving harsh punishments for not focusing on your training. Tears formed in your eyes from the pain in your body whilst you carried on with the punishments, but that didn't stop you from secretly waving at Joel as he passed by, smiling at you.

On days without training, you joined Joel and the other kids cycling and exploring the neighbourhood. Not afraid to get dirty, you found yourself rolling around in the grass field as you looked at the boys who were playing fights or flying kites. Joel never left your side—always making sure you were taken care of, not wanting you to get in trouble with your father if you got injured while messing around.

Sometimes, he can be too much about the little things—constantly wiping dirt off your face and other parts of your body as if you are not used to it, trying to carry you when you were perfectly fine with walking, or even worse, covering your ears whenever the boys said a bad word which didn't even come close to what you have already heard from your father. You were an independent kid, so you were annoyed when Joel started to treat you like a baby, but you didn't call him out on it, knowing that was just his big brother instincts.

You shared everything about school with your mom whenever you reached home. It was the only time you could comfortably talk with her without Dad's presence in the house. She would coo when you told her about the things Joel did for you, finding it sweet that there's a kind boy out there taking care of you. You complained to her about how Joel was treating you like a baby, thinking she would take your side, but you found her laughing softly at your annoyance.

"I like Joel. He sounds like a good friend, " your mom said softly, caressing your head.

"He is." You nodded your head, looking at her with your big round eyes.

"I'm happy you found a good friend, bubba." She kisses the crown of your head, lips lingering there for a while.

"He found me first, mama." You innocently corrected her, and she just smiled to herself, hugging you tight.

-----

— June 2024 —

Players were lined up in the tunnel, getting ready to get out to the field for the match. According to the positions you play, you were standing in the middle of your team's line, shaking your limbs to rid the nerves away. Each player was allocated a child mascot to walk to the field. There was a girl around the height of your chest, standing beside you. You noticed her staring at you with admiration in her big, round eyes. You instinctively smiled as you bent down to meet her eyes.

"Hi! What's your name?" you asked her in a higher-pitched voice, similar to that you used when talking to kids.

"Sarah," She meekly replied with a bashful smile, still maintaining eye contact with you.

Her smile reminded you of someone, but you could not put a face on it. You ignored the thoughts of her looking familiar to you for some reason.

"Is this your first time being a mascot?"

"Yes," Biting her lip out of being scared.

"You don't have to be nervous, okay? You got me." You reassured her, seeing how nervous she looked.

She nodded her head slowly, trusting you with your words.

"I like your hair, Sarah. It's pretty." Pointing at her space buns as you compliment her, trying to distract her from her overwhelming feelings.

"Thank you. My dad helped me with it." Her eyes widened. She tilted her head towards you to show the work of art her father had created.

"Your dad?! Wow! He did a pretty good job." Your smile grew wider, and you adored how she was bragging about it.

The image of your father crept up in your mind. You cannot help but compare your father to hers. From just hearing that Sarah's father did her hair, you knew that he must be a wonderful dad to her. He definitely adores her so much, even to master the hairstyles for his daughter.

Meanwhile, your father was still psychologically and emotionally abusing you at 30. You were glad to be able to make it to pro, leaving the house, away from his grasp. He will call you after every game—whether your team loses or wins—he will criticise your mistakes. Not once has he said that he was happy and proud of you despite your achievements. After some time, you don't even expect or want to hear that from him. There were times you purposefully ignored his calls, but a few hours later, your mom would be calling as she sobbed, begging you to just listen to what he had to say.

After you left Austin at 18, you told your mom that you would do whatever it took to let her be free from your father. However, she insisted that she loved him too much and could not bear to leave him alone, knowing he would suffer from the fallout. You get that he is the love of her life, but it hurts so much to see the relationship infested with so much toxicity that she thinks it's better to hold on to it instead of letting go.

"Does your dad do your hair, too?" Sarah pointed at your hair, which you had braided.

"No, I did it myself. Is it nice?" You let her touch your hair as you answered her.

"It's so beautiful!" She adoringly exclaimed.

"Aw, thank you!"

You heard the shuffling of the players at the front of the line, starting to move out of the tunnel.

You held out your hand for Sarah to take. "Are you ready to make your dad proud?" You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

She nodded her head vigorously, moving along by your side. The cheering slowly got louder as you walked out, and when you finally stepped into the field, you felt Sarah's hand gripping you tighter. You placed your other hand on hers, caging her hand between both of yours to let her know that you were there with her. You know it's not easy for a kid to walk out to a full stadium that is overwhelming with shouting and cheering.

Eventually, everyone was lined up perfectly, side by side, facing the cameras. The children were standing in front of the players, and you placed your hands on Sarah's shoulders, ensuring she was okay. You noticed her looking up towards the suites section when you followed her gaze. She was probably looking at her father, you thought. However, there were so many faces everywhere that you could not search for and focus on just one person. Hell, you did not even know what her father looked like.

After shaking hands with the opponent team, Sarah and the other kids had to return to the tunnel. Before she went off, she turned to hug you.

"Thank you!" she said while her cheek was pressed in your chest. Her eyes closed as she embraced the moment. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, swaying her from side to side.

"Well, aren't you our lucky charm? Just watch because we're gonna win this game for sure."

She grinned from ear to ear, slowly letting go of you. Ugh, it's annoying that she looked so much like someone you know, but you don't know who exactly it was.

"See you around, you lil angel" You pinched her cheeks before returning to your starting position.

Sarah must have been your lucky charm because your team won that game. Since then, she has always been in your mind whenever you stand in the tunnel before a game. She had quite an impact on you. You never figured out why she looked familiar to you until the day you met her again.

-----

Joel and Sarah were walking hand in hand through the hospital corridor, the unmistakable sterile scent present in the space weighing heavily on their shoulders. The floor was quieter than usual—visiting hours were finishing in a few hours. Sarah was still in her soccer fit from earlier training while her bag was swaying along on Joel's shoulder. Trudging into the wardroom at the end of the hall, Joel let go of Sarah's hand, who ran inside as soon as she saw her great grandma, Nana.

"Nana!" She shouted, rushing towards the bed.

"Look who it is! My bunny!" Nana excitedly opened her arms, waiting for Sarah's hug.

They stayed embracing each other for a period of time—Sarah pressed her cheek on Nana's shoulder while Nana slowly stroked the back of Sarah's head. Joel witnessed the moment that had been a usual occurrence for him recently.

The first time when he got the call from Tommy on the day Nana was admitted to the hospital, he had almost forgotten how to breathe. His stomach plummeted to the ground-hearing the trembling in Tommy's voice saying Nana could have died if he had been late to come back home from work. He did not know how he got to the hospital with Sarah when his head was clouded with worry. He carried Sarah on his back when they got out of the car and went inside as fast as possible.

It was as if someone had ripped his heart out and left him to bleed out alone when his gaze landed on Nana's lying form on the bed with tubes sticking to her body. Nana was his grandma who literally raised both of the Miller brothers—single-handedly—after her daughter left them in her care. So, to see the person who was very dear to him go through something that horrible—heart failure—altered something deep in him for a while.

It had been a week since she was admitted, and Joel was still processing that. This was the second time she had to go to the hospital because her condition seemed to worsen over time. He knew he had to prepare for the worst scenario sooner or later, but he was still in denial about it all—he didn't want to let go of his constant. In a way, he didn't want to face his abandonment issues from the women in his life—his mom, you and Talia.

"How are you, Nana?"

"Never been better." Nana gave Sarah a cheeky wink.

"I saw you on TV yesterday. I'm so proud of you, bunny." Nana leaned in to kiss Sarah on the crown of her head.

"Did you see her? She was standing with me." Sarah was elated to share her experience as a child mascot with you.

"I did! Did you talk to her?" Nana asked.

"She was so nice, Nana. I like her. I think she's my favourite player now." Sarah's eyes were dreamy as she gushed about you to her great-grandma.

"C'mon now, you change your favourite player every month." Nana's voice was flat as she rolled her eyes jokingly at Sarah

"No I don't," Sarah argued, lying through her teeth. Nana was speaking the truth. Sarah changed her favourite player almost every month according to her mood, but this time it was different. To be physically in the presence of the team and the good impression that you made on her struck a chord in her to choose you as her number one player no matter what.

"Whatever you say, bunny."

Joel was already sitting beside the bed, listening to his daughter talk about his childhood best friend. For the past 12 years, he had reflected on what had happened throughout high school. It was a terrible experience for him when he looked back on it—chasing popularity, peer pressure, toxic masculinity, and, for the worst part, leaving you alone in your misery when you needed him the most. His apology was long overdue, and he thought he had already lost the chance to speak to you until you returned.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Nana lowered her voice, which made Sarah lean in slightly, curious about the secret. "I've met her as a kid before." This fact made Sarah part her lips in shock, and her eyebrows shot up fast to her forehead.

"Really?" Sarah's voice was barely louder than a whisper while she stared at Nana.

"Nana—"Joel spoke for the first time to interrupt Nana. He was slightly afraid to let his past and current life crash, not knowing how to handle it if it came to light.

"She is a friend of your father." Nana ignored his warning and continued to tell Sarah the facts about the past.

"She is? You didn't tell me." Sarah swiftly turned around to Joel, furrowing her brows, feeling slightly betrayed that her father had known you personally all this while and kept it a secret.

Joel gave Nana an annoyed look, disappointed that she told Sarah about his connection with you. His jaw tensed before he opened his mouth to explain himself.

"That was a long time ago. We are not friends anymore." That was the best he could say, and he could tell from Nana's expression that she was disappointed in him as she recalled the time she had heard what had happened to you.

"What happened?" Sarah questioned him, paying full attention to him, hearing the story for the first time.

"She left Austin to play professional soccer, and we didn't talk anymore." He shrugged his shoulders as he explained to Sarah in the simplest terms. If it was laid out on the table, the truth was that he fucked up. He did not want Sarah to know that because he wouldn't be able to handle his daughter's disappointment in him.

"Was she a nice person back then, too?" Her big round eyes were still lit with curiosity as she learned new facts about her favourite player.

Joel reminisced about the time he spent knowing you with a longing look in his face. His eyes looked out the window by the bed, absentmindedly, as your face came into his mind, hitting him with all kinds of emotions. Your petite hands were in his as the two of you walked together after school, the soft glow on your face from the warm sunlight and your hair flowing tenderly with the breeze.

"She was," he whispered. A slight curl on one side of his mouth appeared that was not unnoticed by Nana. She had been holding on to the hope that the both of you would make amends someday, and it warmed her heart that the time had finally come closer for it. She missed you a lot. You were like her granddaughter that she never had, not like her mischievous grandsons that gave her headaches. You brought a different kind of joy to her life, and when you told her that you had to leave, both of you were crying in each other's arms. She knew she did not have much time left in this world, and she hoped it wouldn’t be too late to see you again.

-----

— July 2024 —

"You know the drill, right? Just interact with the kids. Watch how they play, give them some advice, and remember to smile. The cameras will follow you around during the shoot." The team's social media manager, Emma, briefed you again as you came into the facility centre to prepare yourself for the shoot.

Filming with kids has always been your favourite. It allows you to stay in touch with your roots and serves as a reminder that there are kids who look up to you, so you have to always set a good example for them.

"I heard that their parents are here too?" You looked at Emma for confirmation.

"Yes. They are sitting in the stands. It will be a surprise appearance for them as well. After the filming, you will take pictures with the players and their families. Got it?"

"Okay, got it."

You got mic'd up while the filming crew settled everything else. Once they were set, you moved quietly to the training field where the young academy players were having a small match amongst themselves. It stroked a sense of nostalgia in you, seeing them running and kicking with their little limbs. Your heart warmed with the memories of you being in a young girl's team, dreaming of being a soccer star.

You heard some murmuring when you walked past the stands where the parents were, but your focus was fixed on the young players. Walking faster as you neared the sideline, one of the girls spotted you and squealed, causing them to stop their actions.

You continued walking towards where the coaches were standing, trying to hide the excitement on your face.

Some of them gasped, covering their mouths, not believing that the first team player had come to watch them.

"Come on, girls! Keep playing!" You clapped your hands, signalling to them to continue playing.

They looked at each other with smiles still stuck on their faces as they slowly moved their bodies again.

You shook hands with the academy team coaches and manager, who were also glad to see you. They talked to you about the players and the drills they went through, so you got the gist of how they ran things. You did a quick scan of all the players, and one of them stood up to you. That player was Sarah. It had been a few weeks since you met her, and you thought about her more than you know. You were enamoured by her innocence that you don't experience in your daily adult life. Wearing the same hairstyle, the blurry mystery face you cannot put together to match her face appeared in your head.

Sarah was playing as the right winger. You were impressed with her movements, especially for someone that young. Both of her feet were well balanced; one leg was not significantly stronger than the other, which meant that she had more of an advantage in her dribbling skills. Her focus on the ball once she got the ball controlled was unwavering, and she was not afraid to take her chances at shooting. You saw the massive potential of a player in her and hoped to see her grow as time went by.

As the game continued, you tried your best to watch the other girls, but your eyes followed Sarah. Compared to the rest, she was significantly versatile—being able to defend as well as her attacking skills. Unbeknownst to you, she was slowly gaining your heart even though you had only met her once.

After the game ended, the girls sat together for debriefing; exhaustion was evident on their faces flushed, strands of hair sticking to their sweaty faces, and eyes fixed on the grass below them. The team's manager and coaches said a few words before letting you take the stage. When it was your turn, the girls turned their heads to you as if they forgot you were there momentarily. Having their full attention, you started talking.

"What do y'all feel about the game?" You asked them.

"Bad." One of the players in the front spoke up, and you later found out that her name was Ellie.

"Why do you feel that way?" You raised an eyebrow at her, not expecting the quick acknowledgement of your question.

"Because Sarah overtook me a few times, and that means I sucked at defending today." Her eyebrows furrowed as she explained—displeased with her own mistakes.

"We all make mistakes sometimes; of course, we feel disappointed when they happen. Even a professional player—like me—makes them. But the mistake is what make us strive to be better. We reflect on it and improve from there." You explained to all of them.

"And the fact that you are aware of your own mistakes tells me that you are one step closer to being a better player than you were before." You smiled reassuringly to Ellie, liking her boldness in speaking her mind.

It's ironic that when you were around their age, you were very critical of your own performance—beating yourself up over something so small because you knew your father would never let it go. You never come around to look at things positively until you meet the other professional players—who became your good friends—during your career.

"Now, tell me what you did good in the game?" You squatted down to be at the same eye level as Ellie.

Ellie opened her mouth but closed it instantly, unable to think of an answer. Her eyes darting around, away from making eye contact with you.

"You've had a couple of good long passes to the forwards, and your tackling form is pretty great,"

"Really?" She said softly—not believing what you said.

"Absolutely! Why would I lie?" Cocking your head to the side, with one brow raised.

Her cheeks raised slightly, tugging the corners of her mouth into a small smile that she tried to hide from you.

You spent another 20 minutes answering the girls' questions—how you first started soccer, how you recovered from your bad injury, and even what boots you wore for your games. You took a group photo together before they dispersed to their parents, waiting for you to take pictures with each family.

You were already halfway done with the team when you spotted Sarah among those in the queue, and you noticed two men standing by her, but it was a quick glance before you were able to take a long look at their faces. The line of players you were taking photos with kept moving slowly as you took your time to get to know each of them properly.

Once you said goodbye to one of the girls, you saw a small figure rushing towards you in the corner of your eyes. As soon as you turned back around, you felt a pair of arms encasing your waist. You looked down and recognised the same space buns that Sarah had when she was one of the child mascots. She looked up at you, chin resting on your stomach while she portrayed a big grin. You cannot help the adoration that came into view on your face while you hugged her back.

"Hi, lil angel!"

"You remember me!" She looked with a mix of surprise and joy on her face.

"How could I forget our lucky charm with this pretty face?" Sarah stared at you with her big, round eyes sparkling with so much admiration that you almost felt guilty for being the subject of that look.

Her grip on you loosened when she turned around, gesturing for-you assumed-her family members to come closer.

"Come and say hi!" She moved away from you to let the two men near you.

Maybe it's the athlete in you that made your eyes move towards their physique first. You noticed they were both almost the same height, taller than you by a couple of inches. Their toned muscles, which were on display for you, seemed to be earned from hard labour instead of the gym. Catching you, scanning their bodies, one of them cleared their throat, making you shift your focus towards him.

He looked way younger than you—clean-shaven with curly, medium-length hair, passing his ears. You sensed that he had an easygoing and friendly demeanour when he introduced himself.

"Hey, how r' ya?" He sounded nervous but still was able to confidently reach out to shake your hand, with an unexplainable look on his face.

You returned the handshake with, "Hi, nice to meet you." You cocked your head slightly to the side, sensing the weird awkwardness coming from him.

You pulled back and looked at him for a moment before glancing at the other man who was standing beside him. You had to do a double take when your gaze landed on that man for a few seconds longer. Your heart suddenly picked up its speed from the recognition. Unexpectedly, a face vaguely reminiscent of your time back in Austin was here.

Joel fucking Miller—the reason for your happiness in Austin, but he was also the one that injected bitterness in your heart in the last few years in it.

His face was different than the one you tried to erase 12 years ago, to no avail; you didn't succeed. Time clearly had worn out his face a little bit—the clean-shaven face back then had been filled with scruffy facial hair, creases on the forehead, and noticeable crow's feet by his eyes. Even so, it only enhanced his features to be more attractive than he already was before.

Joel could not maintain eye contact with you like he used to. You noticed his tensed jaw and darting eyes towards everywhere else except you. He seemed like he wanted to hide in a hole somewhere. Seeing him not in the slightest bit happy to see you again stung you a little. You could not blame him for how he was acting, knowing how bad things were left between you.

You had long moved past it after going to therapy. As time went by, you saw things from a different perspective, in a more mature way, to understand his position at the time. You took the fact that you won't see him again and did your own healing by trying to forgive him for his immaturity back in the day on your own terms since you were not able to talk openly with him.

Now, he was standing before you, and somehow, you felt relieved to see him after all those years.

"Do you recognise me?" The younger man asked you, giving an expectant smile as he waited for you.

You turned your head back to him, still speechless from seeing Joel. He could only be that one person.

"Tommy?" You asked with one brow raised at him.

"Oh! I thought you wouldn't remember my name!" His jaw dropped, and he slowly crept up to a broad smile, a result of the fact that you remembered his name. His hands were rested on his chest from the shock.

"Of course, I remember you. It just took me awhile to recognise you because you look different," you looked at him up and down. "Look at you! You're taller than me now." You gestured at him with your palms opened, waving your hands over his grown body.

"More handsome now, am I right?" He struck a pose, hands bending upwards to point at himself with both thumbs. He sneaked a wink at you, making you jog down memory lane, remembering how his brother winked at you during your younger days.

You huffed a laugh at his boldness, "I see that you never change." You smirked at Tommy, who had just shrugged his shoulders at your remark.

Your ears perked up when you heard Sarah giggling as she watched your interaction with Tommy. For a moment, you had totally forgotten where and what you were doing while talking with Tommy. You glanced at Sarah briefly before looking at Tommy again.

"She's your daughter?" You asked Tommy.

"Ew, no." Sarah scrunched her face in a disgusted way at Tommy. Tommy rolled his eyes at Sarah; you could tell they had a slight sibling-like relationship. From the realisation of their age, you knew that Sarah could not have been Tommy's daughter.

"This is my dad!" She told you proudly as she slid her hand into Joel's.

Your eyes slowly moved up to see Joel staring at you with an unreadable gaze. You used to be able to tell what he was thinking just by looking at him, but the time apart had faded your ability to do so.

You did not know that he had a daughter. You wouldn't have known because you had cut off contact with him and the people who had wronged you after you left. After a few years, when you had moved on with the past, you were tempted to know how he was doing, but you did not bother to do anything about it, afraid of what feelings might come to the surface.

You wondered who Sarah's mom was, and guessing her age, you assumed that Talia might have been the one. Talia was the cause of your nightmare in high school. Thinking about what she did always made your blood simmer with hatred. You could forgive Joel, but Talia was that mean bitch that would take you so much longer to make peace with. With Sarah coming around, you assumed that Joel must have made her his wife, and it almost made the food that was processed in your stomach come back up your throat.

"I-I didn't know that," you tried to hide your surprise but the way your voice strained at the start was obvious to anyone. Your eyes went back and forth between him and Sarah. Finally, you could see the unmistakable similarities between them as they stood side by side.

You squatted down in front of Sarah, gazing up at her with newfound adoration. "So you're a Miller, huh?" A soft smile on your face as you stated the information that you had just learned.

"Sarah Miller," she nodded her head.

"Well, I should have asked for your last name. You looked so familiar when I saw you that time," you tilted your head as you slowly traced her face with your eyes.

"I did?" She looked up at Joel for a few seconds, and you followed her gaze. Joel was standing still, eyes darting between you and Sarah.

"I'm way prettier, though." She blurted out after turning back to you.

You involuntarily snorted, hearing her comparison with Joel. "Of course you are," you beamed at her confidence which she definitely did not inherit from her dad, "but you both have the same distracting smile."

"What does that mean?" She furrowed her brows.

"It means that you have a beautiful smile, just like your dad when he was your age." You gently poked her cheeks with your index fingers, which made her smile.

Both of you were smiling to each other when Emma reminded you to quickly take the pictures. You stood up and held your hand out at Sarah, who gladly took it to follow you, standing in front of the camera.

"Okay, what serious pose do you wanna do?"

Sarah crossed her arms without hesitation and puffed out her chest as best she could. She lifted her chin up, pursing her lips with knitted brows to seem fierce. You smirked at her actions, finding her adorable, before striking the same pose beside her.

The second one was a fun pose. She had you piggyback her, and the two of you were laughing as the photographer caught the moment. Your eyes flicked at Joel and Tommy, who were looking on behind the photographer. Joel was staring at you with a forlorn look, which you did not miss before he tensed up when he caught you looking at him.

"Good. Now, with the family." The photographer said, turning to Joel and Tommy.

The Miller brothers stepped forward to stand beside you, one on each side. Sarah was standing in front of you with your hands on her shoulders. Your heart started to beat faster as Joel came near you. He put a certain distance between you both when he stood beside you.

"Closer, please." The photographer gestured with one hand at Joel and ordered him to stand closer towards you.

Joel reluctantly took a step closer, which resulted in his arm brushing against yours. That made you stand still as you felt tingles running up your arms to your neck. Sarah turned her head slightly from the instinctive tightening grip of your hands on her shoulders. You relaxed your hands in a flash when you realised that you could have hurt her.

"One, two, three!" The photographer raised his voice slightly, and you heard the camera clicking away. He stopped and lowered the camera, not satisfied with your expression.

"You gotta smile," He portrayed his own smile, looking at you and Joel.

You turned your head to glance at Joel, and you saw him looking at you from the corner of his eyes when he noticed your movement. In an instant, you looked back at the front to see that the photographer was ready to continue taking photos. This time, you smiled without fail.

Once it was done, Sarah turned around to say goodbye. You bent down slightly with open arms, and she gladly reached around you to snuggle against your chest. With warmth enveloping your heart, you closed your eyes and rested your chin on her head, taking in the sweet moment with her.

Tommy looked at both of you with eyes representing relief. He remembered you fondly because he regarded you as his older sister. You had come over to the house often to play with him and, oftentimes, look after him when Joel was not around. Unlike his older brother, you were gentle and kind to him. He was 11 when you left, and it broke his heart that his caring older sister was moving away. He blamed Joel for it for a while and showed resentment towards him. He heard rumours about what had happened from the kids in the neighbourhood who went to the same high school as you and Joel. He didn't know the truth of it all until he was grown enough to learn about the whole story from Joel.

Tommy took a peek at Joel, who was standing beside you. He could tell that Joel had missed you too, even though he had not said it out loud for the past 12 years. He did not have to because with one look in his eyes, Tommy could feel his longing. He knew that his brother still felt guilty about what had happened, but all that he wanted was that the both of you could make up for it because he missed his family before the emotional hurricane happened.

You cleared your throat from the awkwardness after Sarah held her dad's hand again.

"So, y'all heading straight home after this?" You tried to find the courage to look at Joel, who was already staring at you but failed to do so, finding comfort in Tommy instead.

"We're going to the hospital to visit Nana," Sarah blurted out which made you snapped your head towards her with a frown on your face.

"Sarah—"Joel quickly

"Nana is in the hospital?" Your voice was high-pitched when you took in the new information. You were still frowning when you shifted your gaze to Joel.

"You don't need to worry about it." Joel tried to dismiss it, but you were obviously not satisfied with his answer.

"What happened to Nana?" You took a step closer to him, which caused him to instinctively move a step away from you.

"Nothing." He avoided looking at you and gripped Sarah's hand tighter, pulling her away to escape. You stood there, watching him leave.

Tommy hesitated to move as he witnessed what had just happened. He touched the side of your arms to lessen your worry. Then, reaching into his pocket, he took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to you.

"There's my number in there, so feel free to call anytime. You can ask me about anything, and I will try my best to answer it. I miss you, sis. It's great to see you again." Teary-eyed, Tommy opened his arms slightly, wanting to hug you after 12 long years.

You welcomed him by wrapping his neck with your arms, tip-toeing slightly from his height. His grip around you was tight as he swayed you from side to side.

"I miss you too, baby boy," you whispered in his ears, tears lingering on the edge of your eyes.

"I'm not a baby," he argued with an annoyed tone, just like when he was younger, fighting that he was just a boy and not a baby.

"You're still a baby to me." You pulled back with a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to cry, while you looked at his 24-year-old face.

Tommy let you go and returned to a mischievous look, "Call me, okay?" You nodded. "I'll see you around." He winked before jogging away to catch up with his brother and niece.

next part

#take a shot fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller au #joel miller x f!reader #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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icarusredwings · 3 months ago

Text

Snippet of my one fic series im calling

"Finding home."

This comes after DOG TAGS. They're spending the night at the Xmen mansion when someone pays them a visit. Established Poolverine.

Warning: Wade is just.. Wade. Logan (worst wolverine) is learning to stand up for himself, Complicated stuff with Jean Grey and other xmen characters. Post unknown context.

Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff.

Coming into the room, Logan had found Wade lying down. Sprawled out beautifully like a dame in one of those fancy paintings. As if he was worn out. This had pleased him greatly. It meant he had so much fun that he was satisfied with the level of exercise and socialization for today. Something that was a rare sight.

Walking over, he climbed into the bed with a big smirk, pulling him close, underneath him.

“Hey..”

“Hi.”

He chuckled softly, starting to kiss him all over. The kind of kisses that meant he was hungry for something more, already nipping at his lips and his neck. Putting his head back into the silk pillows Wade groaned, putting his hands up to the back of his head, beginning to pet him.

Sliding his shirt up, It wasn't often that Logan let himself wonder so confidently. Which is why Wade whined, his stomach fluttery a bit as he groaned. Maybe it was because Logan was leaving a trail of nips down his abdomen or maybe it was because of how nauseous he was getting, but something wasn't right.

“Oh god. I usually would never in a billion life times say this but.. Stop?” What ever has gotten into Logan had got him good because he only chuckled again and bit his ear, Holding him by the hem of his jeans. “Sorry, Bub, But you're all mine now. Stuck with me. So get used to it because you're gonna be scr-”

“Logan Stop.”

Almost instantly, Like a switch he sat up, No longer touching him. In Fact the look he gave him was filled with concern and almost ashamed for the things he's done. For not stopping the first time. There've been plenty of times where stop didn't actually mean it, but he knew better when it was said in that tone.

This only made Wade pout more. Look at him!! All confident and ready to play the way they've been training his self confidence for. And the dirty talk too? Come on! How he was sitting like this? All obedient and worried for him? Ugh! He only wanted to fuck him more now. It wasn't fair.

“I'm gonna puke.” He stated a quick explanation that made the man frown, his thoughts instantly going to because of him, as if he were too gross to play with, but a single brain cell pipped up as he remembered his dear fiancé was not new to throwing up.

“If… if you don't mind. Do you think we could just cuddle tonight?” He asked, looking almost ashamed of himself too, feeling bad for turning him away.

“Yes. I mean- Of course… Do you want help?” Watching him light up like a puppy with hope to be helpful.

Wade couldn't help but stifle a laugh, giggling after the scoff. “Can you hand me that trash can? And.. maybe look away. Or something.” He muttered, not liking when people saw him so gross, especially not him. No one wanted to kiss you with vomit in your mouth. Within a few seconds, He fetched the trash can, sitting next to him as he rubbed his back.

“You're alright.” He whispered, reassuring Wade that it was okay, that he could do whatever he needed to do, and no one would be mad at him. Sometimes, he became upset with himself for times like this. Thought it ruined the moment, and past shitty hookups have convinced him it was true and his fault.

This was the opposite of looking away, but no one really wanted to be alone when sick.

“You're burning up…” he mummbled, looking away but kept his hand on him as he hurled, gagging and grunting how much he hated doing this.

Listening to him try to catch his breath was the worst part for him, knowing how sensitive he was to unauthorized breath play and cancer didn't exactly believe in safe words.

“I know.. I know.” It took him about a month to finally get it when he first moved in, that Wade wasn't lean and thin because he wanted to be, Rather, he could barely keep anything down some days.

“It's alright. Hey. You're okay. I got you.” He whispers to him. Wade put his head back, tears in his eyes as he breathed deep and slow.

“There we go. Better?”

Starting to nod, this quickly became a shake of his head, putting his head in that trash can again. Oh, the poor thing…

Opening the door, Logan swallowed as he saw her. “Hey…”

To make matters worse, there was a knock at the door. God, they couldn't catch a break, could they? Without even getting a chance to ask, Wade went off to the bathroom, slamming the door. He always did prefer a toilet, really. It's much easier to throw your guts up when you don't have to worry about holding a bucket full of vomit. Much easier to clean up too, just flush it instead of rinsing it and cleaning it with soap.

“Erm.. Hi?”

“Look.. Logan I- We.. we're sorry. For everything.”

Crossing his arms he looked away, leaning against the door frame. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes. You very much do. You claim that you're different, but the way you've been acting shows that we even hurt you in your timeline, too. So.. While I don't know what we did then, I want us to be on good terms.”

“Us?” He asked, a little confused, shaking his head a bit. “Jean.. that was a long time ago. And you're not even the same person. I'm not even the same person.”

Blinking, Logan looked outside of the door, as if trying to see if there was anyone else. “I'm sorry- this is bothering me. We?? Who's we?”

“I know.. but that doesn't mean we can't apologize... Maybe start over? We would like that."

“Well.. you know how he can be.”

“Jean, Usually when people apologize, they're in person and say it to their face. Not send their pregnant wife to come confront them by herself.”

A Small look of horror came to her face, as if she hadn't told anyone else yet. A look that said ‘How did you know?’ But she only sighed.

“Only ever what mattered…” His nose crinkled a bit, Able to smell it. She wasn't far enough along for him to tell if it was a boy or a girl, but the baby was healthy. That's all that did matter to him. There was nothing wrong with worrying for a friend's child.. was there?

“I never could hide anything from you...Could I?”

“Logan, Please. He really is sorry. He's just.. you know.. with the school and you of all people know how much a man's egos can get in the way of things...” She mumbled, taking his hand, rubbing over his knuckles.

She wasn't even doing anything with her powers, and yet he felt this intense wave of relief fall over him, only for it to be instantly covered with a sense of protectiveness. She always had that effect on him. He wanted to protect her no matter what.

Swallowing again, he pulled his hand away as it started to sweat.

“That's exactly my point.. If he actually was sorry and believed he did do something wrong, He'd be standing here with you, now wouldn't he?”

“That's not-”

“I'm not finished!” He growled, tired of being spoken over. Wade did a hell of a job to connect his emotions to his mouth, and now he wasn't shutting it off. He worked hard to turn his grunts into words. And she would litsen.

Becoming quiet, she nodded, Implying that he could finish without another interruption.

Taking her other hand, he held both of them.

“I know you're an independent woman. You always have been. But you shouldn't have too. You need a man that will not only defend you, but will take care of you, and stand next to you for things like this.”

This speechless promise quickly becomes a lie. “Logan-” Her eyes were almost… hopeful.

Tears welled in her eyes but wouldn't let them drop.

“I'm not that man.” He started, shaking his head slowly as he did, not wanting her to get any ideas.

“Not anymore… Do you understand? Hell, Even Forge stands up for Ororo and would defend her until his last breath despite her practically being an all-powerful weather goddess!... and your husband won't even stand next to you while saying sorry? Think about it.”

“F-for what?”

“Jean, I'm sorry.”

“Because I'm happy. I was never going to fit into your marriage. Not ever. Not… well. At least. Everyone thinks that relationships are finding someone who matches your puzzle piece. When in reality it's finding someone who's willing to change pieces to fit. I mean- I'm engaged now!” He whispered this bit, almost excited, leaning down some to talk to her.

“Is.. he okay?” She asks.

“How crazy is that? The Wolverine settling down? Crazy to think about. And with a dying maniac at that.” He smiles, only to frown, hearing a big cough and a groan of frustration from the bathroom. “Oohh Fuck..” It said.

He now stands, putting his hands in his pockets. “He gets tummy aches.” He lied, whispering. “Gluten sensitivity.”

“Ooh…then why is he-”

Just before she could say it, Wade came out with a stretch, seeming better as he dramatically held his stomach.

“We're pregnant!!”

“No- we are not.”

“Pfft-” snickering some, Logan put his hand to his face, rubbing it embarrassedly.

“Oh we so are! Don't you remember? It's the only reason he's marrying me really. Got me knocked up and now we're having A shotgun wedding. How scandalous! I can see the headlines now.”

“There's not going to be any headlines, you lunatic!” He chuckled, almost at the brink of giggling.

A frown came to her face, only to softly smile.

“... I've never seen you laugh like that before.”

“Huh? Oh… heh.. yeah. I uhm… I didn't know that I could..”

“Hmm.. Well.. I guess I should be going..” She whispered. “Leave you two alone..” Turning to leave, she had mixed feelings about the interaction. Happy for him yes, but also now had other topics to think about.

“Mmh.. Yeah.. Oh- And Jean?”

Turning, the hope in her eyes made him frown, feeling sort of bad for being kind of a jerk to a pregnant lady. “When Scott grows some balls? He knows where to find me.”

Sighing, she nods. “…Goodnight, Logan.”

“ ‘Night.”

Closing the door, he came back to bed, still giggling a bit. “Why did you tell her we're pregnant? I can't get you pregnant, idiot.”

Laying on the bed, Wade looked slightly offended. “Are you calling me a liar!?”

“I'm calling you the biggest liar.”

He shrugged. “Oh well. And who knows? Maybe I got a cancer baby in there or something.”

Rolling his eyes, He climbed under the blanket with him. “Oh shut up. You don't have a cancer baby.”

“You never know…So…marrying a dying maniac?”

“Oh… how much of that did you hear?”

Grunting, He rolled over, Putting his face in his hands again. “Nngh.. I'm sorry.. I didn't mean for you to hear all that..”

“The bathroom has surprisingly thin walls.”

“It's alright. It's always nice knowing that you're just as big of a whore as I am.”

“Hey! Am not! It was just… complicated.”

“That's what whores say when they can't pick one dick to ride” he giggled, Rolling over to climb into his chest, nuzzling up under his chin.

“Are…are you sure you aren't happier... here?” He asked, the questions slipping out.

So many things were running through his mind, things that he probably shouldn't be thinking but he's learned that as long as it stays in his head, no one would get hurt… except.. that was the hard part.

Logan let out a deep sigh. “Wade?”

“I mean- Do you even like that i'm with Vanessa? What were you doing? Being a barrack bunny? But for the mansion? The mansions personally sex pet or some kinky shit like that?”

“Yeah, yeah.. shut up.. I know...”

“Wade.”

“hm?”

“I let you cut up my dog tags…and turn them into a ring”

“Technically Forge did that- actually.”

“.. a ring that you own now.. right?”

“Uh… yes?”

“And dogs go with their tags.. right?”

“I guess so?”

For a few seconds there was silence.

“So what does that mean?”

“25- no! 26. I'm pretty sure it's 26.”

“What?” He laughed. “That wasn't even a math question.”

“Ugh, just tell me. I'm not good at stupid riddles! If I ever met the riddler I'd just shoot him in the face.”

“The who-? erm, nevermind. If the tags belong to me. Yes?”

“Ok..”

“And now you own them. Yeah?”

“Okay..”

“Then that means..”

Blinking, he suddenly gasped a few seconds later, going into a giggle fit as he held him tight. “Oohh!! I wanna get married!”

“We will. Just not yet.”

“Tomorrow!!”

“No-”

“Why!?”

He wasn't tucking and running anymore. He would stay like a loyal mutt. As long as he wore that ring on his finger, he'd follow him. Whether here, or at that shitty apartment. He didn't care which.

“Because.. you deserve a good one. And good ones aren't planned overnight.” Logan smiled.

“And for your information… I was always the Barrack bunny..”

“GASSSP!! No way!! Same!”

“Yeah I figured that much… and.. As for Vanessa? We're inviting her to the wedding right?”

“Obviously. Duh.”

“.. Go ahead and kiss her after me.”

“Shut up and take orders, Wilson.”

“Really? But that’s- I don't think-”

“Yes sir!.. erm... peanut?”

“Do you still want too?....you know”

“Hm?” It was these late night talks that really made him enjoy having him around. The pressure on his chest, the gabbing, the giggles. It made him feel young again.

“Eh.. not really. 'm tired."

“Oh thank god! My stomach is killing me.” He groaned. Shifting them to lay on his side, Logan pulled him close into his chest, rubbing his stomach softly.

“Behave, Jr.” He mumbled, earning himself another laugh and a deep kiss. “Mmh..” intertwining their hands, Wade curled up against him, happy as always just to be next to him.

“...I love you..” Holding him in his arms as he said this, he felt embarrassed and almost.. nervous. As if he wouldn't say it back. But if there was anything about Wade he knew, it's that he'd never skip a beat to reciprocate affection.. something he wasn't used too.

“..How much?” Usually, he wouldn't ask such childish things. But Tonight? He might have needed it.

“I love you too, Logan. A lot.”

“I'd fight the entire world.”

“You do that anyway. More than tacos?”

“Woah there, Angelcakes! Know your place.”

They both laugh, the giggles die down, and snoring replaces the sounds.

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yyokkki · 1 year ago

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Asking to Sketch Them

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit

You’re gonna have to schedule an appointment with Vil’s manager first darling, but, because you’re his friend he will accept the request free of charge

Literally started this entire hc series because of this man, the way I draw him does not match up to his standards whatsoever

The best model you could ask for, because it’s Vil so of course, but Pomefiore can prepare any set you ask for in the snap of a finger and they’re giving you a free spa treatment after this???

And that’s exactly why he’s the worst model you could get

Pressure cranked up to 100%

His face is so symmetrical and oh god rook is breathing over your shoulder, staring as you work and he hasn’t blinked in a w h I l e

Once you’re done Vil gives a balanced amount of positive feedback and helpful criticism

But rook

Dude is n it p ic k y, there’s no malice but the guy is intensely observing everything Vil does daily so he definitely has stuff to say no matter how good you do

If you don’t mind the bone crushing pressure, this is probably the most helpful session you could get with genuinely good advice and tips at least in the realm of drawing people as beautiful as Vil

Its either -100/10 or 100/10 depending on how much pressure you put on yourself im sorry but if I were asked to draw a portrait of fucking Beyonce while she sat right in front of me I would cry

Rook Hunt

Boy is grinning ear to ear

Contrary to… Above, Rook is very happy to model for you

Rook is very skilled at staying still for prolonged periods of time even in the most precarious positions so go crazy (revenge)

Usually he’s the observer so to be the one being observed is kind of nice to him in a way

Once you’re done he improvs a unique poem about your masterpiece and how much he loves it

Whether it’s stickman or hyperrealism on ms paint, he’s framing your work and hanging it up in his room

Next thing you know there’s a scented letter full of flowery poems detailing his gratefulness and his awe at your skill, as well as a huge oil painting of you ready to be hung up somewhere in Ramshackle dorm

This stuff probably comes naturally to him

9/10 Actually quite pleasant for, well, Rook

Epel Felmier

Vil hasn’t gotten around to teaching him how to pose for portraits yet cuz he’s really trying to hammer in the basics first but he will do his best!!

After you actually manage to convince him to do it that is

Posing for a portrait sounds stiff and boring and he’s already forced to put up with that everyday at his dorm

Bribes? Pomefiore basically has everything he needs and more

Food? Vil is gonna kill him if he eats anything outside his meal plans

A place to hide from Vil? Ramshackle is falling apart, he breaks in visits every other day with the other first years already

Your hand in marriage? I don’t think you should be offering something like that for a portrait

A competition? Ya bet yer ass I’m winnin

And now you’re drawing Epel while Epel is drawing you, with the other first years acting as judges

Honestly pretty fun, the atmosphere is light hearted

The other first years are arguing at the side and both of you aren’t super cut throat about it, cracking jokes and laughing at the dumbass combo whenever they do or say something distracting

You exchange the portraits at the end and Epel actually had a good time so it’s a win win situation and yall get to have a sleepover later

He challenges you to an apple carving competition next

8/10 Turned into more of a first year hangout but it was a good time so who’s complaining

-----

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst headcanons #twst x reader #twisted wonderland pomefiore #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier

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gayelderstourney · 1 year ago

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OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 2

Propaganda:

Irving Bailiff/Burt Goodman:

they are TRAPPED in capitalist dystopian hell and yet gay love persists. literally they are fighting for their got damn lives to be gay. they've been subjected to evil fucked up brain surgery to make them forget who they are outside of the workplace and yet. AND YET. they fall in love INSIDE the workplace and gain the desire to fight their oppressors so they can do old man yaoi activities. i forgot to take my adderall today sorry im not forming coherent thoughts but they made christopher walken yaoi real

They have only ever experienced being at work and are desperately trying to find meaning with no memory of the outside world. Fraternization is against the rules as well. The yearning is so much.

they are 2 sad old men who are in forbidden love. they bond over a mutal love of corporate art & company tote bags. their love inspired Irving to rebel against his employers for the first time ever. Burt is even Christopher Walken.

They’re so quietly sweet and heart-wrenching… fell in love on the ‘inside’ (they both work a job that ‘severs’ their work memories from their out-of-work memories; inside the job, they have no idea who they are on the outside or what the world is like, but they found each other and found a little bit of love and meaning and happiness inside the nightmare corporate world that is their job)

canonically in love with each other! in the show people sever their consciousness so they aren't aware when they're working. this creates a separate person that only exists while they're at the office, who doesn't share any memories with the person they are on the outside. these two old men bond and find comfort in each other despite the dystopian hell situation they're in

Old men having a forbidden romance while stuck in a hellish workplace dystopia

These two old men know nothing outside of their company propaganda, which says romance is forbidden, and they still choose each other. They bond over paintings, discuss company policy in each other's arms like they're debating scripture on whether their love is allowed. They're sooo gay and it's so sweet to see true, canonical old man yaoi

Weird old man office romance except they only exist inside the bounds of the world’s worst office building and they go on a little date to a room full of plastic plants

Ravenpaw/Barley:

kitties who were outcast from previous groups they were a part of and find and live with each other. they are canonical mates even though theyre both dudes. they grow old together, but ravenpaw gets cancer and dies before barley (he lives to be considered old in warrior cats years). however ravenpaw wanted to be in the same kitty afterlife that barley will go to, so they can be together in kitty afterlife. barley is still alive though as far as we know and might be the oldest living cat in the series now. also i just think its funny to call little kitty cats "old man yaoi"

#polls #round 2 #tournament poll #gay elders tourney #severance #irving bailiff #burt goodman #birving #warrior cats #warriors #ravenpaw #barley #ravenbarley

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madlittlecriminal · 9 months ago

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[02] Secret Ingredient⥓ Mafia!Miguel O'Hara × Female!Baker!Reader

y'all, im sorry. i was sick. im back now though, so hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: mention of losing sleep, mentions of dana, mention of brothels, mentions of exotic dancer clubs

series masterlist | miguel o'hara masterlist

Miguel lost sleep that week.

The fact that you were the owner of the bakery he had his eye on was upsetting. Even though he still had to get to know you, he wasn't sure if he could if there was a possibility of falling in love with you and he wasn't sure if he was ready to risk it. Obviously, there were other reasons why his relationship with Dana ended. It was true that he didn't want her to have control over his club, but it stemmed from more than just business partnership.

Dana wanted to be the owner because she wanted to change things and he didn't want that. She wanted to make it into a brothel, but he didn't want that. Not only did he already have exotic dancers at their own clubs that catered to all genders since he preferred being inclusive, but he also hated thinking of how some men are gross and just disrespectful. In his clubs, he had strict rules, and he knew Dana wouldn't have enforced those rules; he didn't want it to come bite him in the ass.

This was different though.

You were different.

He felt weird, going to the club earlier just to get the chance to see you.

He hasn't stepped foot in your bakery since he met you. Lyla and Jess have been on his ass about meeting you again. They couldn't understand why their boss was being weird about a woman, but Peter did.

Miguel had a conversation with Peter which helped him out a little, but he wouldn't admit it to his face; he had to push his shy boy out the way in order to talk to you, but he didn't know how.

So, he decided to pay you a visit on his day off at Alchemax.

You were dealing with a girl who was currently doing cake testing for her quince (sweet 15) which made him smile softly when you gave her a piece of Neapolitan cake since she couldn't decide between chocolate, vanilla and strawberry.

"This is the alternative if you don't want to do separate layers of cake." You say, making Miguel's body tingle with heat as red painted his cheeks.

He quickly concluded that he could listen to you talk for hours.

"It's amazing!" The fourteen-year-old jumped a little after swallowing the piece of cake, making you smile.

"I'm glad you like it." You look up and give Miguel a grin, making his legs shake slightly.

"We'll take this one." Her father said with a grin while ruffling his daughter's hair and pulling out his wallet.

"Great! When do you need it by?" You ask, tilting your head to the side as you look between the mother, the father and the daughter.

"About four months from now. It's the last thing we need."

You nod, giving them the price of the deposit and taking the list of cake ideas from the girl before bidding goodbye.

When they left, your eyes met Miguel's again, making his heart race.

"How can I help you?" You scan him quickly, taking note of his leather jacket, the white shirt that peaked from underneath it along with his black jeans and the same ruby colored sunglasses from your first encounter.

He gives you a shy smile before looking at the desserts, biting the inside of this cheek. "Surprise me."

You raise a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

He nods.

"You hardly know me and you're trusting me to surprise you with a dessert?"

He nods again.

"What if I poison you?" You joke.

"Querida, if you wanted to poison me, you would've done it when we first met." He states. (Darling/Dear)

You blink up at him before opening your mouth to say something, closing it and repeating the process once more before turning your back and grabbing gloves, a wax tissue sheet along with a paper bag and making your way to the kitchen.

His face goes red with embarrassment as he looks at the ground. He makes his foot graze your tiles like a child embarrassed or shy to ask a question. However, he noticed one of your tiles were cracked and another that was actually missing.

"Ah, don't mind the floor. It happened two days ago." You rest the bag on the counter that contained a few pieces of tamriyeh that you just finished preparing.

"How?" He asks, tilting his head to the side.

"A woman stomped her bulky heels on the cracked one and she kicked the other when she saw it was loose." You explain with a shrug before giving him the total.

He raises a brow before giving you $10. "Why did she do that?"

You snicker. "She was annoyed I got her order wrong, telling me I was a fake baker because my treats weren't as good as her mother in law's desserts, but I never advertised them to be better."

He rolls his eyes at the ignorance of the woman and takes the bag. "Thank you. Keep the change and don't worry about the receipt."

You sigh. "Are you ever going to ask for the change or the receipt?"

"Probably not. Have a good day and stay safe." He walks out, leaving you stunned.

"When I catch you, Ruby..." You say softly as you watch his tall figure walk away with a glare before taking the receipt and putting it away and putting the cash in the register.

———

tags:

@deputy-videogamer @barbiecrocs @deepinballs @faimmm @wakeupr41 @bubblegumfanfics @smartyren @kimmis-stuff @latenightcravingz @youcantseem3 @corpsebridenightamare @thedevax @cicithemess @diannana

*if you do not get the notification, i put the link of your blogs because it wasn't allowing me to tag you.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #marvel #mcu #marvel universe #reader insert #miguel spiderverse #spider man 2099 #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #x reader

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these-posts-arent-real · 6 months ago

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(masterpost link)

Aaand we have returned to the madness on a larger scale! What are these cats up to...

#sighh #i know i've been away from dash sim posting for a while #was dealing with my last few days of school #but #that is Over Now #i can return to fulfilling everyone's need for Warrior Cats But Tumblr

57 notes

🐦 s3afow1s--sc0wl Follow

PLEASE stop talking about the most recent TTDV slates without spoilers, it hasn't made its rounds to ShadowClan yet and I don't want to know what's going to happen before I read it!!!!

#ttdv discussion #ttdv:rp #through the desert vast #ttdv: rattlesnake path #ttdv #through the desert vast: rattlesnake path #especially since i heard the newest slates have seafowl in them a lot #he's my specialest guy...

9 notes

🔁 🛤 carnation-stem-02 reblogged

🍲 ex-thundrclan-kipper Follow

I think the worst thing about no longer being a Clan cat is that a lot of the time I have no idea what y'all over there are talking about. What is TTDV?

🦁 lionsight-x3 Follow

TTDV stands for Through the Desert Vast. It's a new slate series everyone's going bee-brained over... I haven't read it yet because I prefer for a series to be finished before reading, but I've heard good things. Queer rep within the first couple chapters of the first slate-set, a non-traditional setting and cast (a rogue group living in the desert), and complex characters... needless to say I'm excited for when it finishes and I can read it!

#it's been on my to-read list for a while #maybe this is a sign #it seems pretty cool #ttdv

2,070 notes

🔁 🐦 s3afow1s--sc0wl reblogged

⛰️ fc-rockpaint Follow

In honor of Through the Desert Vast becoming popular, I've decided to make a rock-dye project on all of the main characters. Today's character is... Seafowl!

Unfortunately I don't have the right paints to portray him accurately (I haven't been able to find any white herbs for his patches, but I'm still on the lookout!) but this is mostly accurate to how he is described in the slates.

🌠 nightshade-tast3s-yummy Follow

Pssst... @s3afow1s--sc0wl

#eeeek! seafowl! #i looove him so much... my precious boy... #art #ttdv #ttdv seafowl #thanks for the tag!

162 notes

🔁 🌻 l1llyst3m reblogged

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

Aahhhh I've finally gotten into TTDV and... NOBODY was gonna tellme that one of the characters is heavily implied to be transfem? Nobody thought I'd find this interesting????

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

SCRATCH THAT. IT'S CANON. PIT VIPER IS CANONICALLY TRANS.

🐚 hermitcrabfriend Follow

I had wondered if you were talking about Pit Viper when I saw this post a cople days ago! Apparently so ^w^ yeah, it's canon, gets confirmed in the second slate set.

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

This makes me wonder. Why is everyone on this site talking about Seafowl saying he gives "egg vibes" when we have. An actual confirmed trans character. Right here.

Nothing against Seafowl but the only vibe he gives off to me is traumatized.

🏞 trouttail-prefers-bass Follow

He's your typical prettyboy cishet protagonist type and everyone is pissed off that he's a side character rather than ttdv's ✨️specialest boy✨️. So they're trying to make him special by claiming he gives off trans vibes when he clearly does not and is happy as a tom.

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

#wait till op reads rattlesnake path

What do you mean by that-

#what do you MEAN by that— #im gonna need context #is this /pos or /neg #does something bad happen in rattlesnake path?? #help someone pls #through the desert vast #ttdv

103 notes

🔁 🥬 rxttencatmint reblogged

🥬 rxttencatmint

Im so fucking irritated... my mom wont let me read TTDV because it's "inApPrOpRiAtE." Which. Of course. Is because it has lgbtqia+ characters.

🥬 rxttencatmint

WONDEDFUL NEWS. MY MENTOR LET ME BORROW HIS COPY OF THE FIRST SET. AHHHHH!!!!! I GET TO READ IT!!

#YIPPEEEEE #òwó im so exCITED!!! #ive been wanting to read ttdv for a whileee #i love my mentor sm

5 notes

🪵 i-eat-moss Follow

My unpopular opinion (TTDV:RP SPOILERS INCOMING)

Keep reading

#ttdv:rp #ttdv #rattlesnake path spoilers #ttdv spoilers #ttdv:rp spoilers #nothing against pit viper!!! #i like her as a character #i just dont get why we got a whole book explaining her backstory

203 notes

🐚 hermitcrabfriend Follow

I LOOOOVE RATTLESNAKE PATH SO MUCH. IVE JUST GOTTEN TO READ IT AND IM SO EXCITED. OMG.

Not only is it a whole set dedicated to my favorite character !!! like a dream come true!!! It ALSO contains good intersex rep (Ball Python my beloved!!!). Over all just a FANTASTIC set in a fantastic series.

12 notes

🌱 dirtdigger-23 Follow

I'm... back?? I'M BACK ON CLANBLR!!!! WOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO

#i thought i'd never get back #stuck on Tumblr...

0 notes

🍽 the-post-maker

I hope y'all enjoyed this insight into what the cats do when they get fandom-y... and if you want to discuss TtDV further... well, there's a server for that ;) now back to your regular dash

#dashboard simulator #fake dashboard #fakeposting #dash sim #dash simulator #fake dash #warriors dashboard sim #warrior cats dashboard #warriors dashboard simulator #warrior cats #clanblr #“slate set” refers to our idea of a book #one slate = one page #“slate series” = our idea of a book series #these posts arent real #cat dashboard simulator #dashboard sim #unreality

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heartrender6 · 2 years ago

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most of the kuwei hate in this fandom is absolutely racially motivated and most of it is probably subconscious but i NEED to talk about this.

and not because i think people r thinking "i hate kuwei!! he's asian and i hate asians!!" tbh most anti asian racism on the internet goes way deeper than that.

basically, what i believe to be the most prominent type of racism against asians, especially on the internet, is stereotyping. specifically "uwu-ification." the east asian entertainment industry likes to paint asian people as cute, submissive and sweet because it markets disturbingly well to american audiences, and whether people mean to or not, they internalize it and it affects the way they think of asian people as a whole. This mostly happens to east and southeast asian women, but definitely a lot with men too, especially in more recent years with the whole yaoi culture thing (i fucking hated typing that) becoming more popular. simply put, it's fetishization.

so how does this relate to kuwei? well, when kuwei is introduced to us, and im not gonna dance around it— he is pretty stereotypically asian. he's shy, innocent, small, good at math/science and— you guessed it— no speaka engrish. leigh bardugo lays the perfect trap for fandom white girl weeaboos to gush over this guy. once i came across a modern au where kuwei's whole northern chinese-mongolian ass is a "shy japanese transfer student." i really wish i was making this up.

but then we find out that kuwei is actually a conniving little shit who is really quite terrible at science and spends all day making shitty drawings of his crush instead of doing math or wtv. The turning point where we are told this is the jesper kiss. This is the point where we find out kuwei is not the yaoi uwu baby we thought he was. and how does fuckin 2/3 of the fandom react?? hate. instant hate. If you search "i hate kuwei" on twitter there are tweets both defending and attacking him, but there is significantly more of the latter.

most of them claim to hate him for kissing jesper but like... jesper kissed him. He doesn't say anything because, in his own words, "we're all probably going to die anyway." does no one see how tragic that is?? he let his first (probably) kiss be taken by someone who he knew didn't even like him because he thought it would be the only one he'd ever get.

and yet the only thing people see is that he "got in the way" of wesper and he's evil. throughout the series kuwei is given no agency, and that's the point of his character. everyone on the planet treats him as a weapon or a bargaining chip. he gets tossed around like a rag doll and to white (or otherwise not asian) audiences, that makes him the perfect picture of a little asian cutie i almost vomited typing that holy shit. but the moments where he takes something for himself— insisting on going to ravka, kissing jesper back— that's what makes people hate him. and don't even get me started on the way people project their hatred onto the other crows, especially wylan. yall will act like wylan loathes kuwei with all his being. he doesn't!! wylan is not a hateful person and he always defends kuwei!! but nooo, kuwei sucks and he deserves it for daring to be a person instead of an idea.

and hey?? guess what?? kuwei was NEVER in the way of wesper. there was no love triangle. narratively speaking, there was never any threat that kuwei would end up with jesper instead of wylan. never ever. the kiss was literally only put there to create drama for wylan and jesper. we never even hear how kuwei feels about it. stop using that as an excuse to hate on kuwei when we can all see it's because you're subconsciously mad at an asian person not being nice.

also disliking kuwei does not automatically make you racist, im just saying a lot of hatred towards kuwei is rooted in racism.

tagging my fellow aapi moots (that i know of) because i wanna hear yalls thoughts on this! @hauntedacousticversiontv @dramaqueentruther

#bishangzoy #shadow and bone #six of crows #kuwei yul bo #wesper #i wanna make it clear that it IS mostly subconscious but that doesn't mean mfs who are guilty of this should be held any less accountable

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romana-after-dark · 8 months ago

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Room's on Fire: Black Wedding

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Everyone is together, everything is complete.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

WARNINGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED!!!

Extra warnings for chapter: FEET (sorry Fen!), complete worship, mind control, the incubus. Tummy bluge since apparently this is contensious now???

3.2k words

A/N: Some pov shifts.

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

"Priest are you there? Can you hear my voice? Do you hear my prayers? Are you out there? Forgive me priest For I have sinned (I know not what I do)" ~Black Wedding, In this Moment.

Sweating, tossing, turning.

The demon, the manifestation of your inadequacy tormented you so often you’d come to be complacent in it, the ravaging of your body nearly a nightly part of your bedtime routine. You just wanted to feel safe in your own bed again. You wanted your husbands to stay the night, to protect you from the terrors, but how could you confess what was happening?

When you wake up in a cold sweat, fear shivers down your spine as you dry heave and gasp for air, red daylight seeping in your curtains and bathing your clothed body in the image of blood, you are determined to change something. You can’t go on like this. You had Francisco now, you just needed to win back Pope. You were ovulating, now was your chance, all you needed was to have all their hearts.

Ben was a lot of fun. You and him did the most activities.

Before he became angry with you, Pope and you mostly spent time outside of sex in your studio. He liked to watch you paint, sipping wine with his eyes over the glass observing the strokes. It was quiet, peaceful, and calming.

Francisco, since your trip to the field was taking you more and more. He liked to take you out to the meadow, fucking on the blankets and putting flowers in each others hair. He let you put a flower crown on him, looking so pretty you had to reward him.

Will treated you like a princess. Will promised that first day that he’d help work out those pains in your back, and he was. He liked to massage you with his healing oils, making your body feel good and comfortable before he filled you up, stating that your comfort and health was important for conceiving.

But Ben, Ben was fun. Ben’s time was filled with laughter, adventure, and lots of sex. Today he took you out on a horse ride, much like Frankie, but there wasn’t a picnic. That wasn’t Ben’s style. What was Ben’s style was making the horse go ‘really fuck’n fast’.

You felt like a princess, your handsome prince whisking you away to some far off land. Benny made you giddy, he made you feel wanted. When Pope and Francisco both wanted nothing to do with you, it was Ben and Will who made you feel seen, feel beautiful, feel desired for.

You watched Ben climb a tree, begging him to be careful but he swore up and down he was going to find you the best peach there was. Ben loved food.

“Please just watch your step!!” You shout after him, but then turn your attention to the open field. From the top of the hill, you could see the fields of gold you used to labour at. Watching the others work, all but tiny dots on the horizon, sometimes you felt bad, like you weren’t contributing to Delta… Will had reminded you that you were called to a higher purpose, for something more. The DNA of gods was constantly inside you, and you wondered if it was changing you in more ways than just the hopeful pregnancy. Maybe you were more than a saint. Maybe their seed was creating a goddess, a new mother- nonononononono that was heresy! You shove the idea out of your head like an intrusive thought, determined to keep your thoughts clear.

THIS was why the incubus was tormenting you! Your thoughts were impure, vile, evil, and so were you. Tears began to burn behind your eyes.

“Here!” Ben drops upside down, hanging by his knees on the tree branch, making you gasp. He’s holding a peach, which you happily take.

“Thank you.” You smile. He always knew how to make you smile. Ben himself was shining as bright as the sun today, a reflection of his good mood. He said he’d make sure there’d be perfect weather for your outing, and he delivered, not a cloud in the deep blue sky. Will made you put on a straw sunhat to protect your skin from its reys. He treated you so well.

Ben makes a kissy face, and you oblige, rewarding him for finding you your snack. His mouth tasted sweet, only then do you realize he took a bite already and you can’t help but laugh adoringly. You take a bite of the peach as Ben still hung from the tree, swinging as he gripped the branch, and come to him again, sliding the bite into his mouth for him to eat. You can feel him smile, chewing the peach and you pepper his face with kisses.

It wasn’t long before he was pulling you up onto the tree, helping you climb up and up. Everything was so beautiful where you sat. Ben kisses you deeper here.

“Fish ain’t the only one that can be romantic as shit.” He mutters against your mouth and you get the feeling he was jealous. Francisco must have told him what you did the last couple days with him, making love in the meadow and yes, it was romantic, but you didn’t expect Ben to be Francisco. All of them loved you in their own ways, with their own expressions.

“He certainly isn’t, my handsome husband.” You kiss back, sighing as he touches your thigh. There was no way to fuck up here, but Ben still brought you to orgasm with his fingers. He had told you not to wear panties.

He picks another peach, pulling his hard cock out as you kick your legs, smiling, your dress rustling in a breeze. You’d noticed the breeze picked up as Ben got turned on. You watch in aw as he fingers the peach open, eyes intently on you. He’s obscene, groaning as if he’s pleasuring himself until he creates a hole, and then…

“Eyes on my cock, peach.”

And god, are your eyes on his cock. Benny has the prettiest dick in your humble opinion. It was long and thick like they all were. Ben was cut, his manhood always throbbing and the prettiest golden color and a vein on the underside. You loved looking at it. Ben fucked himself with the peach, up and down on the shaft with the most levacious squelches coming out only to the harmonized by Ben’s moans and whimpers. His eyes closed, lost in pleasure and he jerked off.

“F-fuck…” Ben mumble, chest heaving as he rests against the trunk. “Fuck man, feels so fucking good.” His hip bucked, makin the branch you were on shake and you had to grab one above for stability but fuck, you couldn’t stop watching him. He was incredible, sculped body creating a divine figure in your midst and you were so blessed to be filled by him. His blue eyes flashed open only to roll back into his head, spurting cum all over his hand and the peach. You nearly came again from the sight and sound alone. You loved how he looked in orgasmic bliss, it didn’t matter who caused it, you, Francisco or Pope, you just wanted to see him when it happened.

You ate the cum stained peach directly from his hand.

You got the idea from Iris, really. Sitting on the counter of the kitchen, you were busy with some cross stitching you wanted to give to Francisco. It was a simple scene, nothing complex as your dormitory focused of useful skills like fieldwork, cooking, animal care. Still, you knew how to sew and although you’d asked, sometimes even begged Iris to let you help with housework, she didn’t trust you with much outside of cooking, which you were good at. You wished she didn’t treat you like a child. Still, you happily worked on the nature scenary for you husband, god of nature. How lucky you were. You noticed how much he liked smoking marijuana.

Reyansh was inside for a refreshment while working outside. He was creating a flower bed for you at Francisco’s request, and his neck was hurting so Iris rubbed his neck. Reynash sighed contently, his soft face smiling at the touch of who very clearly, you see now, was his lover.

Iris was gentle for no one. She brushed off every attempt Jonah made to talk about anything none work related, and it hadn’t endeared her to you much. You didn’t think that bothered her, it didn’t seem she was too fond of you either. It wasn’t a rivalry and you didn’t have a problem with her. In fact, you liked her. She was beautiful, she made good food and she had been there when it was necessary, like having a panic attack. Even in the small things, she fed you well and had your safety in mind. Today, for example, she told you to put on sunscreen before you went outside to sunbathe while Rey built the flowerbed and doubled with babysitting you. That’s what you called it. Still, she didn’t talk to you, and didn’t seem like she wanted to be your friend.

You liked Reyansh a lot, he was kind, gentle, and thoughtful. Iris took care of Reyansh, and that made you happy. You liked seeing Reyansh smile, he had a nice smile. Iris never smiled unless it was at Reyansh and even then it seemed subdued. Jonah smirked at best, and that was usually mixed with an eye roll.

Pope had bad knees. He called it his stigmata, the physical manifestation of the sufering he bared for the people of Delta. He took the brunt of your sins and wasn’t that so good of him? You wondered if you could alleviate some of that pain, seeing as much of it was probably caused by the sins of your father.

“Rey?” You ask from your chair, watching him plant seeds for marigolds. You loved marigolds; they reminded you of Ben, all sunshine and gold.

He turns around over his should, a bright smile on his face. He seemed happier with plant or animals. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Will keeps his healing oils?”

Reyansh laughs and its brighter than the midday sun. He turns around, sitting his ass on the dirt and props himself up on his hands. “What are you planning?”

“SHHHHHHH” Reyansh shushes you, but he’s giggling himself.

You and him were breaking into Will’s room while he was out. Well, not so much breaking as Rey got the master key but still, naughty. You loved Will’s room, you wanted to stay here all the time. It was simple, but not uncomfortable. You both had to be careful, not digging too much into his things as to not get in trouble… but then you found them.

You took lavender, rose, peppermint and oregano. You knew a little about healing oils, but Will’s were special having been blessed by his hands. This had to help Pope’s aches… now, you must get an audience with Pope, and he was not pleased with you.

“I’m busy.” Pope called from his office, ignoring your plea’s to spend time with you. You missed him so, so much. You missed his intensity, the warmth in the gaze, the fire and passion in his eyes. You feel his love for you, his husbands, his community. Who else was to bare the pain he did for his people? He was good, so good.

“Pope, please?” Your voice cracks, leaning against the wood of his door. “Please just ten minutes?”

“I’ll be with you tonight with Francisco.” To breed you, but you didn’t just want to be fucked by him, you wanted to be loved.

“I want to spend time with you, please? I have a surprise. I just… I miss you.”

Silence… then the door unlocking. He stood in front of you, brown eyes ablaze with irritation but also curiosity.

Once securing his attention, you were able to get Pope to follow you to the room you had set up. In it, a chair and a bucket of steaming, sudsy water.

“Sit! Sit!” You beckon him to the chair, and although hesitant he sits down. You take your place where you belong, at the feet of your God.

Knelt before him and gazing up into his eyes, you untie his shoes and slide off his socks, pleasantly surprised by the lack of smell. He’d been inside all day. After rolling up his pants, you take his feet, one by one and lower them into the steaming water and watch in delight ashe closes his eyes, moaning and hanging his head back. He looked relaxed, actually, something you only see in post orgasmic bliss.

You don’t take your eyes off him, massaging into the arch of his foot and enjoying the look of pleasure on his face. You’d doused the water preemptively with lavender and rose oils and you were happy to see it working in calming him.

“Mmmmm” Pope moans, a hardening bulge between his spread legs and you smile at the effect you have on him, the evidence of the love he still held for you. You hoped this act of washing his feet and massaging the joints would prove your subservience to him, your devotion.

Leaning in, you kiss the ball of his foot first as he opens his eyes, firey and alight with lust and love for you, his Madonna, his wife, his goddess. Pope’s mouth pops open, slightly agape as his chest begins to heave, eroticism clouding his face. Pope angls his foot, pressing his toes to your lips and you don’t hesitate to open, completely and fully in his control. You would debase yourself however he asked, just for him. He was your first kiss, your first love, your first everything. You’d adored him your whole life, worshiping him in prayer halls for as long as you could remember. He’d been the light of your life, your God, and although you were 11 when Divine Mother announced Pope was not the savior, it didn’t matter to you. He was your savior, he was your everything, and oh, how blessed you were to be here.

You make your jaw slack, allowing him access of as much of your mouth as possible, laving your tongue out against the calloused skin. Reaching to the side, you grab the peppermint-oregano mix of healing oils and poured some on his leg. As you gagged on him, sucking on his toes, you rubbed down his legs. Pope groans in pleasure, taking out his erection to stroke himself to the wet sounds of your mouth. Swirling your tongue around him, so desperate try to please him, to regain his favor so you can be impregnated by his seed, the seeds of his brothers. You wanted so desperately to be his Madonna again, his holy mother, his little flower, it didn’t matter what it took.

He could cut open your chest and carve your heart out if it meant he held the dying pulse in his hands.

“Get over here” He grunts, pulling his feet out of you mouth with a pop. You chase after him, worried you’d done something wrong, but Pope grabs your dress, yanking you forward harshly and into a crash of a kiss. The action knocks over the warm bucket of water, but he didn’t care. Pushing you down and into the spilt water, Pope turns you over and climbs on top of you, rucking your wet skirt over your ass. He didn’t bother taking off your underwear simply pulling it aside in order to thrust directly into you.

You were wet, you were always so, so wet with him. Being in his presence had always left you soaked and needy when he didn’t give you what you wanted. Sometimes you found yourself going to Will for his mouth to give you what Pope wouldn’t.

“My beautiful, sweet Madonna” He mutters, his bearded cheek scratching against yours. “Always so ready for me, such a good fucking girl.” His thrusts are harsh, your face sliding against the floor with the spilt water, your dripping hair splattered all about the tile. The smell was overwhelming and you realize Will’s oils were spilled, mixing into the water and stirred with the movement of your connected bodies.

Everything was so, so much from the smells of the oils to the stretch of his cock, the pounding, pounding, pounding in your womb.

It was the same pounding you felt that night when, for the first time in a long time, you were fucked and pleasured and devoured and worshipped by all four of your husbands.

You were raw, aching, sweating and throbbing; 3 men’s cum had flooded your womb and Will’s was soon to follow. It was good, so, so good. Your body, despite the exhaustion was floating on your soft bed. The group sex had happened in your room, which was a rarity but something that in this moment made you feel like home. This was special, this was different. Will’s grunts were loud, powerful, his strong and naked body forbaring before you where he knelt. Muscles flexing and shifting and moving, his sweaty form and dripping hair complimenting his presence, the size reflected in the bulge of your stomach in every inward thrust. He had to be this stunning if he were to distract you from the scene beside you.

Ben, Francisco and Santiago and spent and drained, were entangled next to you in a sweat and lust-fill affair of their own. Francisco was the center focus, his body worshiped and adored by Pope and Ben. It seemed like a tug of war, like Francisco was the rope in a tug of war. It was clear that Francisco was precious to both of them, but there was another air about it all. The fight for Francisco’s sweet kisses was just the battle ground. Francisco himself had gotten hard all over again, Ben’s hands jerking him of from where he lay, their two body’s and coloring a contrast of dark and light, hard and soft, and electric energy so, so close to Pope’s explosives.

Pope would not be out done by the younger man. This was his community, he was the leader, he was son of the Divine Mother and he would not relinquish his most favored lover to a boy 8 years his junior. Ben had ambition, he had wants and visions of a future that Santiago would not acquiesce to and although Benjamin’s loyalty was strong, so was his jealousy.

Two could play at jealousy, and Francisco was his. Playing with Frankie’s balls, heavy but starting to tighten as his perfect body writhed to the sounds of the Madonna’s pleasure, Santiago gripped Ben’s locks and yanked him down. He took control of Frankie’s mouth, lips still swollen from their previous encounter evidence of who his lips belonged too. He sucked on him until the healing lip cracked open again. If Francisco bled, his blood was Pope’s.

He hears you cry out in the way you only do when you’re coming, and Ben latches onto Francisco’s nipple, determined to make him cum again. Pope loved his brothers, loved them all, they were the center of his world, his everything, his rocks. He’d had all of them in every way imaginable, fucked into every hole at every angle but god, nothing compared to Frankie. Ben must’ve felt that too, the way he took care of him. Together, as a team, they gave Francisco his second orgasm.

Something was different today. Something changed.

They all slept in her bed that night.

WHAT DO WE THINK For The Wrong Way readers, did you catch the reference? it was small.

also last chapter i asked whose the worst and someone said jonah i just wanna talk LMFAOOOO but i laughed bc its OVERWHELMINGLY santi. like 80%

Poll of the day

who knocks up madonna? not who you WANT that'll be a new poll, but who you think does it. listing all potential options.

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS and whyyyyy

If you are into c.ai, check out the Jonah ai on the masterlist

Also, hope you check out the playlist! if you like old music like me especially. lots of 60's-80's

apoligies to everyone whose been tagging me in tag games. i appiciate the tags a lot, im just like....... ahhhhhhh you know? life. i love yall for including me though! If you have discourd and wantto join a server for my works, dm me! as long as you are an active particpant in the fics you're welcome!

IF YOU LIKE CULT FICS READ THIS ONE BY @noxturnalpascal with cult leader joel!!!!! I havnt had the chance to read a full chapter by i read most of the first chapter and its soooo good.

Please consider joining me in in donating to humanitarian aid in Rafah through Doctors Without Borders

LOVE YOU ALL!

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