#baseball season is almost here

[stephstars08]

I’m not going to lie, I am so surprised that my Adley one shot ‘Still Proud’ has 13 likes!! Adley is super underrated on here and I was so nervous about posting a story of him on here because I was scared that no one was going to read it so thank you to everyone who has read it and I promise I will have more stories of him on here as we get closer to spring training! I have already started writing another one shot of him that I will hopefully get back to writing soon!!!

[skzdarlings]

the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

+

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

-

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says.  “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.”  You stick your tongue out at him.  “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car.   You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it. 

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school.  You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift.  With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides. 

Just because of the weather.  Not any other reason.  Of course.      

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat.  Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams.  He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything. 

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side.  When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness. 

“Right then,” he says.  Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!” 

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror.  “You have your presentation notes, right?  You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them.  You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt.  “I thought I put them in here.  Sorry, I’ll be right back.” 

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan.  It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it.  You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt. 

“Silly boy,” you say.  “What should we do while he’s gone?”  You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs. 

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue.  He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away.  He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh. 

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says.  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip.  Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel.  You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.   

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee.  He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat.  You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh. 

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real. 

“Don’t—”  His voice breaks and he clears his throat.  “Don’t say my name like that.  You know—”  

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh.  You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing.  The redness has spread from his ears down his neck. 

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush.   “We’ve been good so far, okay?”   If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good.  “You’re my – you’re my friend.  You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah?  Yeah… Yeah!”  He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket.  He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip.  “Don’t make this so hard,” he says. 

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words.  A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans.  “Is it something I can help you with?”  You lick your bottom lip then smile. 

“Oh,” he says.  His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering.  “You really wanna play that game, huh?” 

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes.  You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window.  You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart. 

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you.  Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad. 

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder.  “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second.  “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing.  “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!”  You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.   

“All right, all right!”  Chan says, breaking you up.  “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay?  Okay.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite. 

Chan squeaks. 

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.  

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

-

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home.  When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.    

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs.  It sounds more amused than frustrated.    

“Where’s your brother?” he asks. 

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration. 

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car.  “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car.  That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong.  You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives. 

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee.  At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh. 

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road.  Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent. 

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence.  Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee. 

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice.  You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching.   Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean.  He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit.  He never takes his eyes off the road.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?”  

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand. 

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again.  “We’ll see about that.” 

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you.  Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie.  You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him.  He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness.  He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful.  Your body practically sings under his touch. 

“Channie,” you say, breathless again. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says.  “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah?  Always.” 

“Take care of me how?”  Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too.   This game has been escalating slowly over time.  You want more and you are starting to get desperate. 

Chan looks at you.  His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie.  He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again. 

“Fuck,” he says.  “I want to fuck you so badly.  You have no idea.” 

His words have a raw, honest edge.  He swallows, hard.  You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart. 

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice.  “Make me feel good.  No one else can like you.” 

You do not make it all the way home.  There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups.  Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers.  You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure.  It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips.  You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair.  “Channie, please,” you say. 

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly.  His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief. 

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest.  He unzips the rest of your hoodie.  His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again. 

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts.  He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket.   You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap.  Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt. 

“Let me,” he says.  He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you.  He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing.  Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him.  He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest.  “Fuck, baby girl,” he says.  “You know what you do to me?” he asks. 

“I dunno, Channie.”  You pout and bat your eyelashes.  “You better show me.” 

He laughs.  He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you.  You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you.  But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good.  You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan. 

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside. 

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says.  His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Have a little trust in yourself.  I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you.   Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily.  It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire.  You know you will need him again, the way he needs you.  Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again.   It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you. 

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath.  “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back.   You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth.  He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name.  Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest.  You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation. 

“Fuck,” he eventually says.  He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face.  “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him.  He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness. 

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you.  Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time.  Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.   

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods. 

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads:  My ride fell through.  When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me?  Thanks.  Sluts.   

[steddieas-shegoes]

for @thefreakandthehair (and @vecnuthy and @wormdebut while we’re at it) because sometimes you help a baseball player through French class so they can stay on the team and then they end up on the Savannah bananas and you decide to put the fictional men into situations about it *shrugs*

Eddie was going to have to transfer out of this class. This was one of his easiest classes and it was filled with every jock on campus attempting to fill their foreign language requirement with French.

And they were all failing. And annoying. And obnoxious.

And a few of them were also hot.

But Eddie wasn’t gonna focus on that!

He was gonna finish today’s assignment and then head straight to the advising office to find another class that worked with his work schedule.

“Hey,” the guy next to him whispered as the teacher droned on about conjugating verbs. “Do you have any idea what the fuck the homework was?”

Eddie turned to glare at the person, but his face dropped when he noticed who it was.

The campus celebrity: Steve Harrington.

Couldn’t quite make it on the college baseball team, but managed to make the sort-of professional, but mostly joke team Hawkins Hooligans.

Eddie didn’t like sports, never had. He could appreciate that it took skill and whatnot, but he didn’t care much to watch it or make celebrities of people who were just really good at one very specific thing usually involving some kind of ball. But he could appreciate a joke. And this team had jokes.

Steve was actually apparently good enough to play pro, had even been scouted by the MLB his senior year of high school. One week before his professional tryout, he tore a muscle in his shoulder, had to sit for three months and had to do physical therapy for another three, and voila! No pro ball for him. No college either since he missed spring training.

But he still had skill, and he still had a father with a lot of pull in the business, even if it wasn’t quite enough to get him on the Yankees or whatever.

So he was biding his time on the Hooligans until next year when he could try out for the college team again, maybe increase his chances of a real pro career.

Eddie definitely hadn’t watched videos of him during their first few games of the season where they faced the Indy Idols and the Chicago Charades.

He definitely hadn’t gotten a weird flutter in his stomach when Steve had been the one to lip sync to Hot For Teacher while pretending his bat was a guitar.

He definitely didn’t have a crush on Steve.

“Uh. Dude?” Steve asked him again, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. It was the study guide for the first quiz. Not due until next class though,” he whispered back.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Eddie turned his attention back to the professor, not really needing to pay attention since he already knew quite a bit of French.

A tap on his shoulder made him yelp, and the entire room turned to him. He waved apologetically before turning to Steve with a murderous look.

“What?” He hissed out.

“Do you understand this?”

“Yes and you probably would too if you stopped talking to me.”

Eddie was ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to let Steve keep talking to him for as long as he wanted.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Steve huffed before sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. He mumbled something else that sounded like ‘I’m just stupid’ but Eddie couldn’t be 100% sure.

“A lot of this stuff is just English spelled a little differently.” Eddie sighed. “You could almost definitely figure it out if you took some notes.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Eddie’s brows scrunched together as he glanced at Steve’s red face.

Hm. There was definitely something to unpack here.

“You can borrow mine if you want,” Eddie offered as he watched the professor switch slides on the presentation. “I don’t really need them until the final.”

“Oh!” Steve sounded genuinely surprised by his offer, like he hadn’t been basically asking for help only a moment ago. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, it wouldn’t do much good for me anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Steve had Eddie’s full attention now.

“I’m. I-“ Steve sighed. “I’m dyslexic, man. Reading’s hard for me.”

Well, fuck. Eddie felt like an asshole now.

“Oh.” Eddie looked down at his scribbled notes, cringing at the thought of someone else trying to read them, let alone someone who already struggled with reading from a printed page. “Yeah, my handwriting is shit so it’d probably be useless to you. Shit, it’s almost useless to me.”

Steve snorted, immediately covering his mouth to avoid any more noise from escaping. Eddie could see he was still smiling though. His eyes were very expressive.

“Don’t you have accommodations?” Eddie asked him.

“Nah, my dad doesn’t believe it’s a problem.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Said I just need to focus more and it’ll ‘work itself out.’”

“He sounds like he’s a lot of fun at parties.”

Steve snorted again. “Yeah, a blast.”

“So you aren’t a natural at French?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m barely a natural at English.”

“I could help you?” Eddie was an idiot. An idiot with a crush on someone who would never be interested in anything he had to offer except tutoring.

“Help me? You’d help me?” Steve seemed eager, maybe a little desperate.

Eddie kinda liked that.

“I mean, yeah. If you’re actually willing to put in the work and not expect me to just do the work for you.”

Steve smiled. God, that was a nice smile. Eddie was absolutely fucked.

“I work well with a reward system,” he smirked. “If you’re willing.”

Eddie’s eyes widened momentarily as the realization sunk in that he’d just been flirted with.

By Steve Harrington.

“Oh, I can definitely work with that.”

Steve nodded once, grinned at Eddie as he picked up his pen and ripped off a small piece of his unused notebook paper. He scribbled something down and folded it once before handing it to Eddie.

“Let me know when I need to show up, Eds.”

Eddie unfolded the paper and nearly dropped it.

Stevie H. 555-555-0086 My dorm at 7? No clothes required

When Eddie looked back up, Steve was facing the front, seemingly paying attention to the lecture.

Eddie quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and put Steve’s contact info in. He could wait until after class to send him a text. He could.

Instead, he typed out something quick to hold them both over until later.

Studying naked is my favorite thing 😉

Steve’s knee nudged against his in response.

Maybe Eddie wouldn’t take that trip to advising after all.

And if he was featured on the next TikTok for the Hawkins Hooligans, with Steve fake serenading him in the stands, nobody had to know he didn’t really like sports.

He liked Steve, though. Even when Steve actually managed to play real competitive baseball. Even when Steve managed to get a spot on the Cubs.

Especially when Steve proposed to him during a game in maybe the worst recorded French of all time.

[kedsandtubesocks]

game changer

MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: back from your first semester of grad school your parents lovingly drag you out to celebrate with an old family friend - but what unfolds there (and after) cracks you wide open

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, dad’s friend!Joel, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but is a drinking aged adult & Joel is in his early 50’s), light use of gendered language, yearning & flirting, some light angst, brief alcohol consumption, masturbation (f), smutty thoughts, heavy makeout, spicy themes, allusions to smut (p in v), Joel’s dirty talk, one use of “good girl,” one light ass smack, reserved but soft!Joel, start of secret relationship, lots of baseball talk

word count: 9.1k (I’m sorry)

a/n: i know, i know another non-typical AU for Joel but I blame my sports girlie heart & baseball season so here we are lol big thank you to @swiftispunk for always putting up with my sports ramblings LMAO im so sorry Han ily, special thanks to @burntheedges @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @msjarvis because this truly wouldn’t be here without y’all - you don’t know how much you babes mean to me & I can’t thank y’all enough…now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You barely have any solid memories of Joel Miller, even if he was your dad’s oldest friend. And if you were being honest, you remember his brother Tommy more who smiled so warmly and seemed to radiate warmth.

Now you stand before Joel Miller’s face on the side of the Globe Life field along with the rest of the Texas Rangers professional baseball team.

It’s a cool evening in Arlington. Everyone seems to bask in the weather that feels perfect for a night of baseball.

Home from your first grad school semester, you didn’t think you’d be going to a game. But your parents explained how good the tickets were, and that even if you didn’t care about the game, you could just enjoy the stadium. So with the promise of free food and a nice night out, you were sold.

Now you’re here.

“Yesterday Joel said to head to the side entrance, that’s where we can check in.” Your dad eagerly explains and stunned you simply follow along like a confused duckling.

The sea of jerseys sweeps you into a sports wave until you’re deposited in a new space. Your jaw almost drops.

The VIP suites sit at the very side edge of the field, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.

The seats are incredible. Everything feels deluxe but comfortable. Someone calls out to your mom, and soon enough the rest of the Miller family approaches.

Tommy’s married now and his wife Maria is lovely, so is their baby. Joel’s daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are older. Time sucker punches you in the gut seeing how much time has passed, but you warmly greet everyone. You realize how long it really has been since you saw any of them.

You greet everyone warmly and appreciate all their surprised welcome seeing you back.

“Joel’s glad y’all were finally able to make it. Been talking about it since yesterday.” Tommy explains.

“Yeah us too! Just worked out that we all could come out and enjoy this with someone back home now.” You mom teases, but it’s warm.

Even though you were cities away, the new workload just kept you so busy.

You’re grateful to be here too. Even though your mind still swirls trying to grasp all of this.

You knew your dad’s friend made it big as a professional baseball player. Joel and his family left Austin to move to Arlington after he signed for the Rangers. So you rarely saw them. But with your mom’s job recently relocating here, your dad talked non stop about maybe seeing more of the games. It never really clicked that your family knew a professional sports athlete. Plus you never cared too much for sports to even look more into it.

Now as the game starts with a wild explosive and electric opening, you feel like you’ve slipped into another reality.

Then Joel’s entrance arrives, and your heart jumps out of your chest. The stadium erupts in a wild frenzy. The music for his arrival is western themed, grand and epic.

“All of this is because the league calls him Cowboy Miller.” Your dad explains.

The nickname was given to him not just because of his very southern twang, but Joel’s cold demeanor on the mound along with his wild style of pitching. All this led to him being deemed a Cowboy.

You understand why.

A serious air of power radiates from Joel while he approaches the mound.

Wearing a jersey with the number two on it, he’s older, more distinguished than the last time you remember him. Grays pepper his beard and the shadow of his baseball cap highlights the wrinkles flowing across his face.

He’s handsome, utterly gorgeous. His shoulders look broad, pure striking mountains, in his white jersey.

It’s like your mind finally registers and settles into the reality he’s a man, a full grown and incredible man.

And he really is incredible.

Even though he’s older for a pitcher, he still possesses dazzling talent. You even clap loudly when he strikes one of the batters out.

Your eyes never leave him. Joel sternly staring down the batter is terrifying. His legs look strong as he whips the ball fast to the home plate. Your eyes can’t help but flicker to his ass when he walks back to the dugout.

He’s gorgeous.

But cold reality crashes into you when your dad brightly yells. Joel is your dad’s friend, and that thought sours the bubbling feelings in your chest.

So you try focusing on the game, which actually turns out to be rather fun. The vibe of the stadium, along with the atmosphere of the game itself, is easy to melt into.

At one point someone gets a hit off Joel and he has to run to cover first. He’s surprisingly fast. Seeing him catch the ball, get the out, is so impressive and hot as fuck.

After that the Rangers switch pitchers.

As he leaves the mound, the stadium cheers at Joel’s exit. Very politely he nods, raising his hand in a quick goodbye to everyone. Then he scans the crowd.

It’s admirable seeing how he instantly finds where his family is. Joel’s roughed face melts soft with a small crooked grin hearing the applause they give him. He even spots your dad proudly cheering.

Joel’s eyes then lock with yours. Still walking towards the dugout, his face stays on you while his focus narrows in a cloudy confusion like he’s trying to recognize you.

Then his eyes go wide as realization sinks in.

You weakly grin back. It’s all you can do before Joel is fully gone from your line sight. Your heart thumps erratically within its cage.

The Rangers unfortunately lose by three. Once the game ends, you decide to swing by the merch store.

“Guess the game made you a fan huh?” You mom perks up noticing you eyeing the jerseys.

You shrug easily with an eased grin.

After this the Rangers have a five game stretch at home.

You only know because after the game you check for all things about the team, about Joel. You haven’t brought yourself to look at any videos of Joel yet. But you did discover from the team's instagram that he has one too.

Early the next morning, still lounging in bed, you scroll through Joel’s instagram page. It seems very professional, like it’s run by a social media manager primarily using it to promote Joel without being too personal.

You’re not paying attention, still a bit too focused on your phone, when a knock comes at the door.

Your face scrunches up confused. Then terror sucker punches you when you see who’s at the door.

No way.

Opening the door Joel stares at you, but this time wearing striking thick black rimmed glasses. They make him incredibly distinguished. Instead of seeming like a professional baseball player you’re reminded of a studious professor. And without a baseball cap on, you’re given sight of his soft glorious curls and the light gray streaks dancing among them.

He’s knockout beautiful.

Of course, you’re still in your mismatched lounge clothes and barely look like you’ve left bed.

He says your name, greeting you with a curt nod. You swiftly greet him with an awkward hello.

“Are you going for like a Clark Kent thing?” You blurt before you can stop yourself.

Joel’s face scrunches up as he sighs.

“Gotta take a break from my contacts s’all.” He admits with a grumpy reply.

But it’s his thick twang, the familiar southern accent - that sweeps you breathless.

“How do they even let you pitch?” You lightly tease, and

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Good to see ya too.” He rumbles, finally greeting you.

Now realizing he’s still standing in your doorway, you let him in.

Joel explains how he wanted to come by, visit your folks, catch up, and thank them for getting to stop by.

You’re the one early thanking him.

“The tickets were incredible. And you did amazing the other night.” You add sincerely.

“Oh, yeah thanks. Glad we won.” Joel nods.

“So they let you just roam around?” You ask slightly stunned still seeing him here in your family kitchen.

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t gotta be at the stadium till later.”

“So, was uh…surprised to see ya at the game.” His tone now reeks of trying to just make small talk.

Weakly you grin back explaining it was a nice change from your days on campus.

“So…back from school, huh.” That awkward thick small talk tone of his gets worse especially as he asks how’s it going and what you’re doing.

For being a talented professional pitcher, right now he simply seems like just some guy…

Just your dad’s pal.

The thought brings a strange acidic taste in your mouth.

You explain school is going good and how you’re here just visiting until the next semester starts up again.

Politely he asks what you’re going to school for. You tell him about your program, explaining all the classes you’re taking and even about the undergrad classes you help TA for.

Joel nods, quiet. You wonder if this sounds boring to a man who professionally plays baseball everyday.

“You’re damn smart.” He then whistles low, and his compliment jumpstarts your heart.

“Haven’t read a book since… shit can’t even remember when.” Joel muses.

“What? They don’t have you take baseball quizzes for pitching?” You joke, but it falls flat. Joel just gives you a dull look.

However his lips twitch faintly, like he’s fighting a grin, and it makes you grin.

“Though, I’ve heard you could maybe work on your slider pitch.” You add.

From the clips you’ve seen and the comments you’ve read, that's the one thing others have commented on, along with how unbearably handsome he is. ESPN even named him one of sports top most eligible bachelors.

“Oh?” Joel’s eyebrows rise up fast. Crossing his hands over his chest, Joel turns towards you more.

“Suddenly you’re a sports analyst now, huh?” The way his voice perks up confidently, matching your edge of playfulness, causes something to get stuck in your throat.

“Y’gonna start telling me how to pitch too? Just like your old man used to.” Joel adds still with that same tone and even chuckles.

But his words slice through you. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself tight.

Thankfully the sound of the front door unlocking arrives. Your parents are home.

“You’re fantastic, Joel. Glad I got to see it live.” You tell him earnestly looking him straight in the eye, as if to stare him down and remind him unwavering you’re a grown adult. Even if you’re in lounge shorts and holey t-shirt, you try holding your head high with as much grace as you can.

With that you head to tell your parents Joel is here then quietly slip back to your room.

Eventually your mom knocks on your door and pops her head in.

“There’s another game tonight. Wanna go?” She offers.

You decline, explaining you want to rest and catch up with a few shows you’ve been neglecting. Thankfully neither of your parents pressure you to join them.

With the house to yourself, you now search for as many videos of Joel you can.

Even slowly starting to understand baseball at a base level, you realize Joel ‘Cowboy’ Miller really is spectacular. You hear about his time playing for The University of Texas and how adored he is by his alma mater.

Then heat crawls up your chest when you see clips of him drenched in sweat, heavily breathing, or even licking his lingers to help with the ball grip.

You quickly turn the videos off before you get yourself worked up.

This has to be just a simple infatuated infestation. You simply need to try to shake it off.

The last home game the Rangers play the Minnesota Twins and Joel isn’t pitching. You again decide to sit this game out. You just have to detox yourself of Joel Miller.

Until you’re invited to a dinner cookout at his home. You thought about maybe playing sick, but with how hungry you are, you see this just as an opportunity to get a nice meal.

Your dad casually mentions Joel’s house has a pool, a nice bonus. He just forgot to mention how huge the Miller house would be.

Though gorgeously grand, it’s still surprisingly cozy. In the backyard you spot Joel at the grill and it makes your head spin. The weathered old burnt orange Texas longhorn shirt he wears looks cozy and casual, sits on him beautifully highlighting his shoulders.

You slip into the pool hoping it will cool you off. But your eyes always find Joel who now laughs with your dad.

Joel’s eyes suddenly flicker to yours, catching you staring red handed. Immediately you sink back into the water.

There’s more people here than expected and you feel a bit out of place. After drying off, you decide to head inside for a drink.

The soft Texas evening illuminates the home in a gentle glow. The music from outside floats in a soft hum making the room feel like it’s underwater.

Ellie told you the house was free for you to roam and from the quick tour she gave, you caught a glimpse of something you want to see more.

So letting yourself maybe take another peek, you walk back to the small alcove carved in the wall. It’s honestly a rather quiet achievement exhibition compared to other grand trophy rooms you’ve imagined.

There are honestly more pictures of Sarah and Ellie, along with Tommy and the rest of the Miller clan, decorating the main hallway of the house. All of it suits Joel.

His UT longhorn jersey is framed on the wall. There are a few awards clustered together, a couple of magazine covers where he looks so dashing in his uniform.

But what makes your heart float are the framed drawings of Joel with a baseball on the mound that range from adorable scribbles to a rather good pencil sketch. These had to be Ellie and Sarah’s work.

“If you’re thinkin’ about stealin’ somethin’ maybe go for the jersey. I can always get another one.”

Joel’s drawl trickles out, and you almost jump out of your skin. Turning to the side he walks to where you are. You hate how exposed you feel just being caught in his gaze and also obviously browsing in his home.

“Nah, I was hoping for a World Series ring to steal and sell but.” You shrug playful, knowing now he’s gone to the Series but never won.

Joel makes a low hissing sound like he’s injured.

“Damn, y’hit low.” He chuckles low.

You grin triumphantly.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get a ring someday.” You say simply.

“Sound sure about that.” He replies.

“Cause it’s true.” You nod. “You’re pretty great.”

Even with your limited knowledge of baseball, it’s easy to see how great he is. Joel is incredibly talented, a shining star stitched in accomplishment. Yet you can tell hasn’t let it go to his head. He’s anchored by his loved ones, and it’s admirable. You even tell him that.

“I…thanks.” He stumbles for a moment, deep dark eyes a bit cloudy as he searches your face with his voice thick and rumbled.

“What game has been your favorite?” You suddenly ask, wanting to know more about him.

His eyebrows furrow and his deep eyes glaze over a bit distant, creating a face of thought that looks adorable.

Then he nods with a soft grin remembering.

“One of the first games the girls gotta go to.” He paints a picture of seeing his daughters, sitting with their uncle Tommy, wearing too large adorable Texas Rangers jerseys.

“One of the best games I ever played.” He adds gently.

He really is a rare beauty of a man with a gilded heart of gold.

“And you? Your folks talk about ya nonstop. Tell me about grad school. And none of that simple ‘it’s good’ crap.” The quick playful mimic he does of your voice makes you laugh warm and bright.

So you tell him about your favorite moments from lecture and the fondness you have for simply embracing subjects you love so much.

Joel stares fully focused on you. You swear his eyes twinkle like stars might be sowed right in his deep earth depths.

He opens his mouth, eager to continue the conversation. Until the kitchen comes alive with more people entering inside. The bubble breaks, but electricity still brews under your skin.

The next day the Rangers have a game at Globe Life Field you go.

Even if Joel isn’t pitching, you want to experience this world he loves so much. You’re however surprised to find Joel is starting.

Your dad explains how one of the pitchers planned for today had to rest. So Joel will simply be the opener before the rest of the bullpen steps in.

Your heart doesn’t rage wildly as it did like seeing him the first time. Now you feel almost drawn to Joel. You focus on his stance on the mound, so disciplined and almost hauntingly serious.

The Arizona Diamondbacks batter hits the ball solid. It flies straight at Joel, and fear sinks its fangs into you.

Until with fast reflexes Cowboy Miller catches the ball eased. You and the stadium erupt wild.

The Rangers win one to four. On the high of the game, you head to the jerseys again in the shop.

“You should get one!” Your mom urges.

Your fingers itch, almost begging you to grab the jersey that says Miller on it. But something continues to hold you back.

On the drive back home, you now see all the great reaction clips and memes of the game. There's a particular one of Joel catching the ball that includes a great western music overlay, like he’s a hero in an old cowboy movie.

Feeling brave, you send the reel to his Instagram profile. You even add underneath the message “now you just gotta work on that slider pitch.”

You send it. Think, hell at worst the poor social media manager will see it and not even give it the time or day. He must get so many messages anyway.

When you get home, you see the message has been read.

But also, a new profile has followed you.

JM_8712

The profile also sent you a message.

JM_8712: ain’t nothing wrong with my slider

No way.

This can’t be who you think it is. You message back saying this possibly can’t be the real Joel Miller because he doesn’t seem like the type to even know how to send a gif.

JM_8712: think ur so funny huh

The account sends a simple gif of someone rolling their eyes.

Then another message flies in.

JM_8712: ur dad get those damn nachos he kept bitchin about with Tommy?

It feels like one of Joel’s changeup pitches knocks you out.

Because it’s really him messaging you. When you even go to double check the blank profile just to make sure, it barely follows more than twenty people and you spot Ellie and Sarah’s accounts among those profiles.

Warmth unfolds from your chest, dangerous and electric. This is Joel’s personal private account.

Unknowingly this all kicks off something you never thought would have ever started. You and Joel start talking.

The messages flow between you and him, back and forth, at first just talking about the games. Then, when the Rangers leave to travel, the messaging increases.

Joel sends you pictures of the places he travels, the food he eats, the vacant stadiums he gets to enjoy.

You devour it all with a greedy eagerness. However it dawns on you that you’re sliding down a slope too slippery to stop.

For the rest of the summer you earnestly check your messages on the app.

One evening, on a stormy delayed game against the Dodgers, your messages don’t send through. The weather is getting worse in Los Angeles.

“They’re gonna reschedule the game. Storm’s not letting up.” Your dad comments glumly.

You just hope Joel is alright.

Instagram finally alerts you of a message and your heart jumps.

Joel.

JM_8712: sorry connections shit

Then he simply sends you his phone number.

You wonder if you’re seeing things.

Trying to keep calm you text the number a simple message asking if he’s alright.

When your text alert chimes, it rattles your brain.

Yeah im good thanks

Then another message follows. It’s a photo from the locker, bags packed like he’s ready to leave.

Looks like room service for tonight

It’s Joel. You’re texting Joel right now.

It feels like a step deeper into a current you never want to leave.

Texting seems to shift the energy between you and him, a transmutation you never could have imagined.

You text Joel good morning and he tells you good night. You and him bond over a love of music. He’s got incredible taste while also complimenting yours. You stay up late on game days when pitched and now feel your throat dry up knowing you’re getting to know the man on the mound.

The desire brewing more for Joel mixes with the summer heat and melts the days away. Soon enough summer dwindles away, and your new semester approaches.

The drive back to your apartment is a good couple of hours. Funny enough Joel is also traveling today for a game. Stopping for gas midway, your phone goes off.

You think at first it must be one of your parents.

But instead it’s Joel.

You scramble to answer.

“Hey,” his voice sounds incredibly richer and deep on the phone.

“Y’doin’ alright?” Joel asks hesitant.

That catches you off guard.

“Oh yeah, just finished putting in gas actually. Why, what’s up?” You relax more into the conversation now curious to why he called asking that.

Joel sighs.

“Sorry I just…your last text uh, it just got me worried.”

Now you’re really curious about what you texted him. It had been half an incomplete response you sent. Even from your side it seemed abrupted and strange.

Sighing, you apologize that you didn’t even realize you had done that. In the rush of wanting to get out on the road you must have just sent the text.

But it suddenly hits you. Joel called because he was worried. That thought rips into you with a ferocious rawness.

“Okay yeah,” Joel says a bit clumsily. “I’ll…let you go.”

“No, it’s okay.” You quickly reassure him. “How’s the traveling going?”

“Good, just finished rewatching one of the inflight movies.”

“Please tell me it was Field of Dreams.” You tease him with the iconic baseball film as you head back on the road. Just now with Joel on the phone.

On speaker, Joel scoffs echoing in your car all around you. You realize this might be a bad decision trying to stay focused driving while also talking to him.

“Funny.” His thick drawl is dry but so softly teasing just below the surface.

“Was some new movie Sarah told me to watch but…fell asleep.” Joel admits low.

Thinking of him asleep on the plane clutches at something warm and deep in you.

Yes you can admit how badly you want Joel, how you picture what his calloused fingers would feel like on you, in you. But you also are finding yourself aching for more now…

Like falling asleep beside him while watching a movie, or sharing a meal with him and teasing him over his dry sense of humor.

It’s dangerous falling deeper like this.

Especially now in a blink you realize you’ve been talking to Joel this entire drive to your apartment.

“Shit sorry.” He realizes it when he sees the time. “Y’should’ve told me to fuck off. Don’t gotta waste your time talkin’ to some old ass like me.”

He rarely comments on his age, and his words sink hard into your gut.

“Trust me… I’m glad I get to talk to you.” You truthfully tell him.

“You’re the one who probably has better things to do than talk to me.” You add slightly dejected. The words even sting your lips.

“Like watching Field of Dreams.” You quickly add some light humor trying to dispel your heartache leaking in.

Joel snorts.

“Definitely would rather chat with you than watch that.” Joel mutters, but his world electrifies your skin.

“I’m flattered knowing I can beat Kevin Costner.” You joke. When he snorts amused, warmth fills you to the brim.

Someone in the distance calls out to Joel, and you know your time with him is limited. It’s confirmed when he sighs.

“Gonna be landing soon. Ya make it to your place okay?” He asks.

“I did, thank you. And thanks for keeping me company on the drive.” You smile to yourself.

“Don’t mention it. Uh, glad you made it back safe.” Joel replies and his words make you melt.

You say his name quick.

“Can you just… Text me when you make it to the hotel?” Just to know he’s safe. It’s simple, but it feels as if the words weigh a ton.

A moment passes.

“Yeah, will do.” Joel agrees.

He doesn’t text you. Instead Joel calls you when he gets to the hotel.

“Saw a full on fuckin’ fight at the airport when we landed.” Joel rambles immediately, and you learn how much of a secret gossip he is. While Joel breaks down all the details of what he saw, you realize he wanted to tell you about this.

A light burst in your chest because you want to tell Joel everything too.

And when your next semester starts, you tell him all you can.

The texting stays but evolves into more frequent phone calls. Joel listens to you with a gruff saint’s patience. He faintly picks up the names of your professors, even the name of your roommate. At one point he even stays on the phone with you when you cook dinner.

Joel calls during the stretch of waiting at the airports, a few times after games. Sometimes he rants about his teammates, sighs about his frustrations when they lose or when he ends up not doing well on the mound.

While every inch in your body still hums for Joel, it’s steady now - like you’re slowly accepting these emotions fully into your bloodstream and part of your existence.

You adore Joel, maybe more than you want to admit.

During a rare night out with your friends from class, feeling nice in your favorite outfit, courage courses through you. After posting a few photos from your night out, you also post a rather nice selfie.

You pray Joel sees it. Then you get a bit tipsy, and it takes all your willpower not to text Joel.

But the alcohol burns in you. Once you’re back at your apartment, in the safety of your room, you pull up your favorite video.

It’s a spring training video the Rangers made of the team preparing for the upcoming season. The video ranged from showing the guys on the field practicing, to them in the weight room.

There’s a nice small segment just on Cowboy Joel Miller. Specifically he’s training with a few weights and when you first saw it, your throat got so dry.

Joel is drenched in sweat. The simple worn navy blue shirt sticks to his body, highlighting the tone of his arms and width of his shoulders. Curls wet with sweat stick to his forehead. His concentrated face is sinful.

But not as hot as the sounds he makes.

The grunts, the soft growls, the exhales he gives lifting the weights… they drench your thoughts with images of him fucking.

You’ve never done this before, never gotten off on his videos. You never wanted to fall this far.

But it’s so hard when your body feels molten, so wet hearing with his groans directly in your ears. Your fingers trail down to relieve the throbbing wet ache between your legs.

Imagining Joel’s sweaty gorgeous body pressed against yours, picturing his thicker fingers in you, getting to taste him on your tongue - you come incredibly fast.

The next morning a text and a somber guilt wait for you.

Joel of course had messaged you.

Looks like you had fun last night

So he did see your pictures. A blistering heat crawls in your throat.

But reality sinks in fast. You got off to Joel. You don’t want to feel guilty. You reason there’s probably others who have maybe done it. But it does quietly eat at you.

So much that you don’t even reply to Joel for the whole day trying to sort your mind out. He’s the one that eventually calls you.

“Y’go out on a date or somethin’?” Joel asks about the night out, and your mind sputters to a halt.

“Oh uh, no. Just went out with some friends in class.”

“Oh.” He replies quick. “Well, looked like fun.”

You agree and thank him.

“But yeah, no dates for me.” You weakly laugh.

“Yeah? Any reason why?” Joel presses.

Because you’re partially head over heels for him, but you can’t admit that yet.

“No one’s asked me recently that’s all.” You reply simply. You’ve done the dating apps, had the headache mess of ghosting and awkward dates.

Joel snorts. “Pretty thing like you? Hard to imagine.”

His words, like a change up ball that drops wildly in the air, disorient you.

“Trust me, it’s real.” You dryly reply.

“And you? You must be seeing some famous celebrity in secret huh?” You teasingly ask.

You’ve seen the ESPN clips of the beautiful reporters flirting with him, cooing at how handsome he is. He probably could snag a supermodel or other famous person.

Joel barks a hollow laugh of a thing.

“No, none of that.” He answers.

“Ain’t not time for that or…mainly…haven’t found anyone who’s got the patience for me.”

Your heart sinks.

“Wait, what do you mean?” You quietly press.

He sighs.

“M’ older, a single dad. My schedule ain’t perfect. And those that have tried to uh… pursue something haven’t always had the best intentions.”

His voice trails off somber. You wonder how many just wanted him for his money or fame.

A grim cloud seems to settle above you.

“You’re a great guy Joel, an incredible one.” You earnestly tell him. “Those who can’t see it don’t deserve you.”

“And I have to say it but…you’re a real catch.” You go for the obvious baseball pun.

Joel’s chuckle is a beautiful low gruff treasure.

“That was bad.” You can almost picture him shaking his head. “But thanks…same uh, same goes for you. You’re smart, gorgeous. Someone will come around to see you’re worth it.”

You’re drowning in his words. They feel too much.

He ends up having to quickly end the call with his manager calling, and you’re thankful for it. Because this blooming rawness in you feels like it’s getting too much, yet not enough.

Joel’s compliments are sincere. But many feelings tangle you up. It hurts, like you’re stuck in a rose bush trying to get comfortable within the thorns.

Then, the universe decides to pull you away from Joel.

Classes kick up and the workload piles on. You’re exhausted. It even gets harder to reply to Joel as swiftly as you did. You even miss a few of his phone calls and don’t even call him back.

The days blur together.

Then, one morning you find a text waiting for you.

hope you’re alright

You want to cradle that message.

When you call Joel, it’s like not a day has passed between you and him. Your heart soars hearing his voice again.

“So uh…” Joel begins cautiously, and you’ve never heard him this nervous almost. “We’ll be heading your way into town soon.”

That’s right.

Caught up in the semester you completely forgot the team would be playing the Astros soon. Excitement immediately rises in you.

“Hope ya can come out and see us. And if ya do, let me know.” Joel suggests and you swear his voice sounds shy.

The minute the conversation ends, you try checking for tickets. But they’re a pretty penny. You jokingly circle the top section, the highest nosebleeds, and text him saying he needs to try and find you from here.

He texts back immediately.

Don’t worry about the tickets. Just head to will call and let them know you’re with me. Got it covered

That might be one of the hottest things you’ve ever read.

Game day can’t approach any faster. Your parents even mention the upcoming game when you call to check up.

“You should try to go!” Your dad urges, eager.

A part of you has wondered if Joel mentioned you to your dad. You’ve kept quiet, not saying a thing about whatever this is with Joel, and you now think so did Joel.

You take a small comfort in that.

When game day does arrive, you head to Minute Maid Park alone. Your closest friend and classmate couldn’t make it, and neither could your roommate. But for some reason, you’re slightly okay with being here by yourself.

At the ticket window, you nervously say that you’re here for Joel. Like if nothing they verify your name, and with an ease slide tickets your way.

Not just any tickets, but seats right by the Rangers dugout.

Still stunned, but now slightly lost, you can’t help but feel stranded in the stadium.

“You okay, sweetie?” A lovely voice comes and when you turn, you find a sweet older motherly woman. She wears a Texas Rangers jersey and another younger woman stands besides her in the same jersey. They both stare at you concerned.

“You lost?” The younger woman asks sympathetically.

It must be that obvious. The motherly older woman politely asks to check your tickets to point you in the right direction. She perks up.

“Aw look at that! You’re sitting close to us! Come on, we’ll show ya around!” She beams warmly.

“Wait, are you sure?” You ask worried.

“Oh of course,” the younger woman reassures you with a smile. “The stadium is so huge and besides, us Rangers fans gotta stick together.”

She then winks, noticing the Rangers shirt you bought and wore for the game.

You find out Malinda, the older woman, is the mother of the first baseman. And the other lady, Casey, is his wife.

Kindly, this sweet family adopts you, guiding you towards the section literally right besides the dugout on the other side of the net.

You’re stunned in shock yet again.

Even though your tickets are a few rows away from the two sweet ladies, they reassure you you’ll be fine sitting with them.

It’s beautiful and comforting.

“So, who are you here for?” Casey asks with a friendly gossip like whisper. “These seats are for friends and family, and I haven’t seen you around before.”

But then she quickly reassures you don’t have to explain if you don't want to.

You with a weak laugh you’re here to see Joel, adding that he’s a family friend. Her eyes go wide.

“Oh wow! And he warmed up today too so he might pitch!” She says excitedly.

Joel had texted you before the line up was confirmed that he would be warming up.

Don’t know if I’m gonna get put in but just in case

Even if he didn’t, you told him you just wanted to be there to support him.

With the Rangers being the visiting team, they bat first. You want to root for the guys to get a hit and get on base, but you also already selfishly want to see Joel.

Three outs come and the Rangers switch to take the field. No sign of Joel.

In fact he doesn’t show up until the fifth inning, and it happens so casually. Joel simply walks out from the dugout and takes your breath away.

The team wears their cobalt blue jerseys and the color flatters Joel marvelously.

It feels like seeing him for the first time all over again but through a deeper lens you can’t explain.

You clap and cheer with pride when he manages to strike out the first batter. Then the second.

Two strikeouts back to back.

Joel told you back in his younger days he struck out seven hitters in a row. Now for him to get two, much less strike out the third batter, is something to applaud and admire. And the Rangers fans here, including yourself, cheer loud when the team heads back for the next inning.

“Cowboy Miller in his golden age.” Someone off to the side whistles appreciatively.

You don’t fight the syrupy fondness swallowing you whole.

“It’s rare that a more…seasoned pitcher like Joel still is relied on,” your new friend Casey explains. “But it’s hard to see why not. Everyone’s been saying like he’s almost found a new groove and still has so much power.”

He’s a force you’re terribly in awe of.

Seeing the whip of how strong his body still pitches the ball with a dizzying speed, how handsome he looks under the baseball cap, you want to savor this as much as you can.

Joel manages to get two more strikes out in the second inning. Then by the seventh they get a hit off him but thankfully, no runs come in. Cowboy Miller ends the inning striking out the final batter. You, and the other Rangers fans present, erupt wild.

He did amazing.

Laser focused, locked in on the game, he doesn’t search the crowd or even glance up and you understand. The game gets intense when the Astros manage to hit a home run in the eight. In the end the Rangers win because of an error.

But it’s still a sweet victory.

You relish and warmly celebrate it with your co cheerleaders for the game that made you feel so welcomed with them. You’re about to head up and leave, start looking for an Uber ride home, when Malinda calls to you.

“Sweetie? Aren’t ya gonna wait with us and greet the guys!?” She asks with warm curious sweetness.

You can’t say no.

The commotion sweeps you into a neon coated excitement. There’s a special area sectioned off, almost in a backstage-like section that connects to the entry way for the visiting teams. You’re surprised at how many others wait here.

The team slowly trickles out of the locker room and into the hallway. You’re hilariously reminded of a class being let out.

Then the world then melts away when Joel walks out. Focused on his phone you almost want to call out to him, but your voice gets caught in your throat.

Putting his phone away Joel finally glances up and spots you.

Even with his baseball cap on, you see his eyes widen for a fraction. Your body reacts on its own moving towards him. But he also walks fiercely towards you.

The world blurs away for a moment and then without even thinking, you’re embracing him.

It happens so naturally you don’t even realize what you did until you blink and it’s like you’ve been thrown into cold water.

Panicking, you’re about to pull away until Joel’s arms slowly wrap around you.

“Good to see ya too.” He says low gruff but you’re taken out by the knees grateful your body doesn’t give out.

He smells of sweat, of the dirt on the field, and something sharply Joel, and it’s wonderful.

Quickly you draw yourself away to proudly tell him how amazing he did. Joel waves you off with a gruff noise as his eyes refuse to meet you, almost bashful.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him this close, been in the same space as him. And it feels so different.

“Alright, dinner?” Someone says, and when you turn, you’re stunned to see it’s the team manager.

Guess this means you’ll be saying goodbye.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks when he notices you staying back once everyone funnels outside.

“Uh yeah, gotta grab an Uber first. Didn’t wanna drive down here and deal with Houston traffic along with awful parking during a game.” You joke, and Joel snorts.

“Let me take ya back then.” He offers, and you almost drop your phone.

You scramble out reassuring Joel it’s fine.

“Besides, don’t you have dinner to go to?” And where would he even get a car to take you.

“S’fine. Would rather make sure you get home safe anyway.” He then tells you to hang tight then goes to grab one of the rental cars the team has on ready.

Because of course they do.

Your blood hums wild knowing Joel is taking you home, that you’re going to be alone with him. Even in this glimmering dusted dream you still want to tell Malinda and Casey goodbye and thanks for treating you so kindly.

You wish them well and even welcome their warm goodbye hug.

“Wish you could come to dinner!” Casey frowns.

“Maybe next time.” Her mother in law says bright.

Next time.

“Yes hope to see you at more games.” Casey grins and the possibility bubbles iridescent in you.

With a goodbye to them you wait for Joel. There are still a few others of the wives or girlfriends hanging around while the team sorts out where to go.

You haven’t turned to give them any attention. However something crawls on your skin like you’re hyper aware of being watched.

“Did you see how she hugged him? Probably just using him, poor Joel.” One of them whispers.

“She’s not even that pretty.” Another one giggles.

“Oh then you know he’s maybe just using her then! And if that’s the case then good for Joel.” The other replies with a searing joke that makes your stomach sick.

Joel returns, keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”

You weakly grin back.

You should be basking in this moment of finally getting to be alone with Joel, of getting to see him drive you around. Once in the car he took off his cap allowing you sight of his soft hair. The darkness of the car, the warmth of the city lights flickering by, all coat him glorious. Yet those comments from earlier fester poisonous and sour any hope of enjoying this.

You stay rather quiet while giving him directions to your place.

Joel however is surprisingly talkative.

“So you’ll have to give me recommendations of places to go around here.” His voice even sounds just traces softer, higher almost - like he’s happy being here.

And it kills you.

“Y’seem quiet, you okay?” He notices it of course, ever aware.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Didn’t know the game would take that much outta me.” You lie.

Eventually you arrive at your apartment complex.

“Your place is nice.” Joel admires as he helps you out of the car like the Texan gentleman he is. He even follows you to your door.

You graciously thank him again for this night and for taking you home.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again.

You walk a few steps away from him. The night all around is still quiet, feels soupy with how much hangs in you.

You refuse to cry about this, don’t want to get emotional. If anything, you deserve to treat this like an adult.

“Joel…” you start cautiously, already hating the way your voice wavers.

“Yeah?” His voice stays steady, unbothered, but his eyes furrowing say otherwise.

“What…what is this? What are we?” You ask as steady as you can, but your tone continues to crack.

Joel’s eyes brow furrow and his mouth closes, tightening his jaw.

“Just…good friends.” He replies simply, almost cold. “Just showing my pal’s daughter a nice night.”

There it is.

Your soul deflates. So all the times you’ve felt like this might be something, maybe it's just been you wishing it would be.

So salvaging whatever dignity left, you nod.

“Thanks again, Joel.” You reply briskly and return walking towards your door.

He says your name. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Why? Why d’ya ask that?” He asks, pressing firm and hard.

You turn back to him, and a deep scowl is etched on his face.

“It doesn’t matter.” You answer.

“The fuck does that mean?” He snaps a bit sharp.

“It means what it means.” You fire back.

“Bullshit. Why did you ask that?” Joel growls out firmer.

“Even if I told you, it doesn’t matter.” You repeat.

“Stop sounding like a fuckin’ owl.” His voice rises hard and fast, like a hand slamming on the wall.

It startles you, makes your eyes water and something in you shakes. Mainly because you know this is beginning to taste like the end. The smallest trace of hope is dissipating right before you.

You blink back tears, and immediately Joel’s face falls.

“Honey, I’m sorry-”

Shaking your head, you cut him off. Not even the sweet pet name he effortlessly uses can shake you.

Through gritted teeth you tell him to go.

“Not when you’re this upset.” He urges.

Through tears a sad water laugh escapes you and Joel’s eyes go cloudy.

“I’m realizing…I’ll never be anything to you then just your friend's kid, huh?” Your voice is waterlogged and you can’t fight it.

“You are.” He states simple and straightforward.

You nod, swallowing back the heartache boiling over.

“Can’t be anythin’ more than that.” Joel adds through mutter.

“Why?” You now ask him. Under the amber light of your apartment’s hallway the most frustrated cloudy look hardens his face.

His eyes scan your face then he steps closer towards you

“Don’t act dumb, sweetheart.” His voice rips out low cruel, slightly harsh.

You’re not and you tell him that.

“I…” the words you’ve held locked up so fiercely in your heart now sneak out from their bars to escape.

“I’d give anything to be yours, Joel.” You croak barely realizing you even said that.

He inhales, and his face goes taunt.

You wait for the sharp reply, even brace for it.

Instead Joel swoops in, kisses you wild like a sudden storm, and presses you against the door of your apartment.

Greedily, you claw onto him not wanting to ever let this go, to let him go. Your mouth begs him more to invade and consume. And he does so with a steady hunger.

The clamor into your apartment is messy, but at one point Joel cautiously stops to look around.

“My roommate’s visiting family…” you reassure, kissing his neck and softly under the side of his jaw with delicate cautious lips.

“Just you and me.” You whisper soft.

Joel takes command the minute you lead him to your room.

“Thought about this. Fuck, think about ya all the damn time.” He growls against your neck as he slides your bra off and runs a callous hand over your chest.

“Fucked my fist that first night you went swimmin’ at m’house.” Joel’s words make you whine and then his lips lick against your skin trying to savor you.

“Me too.” You admit through a whimper. “Touched myself thinking of you.”

Joel freezes.

“Tell me,” he says rather calmly, deadly almost.

Your syrupy lust begins fading away when you realize what you said, what he asks for, and what your answer will be.

Your lips and eyes shut close.

Then Joel’s warm breath, like a ghost, crawls against up your chest and tickles against your ear now.

“Come on, honey,” his voice is utterly decadent with a plea. “Tell me, please.”

You swallow hard telling Joel you don't want him to get weirded out.

He hums against your neck already starting to suck a mark against your skin. Your eyes roll back, and the embarrassment is quickly fading away.

“Promise, I’ll be okay.” Joel reassures you with a mumble against your skin.

So with a shaky voice, you weakly admit how you touched yourself to videos of him.

He groans.

“Baby, oh fuck, fuckin - shit.” Joel sputters out hard, like he just got kicked in the gut, and you’re worried until his lips smash into yours.

He devours you.

You’re swept into a tangled dizzying frenzy. Your clothes practically get ripped off as do Joel’s while he clutches onto you and licks into your mouth.

“That’s my girl. Knew you’d be m’good girl.” He says almost drunk and you’re done for.

You fall into the chasm with no hopes of turning back. But you don’t want to.

Joel feels like a god carving open your universe. You want to consume him and want him to consume you. He becomes your center of gravity.

In the aftermath, you’re left basking in Joel’s warmth and never want to leave.

Even though you were in his arms, Joel had to sit up to take a call and now scrolls through his phone. Your fingers trace his beautiful back.

You’re thankful for all the soft lamps you bought that now melt him into a dreamlike glow.

“Joel.”

He hums a gruff gentle noise that says he’s listening.

“I don’t…” you begin softly, then tell him your doubts. You don’t want him to think you’re simply using him for his status or money.

“Joel… you could quit or retire tomorrow and work with your brother as a contractor and I’d still always want you the way I want you.” Your deliciously aching limbs, the soft afterglow, all of it has you speaking soft and freely.

You never wanted Joel because of his fame or even because of the forbidden taste of him being friends with your dad. You wanted Joel for deeper reasons, some that have carved out a chasm in your heart.

You explain this all to him best as you can without rambling or sounding silly.

Joel sighs.

“Y’shouldn’t.” His voice is a hollow rumble. “I’m old, friends with your dad. We shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Now a bitter venom spills in you.

You glare at his back, how his shoulders slump defeated while you sit up

“I'm an adult, Joel. And if that’s all you’re worried about then sorry it’s a shit reason.” You launch back.

Over his shoulder he glares at you.

“If…” you swallow hard. “If you’re the one who wants to leave, because i’m that young, or you really don't want this or don’t feel what I feel, then fine. At least tell me that.”

“But I care about you. And I want to make this, us, work.” You finish firmly, even with how much emotions clash in your chest.

Joel sighs again. His eyes face turns away now down downcasted.

“Didn’t wanna want you the way I do. You’re so bright, fucking’ smart and so g’damn gorgeous.” He softly admits.

A pause settles between him and you.

“Y’could be with someone younger, less complicated.” Joel admits low.

“Don’t want anyone younger or less complicated. Just want you.” You reassure with a soft steady mutter.

He goes quiet again.

“Used to not get bothered when I started leavin’ away games by myself. With Tommy married and the business booming, then the girls startin’ to have their own lives…I didn’t mind doing this alone.”

Underneath his words you catch it, his rusting loneliness.

“But then…these past few months…and now today seeing ya waitin’ for me…” he says clipped, like the rest of his words are caught in his throat and he can’t free them yet

Joel turns, and his eyes bore into you.

The silence stays as you stare unflinchingly back at him.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. You don’t think you have to either. Like a magnetic pull, it’s effortless moving towards him. Joel’s warm large calloused hand, seasoned from so many seasons of hard work, of pitching, cradles your face. You kiss him with every inch of your heart.

Even after spending the night, you’re surprised Joel hasn’t left yet. He even comments about figuring out lunch plans with you.

“You have another game today, Cowboy.” You comment.

The term makes his eyebrows rise, and the most coy smirk tugs his face making him look so charming.

“Got today off to rest, ya little shit.” It’s affectionate. “Besides my back ain’t what it use to be and after goin’ more rounds with ya this morning-”

In the middle of your living room you rush to kiss him.

The rest of the day unfolds like a dream drenched and stitched from every domestic fantasy you’ve ever had. Joel stands in your kitchen when you make him a quick lunch and you laugh apologizing that your fridge isn’t MLB diet certified. Joel steals your last saved snack after that joke.

Cuddled snug on the couch with him, you try watching a movie but Joel, so greedy and handsy, ends up fucking your brains out with his tongue.

When dinner rolls around, you order from your favorite local takeout place and Joel pays for everything. You ignore all the work you need to do for the week and don’t care. You’re here at this moment and want to stay crystalized in it for as long as you can.

But tomorrow is the last day before the team leaves to Miami to play the Marlins.

While showering with him, you wrap yourself against Joel’s back already dreading his leave. He seems to sense it too because his hands squeezes yours.

Against your shower wall he glides into you tender and slow, almost trying to draw out every inch of this.

Later that night, you try staying up but the day begins settling in. Your eyes flutter trying to fight sleep.

He mutters your name soft while his fingers run soft against your side.

“Hm?” You answer, trying hard to fight your tired eyes.

“Don’t want ya to think i’m ever using you, honey. You’re not just some young thing keepin’ me company.”

His words are simple, but they erupt so much in you.

Joel had been spooning you from behind, but now you immediately turn around to burrow your face against his chest. You reassure him and his arms tighten around you wonderful chains you wish never break.

But the next morning arrives.

“Gonna come to our last game here?” Joel asks while he packs up.

“Don’t know, I heard you guys still have that really old guy who might be pitching.” You say with a shrug.

His face frowns hard, but Joel moves to playfully smack your ass while you laugh. He quickly draws you in for another kiss.

You have class tomorrow and work you need to jump on, but you go to the game. Joel doesn’t play, but you don’t mind. Getting to hug him goodbye one last night in the shadow of the stadium is worth it.

“Text ya when we get to the airport.” Joel promises, secretly placing a soft kiss on your head.

That night when you get home you order not one, but two Joel Miller jerseys.

[nadvs]

Hey girl! I’m obsessed with basketball!rafe, your write him so well! On the night of readers first visit in basketball!rafes condo, you said they slept together. Can we have a blurb on that? I NEED to know how that went

thank you so much!! omg yessss. they’ve been long distance and it’s been hard but they miss each other so much so when she finally visits, it’s intense 🤭

based on this fic, mentioned in this blurb! 18+!

» au masterlist

at this point, they’ve been together for almost seven months. and a month and a half of that has been at a distance.

since rafe moved away, it feels like all they do is argue. most of their calls have been tense. they’ve gone days giving each other silent treatment too many times to count.

so when she’s stepping out of the airport gate that late afternoon, she’s more nervous than she is excited for her three-day stay, and she hates that she feels like that.

she finds rafe standing by a pillar, wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses. he’s gotten even bigger, his muscles bulging under his sleeveless shirt. now that he’s signed with the nba, he’s at practice every morning, hitting the gym twice a day, preparing for the season two months away. always busy. often too busy for her.

he doesn’t wait for her to reach him. he helps close the distance, meeting her in an open pocket in the crowd and wrapping her in his arms. he’s holding her so tightly that she can feel his heartbeat on her chest.

she didn’t know what to expect when he saw her, considering how rocky things have been. but this feels like the best possible way he could greet her. he seems happy. the chasm between them is still there, but it’s closing.

rafe nuzzles into her neck, smelling the mix of shampoo and perfume that makes her her, and is so overwhelmed that his throat feels thicker and tears start to form in his eyes. thank fuck he’s wearing shades.

“hey, baby,” he says, muffled.

“hi,” she says softly. “how are you?”

it’s a loaded question. he’s lonely. he didn’t realize how lonely until he held her. he’s stressed. he’s out of his depth. but he settles for, “not bad. you?”

“better now,” she says.

she knows her boyfriend’s life has changed. but it’s not until they’re walking out of the building and he gets stopped by a middle-aged man asking for a photo with him that she realizes just how much things have shifted. the man’s wife shakes her head, saying don’t bother them, but the man says please, it’ll be quick.

rafe obliges, once again grateful he’s wearing shades so nobody sees his teary eyes.

“you’ll take us to the final, won’t you?” the man says, clearly starstruck.

“i’ll try,” he replies. it’s clear to her that rafe’s a little uneasy, which surprises her. she thought he and his ego would love the attention.

“you’re like famous famous,” she teases once they walk far enough away.

“that’s only like, the second time that happened,” he says, not matching her playfulness.

she can tell that he’s trying to downplay it. but the season hasn’t even started and he’s already being recognized. it’s a big deal.

“is that why you’re all disguised?” she realizes.

“yeah,” he admits, seemingly embarrassed. he really didn’t want anyone to recognize him today.

they reach his car in an underground parking garage and she settles in the passenger seat as puts her suitcase in his backseat. he sits and starts the car.

“what have you done with my boyfriend?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood. “how are you not bragging about what just happened?”

“i don’t know,” he says. “you’re here. that’s what i’m focused on. and who knows… i could be one of those guys who gets one contract and then burns out. better not to get used to all that.”

her eyebrows knit together. he’s being short with her. and he’s never spoken like this. she’s seen him unsure about himself only a few times before. he was painfully nervous on draft night. but he never mentioned anything about his career burning out. this isn’t the man she knows.

“you’re a great player,” she tells him. “you won’t burn out.”

he nods unconvincingly and shifts the car into reverse, trying to avoid this heavy of a conversation right away. she knows him well enough to know what he’s doing. she puts her hand on his.

“hey,” she says softly. “wait a second.”

he sighs, his throat thickening again. he puts the car in park and turns it off.

“you good?” she asks.

he pinches the bridge of his nose. she realizes that his hand is trembling. he finally takes his sunglasses off and rubs his eyes, wiping at them.

“i’m tired,” he admits.

she stares at him through worried eyes.

“i’m sorry. we’ll take it easy tonight,” she tells him. “we can just order food and watch tv and go to bed early. it’s going to be okay.”

he nods, licking his lips nervously.

“it makes sense if you’re overwhelmed. it’s a lot of pressure. your life is so different now,” she says. “and i know i was part of the old one, but i want to be part of this new one, too, okay? i’m here for you.”

she’s not saying it solely to reassure him. she realizes she’s hoping he’ll reassure her back. things are still off between them. she can feel it. maybe it’s because she’s slowly drifting into the past to him. maybe he won’t carry her into his new life.

rafe is speechless. his chest hurts. he hates that she would insinuate that he doesn’t have a place for her. that she has any doubts at all. he’s the one who called her after their last big argument, following days of not talking to each other. he’s still bitter about it. he keeps putting up a fight, yet it’s like she thinks she’s the only one trying.

“the only way to fail is to give up, right?” she says.

rafe snorts.

“where’d you read that?” he says mockingly. cutting.

he regrets it immediately. she sits straighter, creating distance between them.

“i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m just... i want you here. i do. i’m already thinking about how you’re going to leave and it sucks. i’m just so… on edge.”

“so, your way to handle it is by being mean to me like, a minute after i get here?” she asks. his knee-jerk reaction to stress has always been to be rude and combative. it’s her least favorite thing about him.

“my head’s not right. i’m sorry.”

even though she’s hurt and bitter, she pushes past it and nods.

“let’s start over,” she says. “i can tell you all about my flight. real exciting stuff.”

he finally cracks a genuine smile.

when they make it to rafe’s penthouse, she’s shocked. she saw the view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows over their facetime calls, but the real thing doesn’t compare. it’s unreal, the way the setting sun is glistening over the skyline.

it’s crazy. she’s stayed right where she’s been since she met him, on the same campus doing the same things, but now he’s here. the stinging anxiety hits her again that maybe he’ll leave her in the past.

“this is really nice,” she says.

rafe gazes at her as she looks out the window. he’s felt out of place since he got here. the dynamic with his new team is nothing like it was back in college. this condo feels more like a hotel instead of his home.

but with her here, the most important piece of all he knows, the place doesn’t feel cold anymore.

he looks out at the view. it is nice. but it’s been hard to appreciate it since there’s been a weight living over him, blurring things.

“you can continue the tour now,” she says.

he offers her his hand. she takes it. his palm is rough and calloused from all his training.

as she paces through the condo, everything about the place is stunning. bare, but stunning.

“i can help you decorate if you want,” she offers as they travel down the hallway. “wanna go shopping tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he agrees. something as mundane as shopping for decor excites him simply because it’ll be with her.

they reach his bedroom. the california king bed is centered against the back wall. the room offers another beautiful view with a balcony.

“you ever sit out there in the morning? watch the sunrise?” she asks, stepping towards the open balcony door. she can hear the dull roar of cars zooming through the massive freeway laid out far below.

“nah, i go straight to practice,” rafe says. “and on days off, i just sleep in.”

“right,” she recalls. he gets up almost every morning before the sun rises. his schedule has been brutal. she feels guilty for fighting with him about how hard it’s been to schedule calls with him. she pictured him living a glamorous life, forgetting all about her. but he just seems isolated. exhausted.

she turns to face him again, gazing around the characterless room.

“would you want pictures in here? maybe some art on the walls?” she asks.

“i thought decorating started tomorrow?” rafe teases. she loves that he’s seeming to ease up a bit.

“can never be too prepared.” he smirks, looking down at her with a tired, but relaxed expression.

“i haven’t had time to do anything with the place,” he says. “and i wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“all good,” she says. “you stick to basketball, i’ll stick to making this place look like someone actually lives in it.”

“deal,” he says with a soft laugh.

she smiles. her eyes drift down, noticing faint white lines on his shoulders under his sleeveless shirt. she traces her fingers over the new stretch marks.

“they’re not working you too hard, are they?” she asks.

her tender touch makes rafe’s body go hot. she feels it immediately, how the tension between them has shifted.

“no,” he mumbles. “the trainer said i actually need to slow down on the lifting. i can’t get too heavy. i won’t be able to run as fast.”

“so, what i’m hearing is you need a few rest days,” she says with a cute shrug. “you need to relax. it’s for the good of your game.”

he chuckles. within minutes of getting home, his girl makes everything better.

“thank you for coming,” he says sincerely, his hands finding her hips. her heart feels ten times lighter.

“for getting on a flight you booked? in first class? to live in your penthouse?” she says. “you’re welcome. big sacrifice.”

rafe smirks at her again, leaning closer. their lips press in a slow, sweet, long kiss. he pulls back once he feels her hand on his cheek.

“you stressed out, baby?” she whispers. his eyes are still closed an he only nods, grimacing. she strokes his cheek with her thumb.

“you want me to help you relax?” she says. he leans lower, his forehead on hers. his stomach is numb. his boxers suddenly feel too tight.

“yeah.” rafe’s tone is low. needy.

“lie down,” she tells him. “i’ll make you feel better.”

his entire body is buzzing. once he’s on his back in his bed, they’re slowly pulling off each other’s clothes.

she thought when they’d inevitably get into bed, it’d be impatient and rushed, but every movement is careful. they want to savor each other. it’s so much better this way.

she leads him to lie on his pillow when he’s left in his boxers and she’s in her panties. she pulls down his boxers, watching him spring out, the coil in her body already tightened to its limit. she missed him so badly.

she holds him at his base, meeting his eyes as she slowly takes the tip in her mouth. she watches his toned body curve as he bucks his hips with a groan.

“fuck,” he whispers. “wait, wait.”

he shifts to his side, turning his nightstand lamp on so that he can see her better, instead of doing this in the dim of the sunset.

he lies back down, placing eager fingers at her roots, desperately guiding her back to where she was.

their eyes lock as she lowers again, her tongue hot against him, slowly sinking until she has all of him in her mouth. she softly gags and pulls back, leaving his length wet with her spit.

“you’ve been working so hard, hmm?” she asks, looking at him as she palms him slowly, dragging her hand over his slick hardness.

“yeah,” he says, voice strained. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

she feels better hearing his words. all the tension between them has dissipated, at least for now.

“i missed you, too,” she whispers. she wraps her lips around him again, feeling him twitch against the inside of her cheek.

rafe can’t take his eyes off of her. she moves slowly, carefully, her tongue flicking around him, her wrist twisting and stroking. his grip is tight at the roots of her hair as she starts to move faster.

he can feel himself getting closer. he doesn’t want to finish like this.

“come here,” he murmurs, cradling her head, leading her closer.

she obeys, hovering over him on her knees. his hands drag over her ass, running over the lace of her panties, squeezing hard as she lowers to press her lips on his.

they kiss hard and slow, over and over until she can’t anymore, breathless and grinding on him. his thumbs loop under the band of her underwear, pushing the fabric down.

she wriggles out of the lace and he grasps her waist to turn her onto her back, kissing her again, finding her wrists and pinning them tightly against his bed.

“i don’t think i’ll last long,” he rasps against her mouth.

“that’s okay,” she says. “i just want you to feel good.”

he so badly wants to tell her he loves her. but they’ve never taken that step, and if he does take it and she doesn’t follow, he might not survive the fall.

instead, he moves to rest his hand between her legs, inhaling sharply once he feels how wet she is.

“fucking dripping for me,” he praises. she spreads her legs wider and he trails up to her clit, starting to trace circles.

she arches her back, pushing against his hand, already getting close. her body is just as desperate and impatient for it as his is.

“i’m close,” she whispers within seconds, her eyes shut. he stares at her in awe, so damn pleased that he can do this to her and get her there so quickly.

“yeah? you gonna come on my hand?”

“yes, yes,” she breathes, her lips parted. “don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

rafe wants to kiss her, but seeing her pretty face twisting in pleasure is too good to miss. one hand keeps her wrist pinned above her head while the other works with fast, firm movements, bringing her closer.

“i can’t wait to be inside you,” he groans. “you’re all i think about, you know that?”

she dips her head back, a soft moan spilling out of her mouth as she unravels, her body weakening with her orgasm. it hits her so hard that she trembles more than ever before.

she takes a moment to collect herself, then finds the strength to sit up just enough to grip him, guiding him to press against her. he groans as he starts to sink in her and she links her legs around him, pulling him in.

she presses her free hand against the head of his bedframe to steady herself so he can slam into her without any recoil, promising him the best sensation she can give him.

with one hand on her jaw and the other on her palm, interlacing his fingers with hers, he bottoms out, grunting against her ear.

“as hard as you want,” she whispers. “you know i can take it.”

her words make him dizzy. he doesn’t build up to the pace. suddenly, their slow, patient movements are gone, and he starts to thrust in and out of her fast and rough, to the hilt every time because of the way she’s keeping herself anchored against his headboard.

it’s like he’s drowning in her. he doesn’t want to come up for air. his breaths grow more shallow, his skin gets clammier, his pulse speeds up.

his bed is shaking with every slam, hitting deep inside her, wrapped in her heat and never wanting it to end. he squeezes her hand, wishing she knew just how grateful he is for her. not just for this. for everything.

“you’re mine,” he rasps. she tightens her legs around him, looking up at him as his handsome, sharp features crease in pleasure. “you belong to me.”

“yes,” she whispers. “i do. i do.”

rafe leans down to kiss her, his body going tight. she feels him grow harder, the pressure outright perfect, and he groans into her mouth as he comes, filling her with his heat.

he collapses on her, heavier than he was the last time they slept together. but she keeps her legs linked around him, withstanding the weight, running her hand down the curve of his spine while the other stays interlaced with his.

he’s panting hard. and he can’t control it when tears sting his eyes. she notices him shuddering, and she squeezes him tighter, kissing his cheek over and over again, her heart breaking for him.

“you okay, baby?” she whispers.

“yeah,” he says, and for once, he’s being honest about it.

all of this has been so hard and discombobulating, but with her here, life feels easy. and finally, he’s confident in something again. he knows they’ll make it. there’s no way they can’t.

“yeah,” he repeats. “hungry.”

she softly laughs, moving to wrap both arms around him. he’s so big and hard and heavy, but she tries her best to hold him, to comfort him.

“let’s get dinner,” she says. she knows his diet has been strict. “cheat day?”

rafe smirks against her neck. he didn’t know how badly he needed a vacation, and that he didn’t even have to leave his house to feel like he’s on one. he just needs her.

[puck-luck]

learning curves | trevor zegras

warnings: inexperienced!reader x experienced!tz, general anziety about having sex for the first time/doing sexual things for the first time, silly goofy sex questions that everyone has but refuses to speak on, conversation about kinks (lasts two seconds because they get derailed almost immediately), handjob, innocence!kink, probably some other stuff i missed. pairing: trevor zegras x inexperienced!reader summary: trevor zegras and his gf have "the talk" wc: 3891

Three dates. It’s been three dates. Your best friend in the world says that it’s after the third date that she considers putting out– but she’s also had sex before, racked up a body count that seems substantial next to yours (yours being a whopping zero and hers being a solid nine). Where you didn’t have boyfriends and were more focused on graduating early so you could start your dream job with the Angels, she seemed happy with the fast-paced, social side of college that afforded her connections and contacts with men of all kinds.

You told her about Trevor when you started dating him, after he brought you to your own baseball game, the last of the season against the Oakland A’s. It had worked out well in his favor, despite the fact that you hadn’t told him about your passion for baseball. Since it was the last of the season, your supervisor had let you take the day off as a reward for all your hard work and had pawned your tasks off to the other members of your team. 

Your best friend had called you mere minutes after that first date had ended, gushing with you about Trevor’s kindness in buying your food and drinks (and ticket) and laughing at the way you reenacted Trevor’s attempt to mansplain baseball to you. 

After the second date, when Trevor brought you to play mini-golf and took you to get ice cream, you had called her. She had asked if he had kissed you yet. She also asked if you were going to send a picture of his butt anytime soon. The answer to both was “no.”

And last week, after the third date where Trevor had taken you to see Killers of the Flower Moon when it released, she had told you about her policy: the one where she starts to consider putting out. 

It seems like Trevor might be on the same page. For your fourth date, Trevor invited you to dinner. Tonight. At his apartment. He’s cooking for you. At his apartment. 

Alone.

You haven’t told him yet about the fact that you haven’t had sex with anyone. He’s probably picked up on it by now, with how you shy away from his touches and swerved him twice (once at mini-golf and once after the movies). 

You’re going to tell him tonight. He’s going to cook a beautiful dinner, be nothing but sweet and caring like he always is, and then you’re going to tell him that you’re still a virgin, and he’s going to be freaked out, and probably break up with you.

That’s the only way it could go, right?

The potential for disaster is on your mind the whole night, from the drive to Trevor’s to the last bite of the cheesecake Trevor bought for dessert. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Trevor asks, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Did I make something you don’t like? Are you not a cheesecake fan?”

“No, Trevor, I like cheesecake. You haven’t done anything wrong.” You continue to pick at your dessert. You sigh, then place your fork down on the side of the plate. “I think we need to have a conversation.”

You don’t miss the alarm that flashes across Trevor’s face when you say that. 

He stands almost immediately from his seat, taking your hand to bring you to his living room, where you can sit comfortably on the couch. Trevor stays quiet, something you know is difficult for him, but it means so much more to you that he’s trying to let you take charge here.

“Do you remember when I told you about my best friend?” You ask, finding it safest to start there.

Trevor nods. “What about her?”

You’re quiet for a beat, taking a deep breath. “She told me that she starts to put out after the third date.”

A sharp silence follows. Your heart is beating through your chest, but it starts to slow the longer the silence drags on.

Finally, Trevor breaks the silence. “So?” He asks. “What does that have to do with us?”

You fishmouth at him, jaw open wide and dangling. 

“Not in like a mean way, but I was inviting you over for dinner. If you want to fuck, we can fuck, but I really just wanted to eat with you today.”

Trevor’s words are both comforting and cutting. He’s sassy, always is, and the consonants of his words sound harsh. He’s saying everything like he’s so sure, like it was obvious, and the word “fuck” twists your intestines in a way that causes you to grimace. It’s nice that he didn’t intend to have sex with you tonight, but now it seems like an offhanded afterthought. If you want to, we can. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” You bite the edge of your thumbnail. “It’s– well, that’s kind of a big deal for me?”

Trevor nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I haven’t, um. I, kind of, haven’t really… done that… yet.” Your voice shakes a bit in an embarrassing way, a way that makes you want to cringe, but you don’t want to seem so vulnerable in front of Trevor. 

The problem is that you like him. You’ve been going on dates as often as you can, with Trevor’s busy schedule. You enjoy seeing him, you like hanging out with him, and you want to keep doing it. You always get your hopes up and this time is no different, you can feel it. You’re hoping that Trevor won’t say the same shit as the other guys you’ve told this to, the ones that laughed or belittled you or asked “Why? Why haven’t you?” like there’s a good answer to their question.

“Oh,” is the eloquent response that Trevor comes up with. His eyes are wide and his mouth stays slightly open, even when he’s done speaking. It’s like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t know what. 

You’re the same way– you bite the inside of your cheek and your lip as you continue to watch Trevor. If you weren’t feeling so nervous, it would be a funny sight: two people sitting on the couch, just staring at each other with wide eyes.

“I really like you, Trevor,” You tell him. “I just– I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want you to leave me because I can’t give you what you want.”

Trevor moves quickly, closing the space between you. He hugs you tightly and you sniff, holding back emotion that you didn’t realize was there. 

“Is there anything else?” Trevor asks , rubbing your back. 

You shake your head.

“I really like you, too,” Trevor adds. “I’m not going to leave you because you’re… inexperienced. I want to keep dating you, Y/N. If you’ll let me, I would really like to…” Trevor trails off, offering you a smile and a little bit of a laugh before continuing. “Teach you?”

Your mouth opens in surprise. “Teach me?” You repeat.

Trevor grimaces, an embarrassed smile on his face. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit,” You agree. Your heart has slowed to its normal pace and Trevor’s hand on your knee is a comfort, not unwelcome pressure. 

“Can I kiss you?” Trevor asks. His voice is soft and his hand has drifted up to your cheek. 

“Well, I’ve done that before,” You joke. You’re not lying– you’ve kissed people in the past. You feel like that should be clear to Trevor before he gets too big of a head. 

“Not with me.” Trevor leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, then the other. He kisses along your face until he gets to your lips, which is when he pauses before barely letting his lips ghost across yours. He holds himself there for a moment, waits for you to tilt your head up, and Trevor dives in. It’s sweet and he’s patient, never moving any faster than you want him to. 

Over the next week, you tell Trevor your theories about why you haven’t had sex before: that you were a weird kid, or too focused on school, or too eager for the next big thing that you never considered it. Or that guys were scary and often didn’t actually seem to care. Trevor reassured you that he didn’t care that you hadn’t had sex before, but that he did care more about you than anyone he’d ever been with in the past.

By your fifth date, Trevor had officially made you his girlfriend. He had also officially told you that you could ask him any questions you wanted, whenever they popped into your mind.

You had taken advantage of it, often at the worst times:

Over text before a game: “Is it going to hurt?” “Probably. But I’ll go slow and try to get you as ready for my cock as I can.” While you and Trevor are grocery shopping: “What am I supposed to do?” “What do you mean?” “Like, I don’t want to just lay there.” “There are a lot of different positions. I’m not going to make you just lay there.” “Okay, well I don’t think I’ll be any good on top.” “You don’t know that yet. Also, chill out. We’re in the middle of the toilet paper aisle. Can we finish this conversation at home?” Later, in that same grocery trip, while in the condom aisle: “Is it really that different?” “What?” “When you have sex with and without a condom. Is there a big difference?” “Uh, it’s more… intimate without. I think it feels better.” “So should we skip the condom altogether?” “Uh… probably not the first time. We should probably work up to that.” “Well, I want you to feel good.” “You’re going to give me a boner if you keep talking. Shut up. We’re buying condoms.” And when you pouted: “Just be patient, we’ll get there.” When you drop him off for practice: “How long do you usually last?” “I have to go.” Then, over text two minutes after he walks away from the car: “you’re hot so probably not more than two minutes <3”

You’d waited to ask the more pressing questions when you were in private. It brought you a thrill of glee each time you asked a question and you could watch Trevor grow uncomfortable with the effort it took to restrain himself, to not try and get some relief whenever you caused him to grow hard with your unintentionally dirty words. 

“I made a list of questions for you,” You tell Trevor. It’s the last time you’re hanging out before you head home for Thanksgiving. You’re sitting on the same couch, Trevor on one side, you on the other. 

“Twenty questions, sexy style?” Trevor teases, pulling your legs over his lap. 

“You’re my little encyclopedia,” You reply. “And I’m curious.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“What do you like, Trev? Tell me everything. Likes, dislikes, kinks, dare I say fetishes…”

“Don’t really think I have any fetishes, but thanks for being open about it,” Trevor laughs. He rubs his thumb over your ankle. “That’s a really big question, baby.”

You shrug, foregoing a reply.

“I mean, I don’t know. I like sex. I like getting head. I like giving head. I like it when I finger a girl. I like it when I can make a girl come. I occasionally like to spank a girl. I’m pretty chill, baby. I’m down for anything.”

You scoff. “Trev, I don’t know anything. You have to be specific.”

Trevor takes a breath and chews his bottom lip, seeming to consider your words. “I like that you don’t know anything.” His fingers circle your ankle and he squeezes what he can hold in his hand. For probably the first time since he’s talked to you about this sort of thing, Trevor seems hesitant, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “It makes me feel really special.”

“Special how?” You ask.

“I don’t know, just… that you trust me with this.”

You suppress a smile. “Look at you, Mr. Emotional Intimacy.”

Trevor snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’ve never been a huge relationship guy, Y/N. I think it’s really cool that you make me want to experience all this shit with you. It’s nice to feel this way. We get to treat every moment like it’s really special, and that makes me feel special, since most of my other sexual encounters are just heat of the moment hookups with other experienced partners.”

When you open your mouth to apologize for your inexperience, unable to help yourself, Trevor cuts you off. 

“I also think it’s really hot that– God, this sounds so fucked up– I get to show you everything. It’s… like, okay, fuck, it’s kind of the student and teacher thing.”

“So you do have a fetish!” You accuse, pointing your finger at Trevor wildly. He captures your hand and rolls his eyes. “You want me to dress up like a Catholic schoolgirl!”

“I do not!” Trevor replies, sounding exasperated. He pauses to consider it. “Okay, it would be hot. But that’s not why, bro. Chill out.”

“Why, then?” You ask. You’re interested, almost too interested. You want to know what makes Trevor click, what you can do to make him hard and what he looks like when he’s in pleasure, when he comes.

“I like that you’re innocent. It just makes me feel like I get to take care of you. It’s dumb, but I get to be the man and I get to make you feel good and show you how to make me feel good. I’m the only one who’s seen you like this, it’s fun for me.”

Your eyes drift lower to his lap, wanting to see if he’s tenting his shorts just at the idea. He is. You move closer to him, taking your legs off his lap and tucking yourself into his side. Feeling bold, you place your hand on his stomach.

“Can I see you?” You ask, making sure your voice sounds extra sweet and you’re blinking up at him through your eyelashes. 

Trevor practically convulses, his mouth pressed into a straight line, but still wobbling a bit as he stares at you in shock. “What?” He asks.

You let your fingers drift to the waistband of his shorts, but you dare not to tread further. You don’t want to touch him wrong, or mess everything up. But, at the same time, you really want to see his dick. “Can I see you?” You repeat. Then, you let out a little laugh, just to yourself. “I’m–” You cut yourself off and press your lips together, proud of the joke you’re about to make. “I’m a hands-on learner.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Trevor says, shaking his head at your terrible joke. “Baby, are you sure?”

“Trev, I want to see your dick.” You roll your eyes, pulling your hand back. “I should see the hardware before I ask of any more questions, right?”

Trevor seems to be battling with himself. 

You dip your finger under the waistband, feeling his v-line with your pinky. 

It snaps Trevor out of his inner turmoil and he bats your hand away. He shimmies his shorts off, leaving his boxers on. They don’t leave much to the imagination and you bite your lip with a gasp.

It’s big. It’s not even out yet, and it’s big.

Trevor dips his head down, tilting your chin up with a finger, and kisses you softly. “Still sure?” He whispers.

“Leave it in there for a second,” You reply. You lower your voice to a whisper to match his: “How is that going to fit inside me?”

“We’ll go slow and I’ll get you nice and open for me. Three fingers, so it’s easier.” He winks. “Maybe four.”

“Jesus Christ, Trevor.” Your voice is more admonishing than turned on, but it would be a lie if you weren’t intrigued by his words. 

“And you know what else?” Trevor asks. 

You nod for him to continue. 

“If we need to, we’ll use lube. But I want to make you come a couple times before I get my cock in you, that first time. Wanna make it so good for you. You’ll be so relaxed that you’ll forget it’s your first time.”

“A couple times,” You repeat, feeling a little dazed. “Is that… normal?”

Trevor shrugs. “Normal is different for everyone. It’s possible and I think you’ll like the feeling of me making you come. I know I will. So, I hope it becomes normal for us.”

“Okay,” You say. You know your voice sounds unsure. You clear your throat. “Take it out,” You tell him, a little hoarse still. 

“You’re sure?”

“Trevor, just do it,” You let the words burst out of you. “If I hate it, I’ll tell you to put it away!”

Trevor laughs. “God, I hope you don’t hate it. That would really derail my plans for us.” He hooks his thumbs in his waistband and inches his boxers down.

The inching slowly reveals the head of his cock, red and shiny. Eyes wide, you tilt your head to the side. Your lips part as Trevor continues to reveal himself to you. It lays flat against his stomach, curved a little to the side. 

Trevor smiles, the right side of his mouth tilting up into a smirk. He brings his hand to the base of his cock and watches your breath hitch when he pumps himself once, slowly, just to gauge your reaction. He squeezes, milking a little precum out of his tip. 

You tense up, watching the drip slide down his length. 

“Oh my God,” You whisper to yourself. 

“What do you think, baby? Hideous?” Trevor asks, a knowing lilt in his voice. He sees how your eyes haven’t left his dick since he pulled it out of his boxers, curious but also enraptured.

Your hand twitches on his stomach. “Can I…”

Trevor hums, stroking himself again.

“Can I touch you?”

“Whatever you want,” Trevor agrees and takes his hand off of himself, practically dropping his cock like a hot potato. 

You reach out, hesitating at the last second. You pull back. “I feel so stupid.”

“Why?” Trevor asks. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You say begrudgingly, pouting under his watchful eye. 

“That’s okay. Just get your hand on it, feel it out. I can help you, if you want.”

“No, I want to do it.” You reach out, making contact with Trevor’s cock with a single finger. You draw a line from his base to his tip, following the vein on the side. You bite your lip in concentration, circling the tip of his cock with your finger and thumb. You purse your lips and feel the weight of his cock in your hand, tilting it gently from one side, to the other, forwards and backwards like a joystick, just to see how it moves.

You fail to notice Trevor’s breathing grow deeper, nor the way his eyes are trained on your face.

You press your thumb into the underside of the head of his dick, where the tip meets the shaft. You drag your thumb up, swiping over the slit. A bubble of precum appears and leaks out. You rub your thumb through it, then turn your hand over to look at your thumb.

Trevor’s jaw drops and a strangled noise leaves his mouth when you bring your thumb up to your mouth and take a taste. 

His cock jumps, drawing your eyes. You then look up to him and notice the sweat on his brow. He’s biting his lip to recover from his groan, but lets out a whimper when you circle his cock with your entire hand and pump him. 

“Oh my God,” Trevor whispers, mirroring your reaction from earlier. His voice is shaky and his eyes roll backwards into his head. 

You bring your other hand down to cradle one of his balls, rolling it in your palm. You pump his cock at the same time and Trevor’s hips jump into your fist, catching you off guard.

“Gonna come,” Trevor chokes out. “Just– fuck– keep going.”

“Help me,” You request, taking his hand and bringing it so his hand covers yours.

He moans aloud, tightening his grip (and yours by extension), and moving his hips up into his hand in short thrusts.

“Fuck, is this– is this okay?” Trevor checks with you, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Can I come?”

Your eyes stay on his face, watching as his face contorts with pleasure. “Yeah,” You breathe out. “Want to see you come, Trev.”

He lets out a moan at that, throwing his head back as you continue to stroke over his member in tandem. He fucks up until your fists as he hurls himself over the edge, ribbons of come shooting out of his tip and falling in pools over his hand and abdomen. 

A bit drips through his fingers onto your hand and you stare at it, crinkling your nose at the feeling of the sticky substance as it settles on your skin.

“Gross,” You say, wincing at the way it cools on your skin. 

“Let me clean you up,” Trevor offers, tucking himself away and rising off the couch to wet a paper towel. You stand and follow him, holding your hand a reasonable distance away from yourself, and trying not to drip everywhere. When Trevor turns to you with the paper towel, he laughs. “Well, don’t act like it’s acid!”

“You look pretty when you come,” You tell Trevor as he wipes his come off of your hand. He dumps the paper towel in the trash can and you elbow him out of the way to wash your hands for an extra long amount of time. He follows suit when you’re done and you plaster yourself to his back, hugging him from behind.

“What’s that for?” Trevor asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder fondly.

“For being so understanding and nice to me,” You mumble into his back, hiding your face. “Thank you.”

Trevor turns around in your grasp and returns your hug, holding you tightly to his chest. “Oh, baby, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Cuz you find me so hot when I’m innocent,” You giggle, poking his ribs.

“It’s my kink,” Trevor teases back, with a hint of truth to it, though you won’t find out about that until Trevor sheepishly admits it the next time you jerk him off and he’s babbling aimlessly about how pretty you look when you’re staring up at him in awe, asking him how he feels and if you’re doing well. He’s praising you and whining and when he finally comes, he almost hardens immediately after because you lift your hand up and give his come a little kitten lick, getting a taste of him. 

You end up scrunching your nose in distaste, not because you dislike it, but because it’s such a unique taste.

It makes Trevor laugh and it makes him lean in to kiss you, even venturing to open his mouth and let you take the lead with tongue (the way he taught you).

note: the monday morning streak continues! pls send feedback to my inbox (not requests, i'm booked) but i want to talk about this series!! I love chit-chatting with y'all! i also think that since i'm starting my new job(!!!!!!) this week, we might be down to one post this week & then i'll just work on a bunch of stuff throughout the week so i can hopefully post more when i'm acclimated to my job! also, my cousin is having her baby today! it's the first baby of the next generation! i'm so excited for her!

[whirlybirbs]

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

[toxicanonymity]

Apple Blossom. Left in Lincoln, pt. 4

7.5k / dads best friend!Joel x virgin!Reader 

story master list / joel miller master list

His cheeks turned a little pink and his eyes lit up. He handed you the rag.   "What?" you asked. “Nothin',” he said softly and shook his head. “You sure are pretty, darlin’. That’s all.” He dried his hands then gave your butt a squeeze. The moment of domesticity almost made you forget the town was rotting away beneath your feet. 

WARNINGS: I8+ mdni, slow-burn horror w/ potentially disturbing implicit content, big girthy age gap (20s/50s), plot, angst, toxic/dark fluff, gaslighting, manipulation, pressure, grooming, grinding, fingering, oral M receiving, pet names and praise.  Very TOXIC, dark Joel. Impaired editing.

You fell asleep in Joel’s arms and woke up alone in your bed.  The apple blossom was gone from your night stand. You showered and got dressed. You couldn’t find your baseball cap and realized the last time you wore it was in Joel’s orchard.  When you came downstairs, Bill and Frank's bedroom door was open.  Before you could investigate, you heard screeching outside, then cursing. You ran to the door.  Joel was waving his arms and a crow was flying away from him.  He had a screwdriver in one hand. He stood up and smoothed his shirt and a feather floated away from him.  He was wearing Frank's clothes with his hair freshly slicked back from a shower.    

You went outside and looked down at the open vent. You asked, “How’d you get it to come out?”

Joel shrugged with his arms hanging heavy at his sides.  "Nowhere else to go. Gotta be patient sometimes.” He bent one knee and put the hand with the screwdriver on his hip, looking up at the roof of the house. He squinted at the chimney.  “I reckon we left the fireplace vent open the other night.” 

You approached Joel and he extended his free hand for a hug.  He stroked your head and looked at you lovingly.  You were still taking that in -  the fact that Joel told you he loved you.  He gave you a kiss on the head and inhaled your scent.  Then he went to screw the vent back into the side of the house, and your eyes followed his ass.  That was one thing about Joel always having his shirt tucked in - You were very aware of his ass. He was so muscular, almost statuesque to you. His proportions reminded you of classic art. 

Joel glanced back as he bent over and your cheeks burned as you looked away from his body.  

“Can we plant the strawberries today?” You asked.

“Not the season, darlin’. Won’t survive.”

“Ours are still alive," you said. 

“Really?” he asked skeptically. 

"Yeah, they just never fruited."

“Show me.”  Joel finished screwing the vent back into place then stood up and brushed off his knees.  

You led him to the failed strawberry patch and showed him the plants. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Joel said and squatted down to finger the leaves.  "You wanna bring’em, guess we can try it."

You were excited to surprise Frank and Bill with fresh strawberries. Once they fruited, maybe you could transplant them somewhere at home too. 

"Grab a spade and bucket outta the shed. Some of that cloth, too." 

You returned with the requested supplies and Joel said, "Alright, I’ll work on this and you can pick some veggies to take with us if ya want." 

“We’re not coming back today?” 

“Not ‘til we figure out what’s goin’ on, darlin’.” He put his hands on his knees and stood back up with a groan.  “Anything else you wanna plant from here? Arugula?”  

You were still processing the idea of leaving home for multiple days.  “Sure. Wait, what if we get the computers back up to check the cameras?” you asked. “Then we can see if it’s safe.” 

He wiped his brow with the back of the flannel sleeve.  “Just looked at ‘em. All static. Lines must've been cut.  Been down at least a few days." 

"What??" A pit formed in your stomach.  This whole time, you should’ve been even more scared than you were.  Joel sensed your fear. He stepped forward and put his arm around you.  He cradled your head against him.  He smelled a little like Frank.  

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not leavin’ you again," he reassured you.  The low vibration of his voice in his chest was an extra layer to the hug. 

You tried to shake off the dark mood that fell over you. "Can we make apple juice?” you asked.  

“Sure we can, peaches.”

-

Joel uprooted some strawberry and arugula while you picked vegetables then brought them inside.  You got out the empty apple juice jar to take with you and took the cider jar out of the fridge, too.  

Joel walked in and froze. “You’re not drinkin’ that, are ya?” 

“No,” you said, but you didn’t want to offend him since he brewed it.  “Not right now.”

“But you did?” He stepped forward and looked so serious.  Your face went cold.

“Well, no-”

"You shouldn’t be drinkin’ without me, darlin’.  It’s not safe.”  There was an air of judgment in his  voice. You were embarrassed, but shouldn't have been.  You were old enough to drink and your house was full of wine. You could have a drink alone if you wanted to.  Joel extended his hand and looked at you sternly. “Gimme that.”  You felt defensive as if you had done something wrong. Even knowing you hadn't.  You suddenly realized you had no idea where his bottle of whiskey was that he left there days ago.   He might have thought you drank it, too.  You were mortified. 

“I was just gonna pour it out so we could use the jar,” you explained as he opened the cider.  Joel's face softened and he poured it out in the sink. 

“Got plenty of jars at home, baby. Good idea though."  He rinsed the jar then patted the back of your head tenderly. It wasn't enough to soothe the feeling of being scolded, but the feeling would fade. You had bigger things to worry about anyway. He just wanted to keep you safe. 

-

On the walk to Joel’s house, you told him all about the night before.  How Abe didn’t come by, then you heard Abe's truck, but didn’t see him.  You told him about the songs playing on the radio station, which gave you chills to even think about.  

Joel heard the distress in your voice and stopped dead in his tracks, disturbed.  “Sorry I wasn’t there, darlin’.  Never shoulda left ya." He took a deep, ragged breath in. He cupped your cheek.   “Guess I didn’t wanna be a bother if ya didn't want me stickin' around.” 

You felt a wave of guilt for sending him home each night.  You imagined him walking alone in the dark worrying about you, thinking he was bothering you.  

"It's okay, Joel," you reassured him.  "I should've asked you to stay." 

"It's not okay, baby.”  He shook his head at himself, then looked at you with grave concern.  “What if somethin' happened?" 

"Well, I guess it didn’t.  I'm okay," you said. 

He sighed and cradled the back of your head.

"But I'm worried about Abe," you added. 

Joel dropped his hand, and looked off into the distance, jaw muscle flexing.  

"What if he's in trouble?" you asked. 

Joel took a deep breath and looked in the direction of Abe’s property.  "Tell ya what, darlin'. I'll go check on him today, how’s that sound?”

The distress melted away from your face. “Thank you,” you gushed and wrapped him in a hug.  He kissed the top of your head.

A bird cried and both of you turned toward the sound.  It was a crow.  It followed you the rest of the way to Joel's house, squawking obnoxiously.  

-

It was your first time being in Joel’s house.  It was about as neat and clean as you expected for the most part.  It smelled woodsy and nutty, like pine and almonds, and faintly of apples.  He led you upstairs to a spare bedroom and left you there to get settled in. He said to let him know if you needed anything.  

You walked around the room and picked things up. There was a dresser, a vanity, and a mirror.  On top of the vanity was a jewelry box and a hairbrush.  A stationary set.  There was a stool at the vanity and a box fan on the floor.  

Everything was so perfect and comfortable. It was what you imagined a hotel might be like. Clean and cozy. You sat down on the neatly made bed and took your shoes off. Joel came back a few minutes later and stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked around the room then nervously put his hands in his pockets.  He asked, "What do you think?" 

"It's amazing." 

He looked relieved.  He came over to sit next to you on the bed.  "Good," he said.  He smiled and his eyes scanned your body.  He caressed your neck and planted a kiss on your cheek.  

"Can we pick apples to make the juice today?"

"Not today, darlin'. Not 'til we're sure it's safe." He raised your hand to his mouth and kissed it.  "Got some apples in the kitchen, though." 

-

Joel made lunch and told you about the different improvements he made to the house and orchard in the past few years.   You asked for a tour and he said you could have one after he knew the community was secure.  He got up and took the dishes to the sink.  He turned on the water to wash them and you got up and volunteered to do them instead. It seemed only fair since he made lunch. You stood next to him at the sink and reached for the rag. His cheeks turned a little pink and his eyes lit up. He hesitantly handed you the rag with a slight smile.    

“What?” you asked. 

“Nothin',” he said softly and shook his head, looking at the floor.  He looked back up at you and sucked his bottom lip.  “You sure are pretty, darlin’. That’s all.” He dried his hands on a clean towel, then gave your butt a little squeeze. You smiled and giggled silently.  The moment of domesticity made you forget the town was rotting away beneath your feet. 

Joel moved to stand close behind you and put his hands on your hips.  He spoke softly into the crown of your head.  “I'll go take a look around the neighborhood and check on Abe.”  

You turned your head and nodded, “thank you, Joel.” 

His voice got low and serious, but remained gentle.  “Stay here. Don't go outside.” 

You nodded again. 

“You don't answer the door for anyone but me.  Real important, okay?"

You put down the dish in your hand and turned around to face him fully. "Okay."

"Even if you think you know 'em. Don't know who could be infected." He swallowed regretfully. 

You nodded in agreement, "Okay."

His hands on either side of your hips casually caged you against the sink.  He gently pressed his hips, then his lips into yours.

“Back before sundown,” he muttered. 

He put on a jacket, went down to the cellar, and returned with two firearms. He handed you a pistol, put on his jacket, and kissed you goodbye.  He winked as he left, then locked the door behind him from the outside.  

-

While Joel was out, you got curious and bored. You  walked around the house.  The first door you tried to open was locked.  The second one led down to the cellar.  You took a few steps down and tried to reach the light string that hung from the ceiling.  it swung away.  After another step down, the door behind you began to close.  You panicked and lunged up the stairs to keep it open.  That was stupid. You could have gotten locked in.  You scurried up the stairs back into the living room.  Once you caught your breath, you shut the door behind you and didn't go back.   

Another door was a closet.  Jackets, hats, boots. You saw an old Red Sox hat and your heart skipped a beat.  Your first thought was Jesse.  Your heart pounded in your chest and you weren’t sure why.  It was probably yours.  Joel must have scooped it up when you left it in the orchard.  It could have faded from the elements.  You had the strongest urge to touch and smell the hat, but you didn’t dare disturb it.  Joel seemed like the type to know exactly how things were. You didn't want him to know you were snooping.  

You didn’t try any more doors after that.  You went back to the kitchen.  You opened the pantry and there were two crates of jars, one of them locked. You looked around the opposite counter from where you had been doing the dishes.  A basket of apples, a jar of apple seeds. A fresh branch in a vase of water with a budding blossom.  You held up the vase and smelled the bud. 

You were startled from the moment by a faint scraping and clinking sound outside.  You fumbled the vase and almost dropped it but caught it.  Your pulse sped up and your eyes darted to the window.  You put the vase down and walked to the kitchen door which looked out into the backyard and orchard.  You put your hand on the knob, then changed your mind, Joel’s cautionary words fresh in your ears.  You stood at the window and looked.  You didn’t see anything.  You heard it again. It sounded like it was coming from the back of the orchard, which you couldn’t see.  All you saw was dirt, grass, a fire pit, neat rows of tree after tree, dead leaves tumbling across the ground with the wind.  Maybe it was the wind.  

When you heard it again, you were unsettled enough to step away from the window.  You went back up to the bedroom, figuring it was the safest place.  You covered yourself in the quilt and hugged one of several pillows, waiting for Joel's return, hiding, praying no one was around.  Hoping no one could possibly know you were there.  Grateful you weren't home alone at a time like this. You kept the bedroom door open so you'd be able to see trouble if it came. 

-

You dozed off and awoke when the back door to the kitchen unlocked downstairs.  Your heart raced and it took a moment to remember where you were.  It was almost dusk outside.  You quietly slid out from under the quilt and prepared to cautiously venture downstairs, assuming it was Joel who just came in the house.  A door closed downstairs, then the water heater turned on. You pulled the quilt back over you and turned off the light, waiting in the dark. After about ten minutes of lying there slowing your heart rate, the water turned off. A few minutes later, a door opened downstairs again. You wished you could fast forward to the next time you'd be in Joel's arms. 

You felt a presence.  "Joel?" It came out far quieter than you intended, but you were too afraid to repeat it louder. The stairs quietly creaked with padded footsteps. The creaking got closer and closer, then stopped.  You sat frozen, looking at a looming shadow in the hall, trying to make sense of it as Joel’s silhouette. The shape looked jagged, angry, nothing like him.  

“Peaches?” his voice made you jump; it was much closer than you thought.  Your hand came to your chest as he stepped into view and asked, “You okay? Thought you might be nappin', didn't wanna wake ya up.'” 

"I'm okay," you said and took a deep breath. "What's going on?"

Joel approached the bed and sat down with his hand on your knee. He was freshly showered and dressed in his own clothes again.  

"I think Abe left, darlin'."    

"Left?? Why??" 

"I dunno, sugar. It was like he just packed up." 

You were stunned. Abe couldn't possibly have packed up and left. This didn't explain anything at all.  You'd have to see it to believe it.  

"No. He wouldn't just leave," you said and got de ja vu. You were quiet. Nothing felt right.  You spent the whole afternoon scared and alone, and now this?

"Sorry, peaches. Didn't know you were close."

"We weren't. I just - I'm surprised. He didn't say anything this week, did he?"

"Sure didn't." 

"Just like Jesse,” you whispered. 

Joel inhaled through his nose as though calming himself. 

“I don't understand it," you said. 

Joel was quiet for a moment.  "People leave, darlin'. But I promise you I won't.  Not ever." 

You mustered half a grateful smile and indulged him. “Promise?”

"Never.”  He looked gravely serious.  “Not unless I take you with me,” he said softer. 

“Thanks,” you said. 

He shook his head.  “I mean it, peaches.  Nothin' in this world could take me away from you." He stroked your thigh and leaned in for a much-needed kiss. 

Then he put his arm around you, rubbed your shoulder, and leaned his temple against yours.  You sat side by side on the bed in silence for a minute, then Joel said, “been a rough day or two, huh?" 

You nodded pensively. 

"I know what we need." 

"What?" 

"How 'bout a special dinner?” he lifted your chin with his finger and your eyes met his affectionately. "There she is." 

"Okay."

"Put on somethin' nice, I'll get cookin'."

“Oh, I didn’t bring much,” you said, embarrassed. 

“Let's check the closet,” he said with a wink. "See what got left behind." 

He kissed you on the head and stood up. It was a shallow closet that rolled open from two doors to expose a single rack of clothes.  He rolled open the left door and there were five or six dresses. They didn't look like anything Ellie or Tess would wear and you didn't know who else could have left them behind. Whoever lived there before, you supposed.   

Joel pulled out two coathangers. A floral wrap dress and a low cut burgundy sweater dress. "See what ya like," he said softly with a sparkle in his eye.  "Take your time. I'll get cookin'." He winked and put the hangers back in the closet before leaving you to the task. 

You stayed seated on the bed and stared into space for a while, thinking about Abe.  Then you got up and put on the burgundy dress. It was a perfect fit. You stood in front of the vanity as the smell of fried rabbit wafted upstairs. You primped yourself and touched your neck, looking yourself in the eyes.  You wanted to be happy, but your eyes were sad.  You opened a dresser drawer looking for socks.  Sure enough, there was a small drawer full of socks and stockings.  Another drawer full of underwear, and even the same type of fabric washable pads you had to use for your period. You dreaded your period coming in a few days. That probably wasn't helping your mood.

-

Joel served a candlelit dinner at a card table in his living room. He said it was safer away from the windows at night.  He wanted to give it another day or two to make sure the community was safe.  He was walking to the table with a bottle of wine and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you in the dress. He put down the bottle and said. "My lands, peaches." He wet his lips. "C'mere, gorgeous." He rubbed your forearms with his thumbs and looked you up and down. "You're so goddamn beautiful," he whispered. 

"You look nice, too," you said. He chuckled. He wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary but he always looked nice. He took your head in both hands and kissed you softly.  Then he looked at you again, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you harder with an "Mmm," into your mouth. 

He pulled out your chair for you at the table. He poured your wine, served you salad with no cucumbers, rabbit, eggplant, and applesauce. The salad dressing was incredible. He made it himself. "secret's in the basil" he said proudly. "Gotta mash it up real good, let the flavor out. If ya like it, we got more to plant out back.  Rosemary, too. Make us a little herb garden.” You smiled. The applesauce was amazing, too. 

He got up and retrieved a stone bowl from the counter. "Fresh cinnamon sticks.  I crush’em up dry first. Then add just a little apple to the cinnamon, mash it up so it’s all wet, then add that to the rest at the end."  He tasted the cinnamon mixture with his finger.  “Kinda spicy.”  He dipped his pinky for more and held it up to your mouth.   "Go on," he said.  You held eye contact with him as your tongue met his pinky. The cinnamon was strong.  Delicious.  He took a deep breath as you sucked his digit clean. "Good girl," he whispered, watching you in a trance. He put the bowl back on the counter.  “Use it for cobbler, too. We can make some if ya want.”  You never knew Joel was such a good chef.  

-

You ate quietly. You wanted to let Joel’s nice dinner take your mind off things, but it didn't.  You didn't want to grill him about Abe's house or say anything negative at all since he put so much effort into the meal. He put so much effort into making you feel good in general.  So you tried to pretend you were okay, but he sensed your mood.  

After cleaning up from dinner, the two of you sat down on his sofa in the living room.  He brought whiskey and a bag of pills and put them on the coffee table with two glasses. “Need a good night’s sleep,” he muttered as he sat down and poured a glass.  “How ‘bout you?” 

You didn’t say anything. 

“What’s wrong, peaches?”

You were quiet, but he didn’t let you off the hook.  He looked at you, expecting an answer.  Finally, you blurted out, “I’m lonely.”

Joel looked confused.  “We’re together now, baby."

The tears welled up over your eyes.  “Not right this second. I mean in general.”

Joel swallowed, then nodded.  “Must get lonely on your own.  Why don’t you stay here with me?” He took a sip, put down his drink, and scooted closer.  He rubbed your back.  

You ignored his offer, frustrated that he didn't get it or didn’t care. “Everyone's gone,” you said and started to cry.  “Everyone left.”

Joel’s face darkened and his jaw clenched. His body tensed and he stopped rubbing your back.  He sank back into the sofa and clasped his hands in his lap.  You turned around to face him, expecting more comfort, but he didn’t look at you or open his arms.  

“Not sure what to say to that, peaches," he said flatly.  He took another sip of his drink.  "You mean the world to me, and it sounds like I’m nobody to you.” 

“Of course not,” you said.  Your heart dropped at your foolishness.  Here was the one person you had left.  The best person who could possibly be left.  Someone who would take care of you no matter what it took.  Someone who cared more about you than anything or anyone else.  And instead of being grateful, you acted like he was nothing. 

Joel nodded slowly, looking down with a scowl.  He swallowed. 

You said, "I just miss them, that's all."

His eyes intensified and he took a deep, calming breath. 

“Bill and Frank, I mean,” you clarified, desperate not to make it worse. 

"I know ya do," he said in a near whisper, still looking down.  

You continued, your tears slowing but not stopping.  "It doesn't feel right here with everyone gone." 

“Doesn’t feel right here,” he repeated.  He raised his eyebrows and bit his tongue, sticking it into his cheek. 

You looked away, sensing that you hurt him but unsure what to do.   You sat in silence for what felt like several minutes, both of you looking straight ahead. Your back felt so cold without him comforting you.  

When you looked back at Joel, his eyes were glistening.  “You're enough for me, peaches.” His voice cracked.  “You’re all I need in the world.” He dabbed his eye and your heart broke. "Nothin' feels more right than bein' with you. I love you that much.”

No one ever made you feel that way before, like you were their entire world.  His affection overwhelmed you.  It felt like he cared as much about you as Bill and Frank, just in a different way.  

"I love you too, Joel." You squeezed his thigh reassuringly. 

“No, darlin'.  I’m in love with you. I don’t care about anything else.” 

You turned toward him and tried to meet his eyes.  “I’m in love with you, too.” 

He finally stroked your back.  “You might think so, darlin’.” He sighed.  “And I ‘preciate you sayin’ it. . . But when you say,  ‘it doesn’t feel right here’. . .” He dabbed his eye again.  “I gotta wonder.”

“I do, Joel.” 

“I dunno if you understand love, darlin’.  Or you wouldn’t say that.  And you wouldn’t feel lonely.” 

You were overwhelmed and confused.  It didn’t make sense to you. “I wouldn’t miss my parents?”

“Course you’d miss’em,” he conceded.  “But you wouldn’t feel lonely.” 

“Guess that’s what I meant,” you said.  He nodded and his face warmed slightly. "Plus, I'm worried about Frank," you said and started crying again. Something was tugging at your gut.  You felt worse, not better.

Joel started to say something, but didn't. He rubbed your back. “I know, darlin’. He poured you a glass of whiskey and composed himself. “They’d be proud of ya, how you’re doin’.”  

You laughed through your tears. “Sorry,” you sniffled. “I didn’t mean I was lonely. I’m not.” 

“Okay, darlin’,” he whispered

You couldn’t tell if he really forgave you.  Your whole face felt tense. 

-

Joel looked at you and a look of deep concern washed across his face, realizing how bad he made you feel.  “Hey, hey. . . . c’mere. . . “  He rubbed your back.  You scooted closer and hugged him from the side.  He brought your far leg into his lap so you were twisted over him. “Shhhh,” he said and kissed your forehead, but something was still off about him.  “It’s okay, baby.”  He softened but still felt more distant than usual, like he wasn’t sure he could believe you.  The distance made you panic. 

“I love you, I really do,”  you said.  

He drank the rest of his whiskey and bent forward to put the glass down, then stretched his arm out on top of the sofa.  You tucked one leg under yourself and rested the other leg over his lap.  He draped his hand on your knee, but didn’t make a move to pull you closer.  You climbed into his lap, suddenly more concerned about his feelings than anything else.  

You wanted to be closer to him, as close as possible.  You wanted him wrapped around you, inside you.  You wanted to be a part of him and for him to be a part of you.  You kissed him on the cheek.  He smiled but didn’t look at you, not really.  He looked at your eyes but it felt like he was looking past them.  “Joel,” you whined, eyes welling up at the lack of validation.   You cupped his face in both your hands and kissed him.  His lips pressed softly into yours.  You looked back and forth between his eyes, trying to connect enough to show him how much you meant it. 

“I wanna be with you,” you whispered.  “I don’t care about anything else.” 

Something behind his eyes flickered on.  “You mean that, peaches? You don’t care about anything else?” 

You nodded and pressed your lips into his again. 

He asked, “You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

His hands embraced your back and the affection returned to his eyes full-force like it was in the morning.  He wet his lips. 

“Good,” he whispered.  “It’s you and me, darlin’. We only got each other.” 

You nodded. 

-

He looked from your eyes to your mouth and back, closed his eyes, cradled the back of your head, and kissed you deeply.  He held you and kissed you, the taste of whiskey fading after a few seconds as your mouths combined.  He pulled you closer into his lap and his jeans hardened against your dress and panties, making your core tingle.  He moaned into your mouth and your panties moistened rapidly.  His cock was big, and feeling it get so hard just for you made you feel special. Earlier, when you said you wanted him inside you, he said you were still being shy with him.  He said you hadn’t even touched it yet, that you weren’t giving him everything.  

You wanted to show him you could give him everything.  His big hands pulled you close and his hips lifted your body as he licked into your mouth. His hard cock pressed perfectly against your clit as his hips moved.  You reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, then tugged his shirt up and he let you untuck it.  He was truly in the moment.  He was yours.  You gently grabbed at the bulge in his jeans – it was more than a handful – and he thrust into your palm with a sigh. 

You broke the kiss to unzip his jeans, and he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  You slid your hand into his pants and softly gasped as you felt the stiff outline of his cock through his boxers.  His hips lifted into your hand with a soft grunt and he said, “Givin’ me everything, aren’t ya baby?”

You nodded earnestly.  He slid his hand between your legs, ghosting your clit over your panties, making you moan.  

“Wanna make you feel good,” you whispered, groping his hard cock and feeling a wet spot at the tip.  

“Always feel good when I'm with you, darlin’.” 

“Want it in my mouth,” you said.  

He inhaled sharply. “Fuck, darlin’.”  His eyes widened. “That what you want?”

“Yeah,” you nodded and got down on the carpet. 

You got out of the way while he took his jeans off for you.  

He spread his knees again and pulled the waistband of his boxers down below his balls.  He wrapped his fingers around the shaft with his thumb at the tip.  Butterflies swarmed between your legs at the sight of his strong hand holding his cock at attention for you. You nestled yourself between his legs.  

“You sure?” he asked and looked you over. 

You wet your lips and nodded without taking your eyes off his imposing cock. 

“Alright, darlin’.” He looked at you with pride and curiosity. 

You held his cock at the base and opened your mouth, hovering over the tip. 

“Just a little kiss,” he murmured. 

You pressed your lips against the tip and kissed it, sucking the salty precum into your mouth. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Now a little at a time.” 

You wrapped your lips around the tip and licked it, looking up at his face for approval.  The look on his face made you wet.  Joel sighed and tried not to lift his hips. “Good. Doin’ great, baby.” 

You sucked a little more of him into your mouth. He was so big, the head alone seemed to stretch your jaw. 

“Good, baby.  Nice and slow, not too much.” His velvety tip grazed the roof of your mouth.  You throbbed between the legs, wishing so badly to have him there instead.  But you had to show him you could give him everything.  

You braced the shaft at the base and the humidity of his salt and pepper hair made you throb more. You sucked and tongued his shaft and looked up at him for approval. 

“Good girl,” he nodded.  His validation made you slurp more of him into your mouth, a little too much, and you started gagging. 

“Easy, darlin’, hold on,” he chuckled.  “Take a breather,” he said.  

You were a little embarrassed.  “I wanna do it,” you whispered. 

“Okay,” he smiled.  “How ‘bout you lick it, get it real wet for us.” 

You salivated at the sight of his cock in his hand and licked him from base to tip three times -  once on the underside, and once from each side.  

“Now use your hand, darlin’.” You hesitantly wrapped your fingers and thumb around his shaft and he swelled into your hand.  His cock dwarfed your fingers, making you wetter. You were salivating.

You asked, “Are you sure you don’t want my mouth?”

“Darlin’, I love your hands.” 

He covered your hand with his and stroked himself with it. 

His hips thrust into your hand and it was so easy to imagine yourself impaled on his cock, it was all you could think about.  

“Give it another kiss, baby.” 

You brought the tip into your mouth again, then licked his cock from base to tip and sucked the head again, curiously tonguing the salty slit. You left as much saliva as you could.  

“Good girl,” he murmured and took your hand in his again. 

You ached to have him inside you. You wet your lips thirstily. 

He watched your face as his breath grew heavier. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout, peaches?”

You had a feeling he knew.  You looked down at his cock then back up at him, then away.  

“Don’t be shy, baby.” 

You looked up and made eye contact. “Putting our bodies together,” you said breathily and watched his face melt into a puddle of want. 

He inhaled through his nose, then murmured, “Want that real bad, don’t ya?” 

You nodded.

“Why’s that, darlin’?” His lips glistened and his eyes were half-lidded. 

“Wanna feel you inside me.” 

He breathed heavier as your hands slid up and down on his shaft.  He asked, “How ya think it’s gonna feel?” 

“I’m gonna be full of you. Attached to you.” 

“Yeah, you will,”  he nodded.  His grip tightened around your hand as he stroked himself. “You’ll be so full of me, baby. ..” 

“I really wanna be,” you whispered. You wanted it so bad you could cry.  “I need to be.”

“You will be, baby,” he said soothingly.  “You want your mouth filled up now?”

“Yeah,” you hovered your mouth near his cock again.  

“Go ‘head, baby.  Take it, it’s yours.” He took his hand away and put it gently on the back of your head.  

You sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth again and made eye contact as you sucked.  

He groaned and his thumb stroked the nape of your neck, then he lifted his hips and erupted in your mouth.  His warm, salty spend hit the roof of your mouth, then the tip slid back along your palate, and he pulsed again.  More cum hit the back of your throat.  Your eyes watered and you swallowed. 

“You did so good, baby.” 

-

He tucked his cock into his boxers and spooned you on the sofa.  

“Why’s it feel so good, doing that?” you asked.  

“Doin’ what?”

“Just having it in my mouth.”

“S’posed to, baby.  Your body’s gettin’ ready for mine.” His words sent a pang of desire between your legs. “Turns you on, right?” He reached under your dress and stroked your panties from the outside.  He felt the dampness and murmured, “Guess it does.” 

“A lot,” you said.  He began stroking your clit rhythmically over the cotton.  Your hips started to move on their own in his hand. You moaned softly. 

He slid his hand into the front of your panties and thumbed your soft curls.  “It’s ‘cause your special parts think I’m fixin’ to put mine right here.” He dipped his middle finger into the pool of wetness hanging at your entrance. 

“I wish you would,” you sighed.  

He groaned softly at those words, the blood already flowing back to his loins.  “You really do, huh?” His voice was low and soft. “You really wanna be full of me.” He wet his fingers with your slick and began gently circling your clit. “Attached to me.” 

“Yeah,” you said. “More than anything.” 

“Love hearin’ that, peaches.”  He held you tighter. 

“I wanna give you everything,” you said. 

“Gotta be ready, darlin’,” he said into the crown of your head.  

“I’m ready.”

“Your body too, angel.” You could hear the smile in his voice. 

“My body wants yours so bad,” you whined.

“Wantin’ it’s not enough, baby.”

You groaned in frustration. 

“Well. . . you tell me, darlin’.  You’ve had it in your mouth now.  Think it’ll fit in this sweet little hole?”  he swirled his finger around. 

“I dunno,” you sighed.   Your body didn’t care, it wanted whatever he would give you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“For what?”

“Not having my body ready.” 

“Oh peaches, I’m glad you’re not.  It’ll be a privilege gettin’ you there.” He gently circled your clit. 

“Really?”

“Of course, darlin’,” he said softly. “Sometimes they bloom late for a reason.” He dipped his finger into your wetness again. “And this one’s just for me, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.  

“We’ll get there, baby.  We’ll get there in time.” 

“Okay,” you sighed. 

“Let’s see how much you can handle,” he said. “See what it’ll take to get there.” 

“Yeah,” you said.  “Please.” You lifted your thigh to make more room for his hand.

He slowly slid half his middle finger into your tight, wet heat. You moaned at his first intrusion. 

He sucked air in through his teeth.  “How’s that feel, baby?” 

“I want more.” 

He took a deep breath and pushed his finger all the way in.

You whimpered, “yeah,” as your body adjusted. 

“God damn,” he whispered as your cunt hugged his digit. 

He curled his finger just slightly and you moaned again. “It’s so thick,” you said.  

“See? Got a long way to go.” His cock twitched against your ass.

“No, it feels good,” you said as he slowly moved his finger inside you.  “I want more.”  

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you answered impatiently.  

“Just one more.”  You squinted in frustration.  Why just one more? 

He took his middle finger out and flattened it alongside his ring finger.  He slid them up and down your slippery seam before slowly plunging them inside together. It was a tight squeeze.   “God damn,” he breathed. He paused half-way in. 

“Feels so good,” you panted.  “Keep going,” you begged. 

“Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“Doesn’t hurt at all.”

He slowly sank his two fingers into you completely.  “Real snug,” he muttered. “You sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Too snug? Is that bad?”

“No, no, not at all, baby. But it’s gonna take time to be ready.” He began to move the heel of his palm against your clit and you grinded back against it.  

“God, Joel,” you sighed. 

“Gonna take time,” he repeated.  “‘fore you’re ready for this,” he said with a thrust of his hips, grinding himself into your ass, already fully erect again. He thrust against you again with a soft grunt. 

You asked “You want it too, don’t you?” 

“Course I do, baby,” he panted. “Gotta feel good for both of us, though. Gotta do it right.” He kissed your head and curled his fingers inside you, digging the meat of his hand against your clit again. “Gotta be real special.”

Your clit twitched against his hand and he said, “C’mon, baby,” moving his hand at a slow rhythm. “Every time you come, gets us closer to what we want.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, sugar.”  He breathed heavily with his body enveloping yours, pumping his fingers deep in your cunt, pressing his palm against your clit. 

You let your hips grind back unrestrained. 

“There ya go, darlin’,” he said, pressing his hard cock against you as he moved his fingers.  “Yeah, just like that.” 

You closed your eyes and pretended his fingers were his cock. You knew his cock would feel even better. 

“Can’t wait to be inside ya, baby,” he whispered. “Nothin’ I want more.” He slowly pumped his fingers deeper into you as your body opened up for him.  “Wanna slide into this tight little hole,” he panted, his cock rutting gently against your ass.  “Want you wrapped around me.” He rubbed his palm against your front. “Yeah. . .wrapped so tight around me, baby. Like ya can’t pull us apart”  Your hips grinded into his hand with your climax in sight. “Gonna have you so full of me,” he breathed, then he moaned with a harder thrust against you.   “Joined together,” he added. “Forever, baby. It’s forever,” he whispered in your ear.  “Me and you.” You whined on the edge of your climax.  “C’mon, baby,” he whispered, pumping his fingers, rocking his palm, grinding against your ass. 

He thrust against your ass with a grunt, and his grunt in your ear was enough for you to see stars.  “Joel,” you whined. 

“Yeah,” he said as your climax seized you. You whimpered as you came. “Yeah, I got ya, baby,” he whispered.  “Good girl.” He kissed your head. 

-

He held you and caressed you as you bathed in the afterglow. It gave you clarity on how wrong you were earlier.  You felt the things he felt.  You realized how hurt you would have been if he said the same things – That he was lonely, that it didn’t feel right there.  

“I’m not lonely,” you whispered.  “And of course it feels right, bein’ with you.”

“Okay, baby.”  He kissed your head.  

“Guess I meant the town didn’t feel. . .”  You meant the town. Your stomach dropped as you realized it.

The town. If Abe was really gone, you and Joel were the only two people left in Lincoln.  Joel was the town.  You couldn’t put your finger on why, but you felt like you might be sick.  

“I know, darlin’,” he said obliviously. “But in a way, it’s nice we have this time together.”  His arms tightened around you. “Silver lining.  Right?”  He sighed. “We’re together, don’t care about nothin’ else.” 

“Right,” you whispered and tried not to think about it.  You shivered and Joel rubbed your arms.  “It’s chilly down here. Let’s get you tucked into bed.” 

-

Joel showed you the restroom and your toiletries and towels.  He offered you a painkiller to help you sleep. You didn’t want to take it, but he left it on the nightstand with a glass of whiskey in case you needed it.  “Know it’s weird, sleepin’ somewhere new,” he said. He took a nightgown out of the dresser for you.  He kissed you good night, then shut your door behind him.  

You woke up in the middle of the night when you heard something metal clang then rumble outside.  You felt safer with Joel in the house, but you wanted his arms around you. Maybe he’d let you climb in his bed.  Surely he wouldn’t turn you away.  He was being a gentleman, offering you a bed of your own. You opened your bedroom door as quietly as possible and gathered the courage to go downstairs.  

Downstairs, you pushed his bedroom door open.  “Joel?” you whispered. He didn’t answer. “Joel?” There was a flickering glow outside his window, which made it harder to see the inside of the room until your eyes adjusted.  

He wasn’t in bed.  Not the bathroom, either.  You sat down on his bed and smoothed your hand over his pillow.  You dipped your nose into the cotton and inhaled his scent, closing your eyes.  It gave you a rush of comfort.  A metal clang jolted you back to the moment and the flickering light brightened for a moment.  Your heart raced.  You carefully peeked out the window and faintly saw what looked to be the silhouette of Joel standing over a burning barrel.  You felt like you should go back upstairs, as much as you wanted to curl up in his bed, inhaling his scent.  

Your heart was beating too fast to get back to sleep, and you didn’t know why.  You paced around the room and looked out the window.   You sat at the vanity.  You looked in the drawers.  You were waiting to hear the door open downstairs.  Then you could pretend to come down for the first time.  Joel would comfort you, kiss you, cuddle you to sleep.  But the door didn’t open downstairs.  You paced more and sat on the bed.  You opened the closet and looked at the dresses again. You held one up in the mirror. 

You opened the other closet door and something caught your eye.  In the back, on the very last hanger, there was a dress that made your breath hitch.  White with lace sleeves.  The longer you looked at it, the more butterflies gathered in your chest.  Maybe your eyes betrayed you.  It was too dark to tell.  You closed the closet, took the painkiller, and got back in bed.  You listened out for the door and tried to conjure the feeling of Joel’s arms around you. That was all you wanted. 

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Thank you for your patience, too.  I love you guys!!!

I'm not sure if there will be one more part or two; I have to see how it writes. I feel like probably two, but it could be one long one with a little bit of a time jump.

-

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor 

Lincoln: @fan-fiction-floozy @ivyblxnde @lhymer1995 @sugarspiceanthrax @isimpforfictionalmen @zynbsblogg @swedishscumfuck @sadgirlstoohightocare @steveharringtonswh0re @skythighs @aoziety @leeeesahhh @jupitersmoon-cal @peekymoon @dtfawn 

(ct'd in comments or reblogs)

[morownic]

of fever dreams and jamais vu

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it. (But this one? This one was real.)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns

next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: there were a lot of songs that i listened to while writing this (animals) and i do have a playlist of them but i would recommend color tv to listen while reading the flashback part bcs i did write this part with that song on repeat lol. enjoy!

All the world and his wife was scrutinizing Ken Sato the moment he stepped out of the airport and took his first deep breath in his homeland after twenty years. Of course, he welcomed and basked in the attention even if it suffocated him—quite literally, he must add, what with how the reporters and photographers were almost wrestling each other to get a scoop on him. What came after that only gave him a headache after a headache. He had to settle in his new residence, a mansion he bought just 15 minutes away from where his father lived, one that felt way too big for just one person and his supercomputer assistant. He finalized his contract with the Yomiuri Giants, followed by a meeting with all the staff members and a less-than-formal outing with his new teammates to some club in Shibuya he didn’t bother to remember the name of, where he was just constantly reminded that he was alone. The day after that, he had to deal with a hangover, a press conference, and an interview that ticked him off—Ami Wakita, was it?—before ending the night with a bar fight that left his shoulder aching.

Ken was sure he wouldn’t even have considered moving back to Japan nor would he have let his father somehow slip back into his life if it wasn’t for his mother.

With his injury, your father needs you, kiddo.

And so, Ken Sato began his baseball career in Japan with the Yomiuri Giants. He brought the team to their first victory of the season despite a lot of things: how the media was still on his ass about why he would leave his career with the Los Angeles Dodgers behind, how Coach Shimura seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to him, how the pain in his own shoulder would stab and dull with every movement he made. The way his shoulder ached left him wondering if he should have treated it more seriously rather than seeing it as an inconvenience, perhaps put his pride aside to admit that yes, that drunken brawl was fucking stupid, and my shoulder fucking hurts. That was why he didn’t think much of it when Coach Shimura was talking about bringing in some new guy—something about a new performance analyst or whatever—as a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less.

So, imagine his surprise when he showed up to practice and saw a face he hadn’t seen since graduating college in the States. A face that made his breath hitch because one, she was just that beautiful, and two, he had no idea why she would be here. A face that was so familiar he almost threw up from shock, anger, guilt, longing. A face that contorted into contempt at the mere sight of him.

Ken Sato was sure of one thing at that moment.

He was completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

Ken Sato wasn’t always the famed world-class baseball star he turned out to be, and she wasn’t always the blunt and tight-lipped new analyst for the Yomiuri Giants she turned out to be.

He was a doe-eyed, lanky Japanese kid who had above average grades in his classes and showed promising results as a slugger for the baseball team. He spent most of his freshman year being stereotyped and made fun of for how he looked and talked, and it only changed because he had his growth spurt in sophomore year. Not only did he become a cleanup hitter by the end of the year, girls were suddenly giving him bedroom eyes in the hallway and guys tried to make up for their borderline bullying by letting him into their cliques. His friendships with them were shallow, really, because they would still poke fun at this old accent even after he had nearly perfected his American accent. Ken took it in stride only because he knew everyone would never make fun of him in baseball, not when he had practically put his school on the map by winning tens of titles and playing in the Senior League. And so, by the end of high school, Ken had baseball to thank for almost everything in his teenagehood.

She, on the other hand, came to high school smart and pretty. Where Ken stood out like a sore thumb, she stood out like a broken finger. Someone being academically gifted and socially relevant was practically unheard of at that time. She was among the top 10 students in freshman year, earned her spot as the leadoff hitter for the softball team in sophomore year, won a national debate championship in junior year, and passed 4 AP classes with flying colors in senior year. She, too, had put the school on the map, perhaps even more contributively than Ken did, so the teachers only kept their grievances for when she skipped class to smoke. Even so, everyone seemed to like her regardless of their cliques; she was always greeted in the hallways, was almost always invited to every party, and had gone out with all the popular students. She could have had it all, and whatever her secrets were, Ken and the other students in their school only knew her as the high school sweetheart, the kind you would see printed next to the definition of high school sweetheart itself.

Ken had seen her in passing during freshman year, but he never really talked to her until they shared three classes together in sophomore year. He remembered that she had approached him first during PE, suddenly speaking to him in fluent Japanese that he nearly had a whiplash. She told him that yes, I know you’re also Japanese and sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, then babbled something about how she felt guilty that she had just been watching while others made fun of him. He didn’t think much of it at first, still surprised that one of the popular girls—if not the popular girl—in his year was actually talking to him. But then, he found himself understanding every word she said whenever she talked in Japanese and replying to whatever she was saying in English; he found himself exchanging notes and numbers with her in math class; he found himself going to the baseball field with her during lunch breaks and seeing who could hit the farthest. He was somehow roped into bringing her home after he offhandedly mentioned her to his mother, and then, they somehow became best friends. He would cover for her whenever she skipped class to smoke, much to his dismay, and she would introduce him to other social circles outside his baseball team, where he found his first girlfriend—who, admittedly, broke up with him because the way he spoke about his “best friend” was laced with more adoration than the first kiss he had with her. He would wait until their practice sessions were over and drive her home, where they would spend at least three hours talking on her porch before he went home, and she would show up to his games with an obnoxious handmade banner that read “KEN SATO THE G.O.A.T,” cheering the loudest whenever he hit a home run. He would pick her up from anywhere almost every time she asked, even if he had to get himself out of bed at two in the morning, and she would hang out at his place every other weekend, bringing fruit baskets and takeouts for his mother. It was somewhat domestic, how she settled in his apartment (and his life) whenever she came over. Ken almost always had to ground himself because his brain would feed him thoughts of a future with her, and his heart would beat so hard it threatened to break out of his ribcage.

But they were just best friends, he thought and said to his friends whenever they asked him about her. Best friends who happened to suck off, eat out, and eat each other’s faces pretty regularly. He found it funny at first, really; one time, their classmates told her that she just wasn’t human, what with how she juggled school and being popular. She only laughed it off, but he thought of how right they were when she came over while he was home alone at the end of sophomore year. There was no way the girl kneeling between his legs was fucking human. Not with that tongue of hers. Not with the way she looked up and batted her eyelashes at him. Not with how she literally gulped down his load in one go and played Tekken on his console as if she hadn’t just given him the best head of his life. She quite literally sucked the soul out of him that day, and he never had another head like that ever since. Even as they started hooking up—strictly platonic, she said, and he just went along with whatever she wanted as long as it was with her—that was still the stuff of his wet dreams, and it remained that way even long after they never saw each other again.

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”

The question caught Ken off-guard not only because it broke the comfortable silence between them, but also the feelings it evoked. Where is she going with this? he thought. A frown was etched on his face as he turned to look at her. Under the soft glow of the star projector in her room, she laid on her back, eyes tracing the constellations that danced across the ceiling. Her breathing was far more steady than his, chest rising and falling slowly behind the thin fabric of his shirt. Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, framing her face as if it was her halo. At that time, her expression was probably the most serene and somber he had ever seen. She’s beautiful, he said to himself, and he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to keep a picture of this moment in his head for his selfish reminiscing should they ever stop being friends. (He hardly thought she meant that they could be more than friends, and he didn’t want to entertain the thought of not having her in his life.)

“Yeah?” He answered and mentally cursed himself for sounding so unsure. After clearing his throat, he corrected himself: “I mean, yeah, why not?”

There was no way she hadn’t seen the way he was staring at her from the corner of her eye. Even if she did, she didn’t turn her head to face him and only hummed in response to his answer. A look of contemplation appeared on her face as she kept quiet for nearly another minute. Ken swore it felt like an eternity.

“What if–” She sighed. “What if we fuck up and hurt each other? What then?”

Ken somehow knew that she already knew that there was no way she could ever fuck him up. (She already did, anyway, literally and figuratively.) Not with how he looked at her, not with how he reached out to hold her hand, not with how he promptly turned his head to face the ceiling once she was turning to look at him. Perhaps, what she was looking for was the reassurance that he wouldn’t fuck her up. He squeezed her hand when the thought crossed his mind.

“I’ll still be your friend anyways,” he said, softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle left her lips then. She didn’t let go of his hand as she moved to hover over him, replacing the twinkling manmade constellations in his sight. (He thought she was brighter than any star in the sky, anyway.) He raised his brow when he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned down, her lips nearly closing in on his.

The grin she had on her face was enough to tell him she was up to no good. “Are you a masochist?”

“You–seriously?”

He might’ve groaned from annoyance, but the way her body shook with laughter on top of him was enough to make that godawful warmth bloom in his chest. He pulled her in for a kiss, though he wasn’t sure if it was to shut her up or if he just wanted to, and he thought that if anyone were to see them like this, no one would ever believe him if he told them that they were just best friends. Hell, everyone had enough of his answer whenever they asked him about it at school, and he was even picked on again at some point—but not for how he looked or talked. No, he was picked on for being her “best friend” because no matter how many people had tried to make her theirs, she kept coming back to him. But then they would find Ken making out with one of the cheerleaders under the bleachers and her sucking off some guy from the football team at some senior’s house party. It was confusing for everyone, but even more so for Ken, because every time she asked him to pick her up from God-knows-where, he would see red when she saw her huffing out a smoke, disheveled because of someone who was not him.

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it.

“–Sato.”

Two things snapped Ken out of his trance then. First, it was the voice that called out to him, then it was the pain in his shoulder. Ken found himself standing on the batter box in Tokyo Dome, a bat in his hand, and his breath was ragged. The seats were empty, the sky was turning dark, and then he remembered that he was at practice. He was at practice, not on the porch at her old house in Los Angeles holding her close as she cried over that one guy who supposedly broke her heart. He was at practice, not at the frat party where he met her again for the first time after months of no contact and saw her giggling on the lap of some jock. He was at practice, not in front of the diner they used to go to almost every other day where he said awful things he didn’t mean and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason why she had left for Japan the next day. (She had waited for him to come to the airport, to at least apologize, but he never came. He had turned off his phone during practice.)

Ken sighed and lowered his bat, hissing when he rolled his left shoulder. He steadied his breathing and regained his composure before his eyes flickered to the field. His teammates were waiting for him to hit another ball so they could continue their fielding practice. Then, he turned to the one in front of him—Yoshida, right?—whose voice pulled him out of his train of thought. Yoshida raised his brow when he locked eyes with Ken.

“Are you distracted or something?”

It was his turn to frown. “What?”

“Are you distracted by the new girl or something? You kept looking back at the dugout earlier.”

Ken almost dropped his bat when he heard that, his neck turning so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t give himself a whiplash. “What?”

Yoshida nodded in the direction of the dugout, and Ken turned to look. His grip around the bat tightened as his eyes darted towards the dugout. Her back was facing the field, leaning against the metal fence that divided the field and the dugout. Her arms held a clipboard to her chest, and he could only see her side profile from where he was standing as she spoke with Coach Shimura. The two of them looked familiar already—he really didn’t know how she did it, given that he was still at odds with the coach, but it was so her, he thought, the way she could get along with all the people he couldn’t—as Coach Shimura was talking more expressively with her than he had ever seen him. She was nodding to whatever Coach Shimura was talking about with a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and he berated himself because why and how the fuck could you tell from this distance? Ken’s lips parted as Coach Shimura’s expression changed and nodded in his direction, and his breath hitched as he saw her turning slightly towards him.

Ken’s heart dropped as the smile on her face faltered, replaced by an unimpressed look and an air of disdain that made him shiver. The world seemed to stop right then and there; even when she looked at him as if he was the reason behind her suffering—which was probably true, to an extent—he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she was. Even with the hint of blood between her slightly cracked lips and the dark circles under her eyes that she didn’t bother to hide with some concealer. Even with how she looked even paler than she was when they were still in Los Angeles and how her cheekbones seemed to protrude and her cheeks seemed more hollow. She was beautiful, yet she contrasted her old self, which bothered him so much that dread started to pool in his stomach. Ken knew her and would even say he knew too much of her. But, right at that moment, it was as if he was looking straight into a stranger’s eyes and not the pair he had fallen in love with, as if he was looking at the stuff of his nightmares and not the girl of his dreams, as if he had never known her at all.

(What if it was true?)

Ken pinched his arm, hard, and winced when the pain seared through his body and kickstarted another throbbing ache in his shoulder. None of the stuff of his fever dreams, the dread and peculiarity of it, should have been real. This was real. So, if this was real, then God must not only be fucking joking, but He must’ve been thoroughly fucking evil to be putting him through this.

“Oh, fuck.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

t-ball

words: 1k

warnings: dad!rafe, other moms being haters, mention of plastic surgery

“i want mommy.” poppy says for the tenth time in the past minute, crossing her arms with a pout on her face, contrasting the cuteness of the bright pink jersey and pigtails in her hair.

“i told you, she’ll be here before your next game starts.” rafe says, pulling his daughter onto his lap, adjusting the baseball cap on her head. poppy is 4 years old and just started t-ball, having her first double header this weekend. thankfully, they’re given a enough time in between the games to have some lunch and unwind, not the the games are anything more than most of the other 4-year olds playing in the grass or throwing rocks at each other.

“aww, she misses her mommy?” one of the moms sitting nearby rafe asks, obviously eavesdropping on the conversation.

“yeah.” rafe says, chuckling as poppy buries her face into his chest in shyness. “she had an appointment this morning, but she will be here soon.”

rafe is uncomfortable with the amount of attention the other moms give him. it’s probably because he always takes poppy to practice, leaving you home to cook dinner and give a quick tidy up or relax while he watches her adorable attempts to swing the heavy baseball bat high enough to hit the ball. he loves being involved in his daughter's life, making a real effort to parent and do as much for her as you do, and one of his responsibilities is taking her to t-ball practice, just like how you always bathe her, or he always makes her breakfast in the mornings.

“will this be her first game of the season?”

rafe is confused by the question, considering it’s only the third weekend of games, and he’s never seen a couple of the girl’s dads, so why is this lady trying to call you out?

“it will.” he says curtly. 

“mommy isn’t around much, huh?” the mom still pries, this time directing her question to poppy.

poppy sniffles, trying to hold back her cries for a moment, before letting them out, “leave me alone, i want my mommy!” 

“i know, poppy.” rafe says, shushing her, giving the mom a stern glare. “poppy’s mom, and my wife, is a wonderful mother who is very much invested in her daughter’s life. she is just also a busy woman, who runs her own business. just because i bring poppy to practice and games, doesn’t give you any right to speculate. i haven’t seen your husband at all. is he not around much?”

the woman frowns and finally turns away, which does make poppy stop crying, but doesn’t cheer her up enough to do anything but stay leaned against rafe in his lawn chair, looking sad.

“you better not be pouting over me, little miss.”

poppy instantly perks up at your voice. “mommy, mommy, mommy!” she launches herself at you, and you catch her in a hug.

“hi baby.” you hold her close, letting her bury her head into your neck.

“hello, beautiful.” rafe says as you lean down to give him a kiss. he deepens it with a hand on the back of your neck, hoping that all those other women trying (and failing embarrassingly) to flirt with him when he’s alone with poppy realize how head over heels he is in love with you.

“how was your first game?” you ask poppy, sliding onto rafe’s lap, ignoring the empty lawn chair next to him. you thank yourself in that moment for buying the heavier duty expensive chairs, as you’re not concerned about them taking the weight of all three of you at all.

“good! i hit the ball three times!” poppy holds up three fingers, looking proud. “and i even got one girl out on first base!”

“no way!” you say, giving poppy a kiss, having missed your daughter desperately, but you have exciting news that means you’re gonna be taking some time off work soon. you run a small chain of local boutiques, and have finally built up a good staff that means you can trust them while you take some time away.

“it’s almost time for your next game, poppy.” rafe says, noticing the coach starting to get ready. 

“okay, daddy!” poppy hops up off your lap, grabbing her comically big baseball bag and heading off with a wave to the dugout. 

“i’m so glad i could make it.” you say, running your hand through rafe’s hair and giving him another kiss as you watch poppy take the field for warmups.

“me too. she’s so excited for you to watch. doesn’t even care about her dad.” he squeezes your side to show that he was joking. “how was your appointment?”

you’re about to answer when you hear a scoff. you look up, unbeknownst to you it’s the close friend of the woman flirting with rafe earlier. “is there a problem?” you were never one to back down from confrontation.

“appointment? what was this one for? getting your butt done just like your boobs?”

your mouth drops open in shock. you’ve never gotten any cosmetic surgery, but even if you had, it is not this womans business who you’ve never even seen before to comment on it.

“you know, i’m glad you think my natural boobs are so good that they’re fake. it’s a real compliment to me.”

“that’s not-” the woman goes to reply, but you cut her off.

“i bet you’re one of those weird moms who my husband has told me has been attempting to flirt with him. i’ll let you know to back off right now because the appointment i went to was a pregnancy check up. he’s very happy with me. he’s not interested in you.”

rafe doesn’t even bother to hold back his laugh as she gets up and storms off, taking her chair with her to sit further down the field.

“she’s got a shit view now.” you laugh, turning your attention back to poppy, completely unbothered by the interaction.

“i love you.” rafe says.

“oh, i know.” you smile.

[stephstars08]

So excited for baseball since the catchers and pitchers report to spring training next Wednesday!!!!😁⚾️

P.s it’s also Adley’s birthday tomorrow as well!😏

[ohbabydollie]

Mutual Breakup HC

Schlatt never misses his son's baseball games. Always cheering for him

When the moms learn that he is actually single, they attempt to flirt with him

I personally wanna see how that plays out

refer to the end of goofy dad schlatt hcs for short answer, now here’s the long answer

lots of the moms noticed how sweet schlatt was, how kind he was to all the boys at baseball. how he didn’t hesitate to offer helping them practice or even just playing during the off seasons.

but the one thing they did notice was you on his arm 24/7, always wearing a cute dress, makeup and hair nicely done, an expensive looking ring decorating your finger.

they were so jealous!

you had a husband that cared, that loved you and actively showed it.

until one day you didn’t go to a game, the following week you weren’t there either, schlatt seemed a little more stressed than normal.

the moms would sit around gossiping about it, one woman gets up with a smile “a little trouble in paradise” she says brushing off her jeans, unbuttoning her shirt a little and standing up, quickly walking to the bench schlatt is sitting on as he cheers on his son.

“hey, you’re matt’s dad right?” the woman asks as she sits next to schlatt

“oh yeah, you can call me jay” he says sticking his hand out for a hand shake, she accepts with a smile.

“i’m liz, zane’s mom” she chirps “so, where’s your wife?” she asks

“oh, i don’t have a wife”

“really?” she asks almost shocked “you’re so handsome though!”

“thanks”

“i can’t believe matt’s mom would just let a hunk like you up for grabs” she says gigging, holding onto his arm

“oh, um” schlatt pulls his arm away when she starts pushing up against him.

Liz is almost offended at that, before she gets an idea, “so, i need some help moving furniture, ever since i got divorced from zane’s dad, it’s, it’s been pretty hard” she says sniffling softly, putting on her best show.

“i can help you out with that for sure” he says “bring over some buddies, move whatever you need out” he offers

“no, i was thinking it could just be you, it’s not much” she says smiling “maybe after the game?”

“yeah, i can do it then” he says focusing on the game

“you know it’s been pretty lonely since the divorce” she mutters seductively “the house hasn’t had a real man in it in so long” she says biting her lip

“oh, um” schlatt looks at her, not knowing what to do

“Jay!” his head goes snapping in your direction watching as you come from the parking lot with a soft smile in a long sundress. you’re practically glowing in the light as you wave to schlatt, showing off your belly slightly, holding a basket of snacks and drinks for after the game.

liz scoffs at this, unbuttoning another button and pulling the shirt down slightly, hoping to bring back schlatt’s attention.

“she’s gotten a little…pudgy, don’t you think?” liz asks almost disgusted, leaning into schlatt “really let herself go” she spits pushing her boobs together as schlatt pays her no attention, instead staring at the way your belly moves.

“nope, she’s just pregnant again” schlatt says looking at you with a dopey grin “matt’s wanted a little sister for the longest time now, not really into the younger brother thing”

“i-i thought you weren’t together” she asks shocked

“we’re not, but boy does she look good pregnant” he says getting up to help you with the snacks “give me a call when you need the help”

even if schlatt had the option to be disloyal to you, he couldn’t, especially not when you looked that delicious while pregnant

[spiderboogie]

eleven pm.

kenji sato. (+ female reader)

---

watched ultraman: rising and now I'm here (help).

p.s. this is unedited and unserious. also, this isn't, like, an intense romance story? (oops). it's kind of a slowburn? any feedback is appreciated!

---

“Hold still.”

It’s eleven in the evening and, unfortunately, you’re still on the job. Since the season’s just kicked off, you’re in for a ride. Practices to monitor as early as five in the morning, check-ins to do with each player in the afternoon, paperwork to fill out, coaches and doctors to meet with, and now, apparently, on-call work. How many hours has it been since you had a cup of coffee? Or even a real meal? Regardless, the caffeine’s definitely worn off now. 

You sigh as you rummage through your backpack of supplies. As your tired eyes search for what you need, another pair follows your every move. Your patient sits in front of you on his large couch as you examine his injured shoulder. In pain and restricted to sitting still, his only option is to watch you work. 

He didn’t mean to call you here, especially so late. After the Kaiju attack, as Mina diagnosed, his rotator cuff was in bad shape. Although he insisted he was okay, Mina was quick to suggest calling for help. You have a game tomorrow, Ken. Although I can diagnose you, my robotic arms can only do so much. I’ll call the physical therapist. Ken protested to no end, and continued to, until you arrived, standing on his doorstep, ready to help. 

As he opened his door, he prepared himself to politely refuse your help. It’s a mistake, he’d said. One of my buddies was just playing a prank, he nervously laughed. As if. After hearing his obvious lies, you gave him a curt bow and agreed to assist him as quickly as possible before asking him to lead the way. Out of options, Kenji opened his door and led you to his living room. 

Now, you’re here. After finding what you need, you carefully apply ointment to his shoulder. Your touch is soft, cautious. Not rough, not inappropriate. Careful. Caring. He almost falls asleep right there. Unlike Mina, you’re warm to the touch. It’s weird. 

You feel his eyes on you as you spread the ointment on his shoulder. It’s a little pressuring. Ken Sato, the newest member of the Giants team, a world renowned baseball prodigy, in all of his glory, sits still, quiet, under your hands. It’s different from how he was when you first met--a flashy smile and a confident laugh. He was a talented, self-assured man. He never bothered himself with others, not even his teammates. You’ve never spoken to him properly, despite being his physical therapist, up until this point. Even if you were called here, you don’t think he really remembers your name. 

His house is quiet. All you can hear is his slow breathing and your concentrated breaths. The lights in his living room remain low, and you can see the moonlight reflecting off of the floor. It’s quiet, it’s intimidating, it’s oddly…intimate.

You finish applying the ointment over the injured area, and move to work on bandaging it up. As you begin to wrap his shoulder, you see his brows furrow in pain before he moves to hang his head to the side. 

“...Sorry. It’ll be a minute,” you mumble, wincing internally at the sight of his pain.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says,”I’m good.” He whispers the last part, a little strained. 

You continue to wrap his shoulder with the bandage, tight enough to be secure, but not enough to be uncomfortable. When you’re finished, you feel him let out a breath. Without thinking, you pat the bandaged area softly,”All done. I’ll get your compression sleeve on and then you can rest.”

At that, Kenji lifts his head to look at you.

For the first time, you look at each other properly. Your eyes widen slightly at the sudden eye contact, but Kenji doesn’t waver. His eyes, lidded and tired, stare up into yours with odd intensity. You’re still holding onto his shoulder when you realize that you’re almost nose to nose with him. You pull back slightly, slipping your hand off of his shoulder, and almost tumble backwards. But before you think of falling, Kenji grabs your wrist and pulls you back into place. He doesn’t linger, removing his hand as soon as you’re safe. 

You look at him, he looks at you. You look away, he doesn’t. 

You gather yourself as quickly as you can, lightly clearing your throat, before you look through your bag for the compression sleeve. You feel a little uncomfortable, but there’s something else. It’s probably the lighting or the silence or the proximity at which you sit from each other. A strange feeling creeps up on you, but you can’t identify it. 

You’ve found the compression sleeve, tucked towards the bottom of the bag. While you bring it out, the short silence between you breaks.

“I’m…sorry.” 

Immediately, you lock eyes with Kenji, confused. 

“What for?”

He looks to the side and falters before saying,”For calling you out here. It’s really late.”

Your confused expression doesn’t leave your face. Instead, it deepens. Was he that worried about bothering you? That’s a surprise. If anything, you thought he was annoyed with you for being here. And, anyhow, regardless of how irritated you may have been when you first arrived, you know it’s a part of your job. It’s your job to take care of the team, overtime pay or not. 

“Don’t be sorry, Sato. If I seemed irritated, I apologize. It’s my job. You have a game tomorrow, so I understand.”

You then try to brighten the mood, just a little. “Besides, Shimura will have my head if you’re not fixed in time. I already don’t get paid much as is.”

You can see some of the guilt leave his eyes as his eyes twinkle in slight amusement. You smile slightly, lopsided. You resume your task, fitting the compression sleeve onto Kenji’s shoulder, securing it tight against his frame. 

“Take these painkillers and ice the area when you feel discomfort. Try not to sleep on your injured side, and let me know if something comes up,” you say, as you pack your things back into your bag, preparing to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you check your watch,”in about, uh, six hours anyway. Any questions?” You feel bad about the little time he has to rest.

Kenji slips his shirt back on, careful not to move his shoulder too much, before giving you a small smile. “No questions. Thanks…uh…”

He pauses to look at you, a questioning expression, before you realize. You look to the side in slight disbelief, although you kind of already expected this. He doesn’t remember your name. In slight exasperation, you tell him your name, softly, followed by your title, with a little more confidence. 

“If you can’t remember, just call me ‘physical therapist’. Or PT. For short, I guess.” You try to give a small laugh, even though you feel weirdly hurt by the suggestion (despite making it yourself). 

“No, no. I’ve got it. I’m sorry for not remembering.” Kenji purses his lips and gives you a serious look. For some reason, you believe him. You hold on to his unofficial promise, and you give him a small smile. 

“Alright, then. Since you’re good, I’m off. I’ll see you.”

You stand up, backpack in tow, and make your way to the front door. Although his house is impossibly large, it’s not hard to miss the enormous front door that’s a few steps past the living room. As you slip on your shoes and grab the door to leave, Kenji calls your name. 

Surprised, you turn to face him. “Yes, Sato?”

One hand scratches the back of his neck, while another’s tucked into his pocket. He looks at you with an expression you can’t read. 

“I’ll see you later.” He bids you farewell, your name hanging off his tongue. It’s tender, the way he says it. It’s not overly affectionate, but not formal either. You smile at him one last time and head out. 

You hear the door close behind you, and you let out a breath. It’s well past one, you’re exhausted, but, you think, the drive home won’t be that bad. 

---

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Five More Games

Batter Up Chapter 3

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You haven't seen your boyfriend in over two weeks, your longing for Joel interrupts a FaceTime session. Warnings: smut, baseball talk, FaceTime mutual masturbation, pining, softness, Joel cum's all over his stomach Words: 3,000 A/N: These two have previously appeared together in 18 Seasons and Golden Corral. I wanted to write something super self indulgent to celebrate the month anniversary of posting my first fic Golden Walkway on here. I also want to shout out two people who helped me in this whole writing process. @ohheypedrito for being my steadfast fellow obsessor and idea bouncer offer and @justagalwhowrites for her very sweet response when I asked for words of advice that ultimately made me take the big step to hitting post.

Masterlist Playlist

⚾️⚾️⚾️

Joel has internally struggled this season:  unhappy with his new team, unhappy with his new city, unhappy with the game he loved. Unfamiliar fans, unfamiliar apartment, unfamiliar restaurants, unfamiliar grocery store. The only familiar thing for Joel is you, taking the train down to the city whenever you can, staying in his aforementioned unfamiliar apartment making it seem more like home. You of course knew you couldn’t go to any of his games and openly root for him, but you were happy to watch the game on his couch in his new home, welcoming him back with a hug, smelling the sweat of the game still on him… Joel always far too impatient to shower at the stadium, too excited to get back to you. 

The two of you stuck together living a secret nobody knew about, the two of you never admitting the love you had for each other was growing into something loud enough that soon everybody would hear. What would your dad think? What would Joel’s old teammates think? What would his agent think? What would your coworkers think? What would Sarah think? 

For eight months you and Joel have done this alone, the only people privy to your relationship is whomever might look over at him placing his hand on your thigh at a restaurant, a couple of close friends of yours, and maybe the doorman of Joel’s apartment building delivering packages addressed to you. No, you didn’t want to live in this lie, but to stay with Joel and know him like you do, all of the struggles were worth it.

When he got off the call letting him know that the Philadelphia Liberties signed him to a one year deal, Joel didn’t call his daughter, he didn’t call his brother… he called you. Playing in Philly meant he would only be an hour and a half train ride away. How many more times could you make empty excuses as to why you needed to fly back home to Texas? He knew the toll it was taking on you personally and professionally, he couldn’t give you up, but he also couldn’t live with himself always seeing how tired you were as you stepped out of the airport and into his car. 

The worst part of all of this… Joel was having one of the best seasons of his career. Articles and reporters all repeating over and over how at his age he was having a banner year. Joel loved a challenge and he loved to take his frustrations to the field, playing harder and more focused than ever. 

He wanted to share his accomplishments with you, publicly. He wanted to see you as a part of the wives and girlfriends group, knowing how much you’d stick out against all of the preened and fancy clothed wives, never understanding why they dressed up the way they did to watch a ball game in the Summer heat. He wanted to see you cheering louder than anyone else as he rounded the bases after hitting a home run. He wanted his teammates to tease him for having a picture of you taped up in his locker. He wanted to see you waiting for him in the tunnel after the game wearing his jersey. He wanted to be able to call you his to anyone who’d listen. 

He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in almost twenty years. Once Sarah’s mom left, he gave up dating and significant others to focus on the game and being a dad. Maybe there was just never anybody worth it, but you? You were worth it, and he hated that he couldn’t show everyone how much he loved you. 

——

“Next week’s the All Star Game, you still able to head home?” Joel asks as he watches you change into one of his old Capitals shirts you took as a sleep shirt. 

He loves FaceTime. For years he rolled his eyes at the idea of having to look at who’s he’s talking to… until he learned he can watch you go through your nightly routine in your bedroom. Now he gets to watch you apply your face lotion, feeling a bit like a voyeur looking in on your world from your MacBook screen. He especially likes FaceTime when you angle the laptop on the bed to show him your body as you make yourself cum while chanting his name and how much you miss him. 

“Yeah, so far so good. Can’t believe we’re doing this, especially seeing as you’re in the actual game and we’re letting everybody know the night before. What happens if it’s not good and it affects your g—” 

“I’ll be fine no matter what. It has to be done, I don’t know how many times I can tell Sarah my agent is texting. I think she knows something’s up, she’s too smart, she knows I don’t have friends,” he sighs. “How do you think your parents are gonna take it?”

“I think my mom will be cool with it, she always liked you, especially because of Sarah. My dad? I don’t know, I think he’ll be fine but I also think he’ll have a lot of reservations about us and how it’ll look once everyone finds out. He’s going to drop some business words and worry how it might end up as tabloid fodder amongst baseball people, and I fully understand his issues.” You get into your bed, moving the computer to lay next to you, Joel’s face and broad shoulders taking up most of the screen, it’s such a pitiful replacement to having his warm body next to you. “I don’t know, I wish we could just not do this but be able to do everything like normal people.” 

“There’s nothing normal about this, I’m in a hotel room in Seattle and I just got done eating $45 grilled chicken and brown rice from room service. You just closed your blinds with a remote in your apartment with a view of Central Park. We’re not a normal couple sweetheart,” Joel gives you his reassuring smile, his dimple pressing into his skin, you wish you could touch it. God, you miss him.

“I know, I just wish things could be more simple.” 

“I know baby, me too,” his smile faltering as he hears the longing in your voice. 

“I think I just really miss you… it’s been almost two weeks.”

“It has, we’ll be together soon. Just have to wait six more days.”

“Five more games,” you whisper. 

The two of you always finding it easier to break it down in games. Only 45 innings.  Only five trips for Joel to step on the team bus and head to the ballpark. Only five games worth of you checking your phone for updates.

“Five more games,” Joel’s voice dropping. “You able to watch tomorrow?”

“Don’t think so,” you try not to let the disappointment in your voice show as much as it does. “I have that dinner with the group in from Toronto. I’m hoping I’ll be home around 9, and the game starts at 4 there… I guess I might be able to see maybe the last couple of innings.”

“Mm, pretty sure I’m just DHing tomorrow, so should be in for the whole game.”

“Save your home run for the last inning please.” 

“‘Course,” he smirks. “I’ll swing for the fences.” 

“Joel—“ you whisper out.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“I wish you were here right now.”

“Me too, your bed’s always so comfortable. Sick of these hotel beds.”

You bring the neck of Joel’s shirt up to your nose and inhale. “Your shirt no longer smells like you, I need a new one.” 

“I’ll have one for you next time baby. I won’t take this one off.” 

“You can take it off now.”

“Yeah? Why do you want me to take it off?” Joel’s eyes get darker. 

“I want to look at you while I touch myself, so take it off.”

“Love how bossy you get.”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“Very funny,” he leans forward, pushing his laptop farther down the desk to give you a better view and removes his shirt. 

The two of you are well versed in the proper set up to have this type of experience over FaceTime. No bright lamp behind you because your body will be blown out by the light. Make sure you angle the screen the right way at the right distance so you can still see each other’s faces and bodies. Joel usually chooses to stay on the couch or in an office chair when he’s in a hotel room, allowing him to sit up and jerk himself off while he can still watch you. You always place your laptop on his side of your bed, laying diagonally across it so he can watch you touch your pussy while staring at the screen. 

You love seeing him shirtless, the way his body fills out in all of the most broad and right places. His shoulders are so wide and muscular, connecting to his toned and strong arms, his muscles never being overbearing and huge, just the perfect size and super capable of hitting a ball over 250 feet. The smattering of hair across his chest trailing down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. His stomach, you’re obsessed with his stomach, it’s so soft, your favorite feeling on earth is laying your head against it. The perfect amount of softness filling out his athletic midsection. Joel’s body perfectly encompasses him, soft and rugged, broad and safe. 

“You’re staring again sweetheart,” Joel’s voice blinks you out of your daze as you ogle the square of him on your screen. 

“Sorry, I just really like looking at you.”

“I know, and I like looking at you.” Joel leans back, placing one of his arms behind the couch, his other hand resting against his thigh. “Now, let me really see you. Take m’shirt off.” 

You nod and move your laptop to its customary location so Joel can see all of you. You take his shirt off leaving you bare for his eyes to roam across your body from over two thousand miles away.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, wish I could rub my hands all over your soft skin. Wish I could smell your hair, wish I could taste your skin. Miss you so fucking much.”

“What would you do to me if you were here?” Your voice barely above a whisper, your body aching for his touch.

“I’d rub my tongue up and down your neck,” you move your fingers to your neck and begin to trail them across it copying Joel’s words. You close your eyes and pretend instead of hearing Joel’s voice coming from a tinny set of computer speakers you’re hearing him from across the bed before he touches you. 

“I’d move my mouth down to take one of your nipples into my mouth.” Your hand grazes down your body to one of your breasts, grabbing your nipple and pulling at it. 

“Fuck baby, yes, grab your other tit, play with ‘em,” you open your eyes at the gruffness of Joel’s voice. His hand is still behind the couch, the other has moved from his thigh to cup his half hard cock through his shorts. 

You begin to push and pull your tits apart and together, rubbing your nipples as you stare back at Joel holding eye contact through the computer.

“Looks like your pussy is drooling all over your sheets, lemme see how wet you are.”  

Your hand goes down in between your legs, you pet yourself making sure to bite your lip, something you know Joel likes as you touch yourself. A groan spills out of Joel’s mouth as he watches you bring your soaked hand up, spreading your fingers to show him how your wetness stretches across your digits. He angles himself up to pull his shorts down, his cock standing hard and solid, you can’t take your eyes off of it as his hand wraps around his length. He begins to stroke himself, as you put your hand back to play with yourself. 

“Wish you could smear yourself all over me and watch me jerk off, wish you would spit in my hand—,” Joel spits in his hand, “so I could fuck my hand until I cum all over your pretty face.” 

Your back arches as you watch Joel lick a bit of spit up from his bottom lip, his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration as he smears the spit all over his shaft and begins pumping. 

“You’re so pretty, god I miss you. I miss feeling your body pressed against me, I miss sucking your tits, I miss fucking you.” You can’t stop staring at the screen, your fingers paused and resting on your clit. He’s beautiful, the way his muscles in his arms tense as he strokes himself, the way he snarls as he twists his fist around the head, the way he can’t stop staring at you through his laptop screen. “You miss me babygirl?”

He knows what his words do to you, he knows that if he can’t touch you he can at least talk you through it. He’s so thoughtful, not stopping at anything to make you happy, to think about you, to care for you. You hate that you aren’t even close enough to be in the same time zone.

“Yes,” you whisper, if you were any louder you might just start to cry. “So much.”

“I know, I know, fuck,” Joel stops jerking himself off, “I know,” blinking the lust out of his eyes, his big brown concerned eyes planted on his screen. “You okay?”

You didn’t want to do this, you wanted to get off with your boyfriend, shut your laptop lid, and go to sleep. Now? Now you miss him so much you’re naked with your hand still in between your legs and sniffling away tears alone in your bed.

“I am, yeah, I will be. I’m sorry, it just really hit me how long it’s been and I guess I’m just nervous about everything we have to do. I don’t want to lose you…” and at those words and the fear that gets planted inside your heart, you pull your fingers away from your cunt.

“We’re going to figure it out sweetheart. M’not losing you.” Joel follows you and unwraps his hand from around himself. “It has been long, but we’ll have almost a week together next week.”

“Five games?”

“Five games.” The softness of his voice and the reassuring smile he gives makes your stomach twist.

“I’m sorry.” An apology, you’re almost embarrassed by your juvenility, missing your boyfriend so much you almost started to cry.

“Baby, you don’t have to apologize, believe me, I understand.”

“Did you still want to…”

“I’m only happy doing what you want to, sweetheart.”

“I want to show you how much I miss you.” Your hand snakes up your body to start petting the area between your breasts, the place where Joel always like to nuzzle his face in and smell your skin.

“Fuck, okay sweetheart.”

“Five more games until I can feel you inside me.”

“Jesus, getting right back to the point, aren’t we?” He smirks, his eyes follow as you snake your hand down to back in between your legs.

“I’m efficient,” you bend your knee to give Joel a better look as you begin to rub circles along your clit.

“Fuck sweetheart, you look so fucking good,” he groans, wrapping his hand back around his cock. “Fuck yourself with your fingers baby, pretend it’s me.” 

You moan as you stick two fingers in, slowly pushing them in and out, ignoring how poor of a substitute they are for Joel’s cock. 

“Good girl, look at you. My pretty baby, I love you so much.”

His eyes soften as he watches you get lost in fucking yourself. You love how you can tell just how much he loves you by his big, brown eyes, even on your small laptop screen they shine bright. 

“I love you,” you whimper as you reach your other hand down to begin rubbing your clit. Your fingers working overtime inside you and on your clit causing your orgasm to build. 

“Love you baby, so much. Love watching you do this for me,” he grunts as he fucks his fist faster.

“Baaaby,” you breathe out, your heart beginning to rapidly beat, the swirls around your clit quickening. You’re a quivering mess on your bed, staring into your computer screen as you feel your orgasm show. 

“Oh, you’re close, can see it pretty girl, you gonna cum for me? M’gonna cum for you,” he grits out as you watch the hand against his thigh tighten its grip against his skin. He’s close, his jaw going slack, his tongue resting in between his lips, his brows furrowing deeper. It’s a sight you’ve seen so many times now, most of your FaceTime sessions ending like this.

“Cum for me,” you whisper as you orgasm, your pussy squeezes your fingers, your clit pulses against your finger, you fight the urge to shut your eyes because you need to watch Joel as he begins to spurt thick ropes of cum all over his stomach. You love how he looks, biting out swears totally blissed out, his cum pooling against the plush skin of his stomach. 

He swears as he grabs his shirt and cleans himself up, you smile as you watch him, feeling like you’re spying on your own boyfriend. You love FaceTime.

“You’re smilin’ quite big,” he chuckles as he tosses his shirt next to him, and pulls his shorts back up. 

“I like to watch you, that’s all, you’re so handsome.”

“Handsome, hm?”

“Yep, always thought it, and now I get to look at you whenever I want to.”

“Lucky you, huh?”

“Lucky me. Only five more games until I see my handsome boyfriend.”

“Five more games.”

[lskisms]

eat my love, c. berzatto

syn. carmen berzatto is a childhood best friend, your protector in everything. when he leaves for new york, he leaves you behind and in his absence, you realize just how deep your love for him runs. his return to chicago is just what you need.

gen. romance, angst (if you squint).

warnings. none.

word count. 1.8k.

playlist. restless, bibi. love scene, baekhyun. seasons, wave to earth. asleep, the smiths. wasteland baby, hozier.

forget religion, forget deities, forget all of it; you have been a devout follower of carmen berzatto for years. he’s the childhood best friend with just a few years and even more inches on you, the one who protected you in the schoolyard in elementary school, the one who showed up to the movie theater after you’d been stood up in high school, the one who made sure your college mini fridge was stocked all the time with food you only had to eat up in your microwave.

he’s been everything to you, protector and savior all in one go. so while you’re not quite sure when your feelings shifted from platonic to romantic (though it was definitely between his time in new york and his return to chicago), you’re not surprised that they have. maybe it’s the “obscene amount” (richie’s words, not yours) of contemporary romance novels you read, plenty of titles with a friends to lovers arc, that put this in your head and maybe that constantly riled up man has a point, but still, something about it feels inevitable.

when carmy left for new york, you worried about him, more than was probably necessary. it was the first time in your whole life that you’d be away from him and it wasn’t that either of you needed one another to look out, but having grown up with him as a constant presence in your life made it difficult to adjust to life without him. where he used to be a phone call and a trip on the l away, now he was a phone call and a plane ride, too many miles to fathom.

but you waited: waited for him to come home, waited for him to notice you, waited for him to reciprocate. it feels like your entire life all you’ve done is wait for him and you’ve been content with that, even if it is your own personal brand of psychological torment. because you know him like it’s etched into your very genetics, the ability to know him for who he is in a way that you can’t know anyone else.

and so when he returns to chicago, to home, to you, it feels monumental, even if it is under less than desired circumstances. he starts working his ass off almost the very second he gets off his flight; you don’t see him for the first few weeks he’s back in chicago. it’s through no fault of your own, of course, because you text him plenty and he responds, but they aren’t hitting the same beats they used to, and you worry.

but here he stands now, flannel coat and baseball cap and all, at your doorstep unannounced. it surprises you, seeing him here like this, because he hadn’t so much as even suggested the idea, but you can’t complain, not when this is the first time you’re seeing him in what feels like a lifetime.

“carmy,” you practically exhale, not even hesitating to step forward, wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself close against him. your nose buries into the collar of his coat and when you inhale, the scent is so entirely carmen berzatto; you hadn’t realized you could miss a smell this much, let alone a person.

you’re elated when his arms wind their way around your waist, both hands warm against your lower back. you stand just like this for moments that feel like they stretch into hours, taking in the fact that he’s back, he’s home.

“i missed you, loser,” you say into the thick fabric of his coat.

he scoffs against your shoulder, patting your back and pulling away from you to look you dead in the eye. “yeah, yeah, i missed you too.”

you share a small laugh, an even gentler smile, and you step aside to let him in. it’s the first place of yours that he’s never experienced. sure, he’d seen it in photos and facetime calls, but he’s never been here in person, the first place that is wholly you: no family, no friends, no college roommates. the essence of the apartment belongs solely to you.

and he sees that, sees you everywhere he looks. it’s in the way your shoes are organized by the front door, in the way that you keep one of his old jackets (stolen months before he left for new york) hung up on the coat rack, in the way that the photograph centered on your endtable isn’t one of your family but one of you two; it was snapped on senior prom night, which he hadn’t been able to attend due to his bad grades, but he’d gotten dressed up all nice for you anyways, so that you’d have nice pictures of the two of you together, even if he couldn’t be your date like you’d planned.

“nice place,” he remarks, looking around and taking in the parts of you he doesn’t know; books lined up on the shelves of your tv console, record player next to it, the succulents on the window sill. “better than that shithole you were living in when i left.”

you let out a breathy laugh, roll your eyes, close the front door behind you. “you mean the dorms? anything is better than that.”

you follow him deeper into your space, watching the way he watches everything else, takes everything in, like he’s relearning you from scratch. almost every second of the day, carmen is on, burner cranked up to high, one of the most intense people you’ve ever met, but here, you can tell he’s set to simmer, introspective in a way he’s not when he’s at work. it’s nice to see him with his guard down like this, cerulean eyes wide and searching.

the silence stretches out between you, but it doesn’t snap like a rubber band like you thought it would. quiet used to be easy with him and you’d been worried that the distance and time apart would change that, but it hasn’t; it’s still just as comforting as it had been.

but you have to break it, clearing your throat and looking away out the window. the sun is setting behind tall buildings, casting the sky a burnt orange (terracotta, maybe, you think). and with your string lights that glow soft, flaxen gold over your equally as soft sheer curtains, quiet music playing from spotify on your tv, this could not be a more romantic moment, at least in your mind.

“i worried about you, y’know… when you were in new york,” you say quietly, eyes trained on some point beyond the horizon. “i never really knew what you were up to over there and you were so far away… i don’t know, i guess i just missed being able to make sure you were taking care of yourself.”

his sneakers move gentle against the floorboards as he turns his whole body to face you. when you glance at him, he has an expectant look on his face like he knows you have more you want to say; whatever piece of you that knows him better than anything else, he has it too, he’s always been able to anticipate anything from you.

you shrug, look down at the floor. “i thought i’d be able to stop worrying when you came back ‘cause if you needed me, you’d be a train ride away again, but… carmy, you’ve been back for weeks and i think i’m worrying about you more than i did when you were gone.”

“you don’t gotta worry ‘bout me; sugar does enough of that for the both of ya,” he replies, voice soft in a way that he’s always reserved for you, special and one of a kind.

with a nod, you look back up at him, meet him with another shrug. “no, i know. just can’t help it, i guess… think i’ll always worry about you, one way or another.”

his hands fidget in the pockets of his coat, flexing and unflexing, rustling against the material. he lets out a sigh, looks out that same window, the sun lower than before. “i worried about you too. you can take care’a yourself, but… i was worried nobody’d have your back the way i do.”

“i mean… i have sugar and fak and them, i had mikey, but… they aren’t you. nobody could replace you.”

and when he looks back at you, you think he realizes that you mean it in more than one way. he’s not just your defender in everything, some self-appointed knight in shining armor; he’s the love of your life, has been for years probably. he stands here in the middle of your apartment that is every bit him as it is you and he sees you. his eyes lay you bare, roll out your psyche, understand you in a way that no potential romantic interest from the past few years has been able to because he has his own brand of knowing you, one that you’re so used to that it feels wrong coming from anyone else.

and he knows that just from staring at you. the inches between you feel like miles and your fingers twitch with unsnapped tension; you swear his do too because like clockwork, his feet scuff against your hardwood floor and he closes the distance, hands out of his pockets to cradle your face in them.

“you mean that?” he questions, his breath hot against your lips. his palms are calloused and warm, and you’re learning the feel of them in a way you’ve never had them before because this is new, but it’s what you’ve wanted for ages.

you nod, your eyelids fluttering and breath shallow. this close to him, you can make out all of the imperfections in his skin, the little dips and freckles. “wouldn’t lie about somethin’ like that, carmy. you know that.”

“just wanted to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

when he kisses you, it is unpracticed and unrefined but perfect in all the important ways: it’s him and he tastes like cigarettes covered up with spearmint gum and he is so warm. you kiss him back like you’re trying to make sure he knows the taste of your love, like a fine wine aged for years; you think he notices it.

“don’t worry about me no more,” he says against you without pulling away.

“that’s kinda my job,” you reply with a short, breathy laugh, your hands curling into the rough fabric of his coat.

“doesn’t need to be. i’ll take care of us.”

the words cut deep into a part of you that has gone untouched for years, something reserved for carmy and carmy alone. and he knows it’s there now, treats it with all the delicateness in the world as he kisses you again, apologizes for not realizing sooner, promises to make up for lost time. his touch, new and exciting, sets you alight everywhere and you are born again like phoenix out of ashes. to be loved like this by him is something you’ve dreamt of for years and now it’s yours and you don’t plan on letting go.

i’ll take care of us. you believe him.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[gyuvision]

going, going, gone! -> [back to masterlist?]

wc ; 1.4k - pairing ; 1b hong seunghan x team manager fem reader

summary ; seunghan is benched for an argument between another player, but even though hes feeling down he convinces you to stay with him after hours.

contains -> swearing, fluff, comfort, angst

note - i love myungjae please know its just for the plot 😞

“but coach, its not fair! i dont understand what it is that i did wrong.” seunghan pleaded, quickly pulling his sweaty jersey off and changing into a clean tee as he begged the coach to let him play.

“seunghan please. you know i wouldnt bench my star player without a reason. even if its nationals, what you did was beyond unacceptable.” coach myung gestured to his nephew who was sitting on a bench with an ice pack to his swollen cheek.

myung jaehyun may have been a good player, but he wouldn’t have made it on the team if his uncle hadn’t been the coach. in doing so, he got away with almost anything with little to no consequences making him one of the most feared players in comparison to seunghan, who was the most respected.

“he yelled profanities at me and hit on our manager, y/n! not to mention how he came at me first?” seunghan defended himself, pointing to his bruised eye.

“hong seunghan that is more than enough! i’ve had it with you. you’re benched for the rest of the season. i don’t care who started what but i will not tolerate this behavior. not on my team. when you come back here tomorrow i’d expect you best have your attitude straightened up. everyone is dismissed.” the coach announced with not another word as he left the locker room, with the rest of the team following behind.

“damn it!” seunghan yelled, punching his locker in anger and disappointment.

“you really thought he’d let you play after that?” jaehyun scoffed. “you need a reality check, hong.”

“you’re still here?.. get out.”

“like my parents aren’t the ones who own the place? besides. the only reason you’re still here is because you’re dating the manager. i would’ve had a better chance anyway”

“i said get the fuck out. unless you want me to fuck up your other cheek too.”

“some nerve.” he muttered before walking through the door.

seunghan sighed, grabbing his jersey to go and sit in the dugout up until he saw you getting ready to leave.

“thought you left already.” seunghan whispered, knowing you heard everything. he didn’t want to disappoint you any further.

“oh seunghan..” you sighed, leaving your bag to go up to him and fix his messy bangs.

“i would try to-” “just please stay.” he begged as he wrapped his arms around your waist, hiding his face in your hair.

“seunghan..”

“..please?”

“…okay.” you nodded, letting him lead you to the field and to their dugout.

“whats on your mind?”

“i just dont get it.” seunghan spoke, looking into the pink horizon before turning to meet your eyes.

“get what?”

“why such jerks like myung jaehyun think theyre so much better than everyone else because theyre born into nepotism. it defeats everything ive worked so hard for.”

“he thinks hes better because hes privileged. but it doesnt mean that he actually is, babe.”

“i guess.”

“what if i talk to coach myung to let you play tomorrow? i know he wont let you play for the rest of the season but maybe tomorrow at least, hopefully.”

“you dont have to.”

“i know how happy baseball makes you. i couldnt just sit and watch you be so disappointed while you deserve to be out there. its worth a try.” you reassure him.

“i dont deserve you.” he muttered.

“this team doesnt deserve you. they mistreat you. thats why i wanted you to come with me to play varsity in the states, where i’d be the new manager.”

“that doesn’t sound too bad. maybe i’ll just finish off this season first.”

“it’s your choice, but there’s a better opportunity there than however little the myungs have to offer.”

after a few moments you both left the dugout to walk the stadium, passing under the bleachers and beyond the closed food stands before finding a seat with a good view of the field, and the sunset.

you stayed there at the stadium with him for a little while longer before you get up, telling him you have to go.

“i know they have no chance of advancing without you. he has to let you play. you’ll hit me a homerun won’t you?”

“always.” he chuckled. “it’ll be going, going, gone.”