#it was either this or a coach purse

[cinewhore]

treat yo self!

[theclairvoyage]

Sour Lemonade (One-shot)

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Your nephew's little league baseball games take up many of your summer evenings, and it's not the dust or the concession stand treats that keep you coming back - it's one of the coaches, Joel Miller.

Pairing: Little league coach!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI! alternate universe, adult language, alcohol consumption, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), fluff, flirting, angst, mentions of physical violence, light choking, baseball talk, mentions of child death, mentions of infidelity

WC: 12k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Dust flies into your face, obscuring your view of the baseball diamond. “Fuck,” you spit, the sudden inconvenience enraging you. Aggressively, you wipe your lips with the back of your forearm, noticing now how sticky, slimy, and itchy your skin is from all the sweat and dirt. And the pirate bugs are relentless, tiny daggers pricking your pores at every moment. Each swat of your exposed skin produces a tiny black smear, only to be replaced by another miniscule, predatory black dot.

“Does anyone have some goddamn bug spray?” Anger invites itself to the baseball game now, alarming some of the innocent parents watching their 8-year-old sons try to play America’s favorite pastime. Your sister, who dragged you to this hell hole, tugs on your sleeve as she hops up from the bleachers.

“Jesus, can’t go anywhere without you cussing up a storm… no wonder your nephew knows all these colorful words,” she scolds you, your name rolling off her tongue with a sharp bite as she stomps over to the bathrooms. The rage inside you cools a bit, returning to its home in the corner of your stomach. She swings her tote from under her arm to her front, digging in the bottomless pit for some bug spray. She pulls out a pink spray bottle with feminine letters, and you already know it doesn’t have DEET.

“Sorry, Mer—for the cussing. But also, do you have anything containing any carcinogens? Need ultra strength right now,” you say, trying to ease the tension. She snorts and rolls her eyes, exchanging the pink bottle for a familiar green one. OFF! is plastered in big font on the front.

“Ahhhh,” you sigh, spraying the familiar harsh scent on your skin and clothes. She laughs, taking a big step away from the cloud of haze surrounding you. The mist cools your skin, though you know it’ll stick once it’s dried—you don’t care at this point. It’s the third inning, and you can’t handle another hour and a half of being a trained insect assassin.

“Thanks. Also, how d’ya know Noah isn’t learning cuss words at school? Or on YouTube,” you remind her, pointing a DEET-covered finger in her face. She ponders it for a moment, jaw ticking back and forth.

“Well, either way—these parents are going to blacklist you if you don’t put a filter on it.” You wave her off, grimacing.

“Meredith, let me put it bluntly—I don’t give a fuck,” you say, accentuating the last word and sticking your neck out. She laughs loudly and smacks your shoulder.

“Y’know, Noah loves that you come to his games. And I want to keep you around, so… I guess I can tolerate it,” Meredith says with a half-smirk, snatching the green bottle from your sticky fingers. “Let’s go back before the damn game is over.”

“Hey! Language!” you point at her, eyes widening in mock shock. A throaty laugh leaves her lips. The wind picks up again, sending a twister of dirt and dust your way, so hard it stings your legs. You curse yourself for not wearing pants.

Back at the bleachers, you find that your language is the least concern of these parents. It’s the bottom of the fourth inning, and the score is 2-9. Noah’s team looks somber as they take the field. Moms are perched on their bleacher chairs with crossed legs, quietly fanning their faces with paper programs with pursed lips. Dads spit their sunflower seeds and tobacco into the grass aggressively with arms crossed, shaking their heads with each dropped ball and fumbled groundout. A sharp contrast is the cacophony of shrill screams and boisterous laughter from children running around the nearby empty fields, with not a care in the world. They’re just happy to be here.

“Sheesh… tough night,” Meredith says solemnly in your ear. You nod, sucking your lips into your mouth. The pitcher on Noah’s team walks another batter, and a man, presumably one of the coaches, emerges from the dugout and steps onto the field, holding his palm up to the umpire.

“Time!” The umpire calls, waving both hands in the air a few times. You study the man as he approaches the pitcher, surprised at what you see.

He’s taller than average, but not too tall. His trim body is lined with lean muscle, though he’s somewhat soft in the middle. Broad shoulders stretch his gray t-shirt. Graying brunette curls peek under his hat, kissing the top of his strong, tanned neck. Strong legs stride quietly, though confidently, toward the poor boy, who is clearly distraught. The man kneels and puts a hand on the pitcher’s shoulder as he speaks to him. The boy nods, cracking a small smile and sniffling as the man jostles him softly. He told a joke, perhaps—whatever it took to get the kid to smile. You find yourself smiling, too, watching the pair interact. The man has a calming presence that seems to have trickled into the crowd. The tension in the air is less frigid, palpable. He high-fives the boy and stands, returning to the dugout. His gaze sweeps the field, giving his players a thumbs up, before turning to the crowd and locking eyes with you.

Shit. His face takes your breath away, complete with a curved nose, high cheekbones, plush lips crowned with a full mustache, and an angled jawline dotted with brown and gray hairs. His smoldering chocolate eyes, though, are what hypnotize you the most. He’s still staring at you, likely analyzing the structure of your features like you are to him. You notice his stride falters momentarily before catching himself, but his eyes never stray from yours as he returns to the dugout. Heat radiates from your cheeks. Your heart thuds in your chest, pulse racing at this gorgeous stranger checking you out. Meredith nudges you with her elbow.

“I’ve never seen anybody get eye-fucked like that,” she whispers, and you can’t prevent the loud guffaw that escapes from your mouth. You clap a hand over your mouth quickly and whip your head toward her.

“Who is that?!” you squeal, clutching her wrist.

“That’s Joel Miller, one of the coaches,” she whispers, craning her neck to look at him in the dugout. “His nephew is on the team. Brother is that guy sitting behind home plate here,” she points, alerting you to an attractive Latino man with shiny black curls and a similar strong nose. Damn. He’s fine as hell, too. Before you turn to look at him again, Meredith grips your leg.

“He’s staring over here, don’t look,” she whispers. You can’t help but smile and feel giddy, like a sixth grader developing their first crush.

The game ends on a higher note, with Noah’s team lessening the gap and ending 6-10. As parents trickle from the stands to wait for their boys out by the dugout, you try to catch a glimpse of Joel, who is picking up stray baseball bats and gloves, handing them to their rightful owners. Noah ambles over to Meredith and you, grin plastered on his dirt-stained face. He wraps his sweaty arms and hands around your midsection.

“Hey, buddy. You did great,” you beam at him. He sighs heavily and looks up at you, big blue eyes laced with disappointment.

“We didn’t win, though,” he laments, wiping his dirty face off on your shirt.

“S’not all about winning, my dude. Gotta have fun and try to get better every day,” you comfort him, patting the back of his sweaty jersey.

“That’s some good life advice right there,” a deep, sexy, Southern-accented voice interrupts. You snap your head up and see Joel, who’s already looking at you. God, he’s even more attractive up close, and he smells good, like pine and musk. His eyes travel your face before dipping down to your lips, quickly reverting to your eyeline.

“Joel! This is my sister,” Meredith introduces you, pulling Noah from your grasp. Joel holds out a hand. You grab it and shake, relishing the warmth and size of his hand. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he lets go.

“Nice to meet ya. I think some of the parents are gettin’ drinks later, after puttin’ the Rugrats to bed,” he says, flashing a jaw-dropping smile at you. Meredith chimes in, saving you once again from your own awkward silence.

“That sounds great! We’ll definitely stop by, right?” she asks you, nudging you. You tear your eyes from Joel’s and nod.

“Yes—though I need a shower. I stink,” you admit, scrunching your nose. A deep chuckle emits from Joel, shoulders shaking with laughter. Your heart skips a beat.

“Y’can’t be that bad—at least y’look good,” he says with a grin, pearly whites blinding you. Your heart falters completely at his compliment and you’re frozen, like a mosquito inside a solid block of amber. Meredith, for the umpteenth time today, saves you from looking like an absolute fool.

“Joel, wait ‘til you see her all cleaned up! We gotta go get this kiddo showered and ready for his sleepover, see you in a bit!” she says, clutching your wrist and leading you and Noah toward the parking lot. Peering over your shoulder, you catch Joel’s eyes drifting up and down your figure. His smile fades, expression morphing from excitement, to astonishment, to desire. Oh, fuck.

Two hours later, Meredith and you are arm in arm, walking up to the bar the parents and coaches had chosen for the rendezvous. The summer heat has loosened its grip on the city, with gentle summer gusts and a Starburst-colored sunset replacing it. Your dirty and sweat-ridden clothes are replaced with some jean shorts and a fresh muscle tee, and you remembered to put lotion on your legs for once.

Meredith opens the creaky wooden entrance door, and you spot the baseball group in a corner of the bar. Eight parents and all coaches are here, each sporting a mug of some light and probably domestic beer. All greet you with either a wave or a loud greeting—they must’ve gotten started drinking early. You spot Joel sitting next to his brother, Tommy—both are staring at you as you approach the group.

“Since you’re late, you have to buy shots,” says one of the moms, lifting her empty beer glass.

“Fine, Katy—but it’s gonna be tequila!” Meredith quips, inciting a grimace from Katy and cheers from all the men at the table. “Let’s go up to the bar,” Meredith murmurs in your ear, setting your purses down on two empty chairs the group saved for you. You try not to look at Joel but feel his magnetizing gaze on you, and you make eye contact with him. His eyes are molten dark chocolate, sweeping over your face with a glimmer of want. You crack a small smile and his eyes latch onto your lips immediately. Before your knees buckle, you break eye contact and follow Meredith to the bar.

“So, you gonna fuck him, or what?” She teases once you’re both out of earshot of the group. You land a playful slap on her arm and drop your jaw.

“Mer! I don’t even have his number! Or know how old he is, or if he’s an ex-con, or a child molester, or a serial strangler,” you ramble, pulling a laugh from her.

“He’s not any of those things, but he’s in his fifties, I know that. Doesn’t look like it, though,” she says, eyebrows arching. He’s got some years on you, for sure, but you’ve had an experience or two with an older man—though this one terrifies you. His eyes alone could convince you to do almost anything.

The bartender pours up double-digit tequila shots, garnished with salted rims and limes, and plops them on a serving tray. Meredith hoists it up and you walk back to the table, making sure to put some extra swing in your hips in case Joel’s watching. You can tell from your peripheral that he is, in fact, staring at you. Something fizzes in your chest—warm, wanting.

“Cheers to not getting run-ruled today!” Tommy cheers as everyone clinks their shot glasses together. You down yours quickly, anticipating the spicy aftertaste. And boy, it burns like hell as it glazes down your throat. You suck on the lime and try not to shiver. Whoops and cheers fill the empty bar as everyone finishes their shots.

After a few beers and shots later, you’re feeling loose and giddy. Your end of the table is talking about the godforsaken umpire from tonight’s game, somewhat split from the other half of the table, which is discussing the MLB playoffs. Feeling a familiar pull, you turn and see Joel smiling at you. Once you make eye contact, he winks, which sends you reeling. He’s about to get up from his seat when one of the moms waltzes her way over to him, curling her polished claws around his shoulder.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he preferred her over you—she’s petite, with long blonde hair, tan skin, blue eyes, and perky fake boobs. She looks great, you admit, and she’s closer to his age. Sadness looms in your belly and your smile fades as his attention diverts to her. Oh well, you think. Good thing it didn’t go too far. Resigned, you join the conversation and try to focus on anything but Joel.

The night carries on, and you find yourself unbothered by Joel. Meredith completely let loose, singing along to the music echoing throughout the bar. Everyone at your end of the table is telling jokes, clinking glasses, and enjoying each other’s presence. It’s a fun night, you admit to yourself. You made every effort to not pay attention to the other end of the table but felt Joel’s eyes on you constantly.

What you didn’t realize was how much he wanted you to be the one pressed up against him, with his arm curled around your waist or his rough fingers stroking the smooth skin of your thigh. He needed to get away from this kid’s mom—she was newly divorced and obviously ready for a rebound. Yeah, she was attractive, but nothing about her excited him—if anything, he was irritated by her blatant advancements. The final straw was when she crept her hand up his denim-clad thigh and squeezed close to the apex.

“The hell are you doin’?” he says with a laugh, incredulous. She licks her glossy lips and leans in toward his ear.

“Oh, I think you know, big boy,” she murmurs in her sexiest voice. Joel is turned off. Not wanting to be rude, he lightly grips her wrist and pulls her hand back. You, unfortunately, look over right as he grabs her hand.

“Not interested, dear,” he murmurs back, watching the frustration grow on her face.

“Fine, Miller—there’s plenty more who want it,” she boasts. She snatches her manicured hand away and moves onto your side of the table, picking another innocent victim.

Annoyed, you stand and walk up to the bar, back facing the group. Guess her little routine worked on Joel—he really ate it up, even touched her arm. You chide yourself for letting this unnerve you—you don’t even know the guy, and for all you do know, he might be a sleazeball.

“Need a break from the loudmouths?” the bartender asks, half smiling. You nod, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Too much testosterone over there,” you retort, “I’ll take a Sprite.” She nods and punches a button on the soda gun, filling up a tall glass. Staring at the bubbles fizzing over the ice cubes, you feel a breeze on your side. It’s Joel, finally separated from his bimbo of the night.

“Hey, darlin’, can I get you a drink?” he asks, smooth, sugary voice tickling your eardrums. He sounds sexy as fuck. You hold his gaze but don’t smile, creating an icy wall between the two of you.

“Is your girlfriend okay with that?” you sneer, turning to take a sip of your Sprite. His shoulders sag just slightly, but you see it from the corner of your eye.

“She ain’t my girl, promise. She’s tryna find a rebound,” he murmurs apologetically. You shrug.

“Seems like she was getting close to getting one.” Ouch. It hits low and painful in his belly, though he understands.

“Listen, I know what it looked like. Promise ya, it ain’t nothing. She ain’t my type,” he says, eyes sweeping your face. Guilt pangs you, and you turn to look at him. Fuck. His eyes are solemn, repentant—he’s saying sorry, and he doesn’t even need to. You sigh deeply, feeling that the alcohol is forcing you to be honest with him.

“Joel, look—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha—,” you start, but he interrupts you, putting a calloused palm up and shaking his head.

“No need t’apologize, sweetheart. I get it. She was all over me,” he says, end of his sentence filled with a playful tone. You giggle quietly.

“Oh yeah, she was two seconds away from sinking her teeth into you,” you joke, chuckles exchanging between the two of you. Relief fills you, warm and cleansing. He stares at you for a moment before speaking again.

“So, that drink…” he says, a lopsided grin plastered on his rugged face. God, he’s handsome. You can’t hold off much longer.

“I ‘spose,” you tease, “Guess you owe me one, anyway.” His half-grin turns whole, smile sending a zip of desire down your spine. He leans close to your ear, sweeping your hair over your shoulder. The touch of his warm skin on yours and the proximity of him almost makes you jump.

“I’ll make it up t’ya, swear on it,” he says, voice an octave lower and Southern accent dripping with something you’re not quite ready to identify. You clamp your thighs together instinctively, another shiver rippling through you like that of the tequila shot. Joel waves the bartender over and orders your drink of choice and whiskey neat.

“So… you live with Meredith?” Joel inquires, watching you as he sips the amber liquid. You shake your head, twirling the straw around your drink.

“Nope, but I might as well with how much I’m over there, helping with Noah and whatnot.” He nods.

“I had a daughter once. Y’know what they say… it takes a village,” he says, tone laced with melancholy. Once?

“I hate to ask, but… what happened to her?” you ask carefully, hesitant to look at him.

“She passed away when she was little. Car accident. S’alright, though—it was a long time ago,” he says, smiling at you wistfully. You put a hand on his bare forearm, and he almost melts into a puddle.

“I’m sorry, Joel. That’s so awful. I can’t imagine experiencing something like that. Noah’s my nephew, but I wouldn’t be able to go on if something happened to him,” you add, hoping to soothe his pain.

“Enough about me, darlin’, I wanna know more about you,” he says, covering your hand with his. His touch is electric on your skin.

“Nothing exciting, trust me,” you say with a shrug. He scoffs.

“I’d be shocked to hear that you’re single,” he says, winking at you again. You shove him playfully.

“Prepare to be shocked,” you quip. He shakes his head and looks up at one of the TVs.

“S’a damn shame,” he laments. The alcohol sends courage racing through your veins.

“For whom?” you tease, mirroring his wink. His smile fades just slightly as he takes you in, desire washing over him. When he speaks again, his voice is even deeper than before.

“Not for me, that’s for sure.” Your stomach drops at his admission, though your face doesn’t show it.

“Yeah? Why’s that, Miller?” He takes another sip of his whiskey, eyes locked on yours.

“You kiddin’? Look at you,” he says, whistling lowly, eyes traversing your frame. If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. You wave him off and sip your own drink.

“Oh, stop. I bet you get the best of the best coming up to you,” you say, playing it cool. He takes another sip, swallowing with a hmm-mm.

“Darlin’, the best of the best is sittin’ next to me, and I reckon I got some groveling t’do if I wanna see her again,” he admits. He takes his baseball cap off, revealing thick, gorgeous curls, hairline swept with gray locks. He runs a hand through them before sliding the cap back on. Admiring his profile, you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Your gaze travels down to his neck, which might just be your favorite part of him at the moment—thick, tan, jugular vein bulging. You can almost see his pulse pounding at his carotid. Fuck, he makes your pulse pound. Sucking in a deep, calming breath, you avert your gaze to your near-empty drink, swishing the ice cubes around nervously. Joel nudges your arm with his elbow. You look at him, trying your hardest to maintain a straight face, but seeing his smile makes you grin.

“What?” you ask, noticing his eyes dipping down to your lips.

“Was just thinkin’,” he says, finishing the last of his whiskey as he eyes you inquisitively.

“About?” you press, tilting your ear toward him and raising your brows. He laughs at your facial expression and leans in, lips brushing your hair and nearly grazing your ear.

“’Bout what it would be like t’kiss you,” he hums, voice dripping with lust. Your eyes widen briefly, shock quickly morphing into nervousness, then anticipation as your stomach twists.

“Think I need another drink before then,” you say, slowly turning to face him. He’s close, close enough that you feel his breath on your face. He’s half-smiling again, brown eyes spanning your face.

“Nervous?” he taunts lowly. You look up at the TV and nod slowly.

“Darlin’, y’got nothin’ to be nervous about. I ain’t gonna make ya do anything y’ain’t comfortable with,” he says, face still close to your ear. You face him again, staring intently into his eyes.

“Oh, it’s not that. I’m afraid… you’ll be hooked,” you test him, hoping your bravado overshadows your nerves. His nostrils flare just slightly before he clears his throat.

“Reckon I need another drink, too—I might not survive,” he says, catching you off guard. A loud laugh escapes your lips. Joel is delighted at the sound and wonders how you’d sound doing other things, like underneath him or as his tongue unravels you. Suppressing an erection, he waves the bartender over and orders both of you another round.

“Wanna get some air?” he questions you, tipping his head toward the patio area. You nod, chewing on your straw nervously. The idea of being alone with him makes you squirm. You stand and he guides you outside, firm hand on your lower back. His fingertips burn into your back.

“Lemme just tell Mer I’m stepping outside,” you say. He nods. “Meet ya out there?” he offers, and you clink the rim of your glass to his in agreement. You watch him saunter over to the patio doors, salivating at the way his jeans hug his hips and ass. Meredith isn’t worried by your absence at all, still laughing and talking loudly with the group. She’s drunk.

“Mer, I’m stepping out back if you need me,” you say into her ear. She turns to you, holding your chin.

“Y’gonna kiss him, finally? He’s been tryna do it for the last hour!” she spits into your ear. Your lips quirk into a smile.

“Maybe, dunno. We’ll find out shortly,” you reply nonchalantly, shrugging as you turn to leave the table. She pinches your ass as you walk away.

Anticipation bubbles in your chest as you get closer to the patio. With a deep breath, you push the doors open and see Joel leaning up against the railing, hip cocked to one side. The patio is dotted with dim string lights and overlooks a small pond with a fountain, moonlight glimmering on the surface. The trickling of the water is soothing, a nice contrast to the loud music and voices inside the bar. He turns his body toward you, arm leaned against the railing as he watches you.

“Thought maybe I scared ya off,” he teases. You stand next to him, arm brushing his as he turns to face the pond again.

“Not in the slightest. Your girl back there, though? Not going within 20 feet of her,” you tantalize him, and he rolls his eyes as he chuckles.

“She ain’t even a blip on my radar, darlin’,” he says, voice shifting from playful to sensual. You feel his hot gaze on your face. Slowly, he dips his head closer to yours. You turn and lock eyes with him. You want him, though your expression is almost hesitant—his is pliant, asking permission. You look down at his plush lips and lean in while closing your eyes.

When your lips finally meet, a sensation roils through you like you’ve never experienced. You feel like a fishing boat in the North Sea, tossed around, dizzy, and soaked by the icy waves as they threaten to pull you under. You’re completely at the mercy of his lips, his touch. The kiss is slow, yet fiery—unlocking passion in both of you that has either been dormant or never existed. At some point, Joel turned to face you and pulled you flush to him, thick arms wrapped around your torso, squeezing you like he can’t afford to let go. You reach for his hair and knock off his baseball cap, and he laughs against your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for your tongues to tangle and the kiss to reach a new level of hot and heavy. He’s gripping your ass; you’re shoving your hands up his shirt. He’s breaking the kiss to nip at your neck and jawline; you’re moaning softly. He’s groaning into your skin at the sounds you make, telling you how good you are; your nails are carving shapes into the skin of his back.

You pull back, panting, fingers still latched onto his curls. Concerned eyes stare into yours, worried he crossed a line. You shake your head and laugh incredulously, glancing over at the moonlit pond. It’s surreal, the way you’re feeling now—none of your dreams have ever been so enchanting as this moment. Joel strokes your cheek softly, needing to know your thoughts.

“Everything alright?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheekbone.

“Yes! Oh god, everything’s—amazing, I just didn’t know if—,” you stammer, trying to force the thousand thoughts swirling in your mind into a coherent sentence.

“D’you wanna get outta here, darlin’? I understand f’you say no, but good lord, I want you,” he breathes, searching your eyes for a semblance of hesitation or uncertainty. He doesn’t find either. Your pupils dilate ever so slightly, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, sending him over the edge. He smirks and releases you momentarily to pick up his fallen ball cap, tossing the sweaty fabric over his curls before grabbing your hand to guide you back inside. It’s hasty, the way he closes his tab and signs his receipt, tossing the pen back behind the bar with a chuckle.

“Let me tell Mer I’m leaving,” you tell him. He nods.

“I’ll wait here for ya, don’t need ya walkin’ in the dark parkin’ lot alone this time of night.”

“A gentleman, too? Hopefully that doesn’t carry over to the bedroom,” you coo, putting on your sultriest voice. His eyes are black as sin, sweeping over your body slowly.

“Oh, I am—ladies first,” he quips, enjoying the view as you turn to walk toward the table. Meredith is perched on the lap of one of the dads, whispering in his ear.

“Mer—I’m leaving. I’ll call you in the morning, yeah?” You shout over the loud chatter of the group and the music. She winks at you and gives you a languid thumbs up. Still drunk. You narrow your eyes at poor lad she’s sitting on, giving him a silent warning. He throws his palms up in the air in surrender. Meredith rolls her eyes at you before turning back to him.

Joel takes your hand as you walk out of the bar, giving the back a quick kiss. The excitement and thrill of leaving with him has you giddy, springy. Your steps are bouncier than before, confidence buzzing inside you. This fine man wants you, has wanted only you since he laid eyes on you, and is taking you home. Your past one-night stands have never been so exhilarating.

Joel leads you to a big silver truck, opening the passenger door for you and helping you into the plush leather seat. He swats your ass as you hop in, laughing at the yelp that escapes you. Trotting over to the driver’s side, he hops in and wastes no time getting out of there.

“Your place or mine?” He asks as the truck cruises onto a main road.

“Mine,” you reply, starting to feel nervous. Maybe a familiar location will calm your nerves a bit.

“Lead the way, darlin’.” You guide him to your apartment, which is maybe 10 minutes from the bar. He grabs your hand as you both speedwalk into the building, eager to rip your clothes off and finish what you started at the bar.

As soon as you’re inside your apartment, Joel rips his cap off and hoists you up, your back pressed against the door. Your legs encircle his waist and pull, crashing your hips together. His lips devour you hungrily, teeth nibbling your lower lip and hands frantically roaming over you. “Where?” he murmurs in your mouth, and you point to your agape bedroom door. You didn’t make your bed, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck right now, and neither does he. He carries you inside the dark room and lies both of you on the bed, your legs still wrapped around his midsection.

“Need t’see you,” he pants, and you point to the lamp on your bedside table. He twists the knob, filling the room with dim, amber lighting. His mouth latches back onto yours before moving down to your soft neck and collarbone.

“Off,” he says, tugging at the collar of your muscle shirt. You lift your arms up and let him tear the fabric from you, remembering that you didn’t wear a bra once you hear him curse.

“Fuck,” he groans, “look at you.” He squeezes your breasts, taking a nipple into his warm mouth. You inhale sharply, running fingers through his tousled curls as he sucks on one and moves to the other. He kisses down your stomach until he meets denim, sitting up and grasping the waistband of your shorts. He peers at you from poignant, hooded eyes.

“Can I take these off?” he asks softly, surprising you. He’s gentle, obedient, almost submissive to you, though you don’t realize what a treasure you are in his eyes. He wants to savor this, make sure it’s perfect for you. Your chest is heaving, nerves so alight that you almost forget to respond.

“Please,” you affirm, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.

You’re already soaked—you felt it once you sat down in his truck, the damp fabric of your panties pushed up into you. He unbuttons and slides your shorts off, leaving your green thong on and licking his lips as he notices the wet spot.

“Jesus… this for me?” he says, returning his needy mouth to your hot skin. You’re squirming in his grip, breathless.

“Yes, fuck,” you huff, whimpers leaving your mouth as he kisses his way down your left hip and bites your inner thigh. You moan, the painful prick of his incisors heightening your pleasure.

“You like that, baby?” he asks, peeking up at you from down below. Bashfulness washes over you at the sight of him between your legs, worshipping your body. You nod feverishly, lower lip between your teeth. He growls lowly and kisses down your leg, stopping at your instep and watching your response before retracing his path. He stops over your clothed mound and kisses featherlight, pulling a groan from you. You feel his smile curve against your core, but he doesn’t oblige you—he kisses down your other leg. You tug on his hair, needing his mouth on your most sensitive spot.

“Needy, ain’t she?” he teases you, breathing hot air on your clothed, throbbing pussy. Your back arches and you sigh heavily at the sensation.

“I’ma give you just what y’need, darlin’, just hold on for me,” he soothes you, teeth pulling the waistband of your thong back slowly. He needs help from his hands, though, so he loops his fingers in the waistband and rids them from you. His gaze is boring holes in you, looking at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“Tongue-tied?” you tease him, watching his eyes roam over your naked body.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growls. He shifts downward, lower half on the floor before hooking his arms under your thighs and pulling you toward him. He stares at you as he blows softly on your clit. The chill of the air on your wet core drives you mad, your hips circling involuntarily under his grip. At what seems like a glacial pace, he leans in until his lips touch your clit in a featherlight kiss. Though light, the contact feels like the floor has dropped from underneath you, making you dizzy. His teasing has you so riled up; it won’t take much for you to reach the zenith. His tongue slips out and slowly, almost agonizingly, licks from your entrance to your clit.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. He smirks against your core, impressed with himself for learning your cues early on. He continues licking you languidly, sensually, changing his approach based on your moans, curses, and sighs, each twitch of your hips and death grip of his hair and arms, relishing all of you.

“Like hearing y’say my name,” he purrs, “Y’taste so good.” White-hot pleasure keeps shooting up your spine, like fireworks on July fourth. Your stomach feels tight, like you might snap any second.

“I’m close,” you whimper, hips rolling on his face. He hums in approval into your pussy. You reach down and grip his hands before he pulls one away to prod at your entrance. He curves two broad fingers into you, groaning at how warm and tight you are. A strangled cry escapes your throat at the stretch, part of you worried about how his cock will fit. He pumps his fingers quickly, and you snap, your orgasm taking over every fiber of your being. He talks you through it, praising you and trying not to come himself at the sight of you trembling, arched in pleasure.

After a beat, he removes his fingers and slots himself between your legs, head dipping down to kiss you, giving you a taste of yourself on his wiry mustache and smooth lips.

“Taste good, don’t you?” he croons into your mouth, pulling a low moan from your throat. Gripping the fabric of his shirt as you kiss him, you realize he’s still fully clothed. You tug the hem of his shirt up and he sits on his heels to pull it off, revealing a strong, toned torso with a softness that makes you melt. He notices you admiring him.

“S’not as good as it used t’be,” he chuckles, smiling at you as he tosses his shirt to some corner of the room.

“Shut up. You’re perfect,” you breathe, hands roaming his chest and stomach before landing in his waistband, pulling him back to you. He resists, only to unbutton his denim and slide it off his legs, leaving only his boxers. You reach out and grab his hard length through the thin fabric, gasping at the girth of him. Your fingers don’t even reach all the way around. His head tips back, breathy sigh escaping his lungs at your gentle but firm touch.

“Off,” you parrot his command from earlier, fingers tugging at the elastic waistband of his boxers. Eyes locked on yours, he stands and pulls them off his figure, cock springing as it releases. A mischievous grin creeps over his features after seeing your reaction to his manhood.

Fuck. He’s big, probably bigger than most you’ve had. The length is up there, but the girth is what worries you—he’s so thick.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll take care of you,” he soothes you, settling between your legs. Confusion contorts his face, like he forgot something—until frustration sets in.

“I don’t have protection, d’you have anything?” he asks, stroking a slow path from your inner thigh to your hip, making you squirm.

“No, but I’m good—I’m on birth control, and it’s been forever since I’ve had sex with anyone, so I’m clean,” you reply. You can’t even remember the last time you slept with anyone—months, perhaps.

“Me, too,” he adds, “minus the birth control.” His witty response makes you giggle. You sit up and lean forward to kiss him, stopping just before your lips touch.

“I want you inside me. Now,” you whisper, gaze flicking over his face. His eyes flash obsidian before he crashes his lips against yours and lies you both down. He rubs the head of his cock against your soaked folds, the sensation setting your body on fire. Aroused and impatient, you tip him back until your positions are switched, Joel’s head almost hanging off the edge of the bed. He chuckles at you but beams at your confidence. Perched on his lap, you lean back slightly and grind your hips, guiding your lips over his rock-hard length.

“Need a picture of this,” he says, bewildered at the gorgeous woman grinding on his lap, naked and needy for him. His rough palms caress your hips, stomach, breasts, before landing at your shoulders. He pulls you down for a kiss, the new angle pressing your slit flush against his cock, and you shudder.

“Fuck me,” he rumbles, mouth agape, messy salt and pepper curls dipping down to his brow. You sit up, bracing one palm on his chest and using the other to guide him to your dripping entrance. Making sure to watch him, you slowly sink down on him, the stretch splitting you open almost immediately. Your mouth drops and eyebrows arch, the pain and pleasure slowing your movements.

Joel’s face mirrors yours, your tight, soaked cunt squeezing him deliciously. He grits his teeth and grips your ass so hard you’ll have bruises, urging you down further onto him. You slowly take inch by inch until bottoming out, the sudden press of his tip against your cervix making you yelp.

“Okay, baby?” he asks. Your eyes are squeezed shut, breath coming out in heavy pants and hands clawing at his chest as you adjust to the size and thickness of him. A strand of your hair has fallen in your face, moving with each puff of your breath.

“Yes, j-just need a sec,” you whimper. Finally, your inner muscles acclimate to the intrusion of his cock, and you start to move. Each roll of your hips pulls a filthy moan from Joel, whose calloused hands are guiding you up and down his length. You’re whimpering with each thrust, the tip of his cock sending painfully pleasurable shocks up your spine as it slams into the deepest parts of you.

“Just beautiful,” he groans as he watches you bounce on him. It’s a good thing you’re on top, because he would’ve come by now had he been spearing himself into you. “Not gonna last long. Where d’you want me?” he spits.

“Inside me,” you mewl, and before he can react, you take the opportunity to press your chest against his, sweaty foreheads stuck together as you clap your ass against him as hard as you can. Your second orgasm washes over you suddenly, causing you to tuck your head in the crook of his neck as you cry out. Joel takes over, thrusting up into you a few times before grunting your name as he spills into you. Both of your pants and whimpers fill the room as you come down from your high. You’re still on top of him, arms wrapped around his neck, pussy wrapped around his cock still as he softens. He rolls you over and pins your arms above your head before dipping his lips down to meet yours in a messy postcoital kiss. You moan into the kiss, and his cock twitches at the sound inside you—he’s not quite hard, but enough to still stretch you out.

“Wanna do it like this next time,” you pant, cupping his cheek. He turns to kiss your palm and moves down to your wrist before latching his lips onto the slope of your shoulder.

“I’d like that, baby,” he purrs into your sweaty skin, “And I like that there’s gonna be a next time.” He rests against you for a moment before slipping out of you with a grunt and standing to find your bathroom. He returns after a minute with a towel, sitting next to you on the bed and wiping his spend from you.

A pang of disappointment washes over you suddenly, not wanting him to leave. One-night stands really aren’t your thing—you don’t want him to get the idea that this is a frequent habit of yours.

You speak his name softly, quietly. He slides back into bed, propping himself on one elbow and giving you his full attention. He tucks some stray hair behind your ear, your eyes closing at the tenderness of his touch.

“Hmm?” he hums, thumb tracing your eyebrow, forehead, temple, whatever part of your face is closest. You open your eyes and see warm, affectionate amber staring back at you. His eyes are so beautiful, so full of emotion, you find yourself unable to talk for a second. He quirks one eyebrow at you, lips sliding into his cheek as he waits for your response.

“D’you wanna stay?” you ask, hesitant. You really don’t know him, or if this is something he likes to do often, or if it was a spur of the moment decision made during your moment of passion at the bar. He leans down and kisses your forehead before pressing a slow kiss to your lips. Pulling back ever so slightly, his breath fans on your face and gaze flicks between each of your eyes before he opens his mouth to reply.

“Yes, I’d love to,” he says. You can’t help the grin that pulls at your cheeks. He twists the lamp, darkness spilling into the room, and tucks you into his chest before pulling the covers over both of you.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair, and before you can reply, you’re sound asleep.

Morning rolls around, and you find yourself pressed against Joel’s warm back, arms wrapped around his torso and moving up and down with his expanding ribcage. He’s still sleeping, or you think—he woke up not too long ago with you curled into his chest, torn between needing to use the bathroom, and not wanting to let go of you. You looked so serene, so beautiful as the sunrise painted your features. When he came back and tucked himself under the covers, you immediately latched yourself onto him, arms wound tightly around his belly.

Now, you find yourself in the same predicament, needing to use the bathroom but not wanting to disturb him. You slowly unfurl yourself from his broad back, stand from the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom connected to your room.

Joel had opened his eyes once he felt you rise from the bed and watched your naked figure travel across the room, the sight stirring his already half-hard cock. Fuck, you were gorgeous, and he wanted desperately to see your body trembling with pleasure again, the memory of your face twisted in euphoria sewn into his brain. When he heard the bathroom door open, he snapped his eyes shut again, wanting you to think he was asleep.

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to wake him and had a primal urge for some fresh coffee. You search the room for your robe, startling when two warm hands grasp your waist and pull you onto the bed. Joel props himself up against your headboard, legs spread as he pulls you into the open space between them. His strong arms loop around your stomach, pulling you tight until your back is flush with his chest. He tucks his face into your neck, pressing gentle kisses behind and beneath your ear, down the column of your neck.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he croons, Southern voice raspy with sleep, igniting something inside you. You moan as his lips and teeth mark spots on the map of your skin.

“Coffee, I swear,” you groan, covering his arms with yours and squirming as his mouth continues adorning you.

“Mm. Not done with you yet,” he murmurs, unwrapping one hand from your stomach to palm your breasts. You arch into him, head tipping back on his shoulder. He growls.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he presses, rolling one nipple between rough fingertips before moving to the other. You gasp sharply and nod against his shoulder, hips gyrating and ass rubbing against his hard length. He inhales deeply, the scent of your hair invading his space and heightening his arousal for you.

His palm dips lower, spanning your soft stomach before reaching your inner thigh, goosebumps erupting in its path. Lightly, he scratches at your skin there, loving how pliant your body is underneath his touch. He needs to see your face.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, and you turn your head to see him. God, he looks fucking good. His hair is fucked up from slumber, eyes wanton and full of sleepy desire. There are hints of intrigue and mischief sketched on his face.

Then, he kisses you, teeth tugging on your lower lip. It’s hot, the way he needs you in this moment, the way his tongue reaches for yours, the way his grip tightens around you. His hand dips further south, fingers feeling firsthand how much you want him. He moans at it, the wetness trickling from you.

“Joel,” you whine, his calculated touches teasing you. He swirls his fingers around your bud, almost excruciatingly slow.

“You want me this much?” he breathes into your mouth. Your hips are still rolling, ass feeling how much he wants you.

“Yes—please. Need you,” you moan softly, eyes opening to see him. He looks down, watching and moaning at how your slick coats his fingers. He prods his middle finger at your entrance, inserting it lazily into your tight heat with a groan. You gasp at the soreness of his cock from last night and at the stretch—his finger is thick, close to the size of two of your digits.

“Baby—need to stretch you out. So tight.” He pulls his middle finger out and adds his ring finger to the mix. He curls them once they’re fully sheathed inside you, pads stroking your soft walls. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, yet with enough pressure to send you reeling. The pleasure builds inside you, knotting tightly in your belly. You moan as he continues to unravel you, hips circling around his hand, his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

“Come for me, sweet girl,” he coaxes you, mouth moving to graze your earlobe. He holds it there, between his teeth, pulling it as you come apart on his fingers.

Your orgasm rolls through you slowly, vision spotting as the knot untethers inside your stomach. Joel fucks you through it and praises you, spurring you on more. It’s new for you, someone talking you through your orgasm, and something you didn’t realize you needed.

“Good girl, just like that—did so good for me, baby,” he soothes you, removing his soaked fingers from you. He takes the middle one into your mouth, brushing your tongue, and you suck lightly, moaning at the taste of yourself. His cock jumps.

“Need to taste you again,” he hums, placing his ring finger in his mouth. You watch him relish the taste of you, eyebrows arching and a deep groan escaping his throat.

“Can I fuck you now, baby?” he asks, syllables like chords of a sweet cello. You nod, tugging the back of his head down for a passionate kiss. He maneuvers both of you until you’re underneath him and he’s hovering over the cradle of your hips.

“Gonna go slow,” he says, palms cradling your face.

“Want you to fuck me however you like, Joel,” you whisper, searching his eyes. Brown irises flecked with gold, desire-filled pupils threatening to swallow them. He sits up, tugging your thighs toward him and tucks your knees at his sides. He grips himself and breaks eye contact to watch where your bodies are about to join. He looks up at you as he slips the head of his cock inside your warm entrance, jaw dropping as your walls swallow him.

Carefully, he feeds you inch by inch, eyes never leaving yours until he’s at the hilt. He commits to memory the morphing of your facial expressions as he fills you up—wide eyes, mouth dropping slowly, head tilting back and eyes snapping shut once he reaches the end of you. Only then does he look down to see where he has vanished inside you, moaning at the way your pussy stretches around him as he pulls out slowly.

“You feel so good,” you whine, fingernails lightly scratching his chest and stomach. His head tips back as he sets a pace, your muscles squeezing him and coating him in warm slick.

“Best I ever had—fuck,” he curses, fingertips bruising your hipbones. He pulls you up so your hips are propped up on his lap, leaving space between your back and the bed. You arch, head lolled back and hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Beautiful,” he moans, reaching a palm down to lightly squeeze the column of your throat as he continues pounding into you.

Blood rushes to your head, heightening the pleasure of each thrust. Your body is tingling, almost levitating.

With no notice, your second orgasm zips through you like a gasoline fire, flames scorching your neurons. Joel follows suit, lifting you into his lap, arms wrapped around your torso as he cries into your chest. You tug his curls, tipping his head back in a kiss as he finishes emptying inside you.

You pull back and run your fingers through his hair, stopping to cradle his face in your hands. He beams at you.

“Can I make coffee now?” you tease him, pressing a light kiss to his nose. He laughs warmly, squeezing you tightly and picking you up as he stands from the bed.

“I think that’s acceptable,” he replies, squeezing your ass before letting you stand on your own legs.

“So… when can I see you again?” Joel asks as he puts his shoes on. You’d typed your number into his phone per his request just moments ago and sent yourself a text with his name.

“Are you saying… you want to do this again?” you say, winking at him and dropping your mouth open in mock surprise. He rolls his eyes, standing to pull you into a hug.

“Yes, but not just sex. Unless, uh, that ain’t your thing,” he says, hesitation flashing over his features. You shake your head.

“What we just did isn’t usually my thing. I’d love a date. And more sex if that’s okay.” He snorts.

“It’s more than okay. You showing up to the baseball game tomorrow evening?” he asks, absentmindedly stroking the skin in front of your ear. You nod.

“Got a thing for the hot coach. Need to make sure I have my best jean shorts on.” He snorts again, raising an eyebrow at the prospect of seeing you with some short shorts on.

“How about I take you out later this week, then?” You swipe your eyes around the top of the room, lips sliding into your cheek as you try and remember your schedule.

“Friday? I have a busy week at work. Late nights, probably,” you offer. He nods with a big grin.

“It’s a date.”

The next day arrived in blistering fashion. Not a single cloud graced the blue skies, nor the tiniest gust of summer wind. By 5:00 PM, it was still in the lower 90s. You packed a large cooler full of water bottles, Gatorade, various other liquids stashed in your fridge, and snacks for Noah’s baseball game. Excited to see Joel again, you made sure to wear your best jean shorts and threw on a cropped tank top.

You pull up to the baseball field, searching the parked cars for Meredith’s SUV and Joel’s silver truck. You find both, parked at opposite ends of the lot. Your stomach drops slightly when you see his truck. He’s here, obviously—he is one of the coaches. Meredith waits in her SUV for you, hopping out when she sees you strolling up, big cooler in tow.

“Any booze in that?” she winks at you. You nod.

“I had some stray shooters in the fridge. All yours.”

“I believe you have something to tell me, yeah?” she says as both of you walk up to the entrance of the baseball complex. You look over to the field and see Noah’s team warming up in their familiar navy and red uniforms.

Joel is in the grass, hitting pop flies at the outfielders. His broad back is turned to you, the familiar shape sending a pang of anticipation up your spine. The flexing and jumping of his muscles and tendons is getting you hot. Meredith nudges you.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you here! Stop reminiscing,” she scolds you.

“I kinda have to if you want my account of the story, yeah?” you add, mocking her tone playfully. She guffaws.

“Spill. The man was obsessing over you since he saw you at the game.”

“Let’s just say he’s very good at what he does. And he’s a gentleman. He’s taking me out later this week,” you gush, cheeks burning at your recollection of yesterday’s events.

“Knew it. Could tell by the way he walks and looks at you. Mans is whipped. My guy on the other hand? Couldn’t even get it up. Passed out before anything meaningful could happen,” she seethes, eyes rolling.

“All old men are not created equal, Mer,” you joke, jostling her with your elbow.

As you two find home in the bleachers, you see Miss Blonde Ambition eyeing you from the concession stand. She looks pissed off, Juvéderm-filled lips contorted in a scowl and lifeless eyes swiping up and down your frame as she sloshes her Stanley cup around aggressively. Meredith notices, too.

“Guess she’s not too happy her usual antics didn’t work,” she gripes. You try not to give too much attention to the woman.

“What’s her name? I don’t even think Joel knows it,” you ask, noticing her return to the bleachers from your peripheral.

“Cassie. Divorced. Her kid is one of Noah’s closest friends on the team, unfortunately. I think he spends most nights with his dad.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Meredith chuckles at your jab.

A cloud of strong, overly floral perfume invades your nostrils, and you turn to see Cassie, manicured hands planted on her hips and face pinched in irritation.

“Hey, Cass,” Meredith says coolly, not looking in her direction.

“Is this your sister?” Cassie spits. Her voice is shrill, accent almost Valley girl. It would make a lot of sense if she was from Southern California. Meredith, having none of this hostility, whips her head at Cassie.

“It is. You got a problem? Because this is not the time nor the place,” she says, eyes narrowing briefly at Cassie.

“Just wanted her to know that she shouldn’t get too excited about her little escapade with Joel. He does that with every young thing that sits on these bleachers,” she boils, face and neck turning red. Ouch. Joel never seemed the type, but then again, you don’t know him. She could be telling the truth.

“Except you, yeah?” Meredith shoots back, unfazed by Cassie’s low blow. You, on the other hand, don’t miss how your stomach sinks and throat dries up at her words. Cassie’s mouth drops open. She cocks her hips to one side and lifts a finger at both of you.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been there, done that. Nothing to ride home about. Enjoy my sloppy seconds,” she hisses. Meredith stands up, hackles raised and blocking you from Cassie’s view.

“S’at why you were all pissed off he didn’t want you last night? ‘Cause it’s ‘nothing to ride home about’?” Meredith fires, neck rolling. Anger boils in your belly, though you find it best if you don’t speak—Meredith has always been the verbal fighter, you the physical one. It’s not a road you plan on traveling any time soon.

Other parents in the bleachers are observing the confrontation, along with some players in the dugout, little claws gripping the chain link fence and wide eyes glued to the scene. You’re glad you have sunglasses on. You notice Joel turn his attention to you, shoulders drooping at what he sees. Embarrassed, you look down at your feet as Cassie continues her tirade.

“Tell your slutty little sister he’ll find a new spectator to fuck very soon—and I think it’s best if our sons don’t hang out anymore!” she screeches. It’s silent at the ball field—both teams have stopped their warmups to tune into the drama. A pin could drop here, and everyone would hear it.

Meredith hops off the bleachers and gets close to Cassie’s face. She points in her face.

“Slutty? That’s rich, coming from the lady who cheated on her husband with half the single dads at the last State Tournament!” Cassie’s mouth drops open in shock, taking a few steps back from Meredith. Some gasps ring out in the bleachers. Tommy walks over, stepping between the two sparring women and putting his hands up.

“That’s enough!” he booms. Meredith, nostrils flared and fists clenched, points a finger at him.

“Tom, you know damn well what she’s trying to do here. I’m not about to let it happen. She chose to do this in front of everyone to embarrass my sister. Ain’t my problem what comes out.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“I get it, Mer. Just didn’t need the kids hearing this stuff.”

Nausea squeezes your stomach and takes hold of your throat. You stand and grab your purse. Meredith turns to you, worried.

“Y’alright?” You shake your head.

“Need t’go sit in my car for a bit,” you reply, voice shaky. You turn and walk to your car, paying no attention to wandering eyes. Joel sees you ambling to the parking lot and sets his bat down, raking a hand through his stubble as he walks toward the dugout and out to the bleachers. He’d heard the entire conversation and knew you were probably hurting from Cassie’s remarks.

“I’ll talk to her, Joel,” Meredith says, stepping in between him and you, though you’re far away by now. He shakes his head.

“She needs to hear it from me. None of that shit is true,” he huffs, frown lines etched into his forehead. He jogs frantically to your car.

Hunched over your steering wheel, a knock at your window interrupts you. You jump and look up to see Joel. He looks worried. Shoulders sagging, you unlock the doors and tilt your head as you wait for him to get in. The door opens and he reaches for your hand. You snap it back involuntarily.

“I just wanna be alone right now, Joel,” you lament.

“Just let me explain, alright? I heard everythin’ she said to you,” he says, voice calm. You refuse to look at him, knowing that if you do, you won’t be able to stand firm.

“Look at me, darlin’,” he pleads, voice quiet. You sigh in defeat and turn to look at him. His amber eyes are filled with sadness and frustration.

“None of that shit she said is true. I’ve never slept with anyone that comes to these games, save for you and my ex-wife. Ain’t she ain’t been to a game in many years. Swear,” he says, voice tight, speech rushed.

You look back and forth between his eyes. Why would he lie to you? What could he possibly gain from fucking you—after all, he is a coach, and it might make him look bad to the parents and players. If anything, it was a risk on his part.

“I believe you, Joel. It just hurt,” you finally speak. He reaches for you again, hesitant from your previous rejection. You give him your hand and he kisses the back of it, eyes locked on your face.

“M’sorry. I knew she wasn’t gonna let it go easy. Promise ya, ya got nothin’ to worry about. I—I really like you,” he says, pained. You lean over the center console and kiss him, almost feeling his relief pouring into you.

“I really like you too… old man,” you tease. He roars in laughter.

“Y’gonna pay for that one, darlin’,” he says, half-grinning at you. He kisses you again before pulling back and checking his watch.

“Game’s gonna start soon, I gotta get goin’. I’ll see you later, alright?” You nod, smiling weakly at him. He gives you a quick peck before exiting the passenger side and trotting back to the field.

Noah’s team played an excellent game, which lifted the moods of all the parents and coaches. Cassie’s ex-husband, Byron, showed up and convinced her to leave, which was a relief for everyone. He apologized to you and Meredith for her behavior. Apparently, he already knew about her cheating escapade before they divorced.

Meredith, feeling badly for you, decided to splurge on concession stand snacks and got you a giant Bavarian pretzel and cotton candy, and supplied hot dogs to all the parents. You had fun, too—apprehension quickly turned to relief as parents took turns sympathizing with you and making you feel welcome. This was not Cassie’s first run-in with another woman in the bleachers, you found out—she made this sort of thing a habit.

Noah hit his first home run of the season, eliciting cheers and whoops from the stands. Joel, who had been working with him on his hitting mechanics, gave him a big hug after he returned to the dugout. The team finished 10-3, a great turnaround from yesterday’s loss.

The parents were eager to return to the bar and close it down again. You opted not to, feeling tired and needing a hot bath from the sticky summer night. You and Meredith chatted with Byron for a long time in the parking lot as families filtered out, discussing how to best keep Cassie away from the boys. They had a strong friendship, and neither Meredith nor Byron wanted anything to affect it. Byron shared that Cassie didn’t even have custody of their son—her cheating and drinking during their marriage put a bad taste in Byron’s mouth, and apparently the judge’s—he was awarded full custody.

After saying goodbyes, you were eager to get home, almost forgetting the most important goodbye. You scan the parking lot and see a familiar handsome shape leaning against the bed of his silver truck, eyeing you as you saunter over to him.

“Good game, Coach Miller,” you say slyly, sticking your hand out for him to shake. He grasps it, glancing down with one eyebrow cocked, before pulling you into his chest.

“Lotta motivation coming from the stands tonight,” he croons, wrapping his hands around your waist.

“For you or the boys?” He chuckles.

“Take your pick.” You shake your head and smile, watching the sun drop the last of its shape underneath the horizon. The sky is a beautiful cotton candy color, not unlike the treat Meredith bought for you earlier tonight. You two stand there for a moment, the only sounds being the quiet buzzing of the cicadas and crunch of cars leaving the gravel parking lot.

“Headin’ to the bar?” Joel asks you, holding your chin with his forefinger and thumb. You shake your head.

“Need a hot bath and some relaxation. You?” He smirks, thinking of your naked body undressing and stepping into a bubbly tub.

“Nah. Need the same.” Your lips twitch as you study his face, painted with a little mischief and a little fatigue.

“Want to join me?” you offer, watching a slow grin creep on his face.

“Hmm, need t’think about that one,” he says, eyes flicking over your face.

“What’s there to think about? You, me, naked in a tub. What could possibly go wrong?” You’re flirting now.

“That’s exactly what I’m thinkin’ ‘bout, darlin’, not whether I wanna go,” he says, pulling a goofy laugh from you.

“Meet you over there, then,” you say, turning to leave. He holds onto one of your fingers, preventing you from walking to your car.

“Y’want somethin’ to eat first?” he says, rubbing the skin of your finger.

“Sure. Something on the way?”

“I’m thinkin’ McDonalds. Text me what you want, and I’ll bring it over.”

“It’s a date.”

Not too long thereafter, you and Joel are sitting in your bathtub, backs at opposite ends. He’s tracing shapes on the skin of your knee, asking you every question that pops into his head.

“Shoe size?”

“Eleven. I have big ass feet,” you say, sticking a foot out of the water. He chuckles.

“D’ya want kids someday?”

“Nope. Noah is good enough for me. Never really wanted to be a mom. Would you have another?” He shakes his head.

“I’m too old to be a new father again. S’a lotta work. I had a good run with Sarah,” he says quietly, hand tiptoeing further up your leg.

He stares into your eyes, slicking his wet curls back from his forehead with his free hand.

“Why are you single?” His gaze bores into your face. You avoid it, focusing on mussing up some bubbles floating by your knee. You shrug.

“Haven’t had time, or the energy,” you finally say after a beat. “Haven’t found anyone worth giving either of those things to,” you add, tilting your head and meeting his gaze. He half-smiles at you.

“Yeah, me neither. ‘Til now,” he says, deep voice echoing throughout your bathroom.

“Oh yeah? Cassie, right?” you tease, and he snorts.

“Y’got me there. Alright, last question,” he says, hand stopping at the seam of your thigh. You tighten your muscles a bit, nervous.

“Shoot, Coach,” you say, flicking a bubble at him.

“Can I touch you, baby?” your eyes widen briefly, aligned with the quickening of your pulse. You’ve been wet since he ran the bath water for you and undressed you, fingertips gently tracing your skin as he removed your damp clothing.

“Yes,” you breathe. His finger grazes your mound, the sharp stubble like sandpaper against his skin. He grips your knees and pulls you into his lap. You look down at him, mesmerized by his face and the way he stares at you.

“One more question,” he says, warm, pruny hands traversing your back, warm water trickling from his fingertips to your skin. You thread your fingers through his wet tendrils, leaning your lips close to his, but not touching.

“I’ll allow it,” you whisper.

“Can I kiss you?” You nod, closing the gap between your mouths with ease. His lips are gentle against yours, somewhat chapped from the dry heat of the summer day and salty from sweat. He tastes like salt and mint, which he must’ve snuck into his mouth after you ate earlier.

The kiss deepens, wet sounds of your mouths and the splashing of water now echoing in the bathroom. He’s rock hard against you, cock only a few inches from your needy hole. He pulls back and stares at you.

“Alright, promise this is the last question,” he coos, rubbing his nose against your jaw and then your neck as you tip your head back to give him access. The stubble of his mustache and chin scratch at your skin.

“Fine. Last one,” you agree.

“Can I fuck you?” You nod.

And he does.

Some months and many bubble baths later, Joel wormed his way into your heart. And your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap or two hanging on your mantle, throws his keys in the dish on the kitchen counter when he walks in.

You spend most nights together during the week, either at his cozy home or your apartment.

He calls you his, you call him yours.

He fills your car up with gas when you’re out and about and your fuel light comes on, holds your hand when you walk into a restaurant, tells you how beautiful you are at least a few times a week—and not just when his cock is sheathed inside you.

He kisses you each morning before he leaves for work. Shares his food with you, even when he’s starving. Washes you in the shower and puts lotion on the spots you can’t reach after he dries you off.

Introduces you to his family, and shows you pictures of his late daughter.

Goes to the movies with you and doesn’t complain that you talk during the. Entire. Movie.

Lets you wear his ratty, baggy tees around the house, and even asks you to keep them on sometimes when he makes love to you.

Makes fun of how you use a hammer and that you can’t name the 31 different types of wrenches but corrects you each time with a warm smile.

Plays catch with you before the boys show up for warmups and lets you set up the dugout, though he’ll redo it later on anyway.

And when he finally tells you how much he loves you, you’re not shocked. Warmth ebbs inside you, like it does most days with him. You knew it all along, even if he never had the courage to say it—it was evident with each kiss, touch, and thrust, each bag of food he brought for you, each time he held the door open for you, each time he guided you somewhere with his strong hand on the small of your back.

You oftentimes wonder if he is your soulmate, though you already know the answer.

He makes lemonade with each lemon you give him, without complaint or judgment. And that’s all you can ask for.

[oneforthemunny]

oooh could we get some hockey!eddie, visiting/surprising him at practice, flufffffff 💕💕

for the sweetest most polite anon lol! hockey player!eddie who's birthday happens to fall during the training season.

"He's gonna be so stoked." Chris, the team manager grinned, pushing the heavy stadium door open for you.

"I hope so." You smiled gently, ducking under his arm, following him down the long, cinderblock stadium.

It was still so cold, despite the heat cranked high everywhere. Boston in the winter was brutal, winter time worse than Indiana's ever could imagine. It was a miracle you'd even made it, didn't get snowed in and grounded at the airport with all the snow.

"No, he's gonna love it, trust me." Chris grinned. "I got some of the guys in on it too, hope you don't mind. Just his coach and his agent. I told them he had an interview after practice."

"An interview?" You lifted a brow.

Chris snickered. "Yeah, he thinks you're with ESPN so just go with it." He shrugged. "I knew if I just told him to stay, he'd get suspect. Plus, this is gonna be fucking priceless."

You giggled lightly, following Chris around the hallway. A few players lingering around, most cleared out for the evening, but no sign of your curly headed love.

"Hey, Franco. Munson's in the conference room, right?" Chris nodded towards the closed door, the other man grunting in response. "Cool, hey, stay right here, ok? I'm gonna make sure he's ready and set up."

You nodded, standing to the side, a knuckled grip on your purse strap. Your tummy flipped with excitement, maybe nerves. It had been a few weeks since you'd seen Eddie, since he'd left for training season. You didn't want to be a distraction, but with his birthday this weekend, you couldn't let him celebrate alone. Especially not after he sounded so sad, so disheartened on the phone- he missed you, told you every single day, every time he called.

"...Perfect, one sec. I'll tell her you're ready." Chris opened the door, pulling you from your thoughts. He waved at you, stepping out with door still half opened. "I'll leave you two alone, but if you need me, I'm right out here."

Your heart fluttered, flipped and skipped with nerves, pushing the door open, sliding into view. You caught a glimpse at Eddie before he fully saw you, finger drumming on the desk, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the team's logo proudly on the front, hair still a little damp from his shower.

Your breath hitched, watching his face fall in shock once he saw you. A pause filled the space between you two, the door clicking with a shut behind you.

"Oh, no way." Eddie gawked, blinking hard, like he might be hallucinating. "N-No way. Is this real? Holy shit, you-you're- Baby, what are you doing here?" He stood from the table, tripping over it, the metal legs screeching when he shoved it.

"Surprise." You squeaked, opening your arms to hug him.

Eddie nearly tackled you in a hug, squeezing you tightly to him. "Holy shit, I can't believe you're here. You're actually here, I-I thought I was getting interviewed-"

"-No." You giggled, pulling back lightly to look at him. "Just me. I wanted to surprise you for your birthday."

Eddie's face lit up, lips curling in an even brighter smile. His hands cupped either side of your face, lips on yours, pulling you into a head spinning kiss that screamed I missed you I missed you I missed you.

"I can't believe you're here." Eddie muttered, lips vibrating against yours.

"Happy birthday, baby." You muttered back, fingers raking through his hair. You'd missed him, missed him much more than you realized now that he was standing here in front of you.

Eddie pulled back, looking up at the door. "Chris knew about this?"

You giggled, nodding. "He helped me get my flight and stuff. Picked me up from the airport."

Eddie shook his head, grin still wide on his face. "Chris! You fuckin' liar!" He yelled playfully, the men behind the door howling in laughter. "I thought I was about to get my cover story!"

You laughed, pressing your face to his chest, rocking with him slowly. "This is better though." Eddie added, hugging you tighter to him. "Just for the record, this is way fuckin' better."

[myouicieloz]

💭 richgirl!aeri x studentathlete!reader

not proofread j some silly thoughts💕

pt.2

- you were thrilled to know you were going to share a dorm with another international student, specially since you were having a hard time adjusting.

- giselle was a sweetheart from day one, introducing you to everyone and making sure you always felt included.

- she was very classy and noticeably wealthy—you could tell, by her clothes and by the way she carried herself, that she came from money. besides, whenever you’d go out to fancy museums or coffee shops, something would always make your eyes grow big: always amused to your surroundings—yet she’d never bat an eye at it.

- you were given a full ride scholarship, and the only reason you were attending this specific university was due to the soccer coach spotting you at an international club tournament you played in new york and scouting you. you were hesitant, at first, but you weren’t going to get an offer to a university that was that prestigious at home anyway, so you decided to go.

- your parents were still paying for your stay, with much effort, so you tried to spend as little as possible.

- which meant subtly ducking from your roommate’s daily coffees and girl dates.

- giselle actually thought you didn’t like her until she realized you spent most of the time in the dorms because you were quite literally broke.

- it’s an issue she solves quickly enough.

- at first she just bluntly offers to pay for your stuff, but stops herself as you keep denying her efforts, with a flustered face. it’s only when she changes techniques that she starts succeeding in her efforts.

- she’s subtle, then: giselle gifts you clothes she claims that are “thrifted”, makes sure there’s always your favorite drink placed on your desk whenever you return from your practices, buys you the shoes she caught you lurking on the internet for far too long, claiming it’s your birthday present—even though your birthday isn’t until the upcoming months...

- accepting a purse she claimed she’d never used and “was in her closet for ages”. you later get told by a classmate said purse was just out of stock in seoul, even though it had just been announced

- you don’t suspect a thing, keeping her little gifts and dismissing them as just little treats she gives you as a friend. it’s giselle, after all. she was born into luxury, and gift giving is her primary love language.

- besides, you grew tired of rejecting her efforts to spoil you, and you hate to see her so offended when you tell her you just can’t keep that many presents. you hate the faces she does when she doesn’t get what she wants. and it frustrates you to not be able to gift her just the same. you wish you could spoil her rotten, too.

- as you stop telling her ‘no’, giselle becomes more and more confident.

- “it’s what roomies do, Y/n, don’t worry.” she assures you every time you try to give her the gifts back. in reality, giselle loves to see you dolled up in the stuff she chose. being the star player, you quickly gained popularity, so what better way to tell those useless whores who were always ogling you that you belonged to her already? what better way than having her brand all over you?

- she even gave you a friendship ring, as she called it, once you two went to the university’s fall ball, to symbolize how deeply you’ve connected since you started attending uni.

- you were basically either with your teammates or aeri and her friends. she was pretty, outgoing and naturally insanely popular. she dragged you with her everywhere, having you follow her around like a puppy. you didn’t mind, though: her friends were funny enough, and you liked getting to hear the drama and the gossips without being a part of it. they were also always polite to you, too, so you enjoyed hanging out with her and her group. they weren’t your friends, though. you reminded yourself that every now and then. just colleagues.

-

- she loved how shy you got when she touched you, too. it took her much, much patience, but after nearly a whole year, you were finally comfortable enough to be relaxed at her touches.

- an occasional hand on your waist, a kiss on the cheek; hugs that went for perhaps too long, cuddling sessions in the dorm as you watched her turn her buzzing phone off (she had a party to attend when you called her for a movie night. “oh, it’s ok unnie!! have fun.” you told her, but giselle was already sitting beside you and grabbing a hold of the blanket for herself.)

- she insisted on cuddling until you fell asleep too, even though your bed didn’t exactly fit both of you. however, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny her anything, already feeling like you owed her so much. she was the one who was always taking care of you, not only with her little gifts. she was always asking about your practices, if you needed any help with your classes, whether people were being nice and polite to you, since you still struggled with your korean when talking to many people at once. you were truly grateful to have her, so, naturally, you’d do anything for her.

- you’d often find yourself waking up with her hands groping your tits or lingering too close to the hem of your panties, but you’d never think much of it, dismissing it as your friend being just unconscious while sleeping.

- she was possessive, too. you could see the cold stare she gave your teammates whenever you had one of them over to study. funny enough, they never looked at you the same way again, nor did they accept your invitations to host movie nights anymore.

- your only friend (besides aeri) was jini. you were both new to the team and had many classes together. like you, she was shy, lost and very reserved, which was part of the reason you instantly clicked. you enjoyed hanging out with her between classes and practices, even more once you got to know her a bit better: jini was actually quite energetic and bubbly, always talking about her favorite mangas or the new songs she was listening to. you liked to hear how passionately she talked about things, sometimes so immersed she wouldn’t even notice you getting left behind in the sea of people, as you walked through your classes.

- naturally, giselle despised your teammate, always making sure to hug you extra hard and send her hard glances whenever you looked away.

- whenever she felt as if you didn’t have 100% of your attention on her, she’d buy you a fancy gift: an ipad of your favorite color, a watch, new earrings... it kept you clingy for days, entertained with your new stuff; just as she liked it.

- the first time you fucked, the two of you had just returned to another one of her fancy dinners with her friends. you were drunk, hot, and messy, struggling to get out of the small black dress that clung tightly to your body— which, of course, giselle had chosen for you to wear. you asked for help to take it off, but as soon as you felt your roommates long fingers trace your bare back, you lost it: you turned around, kissing her fiercely as the dress fell onto the ground, leaving you completely exposed.

- a wave of wind roamed through the window, hitting your body and making you shiver, feeling your nipples harden and your conscience returning. you took a step back, murmuring apologies and being extremely embarrassed, until you felt her hands on your waist again, pushing you onto your mattress as her body hovered on top of yours.

- she whispered it was ok; her pretty pet was horny, that’s all. she’d take care of it. and so she latched her mouth onto your body, making you moan loudly.

- you woke up still dizzy, with your body filled with bruises. you were still ashamed but deeply satisfied, and aeri brushed your hair as she said you could still be friends or something else, if you’d like.

- from then, you’ve been her girlfriend, though things had hardly changed. only now, she encouraged you to be vocal about the things you wanted her to buy for you, and you had to work for them.

- regardless, you love being her pet ;)

-

bonus: you didn’t realize you were kind of her sugar baby (even though she was only months older) until one of your teammates pointed it out, giving you a whole lot of harsh words and making a show of talking about how you were only with aeri because of her money. you ignored your girlfriend for a whole week after that, until she decided she’d given you plenty of space and confronted you with a serious tone. you started crying and she listened attentively as you explained the filthy words your teammate had said to you and all of her twisted suggestions. giselle nodded and pulled you close, kissing you and reassuring she knew none of that was true. yes, you were kind of a sugar baby since giselle spoiled you so much, but it didn’t have to be like that if you didn’t want it to be. you brushed your tears away, saying it wasn’t that; the girl’s words were just so agressive… the thought of people feeling so sure you didn’t love giselle as much as she loved you was overwhelming, which was why you distanced yourself. she understood, murmuring for you to tell her immediately when such things happened instead of refusing to see her, which you nod as she kissed the top of your head.

the girl gets expelled from your team 2 days after your conversation with giselle. however, you don’t connect the dots, only shrugging and not paying much attention to jini’s words as you walk to the cafeteria.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Six

Chapter Six: The Devil You Don’t

Plot: Y/n considers making a change and Richmond squares off against West Ham United.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: f!reader, language, (16+)

A/N: Missed therapy today, finished this. Silver linings, everybody…lol

—————

Y/n sat at her dining room table, staring at a single piece of mail. It was from her rental company. They were informing her that it was that magical time of year. She could either choose to sign for another year or vacate. It was a decision she’d been putting off making.

Living in downtown London didn’t make much sense now that she worked at Richmond. The commute was longer and God help it if there was traffic. Y/n lacked the social life she’d had in college and she had no partner to stay near.

There was no longer anything tying her there.

Moving to Richmond meant she was fully committing to the club. She’d kept one foot out the door since arriving, knowing that things could go downhill at any moment. But it had been nearly three months and, though challenging, she had no reason to leave or believe she’d be fired. Was it time to stop holding her breath?

She couldn’t make a decision from her apartment. She had to get out.

Grabbing her keys and purse, Y/n left her building and hopped in her car. She made the drive to the last place she’d expected to be on her day off, but the only place she felt like being.

In the heart of Richmond, Y/n parked on the curb, just near the Crown and Anchor. There was a coffee shop around the corner from it that Keeley had recommended to her. It seemed as good a time as ever to try it and take a stroll around the neighborhood.

Something about Richmond that differed from London was the atmosphere. It felt very small-townish, while still being a decent sized borough. The people were kind, greeting each other as they walked past. Men tipped their caps. Children ran free in the park. Couples strolled hand in hand. Y/n had never been a Hallmark movie kind of girl, but it felt like the only comparison to be made. The city seemed to wrap its arms around its people, giving them a safe place to end each day.

Sipping what turned out to be one of the best coffees she’d ever had, Y/n contemplated it all. All practicality aside, and she could barely admit it herself, but she almost, kind of, sort of, possibly, maybe…wanted to live in Richmond.

She made her way towards the park, watching kids burn off their weekend energy and families taking their infants on morning walks. What she hadn’t expected to see was anyone she knew. A few feet away, Jamie was doing sets of burpees while Roy sat and watched. Out of politeness, Y/n had nearly approached when Jamie bent over, letting the contents of his stomach empty.

Roy sensed someone was near and twisted to find Y/n standing behind him. As awful sounds escaped Jamie, his coach smiled, as much as Roy Kent did smile, and nodded, “Morning.”

Y/n watched the scene with reserved concern and wild confusion. “Should I be worried about any of this?”

“No,” Roy answered, taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich in the most unbothered fashion, “He’s fine.”

Jamie’s body finally let him breathe and he glanced up, spotting Y/n. He gave her a quick nod before resuming his workout.

Y/n’s brows stayed creased as she raised her coffee cup to them, toasting the strange moment. “Okay,” she said, leaving them to the rest of their day.

There was a part of her brain that told Y/n it was crazy to move even a mile closer to the insanity that was AFC Richmond. Living further away gave her a barrier, an extra layer of protection. If she came to live there, she’d lose it.

And the other part of her mind decided that, much like with the job, it might be worth putting up with.

—————————

The next day, Y/n stopped by the KJPR office to grab some papers from Keeley. Something about an endorsement deal for one of the boys.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you,” Keeley said before Y/n headed back out, “Our backer’s coming to town and wants to come to the West Ham match.”

“Okay,” Y/n said, “Great.”

“And they want to meet us,” Keeley continued.

“Okay,” Y/n repeated with a shrug.

Keeley paused, waiting for some reaction that Y/n wasn’t giving her. “And I’m sort of freaking the fuck out,” she finished.

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Y/n asked, holding the folder of papers to her chest, “Corporate bigwigs are all the same. They’re barely even interested in meeting the people that make them rich.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never met any,” Keeley gestured to herself, “This is all new and I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear or say or do.”

As much as Y/n knew Keeley and her came from different backgrounds, they’d developed such a solid work relationship that Y/n sometimes forgot she’d never functioned in the corporate world.

“Look,” Y/n said softly, taking a seat across from Keeley, “It’s polite chitchat, making sure they’re having a good time and maybe dodging a few bad attempts at flirting if it’s an older guy.”

Keeley’s pouted lips finally cracked and she chuckled.

“It’s not a big deal,” Y/n reassured, “Really. Just be you and you’ll charm the metaphorical pants off of them.”

Keeley smiled as she reached over the desk and threw her arms around Y/n’s neck. Y/n nearly stumbled in her heels and grabbed onto Keeley for balance.

“Thank you,” Keeley said over Y/n’s shoulder.

A hug certainly crossed all professional boundaries Y/n had set up. But Keeley needed comfort more than Y/n needed to feel protected, so she patted her boss’s back and let it happen.

—————————

The big day had arrived.

Richmond vs. West Ham.

Y/n was up early, even though the match wasn’t till the afternoon. She went for a morning run, got a tea and returned home where there was nothing to do but anxiously fidget till it was time to get ready.

This wasn’t just Greyhounds against Hammers. This was Rebecca against Rupert. Ted, Beard and Roy against Nathan. All of AFC Richmond was being watched. And while Y/n was practically invisible, she was feeling the same pit in her stomach as if the tabloids were speculating about her.

Pulling up to the stadium, Y/n was in awe of its size. It was at least three Nelson Road Stadiums. She headed through the side entrance where VIPs and press came through and spotted Rebecca and Keeley waiting for her.

“Alright,” Y/n announced her presence as she passed through the metal detector, “Here we go.”

Keeley turned to Y/n, “You think I look alright, yeah? Good enough to impress Jack?”

Y/n scanned Keeley’s outfit, it was one of the first times she’d seen her out of her signature shade of pink. “You look great,” she replied.

“Shit, I’m nervous,” Keeley confided in the two women, “I think I need to go and reapply my lip liner.”

Something about the way Rebecca nodded and told Keeley they’d see her in the suite told Y/n there was more to her words.

“Men can have codes for the loo,” Rebecca shrugged, sensing Y/n had picked up on it, “Why can’t we?”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Y/n’s head whipped around to follow Keeley.

The two women shared a laugh before turning towards the escalator. Rebecca froze after her first step step and Y/n bumped into her, grabbing onto her boss to barely keep her balance.

“Hey, Rebecca,” Rupert greeted, a gorgeous, young blonde on his arm.

“Rupert,” Rebecca was quick to reply.

Y/n caught herself before she gave her shock away. This was Rupert?

“Wonderful to see you,” the man replied warmly, undertones of ice seeping through.

“Bex,” Rebecca nodded to her replacement, “Love the new hair.”

“I haven’t changed my hair,” Bex replied in confusion.

“Nor should you,” Rebecca saved herself, “It’s perfection. Uh, may I introduce our newest member of AFC Richmond,” she gestured to Y/n, “This is Ms. Y/n Y/l/n.”

Y/n hesitatingly stepped forward, trying to mask her disdain under a smile. “Lovely to meet you,” she shook Bex’s hand first before Rupert’s.

“Lovely to meet you,” Rupert replied, his eyes sliding down Y/n’s figure before coming back up to meet her eyes, “How are you liking Richmond?”

Any negative thoughts Y/n had about the job or her co-workers left her head. No ammunition could be given, nor was she going to let the man who was checking her out while holding his wife’s hand feel validated in anything.

“It’s exceeding all my expectations,” Y/n lied with a grin that could have fooled anyone.

“Ah,” Rupert smiled back, watching his ex-wife’s new hire like a bird did its prey.

Rebecca could sense the additional discomfort and changed the subject. “So, how’s the little one?”

“Oh yeah, Diane,” Rupert replied proudly, nearly coaxing a liquid-less spit take from Y/n, “She’s already walking. Can you believe that? Yeah, drooling and pooing around the house.”

“Takes after her father,” Bex spoke up.

Rebecca managed to maintain her composure better than Y/n, who made sure to share the laugh with Bex.

Rupert looked less than thrilled with the joke and moved on quickly. “Well. Hey,” he looked back to his ex-wife, “Take it easy on us today.”

“No promises,” Rebecca said as the couple walked off.

Standing a bit awestruck at the barely concealed audacity of Rupert, Y/n stood beside her boss, trying to process the interaction.

“Thoughts?” Rebecca asked.

Y/n paused to think over her reply, “I feel like I need to strip out of my skin.”

“Yeah,” Rebecca breathed, “That’s about right. Let’s go.”

With that, they headed for the elevator up to the suites. While riding up, Y/n said a prayer to the higher power of football that the Greyhounds would be particularly ruthless on the pitch. A man like Rupert could not be allowed a win.

Up in the suites, Rebecca and Y/n spotted Higgins standing with Barbara, Shandy and a short haired brunette woman.

“Ah, Y/n, Rebecca,” Higgins flagged them down, “May I introduce, Ms. Jack Danvers.”

Once again, just barely concealing her surprise, Y/n immediately went into business mode, firmly shaking Jack’s hand.

“It’s great to meet you, Jack,” she smiled.

“You as well,” Jack replied, her lips forming an ‘o’ after, “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Y/n that headed up the managerial team at Microdom, would you?”

Y/n’s eyes widened, “I would be.”

Jack chuckled, “Gary Lawson’s a family friend. He sang your praises over a dinner once.”

“Well, nothing pairs better with red wine and chicken than talking about your employees,” Y/n quipped, dropping Jack’s hand.

“On the contrary,” Jack smiled, “I feel much better knowing the money’s going toward hard-working hands.”

“Hard-working,” Barbara spoke up, grinning uncharacteristically big, “Absolutely. She’s a wonder.”

Out of all the odd moments so far in the day, a cheery Barbara was the strangest, Y/n decided.

“Oh, yes,” Rebecca placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder, “Y/n is extraordinary. One of our hardest workers.”

Y/n smiled up at Rebecca, she wasn’t used to her bosses being so willing to help facilitate her success.

“Well, Keeley’s really the one you need to meet,” Y/n passed the kindness on, “The brain behind the whole operation.”

“She’s absolutely fantastic,” Rebecca added.

“Oh, here she is now,” Barbara grinned.

Y/n and Rebecca split to make room for Keeley.

“Keeley?” Barbara gestured to her boss, “This is Jack Danvers.”

“Hello,” Jack stepped forward, “I believe you have something of mine.”

“Oh, fuck,” Keeley exclaimed, “You’re Jack? This is a bit embarrassing.”

Y/n could only imagine what that meant.

“Yeah, we all thought you were a man,” Shandy interjected.

“Yeah, that too,” Keeley agreed.

“It’s like that old riddle,” Higgins added.

“What riddle?” Rebecca asked.

“You know, always a tricky one, this one,” Higgins continued, “A father and son are in a car wreck. Dad dies instantly, the son is rushed to an emergency room. A surgeon walks in and says, ‘I can’t operate on this boy. He’s my son.’ How is it possible?”

The women all gave various answers, none of which Higgins had been waiting for.

“Right, yeah, I guess that’s a bit dated now,” Higgins recovered, “So, I assume ‘Jack’ is short for Jacqueline right?”

“No, it’s short for my father wanted a boy,” Jack answered.

0 for 2, Higgins turned to the group, “I’m gonna go and sit down now, outside. Now.”

Y/n stifled a laugh while Rebecca invited Jack to get a drink, Barbara trailing very close behind them. Y/n hung back with Keeley and Shandy.

“Barbara’s obsessed with Rebecca,” Shandy leaned in to tell them, “I hope she doesn’t try and kill her and wear her skin as a suit.”

Shandy raised a knowing eyebrow before heading off to join the women at the bar, leaving Keeley and Y/n dumbstruck.

“What the fuck?” Keeley whispered.

“Hey,” Y/n nudged Keeley with her elbow, “Breathe.”

Keeley squeezed Y/n’s arm in silent thanks as they went off together.

—————————

It wasn’t until the Greyhounds came onto the pitch that Y/n truly felt the sympathy nerves. Finally enjoying attending the matches mixed with finally having experienced Rupert’s arrogance and assholery had sparked a flame within her. It was a fraction, she suspected, of what Rebecca felt.

Throughout the game, Richmond held their own, but couldn’t seem to get past the Hammer’s defense. Zoreaux, who was going by Van Damme for unknown reasons, managed to block a goal. At one point, Jamie attempted to make a goal himself when it was clear an extra pass should have been made to Zava.

“Zava was wide open,” Rebecca exclaimed as the ball bounced off the net.

Y/n sighed, remembering her and Jamie’s conversation earlier in the week. That one was entirely on him.

Nearing the end of the first half, the Hammers managed to sneak one more goal past the Greyhounds, securing a 2-0 score. Y/n watched Ted, Coach Beard and Roy panic from their side of the field while Nate Shelley screamed in victory.

“Shit,” Y/n muttered, sinking back in her seat. She glanced out the corner of her eye to where Rebecca’s eyes were trained to see Rupert, arrogantly giving a shrug.

Rebecca grabbed her purse and stood to her feet, purpose in her movement. “Excuse me,” she growled.

Y/n tucked herself in as her boss stalked down the aisle, she knew better than to stand in Rebecca’s way when she was on the hunt.

Halftime passed with polite conversation between the KJPR team. A perky Barbara was something neither Keeley or Y/n were used to, but they adjusted. Most of the time, Y/n was spent in anxious hope that Shandy wouldn’t say too much and plant any seeds of doubt in Jack’s head about the company’s abilities.

When Rebecca returned, she looked to be in much better spirits. Y/n waited expectantly for an answer, Rebecca simply smiled and settled back into her seat.

The coaches returned to the pitch.

West Ham next.

Then Richmond.

Even with a great distance between them, the anger was visible in each of the Greyhound’s posture. They stalked past Nate, their former kitman, as if they were just barely holding themselves back from jumping the man. The moment was ripe with every kind of bad energy.

Then it got worse.

The Greyhounds became feral on the pitch. They were straight up attacking the Hammers, earning themselves red card after red card.

“What the fuck?” Y/n mumbled. This wasn’t the type of ruthless she’d wanted them to be.

Dani, the human embodiment of sunshine, was practically spitting on the other players. Sam, an actual angel, got uncharacteristically aggressive. Richard downright hurled the ball at one of the Hammers. Isaac had to rip him away. Richmond had lost three players due to the display of pure rage.

Y/n glanced down at the coaches as Isaac proceeded to shove one of the Hammers to the ground. Ted had his head in his hands. Nate Shelley was looking on smugly. What the hell had happened during halftime to inspire this behavior?

Finally, the match came to an end, 4-1. Zava had managed to score one goal and West Ham had snuck in two more amidst the chaos.

“Shit,” Rebecca muttered, spotting Rupert victoriously hugging his wife while locking eyes with his ex, “Shit. Shit.”

Keeley tried to stop Rebecca from leaving, but she needed to be alone to lick her wounds. Y/n glanced over to Higgins who puffed out his cheeks with a heavy breath.

“Right,” Y/n turned to Keeley, who was trying to make cheery conversation with Jack and Barbara, “Want me to handle interviews?”

“You sure?” Keeley asked.

“You stay here,” she nodded towards Jack, who was talking to Barbara, “Make us look good. I’ll deal with the rest.”

“Yeah, probably best,” Keeley agreed, “Thank you.”

Higgins and Y/n set off downstairs to the locker room to collect the players they needed.

“Probably best not to pick any of the boys that got red carded,” Higgins suggested as they headed down the hall.

“Oh, I’m not picking any of them,” Y/n retorted with barely concealed frustration. She knocked on the door and opened it a crack, “Everybody dressed?”

When there was no reply, she opened the door and took a step in, coming face to face with the team. They were all wallowing in various degrees of shame and rage.

“Hey, Y/n,” Ted said, lacking his usual enthusiasm, “Who do you need?”

Y/n scanned the faces that cheerfully greeted her each day. Some, like Colin and Sam, avoided her watchful gaze. Jamie watched her expectantly. Quite frankly, she didn’t feel like dealing with any of them.

“Zava,” Y/n turned to the star player, “Do you mind?”

“I do not,” he replied, rising and joining Y/n in the doorway. He didn’t leave until he looked back on the team once more, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. Y/n didn’t bother to hide her dismay either as she shut the door.

—————————

With Zava having done his interviews and Ted having addressed the press himself, Y/n could retire for the day, though relaxing was a ways off.

She came back to join Keeley and Jack, who were sipping champagne and chatting. Hopefully Keeley had made them look a lot better than what they’d presented.

“All good?” Keeley asked.

“As good as we can be,” Y/n answered, coming to stand beside Jack, “Whatever Keeley’s told you about how the team usually carries themselves, I’d like to second it.”

“Loud and clear,” Jack smiled.

Shandy came through the press room door, “Well, that was a shit show. Anyway, good news. Bantr’s trending.”

“It is?” Keeley asked.

“Yeah,” Shandy answered, “Pretty sure the change to the bio line helped.”

“Wait,” Y/n interrupted, exhausted by the day, “We changed the bio line?”

Keeley looked just as surprised as Shandy held up her phone. Her eyes widened as she took the mobile, before passing it to Y/n.

It read: Wanna Bang a Celebrity?

“Wha…” Y/n failed to form words.

“Who did this?” Keeley asked.

“I did,” Shandy answered proudly, “This afternoon after I uploaded the vids. You’re welcome.”

Y/n was too tired to mask her horror, she didn’t even have the strength to try. As Keeley tugged Shandy a few feet away, Y/n stayed beside Jack and lifted the corners of her mouth.

“We’re, uh, all a little off today,” she explained.

“Well, you’re hiding it very well,” Jack whispered, lightening the mood.

As soon as she saw Shandy’s face change from pride to offense, Y/n knew she couldn’t stay any longer. She was frustrated, tired and had plans for the night that needed her more.

“It was lovely to meet you,” she bade Jack farewell, “Give Gary my best.”

“You as well,” Jack smiled. The one takeaway from the day was at least KJPR’s backer wasn’t an asshole.

Y/n nodded to Keeley and avoided eye contact with Shandy as she left the press room, hastening her steps as soon as she was out of the room.

—————————

There was an unspoken understanding at the Crown and Anchor. It filled each weekend Richmond played. If they won, it would stay busy all night. If they lost, it emptied as soon as the tabs had been settled.

Suffice it to say, Y/n was sitting in near solitude.

She sat at the bar, picking at an order of chips and going through one-sheets. There were a surprising amount of apartments available in Richmond and she was overwhelmed by the options.

“All good, love?”

Y/n looked up to Mae, who was bringing her a fresh glass of water. “If you’re referring to the food, it’s great. If you’re referring to the-“

“We’re not speaking of that,” Mae interrupted, shutting the topic of the match down. Y/n had come to learn the bar owner took her Greyhound games as serious as life itself.

“I won’t fight you,” Y/n replied, going back to flipping through her papers.

“See you’re looking for a place,” Mae pointed towards the sheets, “I take it the job’s working out okay.”

Y/n snorted, “All evidence contrary to today, yes, it’s working out.”

“I told you,” Mae said with the pride of someone who knew how wise she was, “Just had to give it time.”

Y/n laughed a little, “I’ll learn to trust you eventually.”

Mae matter-of-factly nodded before leaving her patron be.

Y/n flipped through a few more papers, each property bleeding into the other till they all looked the same. She was ready to let her head drop to the counter when the papers in her hands suddenly became illuminated. She traced the light behind her, coming face to face with a blinding bulb.

“Fucking hell,” Y/n cursed, covering her eyes. She rubbed them until she could see again, Jamie’s silhouette coming into view, “What are you wearing?”

“Can’t run if I can’t see,” Jamie answered without feeling like like any further explanation was necessary.

“Why are you running at 8 o’clock?” Y/n asked in confusion.

“Three workouts a day,” Jamie replied, “Roy’s got us starting at 4AM.”

“Well, there’s light in here, so…” Y/n gestured around them.

Jamie switched off the headband’s lamp and took it off, smoothing his hair down after. He pointed to the stool beside Y/n, “You waitin’ on anyone?”

“Please,” Y/n gestured to the spot, she was too tired to fight against company.

The pub was quiet enough that the chances of Jamie being spotted didn’t require him to hide in a booth.

“I’m assuming this unholy schedule doesn’t pertain to the whole team?” Y/n asked, already suspecting Jamie’s motivation.

“Eh, no,” he answered, crossing his arms across the bar, “Just me.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n replied just as Jamie flagged Mae down and asked for a water.

“Roy’s got me on a diet,” he explained when he caught the confusion on Y/n’s face, “Only one drink and only if we win a match.”

The five letter word had them finally meeting one another’s eyes, waiting for the other to address the benched elephant in the room.

“Right,” Y/n let the sheets in her hand fall on the counter, “What the fuck happened today?”

Jamie exhaled, rubbing a hand across his face. There was so much history behind the events of the match, he wasn’t sure where to start.

“You know that sign in the locker room?” Jamie gestured to the space above them, “Above the coach’s office?”

“The ‘Believe’ one?” Y/n replied.

“Yeah,” Jamie folded his arms again, “So…it’s a whole thing but, it means a lot. And when Nate left,” he inhaled to go over that bit of the past, but Y/n stopped him.

“I know who Nate is,” she said. His smug smile was still burned into her brain from earlier in the day.

“Right, so,” Jamie sighed, his tongue poking at his cheek in frustration, “We won last season, Nate stormed out and quit. But Roy and Beard put on this video for us during halftime of him…tearin’ up the sign.”

Y/n rested her head on her hand, listening intently.

“And…” Jamie grasped at the air, “It’s a big deal. To us. To the team. And I think we all just feel…” he paused, “Fuckin’ betrayed or somethin’. That he turned on us. But that sign…” Jamie shook his head, “Fuckin’….”

During her various trips to the locker room, Y/n had noticed the yellow and blue paper. She hadn’t thought anything of it, just another motivational decoration. She hadn’t realized that it held such a deep meaning to the team.

“So the solution was to get…” Y/n shrugged, “What was it, four red cards?”

“Hey,” Jamie pressed three fingers to his chest, “None of ‘em were me.”

Y/n chuckled, Jamie had managed to stay on the field the entire time. She suspected that might not have been the case a few years prior.

“I get it,” Y/n nodded, “Team loyalty. I mean, I think we’d all have preferred you channeled your anger a little more productively, but…”

Jamie bobbed his head, shame over how they’d dealt with their feelings had begun to set in over the last few hours. But he still couldn’t say he regretted it. Not fully.

“Well, Sky Sports is going to have a field day with you all,” Y/n sighed as she fished through her chips.

“All they’ll be talkin’ about is Zava,” Jamie made his voice more nasally when he uttered the name, “Since he’s the only one of us you wanted today.

Y/n quirked an eyebrow at him, “Well, I was slightly worried that Isaac might dropkick the camera man or Dani might bite a journalist or something.”

Jamie twisted his lips, half-smiling. He couldn’t fault her that.

“Let’s just categorize this day in the ‘suck’ column and move on,” Y/n said, slipping a one-sheet to the back of her pile.

“I’ll second that,” Jamie agreed, stretching his neck to look at the papers, “What’re you looking for a place?”

“Yeah, figured since I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” Y/n tried to organize the pile somewhat, “Might as well cut down on the commute.”

Jamie held out his hand for the paper in Y/n’s. He examined the square footage, but mostly the street name.

“Oh, this is a shit area,” he commented, reaching for the Sharpie Y/n had laying nearby.

“I don’t think there are shit areas of Richmond,” Y/n shot back, watching as Jamie made a large ‘x’ across the picture of the apartment, “Wait, what-“

“I’m saving you from overpaying for a crap flat,” Jamie capped the marker and gestured for the other sheets, “Lemme see the others.”

Y/n looked between him and the pile, confused as to what was happening.

“C’mon,” Jamie wiggled his fingers.

She slid half the stack across the bar to him, keeping the other half for herself.

Jamie began to read the details of the first listing over. “This one’s on the other side of town,” he stated.

“I don’t care about that,” Y/n replied, “So long as it’s in town. Plus, it’s got a balcony.”

Jamie held up the next paper and compared the two. “This one’s shit too,” he reached for the marker again, predicting Y/n’s reaction, “Just trust me.”

The two of them sat at the bar, scooting their stools together until the pile had been thinned out and the day had ended more pleasantly than it began.

————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sabelcities

[danistartt]

Prince Charming- Jamie Tartt

alternative title: poopeh pairings: jamie tartt x reader, roy kent, jan maas warnings: language about: jamie's trip to the sewers

The field is empty when you pull into the parking lot.

You frown when you don’t see any bright jerseys floating around the grass, checking the time on your car screen to make sure practice is still supposed to be going on.

You’re only more confused when you realize it is, cocking your head at the green like it’ll answer. You find Jamie’s contact and reread the message he’d sent you an hour ago, ensuring that it was indeed today and not a week ago. The date reads as it had, Jamie’s request for you to bring a bag he’d forgotten still typed out in black.

You glance down at it on your lap, poking at it with an index finger before you look back up, nearly expecting the team to appear. It doesn’t. You sigh, pushing the car door open anyway.

One of the assistants opens the door for you, just as surprised that the team is absent as you were. You shrug at him and knock lightly on the door to the locker room, pushing it open a sliver when there isn’t the normal buzzing from the team.

Very confused, you heave a big sigh, striding near the coach’s office to peek inside there, too. No luck.

You slump onto the bench in front of Jamie’s locker, fiddling with the zipper on his bag as you search your pockets for your phone. You’re about to call him when the door opens with an ocean of familiar noise.

Graciously, only Jamie strides in, easily catching sight of you. His reaction is immediate and lovely, beautiful face stretching cheerily. “Hey, love.”

“Hi, Jamie,” you greet, standing to meet him when he arrives. “Brought your bag.” You swing it lightly on your finger to show him.

“Ah, you’re great,” he says, kissing your cheek before pulling you into a hug. Greedily, you let him, already having missed his presence.

You bury your face into his chest and subsequently pull back, your nose wrinkled. Doubtfully glancing back up at Jamie, you shoot him a look before leaning back in again to sniff suspiciously at his shoulder.

You pull back as far as you can in his arms and make a disapproving noise. “Jamie, why do you smell like shit?”

“Right, sorry love. Lasso took us to the sewers today,” he says, brows furrowing. “D’I really smell that bad?”

You stare up at him. “What?”

“One of his lessons. The system an’all.” He pinches the fabric of his shirt and takes a smell. His lips purse, he shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

“Maybe you got used to it down there,” you point out, smoothing the wrinkles he’d made. “Either way,” you begin, patting his chest, “take a nice shower before you get home, okay?”

He snorts, ducking down to give you a kiss.

You smile against him, thrusting his bag against his chest when he begins to push you toward his locker, his arms tight around your waist. “Nuh-uh. You have things to do, Jamie Tartt. Don’t start things you can’t finish.”

“Who says I can’t finish?” he asks, one of his stupidly handsome smirks on his lips.

You groan loudly, a gentle hand pushing his face away. “Prick. Get away from me.”

He laughs, his fingers crawling up your wrist to hold your hand. He brushes his lips against the bony hills below your fingers, eyes sparkling as he looks at you. You shudder, feeling his smile on your skin.

“Prick,” you repeat, softer.

“Yeah,” he admits, “but you like it.”

“Only a little,” you confess, letting him kiss you again.

A door slams. Footsteps pause, and then, disgusted: “Get a fucking room!” Roy. He says hi to you a lot kinder, but the embarrassment refuses to ease.

You choke, pulling back so hard you slam your head against the wall. You crane your neck down, hiding behind Jamie’s figure.

“Oi, stop screamin’!” Jamie screams back, a heavy palm warm just above your neck. The door to the office slams behind Roy as Jamie shakes his head, brows knitted together. His thumb rubs around a thready ache. “Fuckin’ old fuck,” he mutters, softer now. His pretty eyes look into yours.

You giggle. “He’s right.”

“You wanna get a room?” he asks.

“I should go,” you correct, pecking him quickly before he can convince you to stay with his sad little pout and round eyes. “Say hi to the team for me.”

“We heard,” Jan Maas says from far away.

Many more voices chime in with a greeting.

“Will you lot shut up?” Jamie says.

“I’ll see you soon,” you laugh, blowing him another kiss.

“I’ll try to wash off the smell!” he calls.

“Prince Charming!” you croon, letting the door close behind you.

[flowerandblood]

Fair Game (2/2)

[modern! • Aemond x short!female • volleyball players]

[warnings: sex content, angst, smut, domination]

[description: Anon Request: She wants to join the college team and compete, but she's too short. She gets a chance from the coach. In the men's team, there is a player who has always attracted her attention. But is he the person she thought he was?]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

This is part two of story: Fair Play

______

Prior to their first set training she was completely terrified. She regretted agreeing to his proposal, afraid that he would only laugh at her and humiliate her. She decided to give him one chance.

They exchanged numbers to arrange when they would meet and when he could rent a gym for them. One day he wrote her a laconic message saying that they would meet next Friday at 7 pm. She had no classes then, so she agreed.

The changing rooms were open when she arrived. She changed in the women's locker room and went out to the sports hall, looking around. She saw that the light was on. Aemond, also disguised, was tying the net on the poles. He looked at her indifferently.

"Oh. So you're not a coward." He said sarcastically and she frowned. She took one of the balls from the big basket, bouncing it on the floor as she walked over to him.

"Don't annoy me." She grunted at him, throwing the ball into his shoulder. He was just tying the last knot, he had no way to protect himself from the impact. He looked at her, frustrated.

"So you're not only a princess, but also a spoiled brat." He fired without thinking, his gaze sharp and unpleasant. She laughed at his words, shaking her head in disbelief, feeling like she wanted to leave.

“I have to balance your rudeness and insolence somehow.” She said loudly, starting to shake her arms, moving on to warm up.

She decided she wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction and would finish the fucking training even if she had to cry all night in humiliation afterwards.

He pursed his lips at her words, but said nothing. After a quick warm-up both of them settled on both sides of the net, practicing serves and strokes. Finally, already slightly sweaty and out of breath, Aemond walked over to the net, staring at her with his hands on his hips.

"Can we start?" He asked impatiently. She nodded for him to come over to her side. He walked under the fence, looking at her expectantly. She sighed, taking the ball, turning it over in her hands.

"I watched you serve. You put a lot of force into it, but it makes you afraid of missing the field. You play it safer, by hitting closer to the center. It make it easier to take the ball. You have to be more precise, throw the player over the line of the pitch so that he can't reach it. I'll show you." She told him, gesturing him to go back to the other side.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously reading the challenge. He walked unhurriedly to the other end of the net and positioned himself to receive the ball. She moved to the back line, tossed the ball up, bounced, and hit it flat so that it barely flew over the net, hitting low and diagonal on the touchline, giving him no chance of receiving it.

"Fuck!" He cursed under his breath, surprised. He looked at her, and in his eye she saw a note of appreciation that flattered her ego pleasantly.

She motioned for him to try to repeat what she was doing. He hit more diagonally, but either his ball hit the net or went out of bounds. She could see that he was already losing his temper and looking away, enraged.

"Don't put so much force into it. Focus on accuracy and repetitive movement. You men always want to hit like you're going to kill your opponent with that ball." She said, shaking her head, breathing fast, strands of her hair stuck to her wet face.

He only grunted at her words and his next hits were better. He was hitting where he was supposed to more often, and she was having more and more trouble with receiving his ball. She nodded, getting up from her knees, wiping her forehead.

"All right. It's over for today. I have an exam tomorrow." He said, wiping his face with a towel that he placed on one of the benches by the audience. She blinked at him in disbelief.

"You promised me you'd show me how to block." She said feeling her heart pounding like crazy.

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought that he had deceived and used her, had wasted her time, just to get her to tell him her secrets without giving her anything in return. Aemond looked at her in surprise.

"I'll show you next time. We're both tired, don't be dramatic." He said calmly, unscrewing his water bottle and taking a few sips.

She didn't know why, but she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She thought it was pathetic, but she couldn't stop it. She saw his eye widen in surprise, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Are you crying?" He asked hesitantly as if to make sure he hadn't imagined it.

"Fuck off." She spat through clenched teeth, though it didn't sound intimidating given her height and voice. She turned tensely and was about to leave for the locker room, but she heard him come quickly to her, grabbing her arm.

"Hey, what's up with you? I promised to teach you, so I will teach you. After all, we didn't just agree on one training, right? We didn't say we'd do everything today." He spoke reassuringly, as if to comfort her.

She stared at him, wondering what had happened to him. She breathed unevenly and wiped her eyes, so that the tears that gathered under her eyelids did not flow down her face. Her lips quivered and she couldn't get a word out.

She heard his low sigh. He pulled her to him and hugged her. She was so surprised that she was speechless, her heart pounding like crazy. His T-shirt smelled of washing powder, sweat, and some strong, male perfume.

She just stood there with her cheek pressed against his chest, letting him wrap one arm around her. She felt his mouth and nose in her hair and shivered all over.

"We'll make an appointment for training again. It was quite nice today, wasn't it?" He asked quietly, his words practically nothing but grunts. She nodded and felt him smile.

She shivered as his hand slid from her hair to the nape of her neck and began to massage her lightly. Her breathing sped up slightly, but she couldn't move. She felt the warmth between her thighs, the pleasant wetness, and she knew what that meant.

"You're terribly tense." He murmured softly, his fingers digging into her skin in circular, intense movements. "You need a little relaxation."

She swallowed loudly as she felt the manhood in his pants pulse hard, pressing against her stomach. She wondered if he had been this hard all along. She felt a tightness in her stomach at the thought. She thought it was humiliating to feel lust in this very moment for him, but she couldn't help it.

She didn't protest when he suddenly grabbed her hips and lifted her up slightly, walking with her towards the locker room. She wrapped her arms and legs around his body, not looking at him or saying anything, trembling all over.

He immediately took her to the bathroom. She knew he would, she knew he wanted to. She wondered if that was why he had suggested training together. She felt embarrassed at the thought of giving him what he wanted.

“No.” She said, breaking free from his grip as he set her down on the ground. He looked at her in surprise and suddenly paled.

"Why?" He asked, swallowing hard. If she didn't know him a bit, she'd think he was desperate.

“So you can tell your friends how I fuck? Call me fucking princess again?" She asked in a trembling voice, wanting to get past him and out of the bathroom, but he didn't let her, grabbing her arm.

"I wouldn't do that. I'm not that much of a bastard." He said quickly, looking at her surprised. She laughed at his words, heartbroken.

"Then why do you keep humiliating me?” She asked with anger and resentment. She saw him purse his lips, squeezing his eyelid shut. He swallowed, glancing at her again, his gaze softer than before.

"I don't know. Maybe it's because I don't have one eye, I have complexes and I'm fucking desperate." He said slowly as he approached her. She took a step back.

"Are you telling me what I want to hear?" She asked incredulously. He rolled his eye, shaking his head impatiently.

"Come here, for fuck sake." He growled, pulling her close to him, biting into her lips so greedily that she was out of breath.

She tried to pull away from him for a moment, but then gave in. She kissed him back, doing what she wanted to do since she first saw him on the pitch. She wanted to join the team to prove something to herself, but she also hoped that he would notice her.

That he will see her hard work.

She saw him pull his shirt over his head. His athletic, muscular body was scarred. He didn't let her ask any questions, his tongue forcing its way through her mouth to her throat. He moaned low as the tip of her tongue touched his.

They started licking and panting as they moved towards the shower. Aemond helped her remove her T-shirt and bra. When he saw her breasts, he lifted her by the hips again, pressed her against the cold tiles and sucked on her breast, causing a loud moan to escape her lips.

He licked and sucked alternately on her nipple, her hands pressing his face hard against her skin. Involuntarily, her hips began to rub against him, searching for any way to find relief.

He pulled off her shorts and panties, making her blush all over. She had never had sex with anyone in such a shameless, direct way, in such a place.

Both of them were panting loudly, her hands quickly helping him to pull his pants off. She gasped as she saw how hard he was, throbbing all over, swollen and quivering, exuding his own juices. He smiled as her gaze involuntarily escaped between his thighs. He grabbed her jaw and lifted her face.

"So? Are we fucking here or in the shower?" He asked tauntingly.

She grabbed his hair tie and pulled it off him, freeing strands of his hair. He did the same, untangling the bun she had tied around her head. She squeezed his hair and pulled him to her, eliciting a hollow, low, startled moan from him as she dug into his lips.

It was her answer.

He slid his hand shamelessly between her thighs, his fingers trailing over her entrance. He hummed low in contentment as her juices literally ran down her thighs, her body quivering with impatience. He pulled away from her lips, starting to massage her slowly, teasing her clit.

"So fucking wet for me. Do you want to feel my cock inside you so badly?” He asked with a hint of amusement and lust at the same time, breathing fast.

He moaned low in surprise as her hand gripped his throbbing erection, starting to massage it up and down. She parted her lips slightly, looking at him with amusement.

"I could ask you the same." She grunted and he grabbed her hair with his free hand, tilting her head back, his hand between her thighs quickening, massaging her with the wet, sticky sound of her juices.

"You are so sassy." He growled, leaning over her, her nipples pressed against his chest. He looked down at her, his whole body trembling all over from the decisive, quick movements of her hand.

"Stop." He finally said, taking her hand. She felt that he was throbbing all over, that he had almost come. She gasped as he lifted her by her hips again, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance.

"Do you take birth control pills?"He asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck quickly, entwining her legs against his back, breathing fast.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice and moaned loudly with him as he entered her suddenly, without hesitation. She was so wet that he easily slipped all the way in.

Her walls throbbed against him, making him groan helplessly. He began to move inside her quickly, intensely, violently, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hips, her hands entwined in his hair.

They were both panting, moaning alternately, indulging in this mechanical, physical pleasure. His cock rubbed wonderfully at her most pleasant spot, building in her unbearable tension. She knew that if he didn't stop, she was going to come.

"You're not so talkative anymore, hmm?” He asked with low hum, panting, his thighs slapped her ass with each of his thrusts with a wet, sticky sound of their shared juices. His cock pushed wonderfully against her walls, throbbing all over, entering her all the way in each time.

"Fuck off" It was all what slipped out of her mouth like a soft, helpless moan. She felt him quicken as she said that, his movements sudden, brutal and animalistic, seeking fulfillment.

"How hard do I have to fuck you to make you behave? Hmm?" He hissed, enraged by her behavior, his hands tightening painfully on her hips.

For some reason, his words, the way she teased him, made her insides clench greedily over him, heat spilling over her lower abdomen. She felt him push her head back further, holding her hair, forcing her to look up at him, his movements slowing even though she felt that they were both so close to fullfiment.

"I am talking to you." He grunted low, dissatisfied with her lack of any response.

"I thought you wanted to fuck, not talk. You're definitely better at fucking." She said, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile. She saw him purse his lips.

"And I thought you wanted to come. Your loss." He whispered, running his tongue over his swollen lips, starting to move inside her again, quickly and violently, but changing the angle, so that he avoided the point that gave her the greatest pleasure.

She sobbed softly, her hands clasped on his shoulders, trying to rub against him, but his hands clenched on her hips blocked any movement she could make.

"No. Orgasms are only for good girls." He purred, panting heavily, pumping his swollen cock into her with all the strength he had in his hips, his balls hitting her buttocks, stretching her wet muscles.

She pressed her face against his neck, panting heavily, helpless, her whole body quivering with desire and lust.

"I-I need this, please" She whispered pleadingly, her hand tightening on his hair, feeling like she was about to cry again.

"Will you be good now?" He asked, panting with pleasure, starting to rub her upper wall again where she needed it with such force that the sound caught in her throat, her nipples hard with desire pressed against his chest.

"Yes, I'll be good to you, so, so good, please!" She sobbed loudly, her hips willingly responded to his every thrust. She felt the approaching wave of pleasure, shivers ran through her whole body.

"Now I'm gonna cum inside you, and you're gonna take it like a good girl you are, right?" He hissed on the verge of orgasm, and she leaned back, gasping for air as waves of pleasure and fulfillment flooded her body.

"Yes, yes, yes!" She moaned sweetly like a prayer, rising and falling on his cock with a sticky, wet slap of their shared juices, running down their thighs.

She heard his loud, helpless groan as he came inside her, his hot sperm spilled into her core, filling her completely. He was moving inside her for a moment longer, their sweat bodies sticking to each other.

"That's it. Such a good girl." He hummed, praising her tenderly, stroking her buttocks.

They stood like that for a moment, panting loudly. She squealed softly as he went with her in his arms to the shower. He leaned her back against the wall and turned on the faucet with one hand, making the water run over them.

"Not too hot?" He asked softly, unexpectedly for his usual indifferent and cool tone of voice.

She nodded, and he slid out of her gently, letting her stand on her feet. She felt that gravity worked and his sperm run down her thighs with the water. She swallowed softly as she saw him wipe his face and hair, then looked at her, drops of water running down his fair skin.

"When can we schedule for another training?"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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Others: @sumwahwah @chainsawsangel

[multifandomfanfic]

could you do something where ronaldo is your ex and you broke up because he cheated but he saw you with another man at a party and he got really jealous??

Cold Air

Word Count: ~2.2k

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Sorry this took so long and sorry if any descriptions of Qatar are inaccurate. Just suspend reality for a bit :)) (also, I proof-read this, but it hasn’t had a second pair of eyes look at it)

The city lights passed by your car as you made your way to the club. The World Cup was in full swing and, today, Portugal had beaten Switzerland by five goals. You wrinkled your nose. Portugal. As good of a team they were, any mention of their team, and especially a certain player, left a foul taste on your tongue. 

It wasn't like you didn't love Ronaldo. You did.., well, you had loved him at one point. Months ago you had been positive your relationship was going to last forever; you were living together, you went with him to his events, and you were even certain you had spied an engagement ring in his bag once. All of that was squashed within seconds thanks to Ronaldo’s unlocked phone and a few Instagram DMs. 

Within days, you had moved out of your shared house and into an apartment far away from Manchester. Ronaldo agreed to pay the first year of your rent in return for you not going public about his infidelity, but you took the high road. You did not need his help and, after what he did to you, you decided that you did not want to have any connection to him any longer. Enough was enough.

But here you were, in Qatar, the day his team beat the Swiss.

Your phone vibrated and you dug it out of your purse. 

I'll have to leave a little early tonight, Emi texted you.

What? Why?

Coach wants us to get at least eight hours of sleep before some extra practice in the morning. He explained, I'm free to do whatever you want tomorrow night.

You groaned and slumped back into the car seat. Great. Just great. The only reason you were going to this club was to celebrate Emi’s friend’s birthday, whom you had never met. In fact, you hardly knew anybody on his team. You had spent so much time with Portugal and Manchester United that you hadn’t become acquainted with any of the other teams. Besides, you had only been seeing Emi for a couple of months. 

“Is this it?” your driver asked. 

“Yes, this is it,” you sighed. The cold night air raised goosebumps on your skin as soon as you pushed open the door. It was refreshing and briefly distracted your mind from the awkwardness awaiting you inside.

The bouncer opened the rope as you approached. The club’s exterior was lit by LED lights, beckoning people to venture inside. Quite a crowd had amounted outside, drawn by the possibility of seeing a world-class futball player in person. They watched you as you entered the building. Who were you? And why were you here?

The interior of the bar was as exuberant and bright as the exterior. The only difference was the number of people crammed within its walls. Bodies were pressed against each other, moving to the music blaring from the speakers. Two bartenders were hurriedly making drinks for the growing crowd. They had been instructed to prioritize the futball players and serve them first, but they were struggling to keep up with that demand.

You scanned the throngs of people. One or two of the men close to you looked familiar, but the lights were set just dim enough that you couldn’t distinguish people from a distance. Their forms blended into one, swaying mass.

Person after person bumped and shoved you (whether on accident or on purpose, you couldn’t tell) as you forged your way to the bar. Surely, there were too many people in the club to be safe, but nobody paid attention. They were all having fun. You were the walking embodiment of dread.

You tugged on the end of your dress. It wasn’t yours–one of the players’ girlfriends had lent it to you–and it wasn’t exactly your taste either. The color was off and it fell awkwardly on your thighs. Anyone who knew you would know the dress was not your first choice. 

“Excuse me?” you asked the bartender closest to you, “Can I get one of those?”

The mixture of alcohol he was making was taking all of his attention, and he made no effort to respond. You groaned, leaned against the bartop, and began people-watching. There was no sight of Ronaldo or Emi. You weren’t expecting Ronaldo to be there, but you could never be too sure. 

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called from behind you.

You turned around and smiled, “Emi!” 

He pushed his way through the crowd, nodding and grinning at his friends. You recognized none of them, despite going to many of Emi’s games. Maybe you were too stuck in the past.

Once he reached you, Emi grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, leaning over slightly and began kissing your neck. Several people’s eyes landed on the two of you. 

“Babe, please,” you whispered, “Not in public.”

He stepped back, “Why not?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable with it, ok?” you replied. To be honest, you had no idea why it made you so uneasy. People looking at you was one thing, but something else was off.

Emi smirked and loosened his grip on your waist, “Fine. But I will be seeing you tomorrow night.”

“It’s a date,” you chuckled. He left you one more kiss on your lips as he started to back away. He smiled and nodded his head goodbye. Before you knew it, Emi had disappeared into the mass of people.

The bartender continued to pay attention to other patrons, leaving you drinkless and bored. There was a full-length mirror behind the back of the bar. You examined yourself in it, rubbing off the lipstick that had made its way off of your lips and adjusting your hair so it fell just right on your face. A figure began to form behind you. Someone was making their way to the spot to your left. The way the lights were positioned and flashing, you could not tell who it was.. that is, until they spoke.

He ordered two of your favorite drink and, like clockwork, the bartender had them finished within seconds.

“You look good,” he almost mumbled as he took the first sip from his drink. His eyes scanned your figure, soaking in every aspect of how the dress fell on your body. You could have slapped him, “Although, I wouldn’t peg you as the type of girl to wear something like that.”

“What do you want, Ronaldo?” you spat. His face changed for a moment at the use of his last name instead of Cristiano–what you used to call him–but, within seconds, it was back to his usual, sly look. On the other hand, you could feel your face turning red. Months of pent-up rage and regret flooded back into your head. Why had you come here? Why did he have to be here?

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said as you picked up your drink. You slammed it back down on the counter. A little sloshed over the edge and the bartender immediately wiped it with his towel. He scowled at you but smiled at Ronaldo. You pushed the glass to the farthest point on the bar that you could reach. You refused to drink it. That would make it seem like you were diving in.

“I asked you what you wanted,” you seethed, arms crossed across your chest, “Can you answer my question?”

He rolled his eyes and looked around as if you were the only person in the room who did not know what he was going to say. He then leaned closer, “You could do much better than an Argentinian. That’s all I wanted to say.”

You froze. Your mouth hung agape, your mind was apparently empty of any good comebacks. After a moment you managed a “Are you kidding me?” and a small, all-too-exaggerated laugh. The audacity this man had. He cheated on you, not the other way around. 

“Do you think I’m joking? I’m just stating the obvious, darling,” Ronaldo smirked. He leaned against the bar, drink in hand. Triumph was written all over his face. 

You pulled out twenty dollars from your purse and slammed it onto the bar to cover your drink. You stood up straight, staring your adversary in the eyes. 

“I’m done with your bullshit, Ronaldo. Do I need to remind you whose fault it was that we broke up? It wasn’t me!,” you shouted just loud enough so the people closest to you could hear, “Have a good life.”

You stormed past him, purposely bumping into his shoulder on the way to the back. Your feet carried you past the mob of bodies. Instead of annoying you, they acted to your benefit, creating an almost impenetrable sea for Ronaldo to cross to get to you. You made it to the back exit swiftly and, without hesitating, escaped the room.

The chilly air greeted you like an old friend. Your dress was hardly enough to keep you warm, but it didn’t matter. Compared to the inside of the bar and its patrons, it felt more friendly and calm in the frigid night.

You pulled out your phone and started searching for an Uber to take you home. You began walking down the alleyway, enveloped in the screen in front of you rather than paying attention to your surroundings. That was why you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a cold hand grab a hold of your arm.

You whipped around and tried to strike the attacker with your bag but, after a moment, you saw that it was none other than Ronaldo. Despite recognizing him, you still managed to hit him with your purse. You ripped your arm from his grasp and backed up. You weren’t truly scared of him, not at all, but he repulsed you so much that you wanted to distance yourself from him as much as you possibly could.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed.

“Y/N, listen to m–”

“No, tell me what you think you’re doing!”

“I don’t know what I–” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and shifting his weight.

“You don’t know what you’re do–”

“Y/N, would you just listen to me, please?!” Ronaldo finally begged. He stood with his arms extended to you, silently pleading with you to let him speak, “Please?”

You checked your phone and then crossed your arms, “You have two minutes, Ronaldo, then I never want to see you again.”

“That’s fine, that’s perfect,” he took a step back. He looked at the sky as he took a deep breath. The stars were shining down on the two of you, illuminating the alleyway just enough that you could see Ronaldo’s breath and the sweat dripping down his face. What was bothering him so much?

He sighed, exasperated with his own thoughts, “Y/N, I.. you know I love you right?”

You did not reply, nod, or shake your head. You kept your eyes glued on him but, on the inside, your stomach was turning. This conversation could lead nowhere good. In the months since your break-up, you had thought about getting back together plenty of times. Yet, in reality, you could never let yourself do that. He cheated on you once. He had broken your trust. That could not happen again.

“I know you do. And I know, I hope, that deep down you still love me,” Ronaldo continued, trying to get any reaction out of you, but none came, “I will never love another woman as much as I love you. You were the light of my life, the thing that made me smile every single day without fail. You enchant me, Y/N,  and I went and screwed everything up. Will you forgive me?”

You scoffed, your arms only crossing tighter in front of your chest, “Don’t give me this ‘I love you most ardently’-esque crap. You cheated on me, Ronaldo. I have proof!”

“And I regret it every day! Y/N, you don’t understand how much I’ve beat myself up over this. I love you! You make me happy!”

“Ronaldo, if I really made you happy, frankly, we would not be in this situation right now,” you said, pursing your lips. You shrugged, “I am sorry, but I can’t forgive you.”

With that, a grey sedan drove to the end of the alleyway behind you. You checked the description on your phone–it was your ride.

“That’s me,” you said. The amount of water vapor in front of Ronaldo’s mouth only increased as he grew angrier and more confused. His mind was running, trying to find some solution to have you back, or to get you to at least forgive him, but he could not find one.

“Can you at least call me Cristiano?” he finally called out as you started to walk away.

You turned around. After a moment, you nodded, and made eye contact with him once more, “Alright, Cristiano. As I said earlier, I hope you have a good life.”

[collisvng]

CHAPTER 1 | BADASS BALLERINAS

THE END ZONE 🏈🩰✨

Pairing 🤎 Seo Changbin x Fem! Reader︎

Genre 🤎 SMAU, University/College AU, Ballett/Football AU, Fluff, Angst, Crack—all of that good shit lol︎

Synopsis 🤎 By recommendation of his coach, Changbin decides to take a ballet class in order to improve his agility and coordination on the field. It seems like a harmless and fun activity at first. But what happens when his ballet partner starts to make him choose between the two?

Warnings 🤎 Swearing, brief mentions of food, alluding to weight insecurities, and Han being weak as fuck (lol) 

Taglist 🤎 Open!︎ ✨

Word Count 🤎 3,254 + 7 sm screenshots!

In Collaboration With 🤎 @channie-143

✨️MASTERLIST✨️

©collisvng (2023) — all rights reserved. reposts/modification of our work is not tolerated.

WHEN YOU ARRIVED AT THE DANCE HALL...

Minho was already at the barre. He was observing himself in the mirror, making sure each warm-up he did was fluid as he gripped the handrail to help steady himself. Plies, tendus, and degages expelled themselves from his body in the most graceful yet precise movements. 

He spared you a glance as you walked in—setting your bag and water bottle down near the entrance before you made your way across the floor. When your eyes met, you both acted estranged and looked away.

“You know for someone who hates mornings, you really do make the effort to be the first here.”

“I could say the same about you,” Minho stated as he brought himself into first position once again. “Although you always seem to get here after me. You must like being in second place.”

“Can’t be second place when I’m the class favorite,” you said, finally turning to face him. “Cute of you to think otherwise though.”

“Since when was this?”

“Since last semester when the instructor literally told me I was her favorite.”

“Hm,” he pursed his lips to the side. “I don’t recall that ever happening. And you don’t really have any proof either, sooo…”

His eyes never met yours and you smirked. 

It was always like this between you two. Since the day the two of you became friends, your constant bickering is what brought you closer. From class, to practice, to studying together… there was never peace. Everything was like a challenge, and you both loved it. It made it even more fun when the both of you broke character.

You sighed, walking away to the middle of the floor. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lino.”

Minho stared ahead—unresponsive. But the moment he wasn’t within your sight, a small smile tugged at his lips.

He finally decided to face you when your body slowly descended to the floor. 

“Not joining me at the barre for once?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“My lower back’s been killing me,” you groaned as you stuck both your legs out in front of you. With your arms reached out in the center of them, you practically clawed your upper body forward until your stomach touched the ground. The extension gave you a sense of relief. “It’s gonna be floor stretches for right now until the teacher comes, if I’m honest.”

A quick nod of approval was given to you before a playful, “good girl” left Minho’s lips. The word EW! left your mouth so quickly that it almost sounded like you were hearing yourself say it in the third person.

But you weren’t, because the voice you actually heard in third person was Hyunjin’s as he entered the dance hall with Felix.

“Can you not say stuff like that?” he glared at Minho, sitting down next to you. “You don’t have to flirt with everyone.”

A tiny laugh escaped your lips as you half-sat up, taking in the sight of Hyunjin and all its glory. White T-shirt disheveled as one side hung off his left shoulder, black tights hugging his legs, and messy black hair pulled partially into a small ponytail—you knew his tired look all too well. His eyes were barely open, and he had a slight grimace on his face.

“Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty,” you teased as you tousled his hair. “Felix must have had fun waking you up.”

“Oh, it was hell!” Felix’s voice echoed through the room. He set his bag next to yours, desperately rummaging through it to find something. You observed his outfit change into a white shirt and black tights, much like Hyunjin and Minho, suspecting that he must have switched out of his comfy clothes before making his way to class. “I literally had to recruit Seungmin to help me wake him up. Which, by the way, was the worst choice ever. He almost had me pay him five dollars in order to get him into Hyunjin’s room when I couldn’t get him up.”

He waddled his way over to you and Hyunjin, joining you both on the floor. He was holding a small, blue plastic container that was faintly see-through enough to see the brownies that were within it. 

“Now eat!” He stated, opening the lid to the container and practically sticking it under you and Hyunjin’s noses. “Because I know for a FACT neither of you have. And hurry up, I don’t want the instructor to yell at us for eating in the dance room again.”

As Hyunjin happily pulled a brownie out of the container and ate it, Felix ripped a piece off one and held it out to feed it to you while you were mid-stretch. You giggled a bit, leaning forward to take a bite but not fully being able to take the whole piece from his hand. He grinned from ear to ear, putting the rest of the small chunk you left behind in his mouth. 

He repeated the action; feeding you and eating the rest over and over. Eventually, even Minho took a piece of your roommate's chocolate masterpiece, saying his thanks to the “brownie boy” and giving Felix a short-lived head pat. It was all so soft and wholesome, it made you feel thankful.

You couldn’t imagine a better way to start the day than beside these three dorks who made you the happiest in the world.

Eventually, the dance hall began to fill up as it got closer to class time. You all made your way to your respective places at the barre, and Felix managed to sneak his tupperware back into his bag before the teacher arrived and could tell him to put it away. 

You gave a little wave to the boys from across the room while you stood next to Minho. As Hyunjin gave you a little salute and Felix waved back, you caught a glimpse of the class’s golden boy.

Alongside you and Lino, a guy by the name of Choi Yeonjun was known as the best dancer in class. He was precise, like Minho, but also had the agility of a feline and the determination of a bulldog. Everything he did was perfect, and if it wasn't he would have to find a way to fix it and make it perfect. 

It’s what made him such a great dance partner, which you would know since he was yours last semester. You were quite sad when your instructor broke you two apart this year, explaining that both your talents could be put to good use helping others in the class who needed a “bit of work” with their dancing. 

There was also an odd number of people in the class since someone never showed up on the first day of instruction; causing the teacher to practically plead to Yeonjun about the possibility of rotating between two partners—which he happily agreed to. 

Thus why Yeonjun stood at the other end of the room sandwiched between two girls, while your partner—

“I’m not late. I’m not late. I’m not late. I’m late— I mean I’m not— FUCK!” Han’s voice suddenly echoed in the distance as you heard the harsh sound of footsteps approaching. Words rambled out of our best friend's mouth as he pushed through the double doors of the dance hall gripping onto the penny board in his hand for dear life. “I am one hundred percent on time and totally did not accidentally hit like three people on my way over here!”

He put his bag next to yours and Felix’s before resting his board against the wall. He accidentally leaned it the wrong way though, wheels sliding down against the plastered wall causing the end of the board to slam into his ankle. He let out a small yelp then grumbled a swear as he flipped the skateboard over and placed it down correctly with the wheels pointed outward.

The class laughed at the ordeal, while you.. Well, let’s just say you’ve seen him do worse.

When he finally walked over in your direction, you sighed.

“A whole minute before class started,” you remarked. “Proud of you.”

Jisung rolled his eyes as he moved to stand behind you. “I told you I was gonna try to not be late anymore. I keep my promises, bitch.”

The teacher walked past, glaring at him as the swear left his lips. His deep brown eyes widened in fright, immediately bowing as he stammered out apology after apology. The instructor chuckled a bit and patted Han on the shoulder.

“Glad you could join us on time today, Jisung,” she teased.

You’ve never seen Han calm down so fast.

*•.¸♡¸.•*

The class went along like normal.

After basic warm-ups and barre training, the class shifted over— moving onto centre work, then across-the-floor exercises.

Eventually, the teacher clapped her hands together and instructed everyone to get into their assigned pairs. You and Jisung eyed one another deucedly, slowly approaching each other until your nose was about eye level with his chin. 

“You gonna drop me again?” You mumbled a bit sternly.

Jisung scoffed, a nervous eye roll followed. “Wouldn’t dream about it, princess.”

There was a bit of tension between the two of you, friendly and understanding but still there. With a raise of your brown, Han then slowly made his way around you, placing a hand on your waist as you prepared to lift yourself onto tip-toes.

Par de Deux was one of your favorite types of dance. It was one of the reasons you even decided to become a dance major, in fact. Most partnered dances in ballet were often symbolic of romantical stories or inherent partnerships of love. The women seeming light as a feather as the men danced with them through their acts of enamored virtue. Holding them up as if they were an ethereal cloud to be held.

Feeling a person’s weight and properly handling it was an essential part of Par de Deux. You were responsible for holding your placement. That is your job. Your partner is the one responsible for keeping you on your legs, making you look controlled and winsome— holding you in place, lifting you, and caressing your body like a beautiful flower.

Seeing something so beautiful became so intriguing, you trained to go on Pointe just to one day finally have a dance partner worthy of that partnership. Someone who could make you feel as light as a feather.

You had only experienced this euphoria with two people so far. Once with Minho when you both practiced together a year or two back and once with Yeonjun. Both men, despite their smaller frame, were actually quite strong and full of unswerving confidence.  But you could never be Minho’s partner though; the two of you bickered too much and were way too competitive with one another.

That's why you missed having Yeonjun as a partner. In your head, you were his feather.

And as much as you loved Han… He wasn’t necessarily the strongest.

Thus why after a few balancing exercises, when the instructor tested the waters and asked pairs to attempt a simple turn-around lift, you weren’t surprised when Jisung let go of you halfway through the turn.

You fell to the ground briefly as Han panicked and scrambled to pick you up. He managed to get you back on your feet in record time, but not fast enough for the teacher to not notice.

The music abruptly ended and the room fell silent. The loud sound of the instructor’s heels reverberated through the room hauntingly as she made her way over to where you and Jisung stood. Han’s eyes were facing the floor, his hands still on your waist as you stood flat-footed once again, cringing at the very thought of what was going to happen next.

When the teacher gave a disappointed sigh, you could feel Han’s grip on you tighten slightly.

“What am I going to do with you?” Her words came out more concerned than annoyed, which you were grateful for. “I thought pairing you with Y/N would be for the better, but I’m proven wrong each time I look over and spot her on the floor.”

No words came out of Han’s mouth as he stood there semi-ashamed. His eyes looked up briefly, pupils dilated with puppy-like sadness. He opened his mouth to say something—probably to apologize profusely—but was cut off by the sound of the dance hall door opening and closing.

Everyone’s heads snapped immediately in the direction of the sound, yours included.

At the entrance stood a man holding a piece of paper folded in half in one hand, while the other gripped the handles of a duffle bag that was slung around his shoulders. He wore a fitted black T-shirt paired with black joggers and black-framed glasses to match his ensemble. His shirt hugged his broad shoulders along with his chest—something you couldn’t quite take your eyes off of.

He was cute, and buff, and awkward… an adorable combo.

When the teacher greeted him and asked him why he had barged in unannounced, his hold on the paper faltered.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… um…” He took a deep breath, holding the paper out in front of him. “I was just told to bring this referral to you. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“A referral, hm?” The instructor said, looking over the paper that had been handed to her.

The boy nodded. 

“Coach Park said I needed a bit more cross-training to help balance out some things I need to improve on when it comes to the field. A friend of mine told me you had a spot open, so I went to the admin to get a referral for an add code,” he paused. “You know, if the spot is still open.”

“Coach Park? So you’re on the football team?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The teacher’s eyes hovered over him, then over to where you and Han stood. You could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“Han,” the teacher spoke, “go stand in the corner.”

Jisung’s eyes widened as a small, sad pout formed on his face.

“What?”

“You… Stand in the corner next to Regina… Now, please.”

Big boba pearls frosted over with sadness and confusion met your own eyes as Han complied with the teacher's instructions. He walked over to where Yeonjun stood, giving a small apology as he stood next to one of his partners. The guy in the doorway stood there awkwardly as he watched the whole ordeal.

Wasn’t long before he was picked on as well, though. 

When the instructor’s gaze landed on the stocky boy once again, she gave a simple statement asking him to stand next to you. As he did, you realized he wasn’t much taller than you. Not quite your height, not really as tall as Jisung was, but somewhere in between.

“Now pick her up.”

The words spewed out of the teacher's mouth without any hesitation.

A quick nod from the boy, followed by hands hovering around your waist ensued. You could feel the slight warmth from his breath against your neck as he stood behind you contemplating what to do next.

“Can I… Um…” his voice trailed off. “I mean, are you okay with me touching you?”

The sincerity of the question took you by surprise, bringing a bit of blush to your face as you bobbed your head in approval.

Within seconds you were picked up and lifted off your feet with ease. You remained stagnant in the air for a beat or two, feet high enough from the ground that you could almost kick them back and forth, before being placed back down. The fact that he was able to lift you without even so much as a second thought shocked and flustered you to the point of no return.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you glanced over to see Felix and Hyunjin snickering in their spots about your demeanor. You made sure to keep note of that for later.

It seemed that ordeal was enough for your instructor, as she agreed to let the man join your class as long as he agreed to be your new dance partner. Obviously, he said yes.

You could hear Han pout a bit in his little corner, whom of which you mouthed the words ‘sorry’ and ‘I love you’ to and got a sad smile in return.

Class promptly ended soon after that.

As you, Minho, Hyunjin, and Han all grabbed your things, it became very obvious someone from your group was missing.

There he was, Mr. Lee Yongbook, giddily standing with Yeonjun as they both waited for the mystery man to get his add code. You had never seen either of them interact with the dude before, but when he went over and gave them both a hug it was obvious they were more than just acquaintances. 

When his little welcome party dispersed, you decided to finally make your way over to your new soon-to-be dance partner and properly introduce yourself.

All that came out of you though was a cringe-worthy wave and an awkward, “Hi.”

A big smile appeared on his face as he shifted from one foot to the other. Like before, you recognized he wasn’t much taller than you. But the inch difference matched with his muscles made it very easy for you to feel small.

“Hi,” he beamed, “so I guess you and I are partners now.”

“Yep,” you responded before promptly pointing in the direction behind you. “And.. you know Felix?”

“Yeah. He’s best friends with one of my close friends. Plus he’s the mascot so everyone on the team kinda knows him.”

“Right… Right.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, cool.”

“My name’s Changbin, by the way.”

He held out a hand for you to shake and you took it. After a moment or two, you both realized you had been holding hands for a little too long and let go. A laugh was shared in unison, as the strange tension that was created between the both of you lingered a bit. It was uncomfortable, but not in any way you had ever really felt before. 

It was exciting? … Maybe?

After agreeing to meet up over the next few days to help Changbin catch up on some things he missed in the class, he grabbed his duffel bag and headed off. You let him know how serious dance was for you, which he understood. He explained how he would typically have football practice right after ballet class was over, but promised he would always try to randevu before leaving. You thanked him for his reassurance.

You watched him exit through the dance hall entrance and simply stood there in an unwavering daze as you stared at his back muscles, remembering the events from earlier. He picked you up like it was nothing. He was polite. And, now that you had seen him face to face, he was actually pretty cute.

Perhaps you finally found someone who could make you feel like a feather after all.

DING!

Thanks to the abrupt texts Seungmin sent to your group chat, you finally snapped out of it.

Seungmin: bitches. Seungmin: in n out. now. Seungmin: advice column kicking my ass. Seungmin: need fuel. Seungmin: hang out with me.

“Oh so now he wants to love us,” Han pouted as he stared at his screen.

taglist: @marcillfll @jiisungllvr @chrizzlaptop @babrieeee @soupbinlily @pissmori @chlodavids @marnz1990

[rhondafromhr]

Lautity shippers I’m working on something for you!!

Not done yet but I wanted to share this snippet of what I have so far <3

(Also content warning: it’s pretty brief but it does deal with homophobia/internalized homophobia)

Summary: When Solomon decides raising her grades isn’t enough to get her phone back and demands Stephanie round out her extracurriculars, she maliciously complies by joining Grace in her anti-homecoming campaign. After all, yelling at her classmates about spunk and trying to get their dance canceled won’t be very good for his precious public image. Grace is glad to have the extra help, but gets more than she bargained for when she starts to develop feelings for Stephanie.

Stephanie’s hands are twitching. Somewhere out there, somebody is certainly posting the worst, most horrendous take known to man on Twitter at this very moment and here she is without her phone, powerless to do anything about it. It’s such bullshit. Her dad said that if she raised her grades to a C average, she could have it back, but at the last minute he decided that wasn’t enough and demanded she start rounding out her currently lackluster list of extracurriculars. In her opinion, spitting cold hard facts and spicy hot takes online totally counts (it’s basically journalism if you think about it), but he emphatically disagreed. She has to do something she can actually put on a college application, which means smoke club is off the table. To make matters worse, she made the mistake of complaining to Stacy and Brenda about her predicament and they’ve decided she just has to join cheer.

“Seriously, just try the new cheer with us and see how you like it! I mean you’re pretty, you’re popular, why aren’t you a cheerleader already?” says Brenda.

“Uh, doesn’t it also require, like, dance skills and athleticism and enthusiasm?” Steph says with a skeptical look.

“Oh, you can learn all that stuff,” Stacy says cheerfully.

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but isn’t it too late to join?” Stephanie replies, increasingly desperate for some way to end this conversation.

“Technically, yeah, but I’m captain! I’m sure I can talk coach into making an exception for you,” Brenda says “seriously, just give it a try and tell us you don’t absolutely love it!”

“Do I really need to try it to tell you I don’t absolutely love it? I’ve never tried, like, squeezing lemon juice into an open wound, either, but I’m pretty confident I don’t like that.”

They both purse their lips in confusion, pausing just long enough for her salvation to arrive - fittingly enough, in the form of Grace. Honestly, the least she can do is help Stephanie out of this jam. Her inability to butt out and let people cheat on tests in peace is the reason Stephanie’s even in this situation in the first place. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she almost made them all complicit in manslaughter with that stupid prank. If Pete dove to catch Max even a fraction of a second later, she doesn’t want to think about what would’ve happened. Then again, Max’s brush with death seems to have humbled him and he’s at least been trying to be less of an asshole, so she supposes she has to give Grace credit for making Hatchetfield High a more tolerable place to be. Besides that, whether she likes it or not, they’re running in the same circles now. Steph’s been spending more time with Pete and Pete hangs out with Ruth and Richie, who hang out with Grace, so they’re stuck together, at least at lunch. To make things even weirder, Max has been joining them and those four have been letting him.

“Hey! Grace!” Stephanie calls with uncharacteristic enthusiasm as Grace rounds the corner, her “Homec*mming: don’t dance with temptation!” sign held high.

“Hi, Stephanie,” she says, eyeing her suspiciously “I assume you haven’t changed your mind about allowing that excuse for sin and debauchery to happen?”

“I, uh, you know what? Yes I have,” says Stephanie. Surprise flashes across Grace’s face before she hands over the pink glitter gel pen attached to her clipboard so Stephanie can sign. There’s something so strangely charming about the fact that she uses a freaking glitter gel pen of all things for this.

“Actually,” Stephanie says as she puts down her signature with a flourish “I was wondering if you needed any help with your campaign.”

It’s brilliant. She can fulfill her father’s extracurricular requirement and simultaneously make him regret ever asking her to do it. He’s constantly hounding her about not doing anything to smear his public image and hurt his chances of reelection. Joining Grace in going around school harassing all of her peers and telling them they’re going to hell for supporting homecoming is going to reflect very, very poorly on him. Not to mention how pissed off everyone will be if they actually succeed in canceling the dance. They won’t, but a girl can dream. What’s more, the Chasitys are fairly powerful members of the community and crossing them by suddenly ditching their daughter when she promised to help her is also going to make him look bad. It’s a lose-lose situation for her father and, therefore, win-win for her. See, she is pretty damn smart, no matter what he says.

Grace eyes her suspiciously. “You want to help? You? Why the sudden change of heart?”

Shit, how is she going to explain it? There’s no way Grace is going to believe she suddenly saw the light and became a prude overnight.

“I, just, uh, realized I wasn’t being very open-minded to your worldview. Think of it as a gesture of goodwill. Besides, we’re friends, right? Comrades. Classmates. Nighthawks. And Nighthawks gotta stick together, so if canceling the dance is really all that important to you, then what the hell- heck! I mean heck! I’ll help you out.”

“Well, it has been pretty lonely trying to do it all by myself,” Grace admits, “alright, I guess you can join.”

Stacy and Brenda have been watching this play out, periodically turning to each other to exchange bewildered looks. They only become more confused when Stephanie asks them to sign the petition, too. Brenda shrugs and accepts the pen, writing down her name in perfectly neat cursive. She’s stoked for the homecoming game and pep rally, but she couldn’t care less about the dance right now. It’s been two weeks since Max almost died or whatever and promised to stop bossing everybody around, meaning there’s nothing stopping Kyle from asking her out. So why hasn’t he? She’s been watching grand, romantic hoco proposals at lunch every single day and slowly losing hope that he has one planned for her. Stacy immediately follows suit. Steph and Brenda signed, so she’s obviously going to. She doesn’t want to be the odd one out.

“Wow, three signatures! That’s more than I’ve gotten the entire time I’ve been doing this! Steph, you’re incredible!” The way Grace’s face lights up is almost endearing and Stephanie has to admit that it’s nice to get some praise and recognition for once.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Steph replies with a faint, mischievous smirk.

Before they part ways to head to their next class, Stephanie finds herself agreeing to go to Grace’s after school. Apparently, if she’s serious about this, she needs her own sign to carry around.

“It’ll be fun, Steph,” Grace insists “think of it like arts and crafts!”

“My favorite,” Stephanie says flatly as they load Grace’s pink Schwinn into the backseat of her car.

It turns out that the Chasity household is all the way across town. Grace must be surprisingly athletic if she makes that commute on her bike twice a day. It sits in a cul de sac lined with near-identical two-story houses, complete with perfectly maintained green lawns and white picket fences. It’s exactly how Stephanie would have pictured it. At least it is until they go upstairs to Grace’s bedroom and she sees that the door’s been removed from his hinges.

“I know open floor plans are trendy right now, but this seems like overkill,” she says “why do you just, like, straight up not have a bedroom door?”

“Oh, I’m not allowed to,” Grace says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world “my parents are worried I might get up to some inappropriate activities unsupervised.”

“Inappropriate? You?” Steph says “what, are they afraid you’re gonna stay up until eight forty-five instead of eight thirty doing bible study?”

The joke is lost on Grace.

“No, Steph, really bad stuff! Like…” she pauses and looks around as if to make sure they’re alone, then lowers her voice to a whisper “…reading lewd magazines or touching myself.”

This explains a lot about Grace. Despite herself, Stephanie can’t help but feel bad for her. Along with that comes a slight, unexpected sense of kinship. She knows a thing or two about overly controlling parents. Sure, Solomon ignores her ninety percent of the time, but the ten percent he doesn’t, he’s always on her ass about something she should be doing or shouldn’t be doing or needs to be doing differently.

Grace’s small bedroom is immaculately clean and organized. It consists of a twin-sized bed in the corner with a pastel pink and blue quilt, a small desk and a largely empty bookshelf lined with only a small handful of church-approved reading material. Stephanie’s eyes are drawn to the figure of Jesus on the crucifix hanging on the door.

“What’s with the sweater?” she asks “is that some kind of obscure biblical reference I don’t get?”

“Oh, no,” Grace replies “I just knitted that for him ‘cause I think he needs to cover up. I get that he died for our sins, but he doesn’t need to have his nips out to do it.”

Stephanie stifles a laugh as they settle down on the floor with their posterboard and Grace’s impressive collection of colorful markers and get to work on her sign. To make things more interesting, she challenges herself to come up with the worst possible slogan and get Grace to approve it.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” she says, snapping her fingers “how about ‘homecoming? More like hell going.’”

“I like that,” says Grace “it really gets the point across. You’re pretty smart, Steph.” If her eyes water at that, it’s just allergies. Despite the cleanliness of the room, Grace must have forgotten to dust it recently. Yeah. That’s it.

Stephanie doesn’t get much sleep that night. With no Twitter fights to distract her, she simply stares at the ceiling until two in the morning thinking about the surprising amount of fun she had hanging out with Grace today and the glance she got into Grace’s home life that awakened a new sense of sympathy for the school snitch. Given how ludicrously strict the Chasitys seem to be, her existence is probably totally devoid of typical teenage mischief. She probably hasn’t so much as snuck out for a late-night convenience store run. It’ll take some convincing, but maybe Steph can change that.

God, who is she? Why is she lying here actually thinking about willingly spending time with Grace? The lack of screen time must be messing with her head. She always thought getting off of that cesspool of an app would improve her brain function, but apparently not. She needs her phone back, pronto. She just has to survive the next couple weeks first.

The second she wakes up, Stephanie realizes she’s going to fall asleep in class without the help of caffeine. She stops off at that singing coffee shop and gets her usual, a black americano with seven shots. She’s not sure they’re even legally allowed to serve that much caffeine in one drink, but they always indulge her. Being the mayor’s daughter does have its perks. On a whim, she decides to get an herbal peach tea for Grace. She double checks that it’s caffeine free and watches the barista vigilantly to make sure she doesn’t spit in it as it’s rumored they sometimes do here. It’s not like she wants to, but they agreed to touch base before class and it would be rude not to bring her anything. Solomon may be a shitty dad, but he raised her to have manners, damnit.

Grace is waiting for her on the steps in front of the school and accepts the tea almost cautiously, tentatively taking a sip once Stephanie reassures her that it doesn’t contain what she refers to as a gateway drug. Stephanie actually googled it once to try and prove her wrong and learned that caffeine is, in fact, technically a drug, even if she still doesn’t believe it’s a slippery slope to smoking “the devil’s lettuce” like Grace insists it is. No wonder she gets headaches when she doesn’t drink her seven shot americano. Huh, Grace might almost have a point.

“Oh, that’s really good,” she says brightly “I usually just drink plain hot water, but this is way better. I think it might be my new favorite. Thanks, Steph!”

Stephanie decides not to wonder why she’s so pleased that Grace liked it or why her heart flutters a little at the thought that it’s Grace’s new favorite. Maybe it’ll become her go-to order and she’ll think of Stephanie every time she drinks it.

“Alright, we’ve got like ten minutes before classes start, let’s get this show on the road,” Steph says. She sets her sights on a couple nerds climbing up the steps, engaged in a conversation about some TV show about a time traveling doctor.

“Hey,” she says “Rita! TJ!”

“It’s, uh, it’s Reese and PJ,” the one with the pigtails and the glasses says nervously. They both look a little terrified of her, which makes sense. She does run with the jocks and cheerleaders who were probably picking on them until recently.

“Right,” she says, trying to emulate her father’s constituent charming smile “say, you don’t want your tax dollars funding a school-sanctioned fuckfest, do you?”

“Steph! Language,” Grace scolds her.

“Uh,” Reese replies, clearly distressed and confused.

“We’re high schoolers,” says PJ, equally uncertain “I mean, I have, like, a part-time job at the bookstore, so I guess I’m technically a taxpayer? Look, is this some new type of bullying? Because it’s making me really uncomfortable, I’d honestly rather you just gave me a swirly and got it over with.”

“PJ!” Reese says “speak for yourself! I don’t want a swirly. I’ll take the weird experimental bullying.”

“Oh, perish the thought! It’s not bullying. We’re out here trying to save souls,” Stephanie says dramatically “as a wise woman once said, homecoming is just an excuse to dry hump in the gym. We can’t allow that such depravity and debauchery to take place. Not at our school. Sign this petition to keep the hallways free of sin and the gym floor free of spunk.” She’s actually having a blast hamming it up like this. Maybe she should look into drama club. She turns to look at Grace, who’s positively beaming and giving her two thumbs up.

“If we, uh, if we sign your petition, will you leave us alone?” PJ asks, shrinking back from Stephanie and hiding behind Reese.

“Deal,” Steph says, already handing her the glitter gel pen. She and Reese hastily sign and book it to get away from her.

It gets better from there. She catches Brad Callahan in the hallway and harasses him to sign, too. When he refuses on the grounds that Sarah Peterson agreed to go with him and they’re “totally going to get to third base”, she gets to channel her inner Grace and tell him he’s going to burn in hell. If there is an afterlife similar to what’s posited in the bible, she honestly does believe he will, but for entirely different reasons.

“Have fun letting the devil lick your skin clean off with his sandpaper tongue,” she calls after him. God, that was cathartic.

By the end of the week, half the school is thoroughly annoyed by her and Grace’s proselytizing and the other half have, by some miracle, actually agreed to sign that damn petition. Every day, she comes up with another excuse (reason. They’re valid reasons) to hang out with Grace after school. They have to make new flyers to hand out. They have to make pamphlets to educate people on the safety hazard of bodily fluids on the gym floor. Now that they’re getting serious traction, they have to discuss how to bring the petition to the principal and then, potentially, the school board.

It was only a matter of time before Solomon caught wind of all this and confronted her. She gets home from drafting their proposal for principal Blim to find him waiting up for her in the living room, a scowl on his face. It gives her slight deja vu for the day her precious smartphone was taken from her.

“Well, if it isn’t my October surprise.”

“Oh, hi, Dad. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she says mockingly.

“Don’t get cute with me,” he says “care to explain why I’m getting phone calls from your school about you trying to cancel the homecoming dance and yelling at your classmates about ‘spunk’?”

“You were the one who told me to round out my extracurriculars,” she replies with a smug grin “I’m helping Grace Chasity with her campaign. Haven’t you heard? Homecoming is just a disgusting excuse to dry hump in the gym.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Stephanie, I meant a real extracurricular. Volleyball! German club! Yearbook! Anything but whatever the hell this is!”

“What’s the big deal?” she says “you were so worried what people would think of my nocturnal activities when that rumor started going around and now it’s not an issue anymore. Everyone knows I’m strictly anti-sex.”

“Well, you’re going to knock it off this instant if you don’t want me to smash your phone with a hammer for real.”

“Okay. Done,” she says, pausing for effect before grinning evilly and adding, “oh, you know what. I just thought of something. The Chasitys are a pretty big deal in the community, huh? Pretty important in the church. They’re not going to be too happy with me if I ditch their daughter and leave her out to dry when I promised I’d help her, are they?”

Solomon throws his hands up and lets out an exasperated groan.

“You’re killing me, Stephanie!” he says “you’re killing me with what you’re doing!”

“If only, Dad. If only,” she says quietly, still smirking as he retreats to his study.

Grace climbs out of bed and stretches, feeling slightly groggy from sleeping in an extra half hour. Steph’s giving her a ride today, meaning she didn’t have to get up quite so early to give herself time to bike to school. She usually doesn’t mind it - she likes getting the fresh air and the way it quiets her usually racing mind - but it’s pouring rain today and she’d much rather be inside a warm, dry car. Steph’s company doesn’t hurt, either. She knows their relationship is strictly business, but she’s been having fun with Steph and she’s starting to think of her as an actual friend. She wonders if Steph feels the same way. She’s never had many friends before, so it’s hard to tell. She gets dressed, brushes her teeth, washes her face and even puts on some of that moisturizer Steph gave her to try when she complained about her dry skin. She goes downstairs and toasts up two blueberry bagels, spreading cream cheese onto them and placing one neatly into a Tupperware container for Steph. She always oversleeps and misses breakfast, so Grace has been trying to bring her something reasonably nutritious every day. It’s the least she can do with how much Steph has helped her recently.

Stephanie pulls up in front of her house and she climbs into the car, immediately relaxed by the feeling of the heat blasting and the sound of soft jazz playing on the stereo.

“I like the music,” Grace comments.

“Yeah, I thought it’d fit the cozy rainy day vibes,” says Steph.

“It is cozy,” Grace agrees.

���So, two hundred signatures, huh?” Steph says “did you ever think you’d get that far?”

“No,” says Grace “not in my wildest dreams. I never could have done it on my own. I’m nowhere near as convincing as you. If you can believe it, a lot of people say I come on a little strong.”

“What? No way!” Stephanie says in a lighthearted, teasing manner. “Maybe you do, but that’s not always a bad thing,” she adds after a moment with a rare fond, sincere smile.

The heat must be turned up a little too high, because Grace can feel her face flushing. They arrive at school and as Stephanie reaches into the backseat to grab her bag, Grace wonders what it would be like to lean in and kiss her. How soft her lips would be and whether she’d taste bitter from all that coffee she slams. Oh, heck. Oh, no.

She shoves that thought deep down into the recesses of her mind where it belongs. She tells Steph they should divide and conquer instead of sticking together today, claiming it’s because they’re running out of time and they need to cover as much ground as possible. She isn’t sure, but she could swear Steph looks a little sad. Despite her efforts, her mind keeps wandering back to that moment in the car as she traverses the hallway trying to collect more signatures at lunch. She’d give anything for some kind of distraction right now. Well, ask and you shall receive, as they say. Max approaches and, as usual, he brightens up when he sees her.

“Hey, Grace,” he says cheerfully, absolutely enraptured by her “what are you doin’?”

“Hi, Max,” she says absently, too wrapped up in her current crisis to scold him for leering at her like that “getting the dance canceled, same as usual.”

“Where are you headed? Maybe I could, uh, carry your books for you? If you want. No pressure. Or we could just walk together,” he says with a bright, hopeful smile.

“Max, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, we’re way too young for that! Besides, if you don’t change your ways, you’re already hellbound. You don’t need to make things worse for yourself by associating with a sinner like me.”

Max furrows his brow in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re, like, the biggest prude in school.”

She feels tears pricking at her eyes. “That’s really sweet of you to say, Max, but you don’t understand. I think I like someone. Like, like-like them.”

“Is it me?” he asks, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. She gives him an incredulous look.

“No,” she says. His face falls slightly, but there’s no time to dwell on his disappointment now. Who the hell is this guy, anyway? He’s going to kick his ass- wait, no. No, he’s not. Grace is her own person and she’s allowed to go out with whoever she wants. It’s not this mystery dude’s fault if she likes him and not Max.

“That’s the thing,” she continues, “that someone’s a girl, too!”

The tears flow freely now and she begins to sob quietly. Max’s eyes go wide and he freezes up like a deer in headlights. He has no idea how to handle this. Until recently, he made people cry on a near daily basis, usually deliberately. Getting them to stop crying, on the other hand, is uncharted territory.

“Aw, Grace, c’mon, don’t cry,” he starts. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much. “I’ll sign your petition! I’ll make everybody sign your petition! How’s that sound? No homecoming! No spunk on the gym floor!” When she doesn’t even respond to that, he knows it’s serious. “Lots of people like girls. I like girls! Who doesn’t? They’re great.”

She sniffles. “Yeah, b-but you’re a boy. You’re supposed to!”

He pauses. “Well, I don’t bring it up a lot, but I like guys, too. See, you’re not alone. We’re, like, uh, what’s the phrase? Like two peas in a pod,” he says, trying to sound gentle and reassuring, which is also uncharted territory for him. She pauses and looks at him for a second.

“Oh, gosh,” she says and starts bawling even harder. He winces and realizes he’s in way over his head. It’s time to message Ruth and Richie for backup.

Grace is crying, plz help

He receives a string of incredibly graphic threats and knife emojis from both of them in response and adds, I swear I didn’t do it!! At least not on purpose!!

Yeah well there’s a difference between intent and impact bitch. Smh have you already forgotten the anti bullying assembly??? Richie replies but yeah meet us in the AV classroom, it’s empty rn

He leads Grace there and Ruth and Richie await them. She sniffles and takes a seat. Ruth hands her a water bottle and Richie gives her a small pack of tissues. He always carries some around to dab the sweat from his forehead. It’s not like they’re very useful for him, anyway. They usually end up disintegrating from becoming so soaked.

“You wanna tell us what’s wrong, Grace?” Richie asks.

She tugs at the sleeve of Max’s letterman, looking at him with red, puffy eyes. His chest tightens. It’s hard to see her like this, so sad and scared and drained. His face forms a puzzled expression as he tries to figure out what she’s trying to communicate until he finally realizes.

“Oh,” he says “you want me to tell ‘em?” She nods, still dabbing at her eyes with the tissues. “She’s sad ‘cause she likes a girl. But there’s nothing wrong with that, right? Who doesn’t like girls?”

“Uh, me,” says Richie.

“Oh, right, sorry, Richie,” Max corrects himself, looking a little sheepish.

“Preach!” says Ruth, raising her hand to high five Max. He enthusiastically returns it. “If girls loving girls is wrong, then I don’t want to be right! See, Grace, you’re not alone. You’re just like me. Two peas in a pod!”

Grace buries her face in her hands and starts bawling again.

He looks at Ruth and Richie with slight indignation.

“See,” he says “it’s not so easy, is it?” His point made, he turns to watch Grace helplessly. Grace, who was the mastermind behind the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him, even if he did later find out that it was an admittedly well deserved revenge prank. Grace, who didn’t have to be his friend and probably shouldn’t even be giving him the time of day after the way he treated her, but still does anyway. Grace, who’s usually so opinionated and snarky and passionate, always fired up about something and never shy about it, regardless of what other people think.

He’s been learning to accept that he can’t control every little thing. That trying to have power over everything and everybody was deeply unhealthy and all it really accomplished apart from a fleeting power trip was making everybody miserable and secretly resentful of him. It’s hard letting go, but it’s also been liberating. The powerlessness he feels right now is crushing, though. There’s nothing freeing about it. He can’t stand sitting here watching his friend break down because she thinks that some fundamental part of herself is wrong. He wants to fight the people who made her feel this way, but he suspects that particular list is too extensive for him to work his way through. What good would it do now, anyway? Maybe it’s finally time to take the advice of the exhausted, overworked second grade teacher who was definitely not paid enough to put up with all of his shit and use his words instead of hitting. Better late than never, as they say.

“Grace,” he says gently, not even sure where he’s going with this, but unable to stand the silence anymore “we’re, uh, we’re here for you, alright? It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! No it’s not,” she cries in a strained, hoarse voice “even if it’s true that there’s nothing wrong with liking girls, my parents sure don’t think so! What’s gonna happen to me if they find out? They’ll probably make me go live at abstinence camp with the Jerries for the rest of my life!”

“Well, we’re eighteen, right?” says Ruth “they can’t make you.”

“And if they try, you’ll just come live with me instead,” says Richie “uncle Paul would be more than cool with it. He loves you. He says you’re a good influence because you don’t let me blow off my homework to watch anime and you make me go to bed before three in the morning.”

“Well, you need your eight hours,” she says with a soft and sincere, but tired smile “thanks, guys. That does make me feel a little better.” She tentatively pulls Richie into a hug, not caring about the stench or how damp he is. Ruth, of course, eagerly joins in, not about to miss the opportunity for human contact. Max stays put and looks at them with hesitation, not sure if they want him to join.

“What are you doing, Max?” says Grace “get in here.” Well, that answers his question. He still holds back, watching Ruth and Richie for their reactions.

“It’s only fair,” says Richie with a smirk “you did make her cry.” He scowls, but there’s no real malice behind it. He comes over and wraps his arms around them tight.

With Grace sufficiently cheered up, there’s still one question on everyone’s minds.

“So, who’s the lucky lady?” says Ruth “wait, it’s not me, is it?”

“What? No,” she says, her signature snark finally making a comeback.

“It’s okay, Ruth. I got shot down, too,” says Max “two peas in a pod!” They high five again.

“It’s Steph,” she finally admits.

“Makes sense,” says Richie “she is waifu material.” Ruth nods in agreement.

“Waifu material?” Max asks, furrowing his brow in confusion again. Richie places a hand on each of his shoulders and looks at him with an intense, solemn expression.

“I have much to teach you,” he says “come over after football practice, we’re watching all the classics. We’ll start you off with Ouran, I feel like it’s pretty approachable for a beginner.”

Ruth grabs his arm. “What? No fair, I still haven’t gotten to show him Star Wars. Come over to mine, Max, we’re watching the prequels.”

“The prequels, Ruth? Seriously? As if subjecting him to the trilogy isn’t bad enough.”

“Well, what do you know, you won’t even sit through one episode of Clone Wars with me!”

As they continue to bicker, a warmth blooms in his chest. They actually want to spend time with him to the point of arguing over who gets to. They want to be around him when they don’t have to. They like him. They’re not just sticking around out of fear. They trust him enough to invite him into their homes. To ask him to share in the nerdy interests he used to make fun of them for. He smiles softly and pulls them into another hug.

“We can do both,” he says.

“Ugh, fine,” Richie huffs, but a reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Hey, Grace, you want to join us?” Max asks “oh, we should invite Steph and Pete, too!”

“Oh, I appreciate the invite, but I have my bible study group tonight.” That much is true. She is supposed to meet up with Mary, Gabe and Noah later to study scripture. She’s not sure she can face them after her realization today, but if she skips, her parents are sure to hear about it. Besides that, the alternative of joining them for their movie night and facing Peter is only slightly less daunting. It’s obvious that he like-likes Steph, too. She’s worried it’s going to make things awkward between them. What if Steph likes her and not Peter and he ends up getting hurt? What if Steph likes Peter and not Grace and she has to watch them hold hands and make eyes at each other and stuff down her heartbreak and pretend she never wanted any of those things?

[teenwolfmarvel-obsessor]

And They Were Twins

Full Masterlist | Teen Wolf Masterlist

Anonymous Request: Hi! Could you do an angsty, kinda Twin! Reader x brother best friend! Stiles? Where Scott’s not been a great brother and is never there for her, and Stiles notices and confronts him. (I swear I don’t want Scott to be evil; I just had a lightbulb moment today).

Summary: Being twins has its ups and downs. For you, it mainly consists of multiple 'downs'. You and Scott, your twin, were always close growing up, but since starting high school, he changed. He began not supporting you, not attending your track meets, and just overall not being there for you. Your best friend, Stiles, takes notice of it and doesn't hesitate to confront Scott, his other best friend.

Notes:

Y/N/N: Your Nick Name

You're a part of Beacon Hills' track team ;)

Warnings: slight language

Stiles Stilinski x-reader

(Third Person View)

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, putting her hair away from her face. She had exactly one hour until she had to leave for her track meet. Y/N overslept a bit but managed to wake up before her mom got mad at her. Y/N adjusted the strap of her tank top. Her mom lightly knocked on her door.

"Yeah?" Y/N grabbed the maroon headband from her vanity. Melissa, Y/N and Scott's mother, opened the door. "Hey, ready for the meet?" she asked. Y/N nodded and pulled out a few strands of hair, so it framed her face. Melissa leaned against the frame of the door with her arms crossed.

She smiled at her daughter, admiring as Y/N quickly applied some makeup, not that she needed it. Y/N looked up at her mother and noticed her expression. "What?" she said. Melissa sighed and stood up straight. "Scott isn't able to make it to your meet," she said. Y/N's shoulders dropped at the news.

That would've been the fourth meet that Scott has missed. It seemed as of lately that he was never at her events. Like, when she had a choir concert her freshmen year, Scott never showed up. Or, when she won an award at a school program, Scott wasn't there.

Now, it was their senior year, and Scott continued. Stiles was really the only one who noticed, but Y/N insisted that it was fine, stating that she was used to it at this point. It didn't matter that she and Scott were the same age, Y/N looked up to Scott in a way.

But now, she was beginning to question if she should be looking up to him. "Oh," was all Y/N had to say. "I'm sorry," her mother said. Y/N smiled softly and went back to getting herself ready. Melissa kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Y/N's phone vibrated from beside her. Stiles' silly face popped up on the screen, telling Y/N that he messaged her:

Billinski: Hey! Good luck today. Me and my dad are on our way.

Y/N: Great!

Billinski: Is Scott coming?

Y/N: No

Bilinski: Y/N/N, that's like the fifth time.

Y/N: Fourth time

Bilinski: Doesn't matter

Bilinski: We'll see you there tho!

She smiled at his messages and put her phone down, getting up from her vanity. Y/N grabbed her bag, dropping an extra pair of clothes and some other things she thought she might need. Her mother was waiting in the living room, playing some random game on her phone.

"Ready," Y/N said, slipping on her sneakers. Melissa grabbed her purse, and the two of them set off to the rival school. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, wishing that Scott was sitting in the back, but part of her knew that would never happen.

It didn't take long till they pulled into the parking lot. Y/N got out first, telling her mom that she'd see her later. Y/N joined her friends on the side where their coach waited patiently. Sally and Becca, Y/N's teammates, high-fived Y/N as they walked over.

Their coach gave them his normal pep talk, reminding them who was doing each event. Y/N was happy that she was doing hurdles and distance medley, two things she was good at. A few minutes passed and it was time for the meet to start.

Y/N stood in her spot. Her friends stood on either side of her. She spotted her mom, Stiles, Mr. Stilinski, and Lydia in the stands. Stiles gave Y/N a thumbs up while Lydia screamed Y/N's name. Y/N smiled and turned her head to the man on the side.

He raised his hand, and the race started, beginning with the distance medley. Y/N started off slow before gaining enough speed to run past her opponents. She breathed in and out, controlling her breathing when she began to feel her legs ache. The end of the medley came, landing her in tenth place.

She rested her hands on her hips, catching her breath. Her family and friends cheered her on from the stands. Sally, Becca, and Y/N exchanged a fist bump before turning their attention to the other events. Next came the hurdles, Y/N's second and last event of the meet.

Y/N took a quick sip of her water before joining the other girls. She let out a heavy sigh, positioning herself like she always did. Then the whistle blew, and everyone was off. She jumped over each hurdle, careful not to brush the top. Y/N thought she was careful enough, but her foot collided with the top of the hurdle.

She stumbled forward, her arms meeting the track before the hurdle fell on her leg. The cheering of the crowd paused, along with everyone who was running the event. Y/N winced, trying to get the hurdle off her leg. Her coach and the nurse ran over to where Y/N sat.

The nurse set a hand on Y/N's shoulder, looking at her ankle. "Okay, honey, let's get you up," the nurse said. Y/N winced when she was lifted from the ground with the help of the nurse and her coach. Melissa didn't hesitate to run down the bleachers with the others following.

________

(Later At The Hospital. Third Person View)

Y/N laid on the hospital bed, her leg elevated. She hadn't realized how hard she hit her foot and leg on the hurdle, mainly focusing on how it felt to have everyone's eyes on her once she fell. Stiles and Lydia hadn't left Y/N's side since they arrived at the hospital.

Her mother was out speaking with the doctor. Thankfully, it didn't appear that Y/N had been severely injured, but it still landed her with a low chance of participating in another track meet or practice.

"How're you feeling?" Lydia asked.

Y/N sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Stiles walked into the room with some snacks in hand. "Okay, the cafeteria didn't have many options, but I got the ones that I think you'd like," he said.

Stiles dropped the snacks at the table and passed a bag to Y/N. She chuckled, opening the bag of chips. "Any news?" he asked. "Not yet. Mrs. McCall is out speaking with the doctor," Lydia answered. Stiles nodded and sat on the bed, making sure he didn't sit on Y/N's foot.

They sat in silence for a bit, listening to the TV in the background. Lydia had put on a terrible Soap Drama but insisted that it was worth the watch. "Have you heard from Scott?" Lydia asked. Y/N sighed again, shaking her head in response. Lydia nodded and didn't say anything, knowing that it wouldn't do well.

Of course, Scott hadn't responded to Y/N's calls or messages. Melissa was pissed, to say the least, even leaving her son different messages and phone calls. Y/N couldn't help but notice Stiles' demeanor change when she answered with just a nod.

He let out a long sigh and threw the half-eaten chip bag into the trash. Stiles grabbed his sweatshirt from the chair, taking out his keys and phone. "Stiles, where are you going?" Lydia asked him. "I'll be back," he said.

"Stiles," Y/N spoke. He looked over his shoulder at Y/N, his face softening at the sight of her expression. He walked over and lightly kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back. I just gotta deal with something real quick," he said. And then he left, confusing both Y/N and Lydia. Lydia shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in the chair.

Meanwhile, Stiles had surprisingly found Y/N's brother. He didn't know what he was going to say to Scott, but he knew what he was feeling, which was frustration. Stiles got out of his Jeep and walked over to the Lacrosse field.

There Scott stood, practicing with Isaac on the other side of the field. "Scott!" Stiles shouted. They stopped what they were doing to turn their attention to Stiles. Scott's brows furrowed with arms swaying from side to side, a hand still holding his Lacrosse Stick.

"I need to talk to you," Stiles said.

Scott looked at Isaac and then back to Stiles, whose brows were raised. "Can't it wait?" Scott remarked. "No," Stiles shook his head. Isaac left the two of them, making his way over to the locker room. It was silent for a second before Stiles broke that pause.

"What the hell is your problem?"

Scott turned to Stiles, his brows now furrowed. He dropped the Lacrosse stick to cross his arms. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Stiles continued. Scott never responded. His arms crossed and brows furrowed said it all.

"Why aren't you ever there for Y/N?" Stiles said, "She does everything for you, yet you do nothing. Like, you missed her track meet for the fourth time. And, now, she's in the hospital. And, you would be there if you had known that."

Scott's face changed suddenly. Since starting high school, as usual with most teenagers, Scott's life changed but more unique than others. With everything that happened to him, Scott never realized how much of an impact it had on the people around him. And now, his twin sister was in the hospital.

Instead of him being in his own world, he'd actually be there for Y/N. Stiles watched as Scott thought to himself. "You're not even gonna say anything? I guess everything that I've said hasn't even made its way into your thick skull," Stiles remarked. Stiles left Scott on the field alone. He got back into his Jeep and headed to the hospital.

________

(Later)

"Good news, Ms. McCall," Doctor Williams said, standing beside the bed. Melissa held her daughter's hand as they listened to the doctor's update. "There doesn't appear to be anything severe. I would keep an eye out on it, it'll swell, but that should go down in a couple weeks," he said, "In the meantime, try to keep less pressure on it."

Dr. Williams explained a bit, stating that there would be a few bruises. Y/N smiled and sighed in relief. It would be a bit before she can join her track friends. Melissa left the room to sign out and get any medication that Y/N might need.

Scott walked down the hallway in his own thoughts. He felt guilty for not knowing about his sister's position. Scott lightly knocked on the door after finding out what room Y/N was in. She turned away from the conversation with Lydia and Stiles.

Her twin brother cleared his throat, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Stiles looked at Scott, a small smile appearing on his face when he knew that he had gotten through to Scott. He patted Scott on the shoulder as he left the room with Lydia behind him.

"Hey," Scott spoke softly. His sister sat up so Scott had more room to sit. He cleared his throat and broke the awkward pause. "I'm sorry, I don't know if it's too late," Scott said, "But I'm sorry for not being there."

He played with the frayed edge of his jacket. "I've been a complete asshole, and I know that," Scott said, "I guess... ever since I was bitten, everything around me changed. And that doesn't excuse what I've done to you and our friends, especially you."

Y/N softly smiled at her brother's apology. "And I promise that I'm going to be better, Y/N/N. I'm sorry, I really am," Scott finished. She set a hand on his shoulder.

Her action let Scott know that she accepted his apology. He was surprised that she even accepted it, but he was glad. She leaned over and hugged him. Scott sighed, hugging his sister tightly. "I love you, Y/N/N," Scott said. "Love you too," Y/N smiled.

[nirvanawrites111]

February Filth Fest (Hate sex with Yunho)

Word Count: 2005

Warning: Daddy kink, unprotected sex, piv, fingering, hair pulling, banter back and forth, mentions of Seonghwa and being with him. But its no cheating, oral(male receiving) , non idol au, pwp

"Don't bite my dick either," Yunho groans, and his metal belt clicks against the floor as his pants drop.

Your face tightens as his annoying complaints hit your ears. You purse your lips together, and your eyes roll. You grab his already hard dick and run your hand along the base.

He's lucky that he was the only person available at five in the morning. You have an hour before your morning shower.

"Yunho, please. When have I ever bitten your dick?" You work your hand along his length.

"Uh, not that I can remember. Maybe I'm confusing you with my other brown-skinned lover."

His tone is cocky, and you remember he's a whore, after all. Yunho is the only one on the list that you and your bestie agreed that he's worth it to break girl code. Besides, he's just community dick to you.

Your other lover, who is a bit easy on the tongue and can easily whisper the perfect words against your skin, didn't answer.

What the fuck could Seonghwa be doing? But, you know how much he hates double texts. So, here you are, desperate for his annoying roommate. The lines are so blurred you aren't sure why you haven't told Hwa about your "friendship" with Yunho.

He's more like a casual fuck. His mouth is a bit too slick for your liking. But, his dick. That is the reason you can ignore the tactless comments.

"Chile, whatever," you hiss and stroke him. You press your tongue around the base of his length. You swirl your tongue around it. Your mouth waters slightly at the sight of his thickness.

Yunho grabs the back of your head, and you work your mouth to find the perfect rhythm.

"Look at me," Yunho calls out to you.

But, the pride deep down inside of you wants to ignore him. You are only sucking his dick because it gets you extra wet. You would rather it be Seonghwa, your favorite sneaky link. But, beggars can't be choosers.

You continue to water your mouth around him and suck him at a fast pace. Your knees dig into your furry white rug. Moisture pools at your entrance, and you rub your thighs together since you can't touch yourself right now. Your left-hand cups and massages his balls. At the same time, your right-hand help you pump him faster.

This isn't your first time sucking him off, so at this point, you know what he likes.

"Y/n, look at me while my cock is in your mouth," Yunho says. He grabs your face.

There it is.

That sexy ass smirk on his face makes you a bit weak in the knees. You hate to admit how attractive this man is.

"Such a good girl," Yunho coaches you and rubs your hair. His touch against you is gentle, and you enjoy it when he praises you. Lowkey, you crave it.

Your pussy clenches when he touches you. You want to feel his fingers in your lower region. You want to come on his fingers, dick, and tongue. But, you have time constraints. You might be a bitch in heat, but the last thing you will be is late to work.

"Yess.. please keep sucking me like this, baby."

Baby?

His gentleness, and praising has your mind spinning. You love the affection he's showing you right now.

Yunho tilts his head as he watches you suck him in deeper. You love the way he's staring so intensely into you. Almost as if he sees you for who you truly are.

A whore.

"Fuck!" Yunho moans, and this time he pumps into you a little bit harder. It's almost like, somehow, he's read your mind of what you like.

He's gripping your hair with such force. You can't deny you enjoy him being a bit rough with you.

Yunho is fucking your throat, and tears stream down your face. You enjoy this man ruining your throat first thing in the morning. What a perfect way to start your day.

Yunho comes down your throat, and you enjoy his hot load going down. He holds your head while he empties all of his release. You know he's done when his right leg twitches. Something you've noticed the last couple of times.

Yunho pulls you and you expect him to kiss him for doing a great job pleasing him. But instead, he tosses you against the bed. You fall back into the middle of your bed.

"I don't think you've earned my lips just yet," Yunho towers over your body, teasing you.

If your pussy wasn't so fucking wet, you would have kicked him out. But, you still have time before work to get off. So, he gets to stay even though he's not your favorite person.

"Nobody wanted to kiss your little lips anyways."

You sit up and take off your cami tank top to reveal your breasts. You can see the glimmer in his eyes as he watches you. You grab your little shorts, and Yunho catches your hands.

"You're not going let me do the honors of undressing you?" Yunho asks.

You lift your hands and let him do it for you. He grips your waist, and you almost moan from touching him. You still can't wrap your head around why your body is addicted to him.

"See, you know how to be a good girl."

"Shut up. Just fuck me. I have to get ready for work."

Yunho kisses your forehead. "Calm down. I'm going to give you some dick. Don't you worry."

Yunho rubs your clit, and you arch your back. Your hands press into the mattress, and he glides his digits down to your dripping entrances. His eyes widen, and that damn smile appears on his face again.

"My dirty girl is soaking wet all for me," Yunho leans closer to you and kisses on your ear.

"Oh, now I'm your dirty girl?"

"Of course. You talk so much shit about me to Seonghwa, only for you to spread your legs wide for me. That sounds like a dirty girl, don't you think?"

You want to reply to him with some smart-ass comment, but Yunho is distracting you. He traces circles along your clit, and you can't form sentences at this point.

Yunho knows he has you exactly where he wants you.

At his mercy.

"No comeback?, Y/n?"

When Yunho plunges a finger into your core, you work desperately against his movements. You are so horny for this man that you are fucking his fingers.

"Yunho, please," you pant. You clench your teeth, trying not to give him the satisfaction of him knowing how much you are enjoying this. You look down and see a large wet spot underneath you. 

"Please, what.. baby? Use those words for me."

"Fuck me. I'm your dirty girl," you whisper.

"Speak louder for me, baby."

"Fuck me. I'm your dirty girl!" you nearly scream out.

There's no holding back anymore. It feels too good to play these games with him now. You grip the comforter on your bed, and you close your eyes.

"That's it, baby. Come for daddy. I love how you are soaking up the bed. Next time I'll have you at our place. So, you can come all over my bed."

Your stomach tightens, and you prepare for your first orgasm. Yunho leans closer towards you and presses his lips against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you enjoy the lusty kiss.

You melt as you savor the kiss, and your body shudders while you reach your peak. Yunho coaches you through it, and you come all over his fingers. As he pulls away from you, he stuffs his fingers into your mouth. You suck your juices off his fingers.

You're so naughty for me. I love it."

You lie back against the bed and spread your legs wider for him.

"You ready to come on my dick?"

"Yes."

When Yunho enters inside of you, he stretches you out a bit. While he buries himself inside you, your legs wrap around his waist.

"You're so tight, baby," Yunho groans and fucks you with slow movement.

It doesn't matter how much you hate this man. He looks so good. The morning sun peaks through the window, revealing him in a better light. There is such a strong connection between his eyes and yours.

"I know. Seonghwa tells me all the time," you taunt him. You know that it gets under his skin that you can't leave his roommate alone. He probably will never tell you, but you know it's true.

"Well, he had someone else in his bed last night. That's why he didn't text you back."

Your mood almost changes, and you snap out of the haze that is sweet Yunho. You are back on Earth with the asshole that you know so well. You push him back, and now you are on top.

"Who cares. I guess you finally realized you are second best," You reply.

You adjust yourself to being on top of him. You move your hips back and forth. His dick fills you up perfectly.

"Please, we both know you are lying. Just a few minutes ago, you were whimpering and whining for me. I never heard you do all that whenever you come over to see Hwa."

"Out of respect for you, I'm quiet. You don't want to hear me screaming his name."

Yunho bounces you on his dick and holds your waist with his left hand. He plays with your clit with the other.  You're talking a lot of cash shit, but he knows nobody fucks you as good as he does.

You look like a fucking goddess riding him and taking his dick like a pro. He shouldn't be this smitten over you, but he is. He feeds into your little game and goes back and forth with you.

But, he knows deep down inside if he dropped his entire rotation list, you would drop yours, including Seonghwa. He loves how your melanin is glowing under the sunlight, how you are dripping all around him. You get instant wet for him just from sucking his dick. He loves that.

"Please, Hwa couldn't make you scream if he tried. Just know this pussy is mine. I've already proven that to you time and time again," Yunho retorts.

"Yeah, it's yours, alright."

"Exactly. Just like I said."

"It's yours for right now."

You jolt when Yunho slaps your ass. Before you can say anything, he hits it again. You love the pain and the back and forth. You know that no one else would bring up someone else in the middle of sex without taking it personally.

This is why Yunho is really your number one guy.

"Get on all fours."

You do what he tells you and position yourself on the edge of the bed. Yunho stands behind you and holds your waist. You let him control you as he shoves his dick inside of you. You throw your ass back as he pounds into you.

Yunho is aggressive with it. You love that about him. He's rough with you, and he's fucking you so good. He pulls your hair again.

"Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours, daddy! It's all yours," you cry out for him. The pleasure is too good that it has your head spinning. You love the sound of his balls slapping against your ass while he drills deep into you. Who else makes you feel this euphoria? You enjoy yourself with others when you can't reach him. But nobody knows your body as Yunho does.

"Mmm.. now come for daddy!"

Your body responds, and you release your essence coating his dick. He's right behind you, and he comes deep inside of you.

After you get yourself together, you get up and turn on your shower in your bathroom.

"Let's get cleaned up," you invite him to shower with you.

[biillyhargroves]

but what about Billy noticing signs of abuse in Steve the closer they get to one another and the more Billy learns about Steve’s home life?

because we know that at the very least, Steve’s parents are absent. he’s one of the few core characters whose parents we never actually meet, but we hear a lot about them. we know that Steve was terrified of his father finding out he’d had a party when left home alone, so much so that he begged Nancy to lie to the police because he didn’t think that his father would care that a classmate went missing from his own backyard. he was scared of what kind punishment he might receive. we also know that his father, who Steve expected to work for after senior year, was at best disappointed and at worst angry that Steve, who had few academic supports outside of his bookish girlfriend coaching him on occasion, didn’t get into college and refused to help him even though he clearly had the means to. (granted: Steve was not owed a job just because daddy held the purse strings, but the Harringtons clearly had enough money to get Steve a tutor to help him improve his test scores/applications.) his father could have recognized that Steve needed help, but instead wrote his son off as lazy and sent him off to find his own way and “learn the value of a dollar”. we also know that his father was unfaithful to his mother on enough occasions that 1) Tommy H, one of Steve’s closest friends, knew enough about the situation to comment on it and 2) she willingly left her son alone in an empty house to trail after and keep an eye on her husband, showing that Steve was not a priority to either of his parents and that he was raised in an untrusting, tense household.

and to Steve, none of these things qualify as abuse. he doesn’t see himself as abused or neglected. he’s convinced himself that this is normal, that this is just what his family looks like. all kids are scared of their dads, right? all kids cross their fingers for their parents to leave town, right?

but Billy, who has a little more life experience, who has been able to compare his own early upbringing with someone like Max, who never had a bad word to say about Susan or her bio dad, would clock it. because he’s been there. because sometimes, when Steve talks about his dad’s raised voice, all Billy can hear is Neil.

“you know that’s not okay, right?” he tells Steve one day, and Steve scoffs, waves him off, tells Billy that he’s overreacting, thinks that Billy is projecting, because the things his own father does feel leaps and bounds away from the awful things that he knows Neil has done to Billy. how can he call himself abused when Billy is the one sporting bruises every other week? it doesn’t compare, he tells Billy that, and Billy gets so, so serious. “they don’t always have to hit you to hurt you,” he says, and Steve wonders just when Billy got so damn wise.

[n3xii]

Using tarot with loa

Ive been making post describing how i would intpret cards using loa terminology or concepts but i havent made a post explaining how tarot interacts with loa. If any other blogger has made a post on this i apologize if its repetive.

I also want to say that it doesnt matter what you want to call the phenomenon that is loa. To me, it reflects beleifs that have been held for centuries about god, conciousness and reality , but today many people learn about this phenomenon through the terminology of law of assumption so i don't mind calling it that either.

What is tarot

Tarot is a pack of 78 cards designed for divination. the classic rider deck was made by Author Edward Waite and illustrated by Pamela Cole Smith in the early 20th century, most decks created today are based off this deck. in the creation of the deck, Pamela was inspired by esoteric and pyschic visions as well as things in her real life. Waite also incorporated many concepts from religion and esoterisim into the cards, many cards have references to the kabbalah, astrology, manifestion, spell work, color symbolisim, numerology etc. The cards aren't random, meaningless pictures as some people have asserted, anyone who says that is usually to lazy to learn it so they project their lack of knowledge onto the cards.

☆★☆ Even though tarot has a system of meanings and symbolism attached to the cards, this system is very flexible and you can apply any lense onto the cards. Let's say you were a Christian using tarot; maybe you would interpret judgement to be about repentance, seeking forgiveness and holding yourself accountable. Maybe you would interpret ace of cups as holiness, purity, miracles. Tarot conforms to whatever lense you apply to the cards.

Tarot very easily conforms to the lense of loa because it already explores concepts of conciousness, states of mind, manifestion, reality. It's just a matter of applying what you know to the cards. As I've said in my tarot series, 4 of cups can represent someone not placing emphasis on undesirable things in your reality, and shifting your focus intenrally. The heirophant can represent guides, teachers, coaches, stubborn beliefs, the 9 of cups represents living in the wish fullfilled. Etc.

These interpretations don't stray from the orginal tarot meanings but give them more depth. applying the lense in which resonates with what you believe the most to tarot cards helps you understand what they mean to you personally.

Let's also address the question of whether or not tarot can predict your future.

Yes and no. It can predict what will happen, but not always. The future is not defined by tarot, the future is created by what you do in the present. Sometimes tarot will warn you or pass on information about what will happen if you continue in the state you're in. For example, I once kept getting cards warning me that I was going to have money stolen from me from a female figure who was a pisces. A few weeks later, my mother (who is a pisces) stole 50 dollars from me, I found out because I pulled the 7 of swords AGAIN and when I checked my purse my money was gone, my mom had spent it. If I listened to the warning and understood what it was saying weeks prior, i could have hidden my money and changed my reality. Soo here's my offical answer:

Tarot spontaneously gives glimpses into the future based on what you are doing now.

But for the most part, you can use tarot to reflect subconcious beliefs, what state you're in, what message you need to hear, etc it's best used as a tool to reflect your intenral world back to you because remmeber, the best way to predict the future is to create it

Using tarot to help you in the present is how most readers employ tarot cards anyways, but getting stuck in the cycle of trying to figure out what will happen to you is how people get stuck.

[munsster]

hi! could you make a robin buckley x reader where she thinks the reader is dating steve but in reality the reader has a crush on her?LOL and im the end they both confess and it’s like awkward but cute? THAMK U! i hope that made sense

gold medal babe

A/N: this is the sweetest fkn thing i LOVE a good awkward wlw confession

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Robin still doesn’t understand everyone’s apparent obsession with Steve. Turns out, neither do you! 1.7k words

Warnings: fluff, miscommunication, mutual pining, angsty/jealous gay behavior

Each poke, each wise crack, each inside joke made Robin want to suffocate. Steve must have been exposed to radioactive waste or something because there’s no way a girl like you agreed to date him without some lawless external force. Not when you’re all smiles and graphic tights and kitten heels and pearl studs. Not when you’re the perfect girlfriend—thoughtful and soft and so charismatic, not to mention the epitome of grace and all things lovely—and Robin’s starting to wonder what makes Steve so goddamn lucky.

So here she is, flicking through random names on the store’s computer screen, bored out of her mind listening to Steve explain the rules of some obscure European sport you’ve never even heard of. She’s scrolled through twelve Richards already when you laugh, clutching your stomach and doubling over from where you’re perched on the edge of the counter, legs swinging out when you lose your balance.

Robin’s quick to whip around in her chair when you tilt forward a little too far, only to find Steve’s hands already on your shoulders. And he looks constipated with worry, which only makes you laugh harder. She spins back around, flushed and jittery hoping you didn’t catch her overzealous reflexes.

“Somebody’s had one too many slammers.” Steve teases, and you flick at his chest.

“Shut up, Harrington,” you say. Robin catches you in the blurry reflection of the monitor: the unmistakable curve of your cherry red lips, the dainty chain peeking from the neck of your dress, the way your ringed fingers brush over the hem of your uniform green vest.

“Shut up, Harrington,” he whines.

“Oh, that’s real mature. What would your mother think?”

“Hey, lay off’a my ma.”

“That’s not what she wanted last night—gross, gross, stop!” you squeal because he pops his pinky into his mouth, pushing the slick little finger towards your ear. But you snag his wrist and shove him away before he can get any closer.

The glass door swings open to a cute little family of four, the two kids bursting off from the group. Excited squeals fill the aisles of shelved tapes, and you chirp out a generic greeting—the one they coached you on when you were hired.

“Not it,” Steve huffs. Robin sighs and stands from her chair, planting her palms on either side of the register with a deflated look. Almost like a grimace.

“I can take this one,” you coo, tugging at her sleeve and hopping down with the nicest fucking smile she’s ever seen, and it’s enough for her to fumble the play and shuffle around a little.

“Oh, no, I can—I’ve got it. Besides, now you and Steve can go… yunno, whatever. ‘S no problem.”

“Okay.” You nod, lips pursed, glancing back at Steve, wide-eyed and kind of panicked while he just whistles and turns on his heel to weave through the store.

He plucks one of the movies off the new release stand, scanning the back when one of the kids scampers up to him. Not saying a word, just breathing heavily and watching him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, giving her a warm smile that she gleefully reciprocates with about half her teeth missing. The little girl grabs at his hand, her gold pigtails bouncing as she tugs him to the section deemed the kids section, decorated with paper butterflies and instruments.

“What the hell was that? Did you see that? God, that was horrible—”

“You loved Snow White? Maybe you’ll like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty—speaking of princesses,” Steve stands just to glare directly at you, “I’m trying to do my job. You know, the one I’m paid to do, not relationship counseling or some sh—”

“You can’t counsel something that doesn’t exist! You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington, remember? You get all the ladies, this should be a walk in the park.”

“Clearly not all of them, thanks to you two,” he says, crouching down to the child with her hands grabbing at any and every movie with a cartoon animal on the cover, “let me introduce you to my friend, she’s nice sometimes, and she’s also really good at picking out movies, okay?”

The little girl looks up at you with her big green eyes, and you sigh, smacking Steve on the arm and handing her a film from the top shelf.

“I think you’re gonna find Alice in Wonderland a lot more interesting, honey, here you go”—the blondie hugs the tape to her chest and skips back to the front of the store, babbling with each hurried step. Meanwhile, you turn to Steve who’s leaned against the wall like a bastard—“you promised to help me.”

“Yeah, that was when there was something in it for me. Oh, wait, there never was, I’m just an insanely good friend.”

“Steve, I swear to God, if you help me, I will never bother you again.”

“Robin—!”

The family scoots back through the doorway when Robin sees the two of you huddled awkwardly near the back of the store. Steve grabs your hand and walks you to the counter with a bared-teeth-grin.

“Robin, (Y/n), you’re both girls, right? Great, my friend just called and said it was an emergency, so I’m going to leave. And hey, since it’s only”—he checks his wristwatch frantically—“five minutes until your shifts are over, why don’t you ride home together? Sound good? Awesome.”

And he practically bolts for the door, whipping his beamer out of the lot while you and Robin stand across from each other, mouths open in shock and awe

“What does us being girls have anything to do with that?” She says, and her head swivels to look at you, her hair wild and her heart racing, and you’re smiling at her which isn’t making any of it better. It’s like you’re a siren, and she doesn’t know whether to surrender or seek shelter or swim. You drown every coherent thought she’s ever had with one bat of your swooping lashes, and standing right here is like facing God dripping in grape-flavored sin.

Then you giggle, hiding your face in your hands, which makes her laugh, which makes you laugh until you’re both leaned back against opposing countertops and heaving in deep, huffing breaths between his watch doesn’t even work and he has no other friends.

Once you catch your breath, you’re not even safe. Her head is tilted back, pretty eyes fixed on the speckled ceiling, lips parted and smiling just a little at the thought. The thought that you might actually like her. The thought that you’re everything she has ever wanted and the thought that she’s crazy for it. Even if you are breathless at the sight of her, you’re dating Steve. She’d be nothing but your sidequest. Something to achieve and forget.

“Alright,” she sighs, “I better go. My shift ended thirty minutes ago.” She grabs her blazer from the back of the office chair, and you watch her wave when she steps outside. Her shoes are heavy on the pavement, and she almost doesn’t want to walk away. The thought of you keeps dragging her back by the bootstraps. Every time she tries to leave, get over it, live another day, she sees you and she’s back at square one.

“Robin!”

Her heart sinks. The way you say her name is like life support. The IV drip of gods, feeding her straight simple syrup like she’s a hummingbird with an ache. Indulgent and sated and licking her lips because she’ll always know the taste of your girlish charm.

“Robin, wait,” you pant, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath and drawing a sweat across your brow, “d’you wanna go… out? There’s this super cute diner downtown, Steve showed it to me when—”

“You mean just you and me?”

You tilt your head at her, surely smirking at what she may have thought you meant.

“Yeah. Just you and me. And a little dinner. Is that… oh, did I—? Did I read this wrong? I’m so sorry,” you say, scratching the back of your neck and sighing deeply into your chest.

“Wait, what? No, no, sorry, I just think… I’m pretty sure Steve would kill me,” she says with a laugh.

“Why would… why would he kill you?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because I’d be going out with his girlfriend.”

“His girlfriend? Me? Yeah, I’ll pass. He’s so…”—you wave your hands out in front of you before shrugging—“I mean, he’s handsome, I’ll give him that, but…”

You’re not dating Steve. So then what the hell were the last three months for if she wasted them sulking over her two favorite people who were theoretically sucking face behind the scenes. All that fuss for absolutely nothing. Well maybe not nothing, because the way you’re looking at her now—all tender and soul-crushing—might bring her to her knees.

“Wait, you mean you don’t like Steve? Not even a little?”

“Not even at all. What I feel for Steve is and will always be a friend thing. Strictly platonic,” you say, “plus, why would I need him when I’ve got you to worry about?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Why would I need him when—”

“No, no, I heard you, it’s just,” she huffs, “you worry about me?”

“C’mon, I know you reel in the babes. Gotta make sure I stay in first place.”

She’s short-circuiting right about now. Someone up there’s taking a screwdriver to her central power and going ham. Because this is something straight out of dreams. There’s no cheesy indie rock playing, but there’s a helluva lot of confessing happening. And she feels a little weird standing a sidewalk’s length apart.

So she hops onto the curb. And suddenly, you’re a lot closer now. And she can feel your body heat when you inch towards her in your squeaky new loafers.

“Like it’s even a competition for you,” she mumbles. And your chest swells with pride, flooding hot and sweet with the bright look in her eye. You reach for her waist to pull her close enough to count her freckles one by one. How the sun blessed her skin with kisses and made it predestined at that. Showed her where they’ll be even once they fade for the winter. They’ll come back, and you’ll count them all over again.

“Guess that means the feeling is mutual,” you say, twisting a strand of her wild auburn hair between your fingertips.

“Very mutual,” she says. You nod, grinning so wide it would hurt if you weren’t so stuck on the way she’s holding your hips.

“So… how d’you feel about milkshakes?”

masterlist

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Margrave's Consort"

📖Part 1 - An Honest Rendering

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: period romance, 1800s, royalty au, nobility, arranged marriage, a/b/o, winter soldier Bucky, post-serum Steve, vampires, historical fantasy au

Summary: Lord Steven Rogers rides north with his valet Clinton, the final stretch of a journey to meet his betrothed: the Margrave of Wïnterhelm.

The Margrave of Wïnterhelm had not been seen publicly for a fortnight, when Lord Steven Rogers left by coach with his friend and valet, Clinton Barton; traveling north towards what would be his new home.

A journey that should’ve taken three days was prolonged to over twice that by foul weather conditions, much of the Northroad being made muddy and impassible after so much rain and snow, requiring an overnight stay at not one, but two roadside inns, and even a stop to repair a broken axle. 

“Banished to the far reaches of the Nӧtternland,” Steven muttered, eyeing out the carriage window at the wicked crags and hills that lined the road to either side. Up ahead, another eerie stretch of northwoods loomed like the gaping maw of some beast, waiting to swallow them whole. “No sign of life anywhere. What a wretched place.” 

“They call it the 'dead' of winter for a reason,” Clinton drawled from across the carriage where he was lying down, not deigning to pull away the handkerchief he’d draped over his eyes in fatigue. “There will of course be more to it when the seasons change.”

“Perhaps,” Steven grumbled. The pass through which they drove had grown so high at either side now that the late afternoon sunlight was all but blocked out, making the road seem misty and dark. Steven would have worried that they’d taken the wrong way, but the coachman had already stopped at a farmhouse earlier that day to reassure them of their correct path. “How much longer could this journey possibly take?” Steven complained.

“Nearly there, I’d expect,” Clinton said tiredly as he shifted on the seat with a quietly-pained grunt. “And a good thing, too. These cramped quarters are insufferable.”

Steven pursed his lips and continued to look ruefully out the window. “Perhaps we’ll be set upon by highwaymen before we can reach the castle,” he mused. He’d read a novel like that, once.

“Really? That’s what you’re hoping for?” 

Steven shrugged mulishly. “Maybe.” He was only half in jest. Highway robbers wouldn’t be such a terrible fate, at least not so terrible as the one that awaited him at Castle Barnes. 

“Dramatic,” Clinton scolded, and though Steven couldn’t see his friend’s face, he knew what the man sounded like when he was rolling his eyes full up into his skull. “You’d rather die than marry this fellow? He’s titled nobility - higher than you could ever dream to rank, your Lordship - and for whatever reason, he wants you.” Clinton chuckled. “You’d think he was a complete dog, the way you're acting.”

“He might be.”

Clinton scoffed, the handkerchief moving slightly over where his mouth was. “You have his likeness," he drawled. "Do you think the artist is such a liar? Do you think the King is?”

Steven pressed his lips together. Surreptitiously, he touched the small velvet box that rested in his pocket. It contained the miniature he’d been gifted by his betrothed. With one more quick glance to check that Clinton's face was still covered, Steven pulled the box out and flipped it open on its hinge. He touched the edge of his thumb to the painted curve of the Margrave’s jaw.  “An artist will make a sonnet of a portrait, if he’s being paid handsomely enough,” he murmured.

“Or perhaps he’s actually handsome.” 

“Perhaps.” Steven gazed down at the image of the man. He had yet to inform Clinton that he actually had met his husband-to-be once before, and thus knew well and good that the artist did not lie or exaggerate the man’s looks. 

The Margrave of Wïnterhelm was quite comely, as anyone who looked upon the painting would see. With dark hair and steel blue eyes, a stern brow and strong jaw, his was a noble countenance indeed. He didn’t look the two and forty years that he was, with no visible marks of age around his mouth or eyes shown in the rendering. Whether that was borne more of truth or an artist’s flattery remained to be seen. 

Steven had only met Ser Barnes briefly, and with nearly a decade passed since, many things could have—and likely had—changed. Steven surely had, and he could hardly fault his betrothed a bit of aging when he himself had altered his form so drastically over the past few years. He was nervous to reveal this to the Margrave, but was comforted by the notion that he would certainly not be the only one much changed by time. King Fury had, upon championing the match, made Steven aware that Ser Barnes was a veteran of the last war, and that he'd given his arm in sacrifice for the victory.

That was how Steven knew the portrait to be true in its depiction of the soldier's sigil on its coat of arms, and in the insignia the man’s epaulette bore. Only a warrior of the realm could wear the mantle of the white wolf, after all, and Steven knew that, whatever King Nicholas' faults may be, he was not one to tolerate the counterfeit of wartime merit.

The portraiture did nothing to hint at the Margrave's brutal injuries, with the shoulders and sleeves of his jacket filled out quite nicely. Steven supposed that a man of his stature would have access to some sort of prosthetic to wear underneath his clothes. In any case, it wasn’t the man’s body that had Steven so-dreading their meeting. 

It was the history that the two of them shared, and the mistruths of that history, that Steven feared would make their reunion less than felicitous. He hadn't, after all, been entirely truthful with the man, last they had met.

... Nor had he recently. With no time and little money to spare, Steven had convinced himself that there wasn't any real harm in sending the Margrave a painting of his own face and form that, while honestly-rendered a decade ago, was now very much no longer relevant.

A loud clap of thunder sounded in the distance, surprising Steven from his contemplation and causing him to snap the velvet box shut on his fingers as he gave a start. He flushed and hastily stuffed the box back in his pocket, but Clinton's half-asleep snort of surprise at the thunder was enough to let him know that he hadn't been caught mooning over his soon-to-be husband's portrait.

Steven sighed and slumped back against his seat, and by the time they'd driven into the darkened embrace of the northwoods, the rainfall kept a constant patter against the carriage roof.

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