#Sarah has lot of patience

[macfrog]

the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

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“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

[tremendum]

i've got headaches and bad luck but they couldn't touch you

[not my gif. title from song Of All the Gin Joints in All the World] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)    

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)      

word count: 4.6k  requested: Could you write something (literally anything really) like mean Joel x feisty Reader but based on the ancient Fall Out Boys song "Of All the Gin Joints in All the World" pretty please? 🥺🥹 I was just listening and I thought the lyrics were perfect for your writing ❤️But as always no pressure and no problem at all if you don't like the idea or anything else. Lots of love! P.S. smut is very welcome btw hihihi summary: “Joel's not one for feelings anymore, but you seem to pull them out of him like it's your goddamn job." warnings: established previous hookups, use of girl/babygirl, established age gap (unspecified but addressed openly), brief mention of oral m!receiving, brief mention of reader and joel’s canon-typical scars. choking, mean!Joel & brat tamer!Joel, brat!reader lol, dirty talk (its joel), degradation, use of the word slut, slight dumbification, spitting, rough sex, unprotected PiV, cum eating, nipple play, slapping (tits, ass). think that's it!

notes: okay finally another mean!Joel for the soul!!! this is super unedited also. tysm for the request, obv inspired by the song Of All The Gin Joints in All the World by FOB. :) this was fun and i hope yall love it! dont b afraid to request anything yall wanna read at all and as always pls comment or reblog :) love u xoxo  

[other Joel fics: mr. miller series fever landmines  ]

★  

Joel Miller isn't sure exactly when all this bullshit started. 

one day, he was introduced to you fleetingly in the cafeteria while you and Maria had an intense conversation - he’s not sure if you spoke for more than ten seconds; but months later and Joel happens to know exactly what your sweaty skin tastes like on the sharpness of his tongue and could probably list his favorite pairs of underwear you own. 

it's nothing, really. 

you patrol together often, and Joel guesses that out of all the insufferable people he's had to deal with, you're definitely not the worst. perhaps your handiness with a trigger - not nearly as inept as his own but definitely a close second - helps; or maybe it's the way your mouth feels wrapped around his cock. 

and he's not stupid; he knows exactly what Tommy was doing when he signed Joel with you for patrol - the same shit he'd been pulling since they were thirty years younger and Joel was fresh out of the relationship with Sarah's mom. but it's different now, because life is not the same - nothing is the same. 

Joel's not one for feelings anymore, but you seem to pull them out of him like it's your goddamn job. 

you are one talkative motherfucker; usually, that'd drive Joel up a wall, but after repeated and incessant exposure to Ellie for such an extended period, his patience has surprisingly grown.

and unlike others, you never acted nervous or scared by him. irritated, maybe, but it's not like he cares much if you get irritated by his attitude; you're worse than he can be.

at first, he thought you were just fucking him because you just didn't know who he really was yet. but months into whatever this shit is, and you're still - for whatever fucking reason - hanging around him, even after everything. he likes it, though, that you fight fire with fire.

and maybe that's why Tommy stuck you two together, because in some ways it was inevitable - maybe it was a good thing, Joel thinks. 

but this morning, as Joel's mind slams against his body, jolting him awake, his aching head makes him double-guess that.

it's weird how different it all is now - before you, Joel was tortured through nights plagued with sweats and memories. blood, pain, loss. he used to dream restlessly of life and all of its unforgiving horrors; but now, to his shock, he finds himself plagued with dreams of you. 

he gasps awake - he's not sure he'll ever stop that. 

but this time, you're next to him in the bed. his skin feels warm as the light filters through the blinds that stay constantly pulled down this time of year to retain the cool air and Joel lets out a shuttered sigh, his head aching.

it's only the second time you've stayed the night. he's never stayed at yours, god forbid - but a small part of him aches this morning when you slide out of his heavy, sleep-addled muscles. in the absence of your heat there is still bliss for a moment, until he's roused fully by your voice. 

"these sheets are dirty." the sound carries into his ears, melodic and fiery. he cracks one eye open, hand raising to rub over his face - a deep, tired sigh. 

"g'mornin' to you too." he snarks, sighing as he pulls himself on aching muscles to blink his eyes open; you stand over the bed, on the side that usually remains cold an empty while Joel thrashes in fits of restless sleep. there's not a single scrap of clothing on your body.  

he feels himself stir at the sight of you, naked, neck painted in a splattering of beautiful marks that'd been pulled forth in moments of ecstasy the night before.

you send him a half smirk, shrugging as you tug on a shirt - his, fuck, his stomach swirls at the sight of you wrapped in him. something primal crawls in his chest as you smile at him, legs almost glowing in their bareness as they knock against the side of the mattress. your fingers brush the fabric to the left of his head. 

"there's stains on the pillows." you shake your head, your face alluring in its tease. he feels himself roll his eyes as he grunts, "you're actin' like it ain't your makeup stainin' it?" 

he stares at the marks on the pillowcase; black, from that shit you sometimes put on your eyes which just makes them all the more beautiful, wide, and alluring. the makeup that's surely expired after all this time but still is something you like to do to, as you'd mentioned once, 'reclaim your humanity.' whatever.

Joel would never admit it to you, but he hadn't even really tried to wash out those stains; something about them gives him a warmth in his chest every morning that he wakes up in this cold bed. 

but when his eyes fall back to you in your silence, you smirk and it hits him: you're fucking teasing him.

he glares at you as your lips curl in a huff of a laugh, shaking your head. "if you keep complainin' about every damn thing, might as well just fuck you on the floor." he mutters, mostly to himself-  but also to see the way your thighs shift, eyes widening slightly as color washes your cheeks. you're squirming at his words, just like that - oh, he's got you pinned.

you'd like that, you dirty little thing.

but you regain your composure quicker than lightning, ready to snap back; yet another tally to add on the list of things he admires about you.

"you're such a gentleman, Miller." you snide, fanning yourself sardonically with one hand as you roll your eyes, searching for your underwear. 

he remembers the first time you'd said that to him -

"why so shy?" you'd purred. the memory of your voice curls around his ears as he huffs, watching you bend over and give him a complete view of your ass as you fetch your panties from the floor.  "c'mon, Joel, you don't need to be such a gentleman. 's nothing you haven't seen before." you'd stripped yourself of your shirt, your pert nipples pebbling in the cold breeze as he'd sat, cleaning his rifle. "the hell's the matter with you?" he'd grumbled; but it didn't stop either of you. you'd been pressed between him and the splitting backseat of the broken down crashed car within seconds, anyways. 

his eyes meet yours as you stand again. 

he snarks, "well you’re givin' me a headache, an' I've only been up for two minutes." he glares at you, swinging to pull his boxers over his hips, standing up to find his shirt. he pointedly ignores the glare you send him at his grumpiness. 

"you're the one acting dumb," you mutter, "acting like I'm the one who gives you headaches." you retort, a teasing glint in your eye; he knows that look. Joel knows you'd never get a headache from him - as much as he pisses you off, he knows you're too fiery, too lucky to get caught up in whatever miserable puddle he's drowning in. 

because Joel's bad luck curls around his fists wherever he goes; the talons reaching out, crawling through every hallway and seeping through every door. you, on the other hand, are like a goddamn firecracker. Joel hates the idea, but you're... somehow gifted in that way.

he's convinced his bad luck couldn't touch you if it tried. 

no matter the dumb shit you pull - forgetting a flashlight, not flipping off your safety that one moment when the clicker had stumbled out of the brush; all of that, and you escape unscathed, nothing but a giggle and a half-shrug from you before you move on to the next stupid thing. 

if you weren't such a goddamn brat, it'd be charming. 

his eyes snap to yours as your words fall from your lips; a burning in his chest at your tone. he watches your legs carry you into his bathroom, and he can't help it when his follow yours.

you haven't even flipped on the lights before he shuts the door behind him - you're already wearing that snarky fucking smile on your face, and he's straining already against his boxers.

he stares down at you, crowding you slowly into the wall. "what the fuck did you just say to me?" he hisses, mouth close to yours. as you turn your chin up towards his face, he can tell that you try your hardest to control your smirk, playing into the tense energy that's emanating from his chest. 

"I said you're acting dumb."

you repeat, tilting your head slightly as you drink in the darkness in his eyes. lord, you'd let that darkness swallow you in a fucking heartbeat. 

speaking of; your own heartbeat thunders in your chest, anticipating. you know what's coming, you can nearly taste it on your tongue. 

"oh, 's that right?" Joel asks, tilting his head to stare down at you. you swallow as you stare back into those deep irises, the small bit of golden light that shines through the small bathroom window illuminating in an ominously heavenly ray.

his hand settles on the crook of your shoulder and neck, sliding gently upwards as you nod your head defiantly, pushing as far as you can to see when he'll snap. his eyes glisten in temptation; daring you to act up more. 

raising your brows, you try to play like it's obvious, "waking up and complaining about your headaches, old man?" you tut gently, shaking your head innocently. "I don't think it's my fault that you fucked me twice, immediately passed out and now your head hurts when you've woken up the next morning. you know better than to push yourself in your old age, Joel. that's stupid." you add coyly, knowing it'll push him over the edge - he loves it when you act like a brat, no matter how much he denies it. 

his response is immediate and exactly what you'd hoped for. 

he's on you in a split second - hand sliding from your shoulder to grip your throat, pushing you back onto the wall of the bathroom. the towel bar digs into your middle-back slightly and you gasp in arousal at the force of his body on yours. you can feel his cock, hard and straining in his boxers, as it presses into your lower stomach. 

"y'wanna play like that, baby?" he growls, "why you fuckin' around with an old man like me, then?" he asks.

your face heats up, arousal flooding your core, your cunt slowly wetting itself at the purr of his voice - the meaner the words, the larger the flame. 

"hm?" he gently pushes, raising his brows as his hand squeezes gently on your throat, nudging you against the wall further; your gasp is slightly rasped under the pressure, your whole body screaming with desire. this is what you love - mean, angry, hungry Joel Miller. "'s it because nobody fucks you like I do, is that it?"

his knee slides between yours, wedging himself high up, rubbing suddenly against your aching pussy, the material of your cotton already soaked with a damp spot that rubs against his thick thigh. 

"Joel, fuck-" you groan, already willing to just do what you can to get him to touch you. his hand on your throat tightens at your word, thigh rutting up to slide against your needy clit, your hips bucking at the feeling. "-'s because nobody else is so easy." your fiery mouth betrays your body; the snarky comment snaps his eyes to yours, a dark breath leaving his lips. 

"that's ironic," he snaps, "comin' from someone who begged me to fuck them for hours." 

your face burns at the memory of the first time you and Joel'd hooked up; your desperate voice hoarse from pleading him to fuck you - out in the middle of the woods, a sleeping bag that, by the end, had rips on it from rocks and twigs and the force of his thrusts; the shyness gone from either of you as your touches made up for all the silence between you.

he hums lowly, watching you as you swallow at the memory, his thigh rutting up again and pulling a yelp of pleasure from your lips. "y'don't feel so high 'n mighty when I fuck you stupid, right baby?" he asks, voice dripping with condescendence as he nods gently, encouraging you to answer him. your core throbs at his words, your mouth going dry. 

his hand leaves your throat; you swallow a gulp of air, staring with wide eyes as he grasps your jaw roughly. "answer me." 

"n-no, I don't." you mutter, voice sounding small; the arousal that pulses through your veins begs your mouth to be smart, do what Joel says so he'll give in to what you want. 

he smirks, hands roughly grabbing the thick of your hips and flipping you around to press you against the counter, your hips bending as he shoves himself just behind you. your eyes meet yourself and his own hawkish gaze in the mirror in front of you; your heated breath fogs up the mirror in the faint morning light. 

his fingers thread through your hair, tugging you back again as he tilts your head back. his upside down face, smirking down at you, has your thighs clenching - "open." he orders, voice stern. 

your tongue sticks out and he wastes no time spitting roughly onto your tongue, moving your head back to stare into the mirror; his eyes meet yours as his spit slides over your tongue and his furrowed brows twitch with a slight smirk. "look at you, doin' what I tell you. now swallow it and say thank you." 

your core flutters at his words deliciously as you do as you're told; swallowing, you take a breath and mutter, "thank you," - though it's more breathless than you expected, Joel seems to approve. he hums, "there are those manners," he mutters into your ear, cock pressing against the swell of your ass. "almost seemed like you'd forgotten you had them." 

"didn't forget." you mutter, face heating up as your pussy aches, fluttering around nothing and desiring for his fingers, his cock - anything. 

one rough palm slides his shirt up your torso, exposing your bare tits to both of you through the mirror. with his face stooped down near your neck, a short inhale of your hair before his hand reaches it's destination - your throat. 

"then why're you actin' up?" he rasps, teeth grazing your shoulder. he squeezes his hand again and your eyes roll back in pleasure, arousal soon slicking your thighs as you think you may die from all the teasing. "you don't wanna cum?" 

your eyes widen, breath halting as you shake your head, "wh- no- no!" you hiss, "I do want to cum, please." 

his other hand raises, slapping your breast harsh and quick; your gasp of shock tapers off into a whine of pleasure, your nipples hard in arousal as his palm comes to soothe over the sting. 

"then why're you acting like this?" he asks again, shaking his head. another slap, this time to your other breast. his eyes follow the skin of your chest; the way you gasp, your whines at the slight stinging and the pleasure that follows. fingers pinch your nipples, teasing in circles before another sharp slap echoes through the room. "just a little brat, y'can't help yourself." he decides, biting on your neck lightly. 

you can feel him rut against you hard, grinding his hips as he lets out a short groan. you let out a low moan, whining slightly when he smacks your tits again, skin glowing with the impact. his eyes meet yours in the mirror. "quit the whinin'," he grunts, rutting his hard cock against your ass, "you'll be stuffed full of me soon enough." he grunts, "then we'll see who's dumb." 

your shaky moan sounds more like a groan, elbows falling to steady yourself as Joel releases your throat, tossing you forward to grab your hips instead. he pulls you back, grinding into you as his head tilts back in how own small groan of pleasure. "this ass." Joel grunts to himself as he palms the curve of your ass in both large hands, one falling to smack harsh onto the left. 

you're dripping down the inside of your thighs as he ruts against you twice more; thick fingers soon slide to thumb at the slick wet of your panties. his fingers tease the wet material that's glued to your pussy with need, tracing over your lips lightly over the fabric. "pretty pussy, just for me." he mutters; you nod, looking up at him through the mirror, "all for you, Joel." you affirm, voice shaking with anticipation. 

"you gonna be good when I fill you up, baby?" he lifts his brow, stern look as he palms himself. fuck, he's so sexy behind you like this, his thumb slowly dragging the material of your panties to the side and exposing your weeping cunt; you nod, "yes, I'll do anything-" 

you're cut off by a sharp gasp as the stretch of his cock's head cuts off your brain. he eases in gently at first which you're more than grateful for - no matter how many times Joel fucks you, his size is always something you have to adjust to; especially after your rounds last night left you barely able to walk straight. 

he lets out a breath, "there y'go, baby, take me." he says it surprisingly gently, easing in inch by inch as you breathe deeply, your soaked pussy easing his cock through your channels. his cock is heavy and aching as he slides into you, sheathing you fully within another few seconds - Joel's hands grip so hard on your ass, splaying you open for him, that you think his fingers will remain there for days. 

he's still only for a moment, letting you accommodate to his size before he's leaning forward to press his chest to your back, "gonna fuck you stupid, baby." 

"please, Joel," you groan, cunt fluttering, begging him to move. "do it." 

it's all that he needs before he's setting a pace that has you whining under him, your breath choking as you brace yourself agains the counter of the sink. 

it's bliss. his hips are sharp, the reach of his cock pressing against the spongy spot inside you, dragging against your pulsing walls. "fuck, so deep-" you hiss, eyes closing in pleasure as he presses himself against you, hips surely going to bruise against the thrusts that shove you into the countertop. 

one hand sneaks over your front, grasping at your tits as his cock reaches up into you deeply. he lets out a grunt, "fuckin'- christ, you're s-so tight," he grunts, "even after fuckin' you all night." 

you moan, the quick bout of his praise causing you to squeeze around him, trapping him in your aching desire. the both of you moan at the feeling and suddenly one hand presses on your spine until you're low to the counter. his hands grab your shoulders, fingers curling around the base of your throat as he changes his pace to hard and rough, the sound of your ass against his hips nearly hitting your ears over your cries of pleasure. 

the noises of your arousal swallowing his cock echo around the room in a familiar, comforting chorus as you both let out shuttering moans; his strong arms pull you back until you're once again pressed against his broad chest. his breath fans over your neck and you whine slightly when his thrusts press you up onto your tip-toes. his lips find your ear, "how's that feel?" your hole flutters from the deepness in his voice - he groans at the feeling. 

your response is a whine of ecstasy as you claw at his forearms, head tilting back until you can almost feel his erratic heartbeat. his chest rumbles with a light chuckle, "look, barely took ya any time to get fucked out on my cock," he praises, hand petting your wild hair, "knew you'd be good for me. always take what I give you, right?" 

you nod, desperate to reach the climax that's easily built within you from the stretch of him deep in you and his voice in your ear. your clit aches from being ignored and your hand snakes down to rub light circles on it; your hips jolt as you gasp raggedly, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. 

"no." he growls, hand grabbing your jaw sternly as he pounds into you, "when I'm fuckin' you, you keep your eyes on me." he snaps, squeezing your cheeks. "'s that clear?"

you nod in the mirror, whines getting louder as his name falls nearly incoherently from your lips- you see his lips ghost over your neck, the smirk that spreads over his pink lips as you finally get out a strangled, "Joelpleaseplease- s'close-" 

he knows what you need; you and Joel are each other's best escape. he pistons into you hard, chasing your high as he feels it spasming close around him. "easy, huh?" he snarls, hips just as harsh as his words, eyes sharp on yours. "who's easy, baby - me, or the one beggin' like a slut to cum on my cock?" 

for someone so quiet and closed off, Joel Miller has never shied away from using his goddamn words when he's fucking you, that's for sure. his words, his accent - they push you towards the edge and it almost distracts you from his question. his eyebrows raise in the silence as you gasp for words, moans choked  as his fingers slide down from your jaw to squeeze your throat. 

"look at'cha, can't even speak for me," he groans, his hand suddenly snaking down to smack your away from your clit; two larger, calloused fingers replace your shaky ones and you wail at the stimulation, almost too much.

you blink up at him through the mirror, unable to speak, unable to think as you feel the crest of something incredibly blissful growing; you let out a whine of ecstasy. "I'm- I'm easy," you concede, finally able to spit your words out, your voice higher than normal in your pleasure. 

Joel nods, kissing your sweaty hairline, "'s goddamn right you are, babygirl," he hisses, "easy for me. this pretty little pussy is mine, isn't it?" 

you scream, "yours, Joel-" before he barely finishes the sentence.

with your words, he smiles against your neck - the feeling of it sends goosebumps over your whole torso. "you're a lucky girl," he growls in your ear, teeth brushing the shell before licking it gently, "you can cum." 

you barely realize you've hit your orgasm until you’re writhing - a white-hot, searing arousal streaking your vision as your eyes roll back. he fucks you steadily through your orgasm, your thighs closing slightly around his large palm, but his fingers don't stop their motions on your clit. 

you shake and stutter for gasps as he pounds into you, chasing his own high that's been spurred - by your own words or the clenching of your orgasm around him, you're unsure. 

"love how you feel-" he groans, voice weakening as he nears his own orgasm, hips sloppy as he pushes your face down, against the cool tile of the bathroom sink. "fuck, baby, made to take this cock." 

his sentences are choppy, his gasps and grunts of pleasure mixing with the slap of your ass against him as he thrusts, your legs tired as he fills you full and then suddenly pulls out. you gasp at the suddenness of his absence, turning to look at him as if betrayed - but he looks completely gone, eyes dark with need. "gonna cum on your tits, sweetheart." 

your stomach flips at the word - one he's never used before - and you relax into his harsh grip, moving down to the ground on your knees as he grunts, "take this shit off now." 

his shirt is on the ground in half a second, your breasts bare to him as he fists his cock, eyes on you and lidded with pleasure. your hands fall onto his strong thighs, looking up at him in awe as he fists his cock, slick with your sticky spend, tip flushed and veins stretching over the shaft. "please, cum on me, want it so bad, Joel," you whine - his hand caresses your jaw and slips over your lips, sticking his thumb into your mouth. you suck eagerly and he moans your name deep, head tilting back in ecstasy. 

"fuck," he grunts, slipping his thumb out of your mouth before you can even swirl your tongue around it, and then he's hitting his orgasm.

ropes of his cum land on your tits, a small bit gathering on your chin as he slows his hand, letting out a few sharp breaths. he's barely caught his breath before your fingers are gathering a swipe of his thick cum, bringing it to your mouth. his dark eyes follow you through his labored breaths as you slowly suck his spend off of your fingers, "fuckin'- pretty," he mumbles into his hand as he runs a palm over his face, shaking his head. 

you smile, cheeks heating up. the sun is rising and the room is fully golden, bouncing off the mirror and illuminating his tan skin, the scars on his body and yours. he's pretty, you realize. 

you tell him so, quietly - in the silence of the bathroom. his scowl softens and you swear you see a blush forming as he rolls his eyes down at you from where you perch on the linoleum. 

Joel always says you only tell him sweet things to get him to fuck you - but in the afterglow of your actions, you catch sight of your makeup-stained pillowcase back in Joel's bedroom and it makes you grin. you know he doesn't wash it for a reason, the same reason you keep coming back to him. 

and you also know that the way he smooths his thumb over your hairline, the way your own hands in turn soothe over his thighs - those actions, they make up for everything else that's unspoken.

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taglist: @satansgoatt @elissaaa @queerponcho @bbyanarchist @lapricot @umavvitch @asreadbyaj @dinsbaby @cottoncandytomu @onmytallesttiptoess @switchbladedreamz @missannwinchester @abs-2020 @afandomidiot @cosm1c-babe @rogersbarnesxx @carleenphillips-blog @bonnibuckets @nightlovechild @jazzyspasms @girlboybug @cannolighost @pastelnap @userpedros @feministfanboi @frogers @grhowls @daddy-din @gothoppered @totallynotastanacc @robbatlover @casssiopeia @wannab-urs @redhotkitchen @joelapologist2001 @silkiers

message me if i forgot to tag u. i was pretty lazy with this one sorry. requests are open.

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[netherfeildren]

Meet Me in the New Year

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary:  “We’re havin’ a baby this year,” voice boyish and shy and full of excitement and love. 

You peer up at him, cheek smushed against the ball of his shoulder. “We are.”

“Ready?”

You nod, slow, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

-OR-

The New Year's Eve AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; New Year's Eve AU; Devoted Joel Miller; Established Relationship; Ringing in the New Year with your baby daddy like God intended; More fucking in your childhood home shenanigans; Pregnancy sex; Needy behavior; Older man/Younger woman; Daddy kink; Unprotected PIV; Creampie; Meet me in St. Louis is the best Christmas movie ever; Breeding Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Size Difference; How does one tag fingering?; Fluff and Smut; Praise Kink; PWP

A/N: One last post for 2023, and of course, I had to do a few of my favorite things; daddy Joel, creampies and pregnancy sex, yeehaw. Here's to a new year of more of the same, but WORSE and nastier.

I should be put in prison next year probably like omg but whatever. Have fun, I love you all lots!

This is a sort of follow up to Evermore

Word Count: 2.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

MEET ME IN THE NEW YEAR

“Joel, what time is it?”

He looks down at you, tender look in his eye, dragging that big hand of his through your hair. Tresses slightly sleep damp and warm at the roots and gradually growing cooler towards the ends. Your parent’s living room is dark, only the warm shine of the Christmas tree coming from the front hall peering in around the corner into the comfortable, warm den. Meet me in St. Louis plays on mute on the flatscreen, Judy Garland rushing over to give John Truett a piece of her mind on Tootie’s behalf. “Look who it is. Thought I’d lost you for the night.” 

You groan, stretching your legs as far as the couch allows, knees popping hollowly, little toes splaying wide within the sweaty confines of the fuzzy Christmas socks he’d put in your stocking and which you’d been sporting for the past six days. You yawn wide, nose scrunching up at him and turning to nuzzle your face into his lap where you’ve been on and off dozing for the evening. Dinner had been so, so good, browned butter steak and baked potatoes and heirloom tomato, mozzarella salad, and you were so full and so warm and so content beyond imagining. “No… I’m awake,” you mumble against his thigh. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight, I reckon.”

You turn to look up at him, giving him a scrunchy faced smile, “Didn’t miss it, ha. Knew it.”

“Oh, did ya?” His palm moves over the bowl of your skull to cup and squeeze the tender nape of your neck, big fingers gently kneading the fine, tight muscles there. “Gonna ring in the New Year with me, sweet girl?” Mhmm, you moan, nuzzling further against his sweats and the thick heaviness of his half hard cock. 

“You’re hard, daddy,” you whisper up at him while his fingertips slip beneath the neck of your pullover, running down the notches of your spine to reach your waist. He pauses there, his hand curving over the growing swell of your bump. 

He groans, head dropping onto the back of the sofa, and brings his other hand up to rub across his whiskered mouth. “Don’t fucking start.” You know it makes him crazy when you call him that, but you’d told him that you now have the excuse that he is actually going to be a daddy again, and so it’s only nothing but the truth. 

You press your fingertips to your mouth, hiding away your laughing smile. Your first Christmas as a little family of three. Sarah was away with her mother this year since she’d gotten Christmas with the two of you last year, and so the two of you’d decided to come to your parents house again, like you’d done for Thanksgiving last year. You’d been here for a week now, and Joel was starting to lose patience. The lack of alone time was needling as evidenced by the now fully hard and slightly pulsing erection digging into your cheek. 

He rolls his head to peer down at you, mock, chastising frown as he drags his hand over the small swell and up to your naked breast, squeezing gently. “We’ve been here too fuckin’ long.” And you moan, hiding your face against his thigh as he pinches your nipple, rolling it softly between his fingertips, thumb dragging around the sensitive puffiness of your areola. Your whole body had been, for the past several weeks, a coiled tight ball of nerves, everything swollen, everything wet, everything needing him. Like your skin knew, knew he’d been the one to do this to you, and wanted it more, wanted it again. 

You squeeze your thighs together, legs shifting and sliding against each other to relieve the knot of want he’s spin, spin, spinning with his fingers plucking at your breast. He switches to the other one, hand sliding beneath the heavy weight to lift it into his palm and squeeze. You turn to look up at him now, eyes wide when you can’t control the sound of the moan he forces out of you, mouth falling open, panting. Your breasts, going all tight and hot, needing his sucking mouth. “Joel–”

“What?” He teases, pulling his hand from beneath your sweatshirt and shifting to sit you up and press you back the opposite way on the couch, crawling over you to settle between your thighs he pushes open for himself, slightly to the side and sure to not crush you. “If your father catches us,” he whispers with wet lips moving across your throat, that same hand sneaking its way back under your sweatshirt, tongue against your pulse, “he can’t be mad, sweetheart. Already fucked you full’a my baby. Damage s’already done,” he snickers, mouth latching at your carotid, pulling hard enough you know he’s purposely trying to leave a mark. 

“You’re so bad,” you moan, arching up into his hand on your breast, his hot, sucking mouth. You want it on your cunt, you want that thick cock he’s rubbing against you, inside. He’s right, you’ve been at your parents house too long, too far into your first trimester to pretend at civility. You need your husband. 

“Not,” he huffs, damp against your collarbone. “Gonna give it to you so good, baby.” He wedges one hand behind your neck, holding you in place, while the one fondling your breast moves down between your legs, center gusset soaked slick already, and you flush at the flutter of muscles wrapped around his jaw when he finds you pantiless beneath your soft sleep shorts. And so what? Pregnancy had made you sensitive and achy. You need to be free, you tell him with an airy laugh. 

He clicks his tongue down at you, fingers slipping beneath the soft cotton to pet at the soaking wet tuft of curls with the back of his knuckles. “Pretty cunt’s all wet and hungry for me, isn’t it, baby?” And he’s all teasing grins and sparkly, self satisfied eyes as he searches gently for your clit, parting your folds to pet there slow and steady. 

Uh huh, you moan, hitching your foot up higher on his back, little heel digging into the padding of muscles over his ribs to find purchase. You let your other leg slip off the couch with a dull thud, socked foot rolling up on your tip toes so that you can cant and rock your hips against his too light touch on your cunt. 

“More, daddy, please,” you provoke, all breathless sighs as you roll your head in the cup of his palm, the heat of him seeping through the mantle of your messy hair, against your scalp. You feel him flex his fingers, tugging lightly at the sweaty roots, and he finally gives you more. Thumb sliding down to your weepy entrance, pressing there lightly, petting and circling, moving back up to press against your clit at the same time that he starts to feed you two fingers at once. 

You groan at him, scrunching your nose, but he just clicks his tongue, tutting you into submission and silence. “Take it,” he says gentle and low. You scratch at his shoulders, slipping your fingertips under his ratty t-shirt to get at his skin, using your bracing foot to rock your hips against his palm, rough callused palm catching a little painfully at your clit. You’re going to come so fucking fast like this. 

And fingers hooked forward inside of you, he jostles his hand a little, rattles your cunt so that all your wet rings loud in your parents dead silent house. “Hear how sloppy this cunt is for me?” He’s grinding his cock against your inner thigh, fat, blunt tip thrusting against the crease in your thigh over and over and you want it inside of you. You don’t care if you get caught, if someone comes down stairs. You want to soak his hand and then soak his cock and then have him carry you to bed and do it all over again. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Gonna come.” Your lashes flutter shut as he lowers his head to bite your tit, hard and mean, over your sweatshirt, fingers fucking fast and loud, and your cunt goes tight, tight like a knot and then wet and loose and even sloppier. You’re so wet for him. Always. 

Fucking Christ, he groans against your breast, sucks harder, darkening the grey cotton so that the hard tip of your nipple is left molded and obvious beneath the soaked fabric. “That’s it. Come just like that, sweet girl. You’re so fucking wet.” And he doesn't’ gentle his fingers, pressing in a little harder, palm grinding against your clit and shaking his fingers up and down inside of you so that he’s jostling another tiny, almost painful, orgasm out of you. The wet sound of your pussy is so loud and so obvious, if someone were to come down the stairs, the sound of it would be unmistakable. “Gonna soak your mother’s nice couch, and then what’ll she think of you? Everyone’s gonna know exactly what you let me do to you down here.”

You’re pretty sure that’s what gets you over the edge that second time. The thought of everyone knowing.

He nuzzles at your breast, your neck, sucking and kissing, fingers still stretching your pussy, while he makes his way up your throat, mouth against the tip of your chin, and then finally to your mouth. Kiss, slow at first, all tongue and hunger, and then soft little pecks. The corner of your mouth, the bow of your top lip, the other corner. Open, he orders, and licks behind your teeth. Bossy man. You love him.

He pets gently at your G-spot, slow and careful because he knows it’ll be too much soon, letting your slick spill out and gather in his palm, drip down his wrist. “Pretty girl,” he says real quiet, “Keeping my baby so nice and warm in this little cunt. Aren’t you?” You whine up at him, bringing your foot up off the floor, trying to toe his arm away. He clicks his tongue at you again, but finally pulls his fingers from you, wet, sucking sound as he leaves your cunt. He brings his hand up to his mouth, fingers slick sticky and sweet, shiny in the dim light and licks himself clean. You watch him as he teases you, all eyes and laughter, wrapping your fingers around his too thick, hairy wrist, not meeting around it, and holding him there as he eats your wet out of his own palm. When he’s done, his mouth is shiny and glossed in you and he presses another kiss to your lips, forces your jaw open, hinged wide and eats you like you know he wants to eat your cunt instead. Later, he says, like he can read your mind because you’re pretty sure he actually can.

When he pushes the loose waist of his sweatpants down over his erection, no underwear either, you roll your eyes at him, and tell him old men aren’t supposed to be this slutty. But at the sight of that too thick cock nestled in his neatly trimmed bed of hair, the wide root leading up to the happy trailed covered belly, you concede that easy access is highly to your benefit. And when he wedges that said thick cock inside of you by way of an answer to your brattiness, fat head stretching your well used, wet hole, he slides in way too easy because you want him way too much. 

You moan open mouthed for him, and he presses your sweatshirt up over your bump, your swollen breasts, and finally gets his hot mouth on your bare nipples, teeth grazing lightly, pushing you into a higher, hotter level of desperation. You rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, close your eyes and listen to the slick sound of his cock fucking your cunt. “Lemme see this sweet belly,” he murmurs, cupping the small swell. The changes he’d incited in your body had made him a specific flavor of hungry you were going to miss when this was all over. “You’re so fucking beautiful, carrying my baby. You know that?”

And you’re all soft sighs and whimpers and his name as nothing but a moan, hitching your knees as high as you can to open yourself further to him. “Fuck, you’re gunna come again. Gettin’ tight as a fist,” he grits, hips swinging back and then forward, pelvis grinding so that he’s pressing on your clit and then pressing you into another full blown orgasm. It throbs through you, an almost unbearable heat stirring in your pelvis, walls of your cunt pulsing and milking the too thick, sometimes too big, weight of his cock inside you. It always hurts just a little and you always like it too much.

He pulls out suddenly, tiny flutters still moving through your muscles and sits back on his knees, turning you on your side and shoving your thigh up, pulling the now ruined shorts aside to line up and shove back inside. He braces his foot on the floor, one hand on the back of the couch, the other holding your thigh up and open for himself and drills down into your spasming cunt, mid orgasm, and there are tears in your eyes and you gnaw and slobber on the edge of your mother’s couch as your husband fucks you into one last orgasm. The previous one not even fully over. “Told you you’d fuckin’ take it,” he growls, balls slapping against the curve of your ass, temples shiny with sweat, throat all red and splotchy. “Fuckin’ shame I can’t knock you up again here in your parents house like I wanted to last time. We’re gonna have to try harder next time.”

“Told you, you’re so bad.” And you can barely speak as he starts to pump you full of his load, hot and thick so that you can feel it being forced out of your cunt while he continues to shove inside. 

When he’s finished, cleaned you up and tucked you back into his side, both of you choosing to ignore the wet spot on the couch you’d left and agreed to plead the fifth tomorrow if anyone asks, the movie is just finishing up. Judy and her beau are finally at the World Fair together. The clock below the TV rings midnight and Joel presses a soft kiss at the tender spot behind your ear. “We’re havin’ a baby this year,” voice boyish and shy and full of excitement and love. 

You peer up at him, cheek smushed against the ball of his shoulder. “We are.”

“Ready?”

You nod, slow, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

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[katiexpunk]

Sex On Fire, Part 3 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them.

Part 3 Summary: You finally relieve the sexual tension between you and Joel. And once you get started, you never really stop.

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: ~6.6K

Warnings: Sexual tension. Finally relieved sexual tension. Size kink. Praise kink. No age gap mentioned. Pet names. Alcohol. Grinding. Explicit, unprotected m in f sex. Creampie. Fingering. Flirting. Feelings. Love. Dirty talk. Commanding!Joel. Soft!Joel. Semi-public sex. Firefighter kink. Uniform kink. Firetruck sex. Just lots of fucking, honestly. Oral. Sarah and Tommy make an appearance, Ellie get's briefing mentioned. Sex and the City references. Reader and Joel like orange chicken. Cannolis. Fire references. One reference to 9/11. New York City.

Authors Note: I have so much I could say about this one, but I'll keep it short. Thank you for your patience on this, and for all of the love. I hope you think the build-up was worth it. I love ya'll a milli.

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Part 1 | Part 2

As soon as Sarah opens the door, she can tell something is different, she can feel it. She expected to find her dad engrossed in his usual weekend routine—perhaps watching a movie or reading a book—or even more so, she expected to find his apartment empty, with him being on call, but no. The fresh aroma of dinner and the faint smell of candles alert her to something more. Plus it’s quiet, a little too quiet. 

“Dad?” she yells. 

And shit. 

You’ve got to be joking, you think. 

Your eyes practically poke out of your skull as you attempt to adjust your dress, straightening and flattening the lace straps of your panties over your hips, your arousal still tacked on to your inner thighs. You frantically try to pat down your hair and wipe the indecent look from your face, but you think it might be obvious anyway. Months of wanting and need are hard to erase on demand. 

Nearly getting caught, and hearing his daughter's voice, causes Joel to soften. He quickly pulls his pants up and buckles his jeans. He runs his fingers through his curls and braces for impact, rising to stand next to you in front of the couch, being sure to leave a decent gap between your bodies. 

Sarah walks through the hallway and sees the dining table set for two in the distance, the candles nearly burnt to the end, but still flickering. She turns her attention to the living room, then to you and Joel, and oh, this is new. Her eyes catch a glimpse of the cocktails on the side table and then she immediately drags her gaze back to you both.

Caught off guard, Sarah hesitates in the living room, unsure of how to react. Joel looks at her but doesn’t quite say anything. "Hi, dad... I, uh, didn't know you were expecting company," Sarah stammers, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

Joel clears his throat, attempting to compose himself.

You smile warmly, trying to alleviate the awkwardness. "Uh, hi – you must be Sarah,” you sheepishly wave, “Your dad has told me a lot about you."

As Sarah steps towards you both, she can’t help but shake the feeling of intrusion. She forces a smile, trying to play off her surprise. "Hi. Um, it’s nice to meet you, too,” she pauses before adding, “I’m really sorry, I didn't mean to barge in. I just wanted to surprise you dad, but I’ll um… let you two enjoy your evening."

Joel, realizing he needs to address the situation, says, “Sarah, wait. Let me explain."

But Sarah shakes her head, not wanting to prolong the discomfort, heat creeping up to her chest. "It's okay, Dad. I'll catch up with you later. I told Ellie would meet up with her tonight anyway. I’ll be back, uh – later.” With that, she makes a hasty exit, leaving both you and Joel a bit surprised and amused. Did that really just happen?

In the hallway on her way out, Sarah can’t help but smile at the unexpected turn of events. She has never seen her dad with anyone since her mom ran out. Sure, it might be weird to think of her father with someone, but it’s quite the opposite. As far as she can tell, he seems happy. And if he’s happy, she’s happy. Plus, he deserves it. 

++++

As Sarah exits the front door, you and Joel both stand there in charged silence. He turns to face you and takes a step forward to close the distance that he had intentionally created. He’s so close, enough so that you feel his belly rising and falling with this breath. You place your hand on his chest and feel the thrum of his heart beneath your palm before letting it slowly glide down over his taught muscles, your fingertips coming to rest on his pants, the tips of them gently tucked into the band below his belt. 

There is so much you could say. So much he could say. Hell, so much you both should say. 

You pause there looking up at Joel, waiting for him to say anything. An explanation, an excuse, something. 

But he doesn’t. 

Because he can’t. 

Simply because for the past few months, you've dominated every corner of his mind, leaving no room for a single coherent thought to emerge. Every waking moment has been an incessant stream of you – your smile, your laugh, your perfect tits, and hell, even the thought of you spread wide on his couch, begging for him to take you. He no longer feels like a rational man capable of clear thought. 

When his mouth goes to form words, nothing comes out. Although that’s not a total surprise considering most of the blood in his body is not in his brain, nor has it been for a while now. No, it’s all in his cock, and not being able to do anything about it has been slowly driving him over the edge.

The way you look at him is like an extra quarter being added to the coin pusher that’s already piled high with money, just waiting to topple over for the jackpot. 

Joel Miller is a gentleman, yes. He’s also an adoring father, an excellent firefighter, and a good brother. 

But right now, none of that matters. You have stripped him of every title, replacing his being down to one existential thing.

Need.

An animalistic, raw, burning desire courses through his veins for one thing and one thing only.

You.

And although he wishes it was a bit more seamless and romantic, right now he couldn’t care less. Coming down your throat isn’t enough. He hasn’t even fully had you yet, but he can already tell he’s hooked.

He’s an addict and you’re the drug. Enough will never be enough. Try as he might, he’ll always want more, more, more. 

Starting right fucking now.

Joel looks down at you with dark eyes before he grabs you in a way that says he means business. One hand catches the back of your head, the other goes to your waist, and he pulls you taught against his chest, the pressure of it releases a little oof from your lungs, and he greets you with an intense kiss. You taste a hint of whiskey on his breath, and you wonder if he can taste himself on you.

This kiss feels different. The first couple were amazing, the best you’ve ever had if you’re being honest, but this one goes deeper. He kisses you with such an intensity that you find yourself questioning the laws of gravity – what goes up, must come down. Right now, you’re not sure if you’ll ever come down from the way he makes you feel, the way his lips on yours make you feel like you’re free-floating amongst the clouds.

“Mmm,” Joel moans, his lips barely separating from you. “Really had a different evening planned in my head, Darlin’,” he admits, words reverberating against your lips. He grazes them down to your jaw and places soft kisses along the square edge of it. His hot breath greets your ear, “But to hell with it…no more distractions, baby.” 

All you can respond with is a moan of his name, lost in the haze of your arousal. You’ve been fantasizing about this moment for months; how finally having him deep inside you would feel. Now, your dream is materializing before you and you’re dizzy with fervor. 

He continues to nip at your neck, his hands finding their way to the straps of your dress and before long he’s pulling them down, the silky fabric of your dress falling to the floor so you’re completely nude in front of him, bare save for the soiled fabric of your thong. He groans in approval against your skin before licking a broad stripe up the valley of your breasts, his hand coming up to thumb one of your nipples as he does. 

“Ugh, yes Joel, I want you, need you so fucking bad,” you moan with your head tilted back as his mouth greets the tender skin of one of your breasts. His mouth navigates to the flesh of your nipple and you let out a desperate moan, tangling your hands in his salt and pepper-streaked hair. 

“Yeah?” he says, a somewhat taunting tone to his voice, releasing your nipple from his mouth with a loud pop. “Love to hear you say that, baby. But I think you can beg a little better f’me, can’t you?” 

“Want you so fucking much, Joel. Need to feel you inside me, it’s driving me insane not knowing what you feel like. Waited so long, please fuck me,” you add for good measure, not evening trying to mask the urgency behind your voice. You’ve never felt like this before, so full of lust, and need, your core burning at a red-hot temperature, dripping for him and only him. 

“That’s better,” he says as he pushes you against the wall, not even bothering to notice the picture frames that fall to the floor as a result. He quickly spins you around, letting his hand drag from the top of your neck down the column of your spine, encouraging you to arch your back. Your cheeks meet the cool feel of the wall beneath you and the corners of your lips rise in a little smirk. Fucking finally. 

He grips the sides of your waist, and palms down the length of your body, admiring the softness of your skin and the way your body naturally responds to his touch. Once at your hips, his fingers hook under the fabric of your panties and he rips the thin fabric, literally tearing it off your body. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans. You stay pressed against the wall with your back arched for him and whisper something that almost sounds like a please. He unbuckles the metal on his belt and shoves his pants down his thighs in a haste. There’s something especially filthy about it – you fully nude in front of him, while his clothes barely cling on. He’s too voracious to fully undress or relocate to his bedroom. It has to be right here, right now. 

With one hand, he grabs his heavy cock and gives it a few strokes. He uses the weeping tip of it and drags it through your already wet folds, collecting the mixture of your sick and his pre-come to coat the length of him. 

He nestles himself at the entrance of your cunt, “Ready for me, baby,” to which you can only reply a muffled need you. He presses himself into your wet heat, and you let out a little moan, one mixed with a twinge of pain, but mostly pleasure. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes, and your jaw falls slack as he pushes himself further and further inside of you with every thrust. You’re already in ecstasy and he’s not even fully inside yet. 

“Fuck, I can barely fit,” he mutters, “so tight, baby. Relax f’me” And something about his voice, the silkiness and commanding parts of it, causes you to listen. You take a deep breath and urge yourself to calm the walls that swallow him. And it works because, with one more thrust of his hips, his cock is buried to the hilt inside of you. You feel so full you swear you can feel him in your lungs, but it’s such an exhilarating feeling that you can’t imagine what it feels like to not have him inside of you. 

“Taking this cock so god damn well, darlin’,” he mutters, his voice low. “Gonna move now, okay? Tell me if it hurts.” As he retreats, there’s a dull sting, stemming from a stretch you’re not used to, but it’s not particularly a bad feeling, just new. Your eyes flutter closed and he continues to work into you, acclimating your body to his. It doesn’t take long, your pussy responds to him in kindness, devouring it like it was made for him. Joel lets out his own wrecked groan of approval and begins to fuck you in earnest. Each movement of his hips smushes your face against the wall. The friction on your cheek should hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s adding fuel to the fire raging between your bodies. 

With one hand holding you steady as he fucks into you, the other snakes around to the front of your body, and his thick fingers find your puffy and sensitive clit. He adds the slightest bit of pressure and begins to rub circles on it. “Oh my god, Joel, please – ah, please don’t stop.” 

“‘M not stopping, baby. Feels too good,” he adds, his voice wrecked. The feeling of his warm chest pressed up against you, the fullness of him inside of you, and the attention he gives your body with his fingers is so intense you swear you see god. 

You have given yourself many orgasms before, but you can tell that the orgasm that threatens to rip through your body is electric, different. You feel the familiar spread of pleasure that starts in your belly and emanates outwards, and within seconds you’re gone. Your breathing stops altogether, your ears ring, and your knees go weak as Joel fucks you through it. 

Joel groans and drops his head to your shoulder. You coming on his cock nearly undoes him, gripping around the thick shape of him in a way he didn’t realize was physically possible. “Shit darlin’, so good for me, ‘m not gonna last much longer,” he says with an urgency behind his voice. “Where do you want me?” 

“Come inside me, please want to feel it, need all of you,” you beg, and that’s all he needs to hear. He knows it’s risky, but he’s good with risk. Joel lives and breathes risk nearly every day of his life. Besides, no risk has never felt so fucking good. 

You can tell from the way his breathing eradicates that he’s close. With a final stutter of his hips and his cock is deep inside of you, he empties himself, painting your cervix with so much come that your pussy can hardly hold it. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, panting against your skin. After he catches his breath, he holds your hips steady and slowly pulls out, a little glob of his release falling to the hardwood floors below as he does. Your palm comes to cup your sex as if to hold the rest of it inside of you, still wanting to have part of him inside of you, and you turn back around to face him. The feeling of the cool wall on your back offers a stark contrast to the heat of his body. 

Now that you’re both finally satisfied, you stand there looking at each other. Part of you expects something to feel different, but it doesn’t. His hand comes to cup your cheek, and he plants a soft kiss on your lips. “We still have dessert, you know,” he says, gazing at you with a tenderness that causes your stomach to swoop. 

You're beginning to understand that what you feel for him goes beyond mere physical desire. 

What once started as a little spark in kindling, now threatens to burn the whole damn house down. 

W I N T E R 

As autumn relinquishes its vibrant hold on New York, a gradual transformation unfolds, marking the seamless transition into winter. The once-lush tapestry of fall foliage succumbs to the chill in the air. The streets, once adorned with a carpet of golden leaves, now echo with the crisp sound of footsteps on pavement.

Ever since your first official date a few months ago, you both have been inseparable, only parting to go to work. You take turns switching apartments, leaving practically no surface unfucked on – the couch, the kitchen floor, the dining room table – it’s all fair game. 

You’ve both conceded that it’s best to do date night at home, given both of you can’t keep your hands off each other for long. It always starts out innocent, a flirty look across the table, a wink in the elevator, and before you know it his fingers are knuckle deep inside of you, curling against the spongey spot that makes you weak for him. 

You and Joel haven’t officially put a name to what you are, or what this is, but for now you don’t mind. You’re content in your little cocoon of bliss. 

It’s Saturday night, and Joel’s at the station for the weekend. You’re cozied up under a hand-knitted blanket, an early christmas gift courtesy of your aunt. Not by her hands, of course, she could never be bothered with such a thing. “Saw this at an adorable little market in Florence. New York is cold in the winter, stay warm. Happy holidays, darling. Love you dearly,” the hand penned note read. 

You’re watching a rerun of Sex and the City, the episode where Carrie is high and yells “Fuck the chicken wings! Where did we put the fucking pot?” A half bottle of red and a handful of Sang Garden to-go cartons are spread out on the coffee table in front of you. 

When you called to order, you didn’t have to even give them your selections since your voice is so obviously recognizable. The older lady on the phone – Mei, you’ve come to learn –  is curt as usual, “Okay, see you in 10 minutes.” As you picked up your order, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw they had given you double the orange chicken and a side of fried rice, your new usual now that Joel is in the picture. 

They even threw in a handful of extra fortune cookies, Joel’s favorite. Your heart swells to the memory of him telling you the history of the cookie, his mouth full of half of one, “they’re not even from China,” he told you, “Best guess is that they’re from Japan. Learned about it from the History Channel.” 

He’s like that, an encyclopedia of random knowledge and facts, a geek in his own right. At first glance, he exudes an aura of calm competence and strength, but the deeper you get to know him, the clearer it becomes that he basically has the same energy of a golden retriever.

Midway through the episode, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

“Pretty slow over here tonight, what are you doing baby?” 

“Just watching a show, wish you were here,” you quickly reply. You hardly have time to place your phone on your chest before he responds.

“Sex and the City or Friends?” 

The smile that graces your face is like a teenager with her first crush. He knows you so well. 

“Sex and the City. Ordered Sang for dinner, they gave me double the orange chicken and fried rice, and like a million fortune cookies. Did you eat yet?” you reply. 

“Not yet. Gonna bring me some?” he replies, half-joking. 

Now there’s an idea. 

You unintentionally leave him on read, too excited at the thought of seeing him at work, as you throw your phone across the couch and toss the blanket off your legs. You package up the leftovers and change. Nothing too risque given it’s less than 20 degrees outside, but it’s an outfit you know Joel likes. A white tee-shirt, a soft cardigan, your favorite pair of jeans, and your waterproof booties. If there’s anything that you’ve learned since moving to New York, it’s that quality shoes are essential. 

You snag your coat and scarf, bundling up against the crisp night air, leftovers in hand, and stride out the door. The winter chill doesn't bite too harshly tonight, making you skip the cab and opt for a walk – a bonus being the journey through Little Italy to reach the firehouse. The atmosphere in New York this time of year is nothing short of magical – street lamps adorned with twinkling lights, plush pine trees peeking from nearly every window. You always wondered what Christmas time in New York might look like, and now you’re glad you know. 

As you make your way through the city, you pass by Ferrara Cafe and your attention is captivated by the sight of fresh cannolis being stuffed through the windows. A spontaneous decision leads you inside to snag a dozen or so as a surprise for Joel and the guys. He’s told you so much about them over the past few months, and as much as you’re excited to finally meet them, well – except for Lieutenant Franklin – you’re a tad nervous, too. With the firehouse now in view, that feeling only intensifies. 

Since both of your hands are full, you place the paper bag full of cannolis between your teeth and use your free hand to grab your phone from your pocket. You type out a quick “Surprise! Come outside,” and finish the walk to the station. Standing near the front entrance with both bags in hand, your attention turned to the street, the door to the firehouse opens and a low voice greets you. Except it’s not…

“Well hey there, Darlin’,” he says, his voice slightly muffled from the toothpick in his mouth. 

A cascade of dark curls crowns his head, his skin maintaining a sun-kissed glow despite the season. He boasts a broad, muscular frame, one that demands attention. The way he casually addresses you with a familiar "Darlin'" leaves you with little doubt. "You must be Tommy," you sweetly greet. 

“And you must be the neighbor girl who’s got my brother stopping to smell the roses,” he responds with a little chuckle. 

“Guilty as charged,” you smile, a little embarrassed, although you know you have no reason to be. You don’t miss the way his eyes drag up and down your frame. Joel had told you that Tommy was a bit of a flirt, and now you see why. 

“Come on now, it’s cold out here,” he says, holding the door open for you. You don’t know Tommy, not really, but from what you can tell he probably has the same impeccable southern manners as his brother. You practically feel his eyes on your ass as you walk through the door. Okay, maybe not exactly the same manners. 

Once inside the station, you let out a little sigh, happy to finally be back in a warm building. You turn to face Tommy and ask, “Joel’s here, right?” and before he can respond, Joel is within eyeshot of you, “Right here, sweetheart,” he says, looking at you in a way that makes your stomach flutter. 

You swear time slows down as he approaches, like a real-life Hallmark movie. You see him all the time, but seeing him in uniform at the firehouse, causes a rush of arousal to flow through you. He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head, “what’s all this?” he asks. 

“Oh uh, well, it’s dinner and a surprise,” you say, your voice slightly shrill; an octave higher than usual, a little caught up in your affection.

“Yeah?” he says, grabbing the bags from you, a genuine excitement to his voice. 

“Orange chicken, some fried rice and a ridiculous amount of fortune cookies for you,” you continue, “and cannolis from Ferrara for you and the guys,” you finish. 

“Cannolis!” Tommy exclaims, “Let me take this off your hands,” he says, snatching the bag from Joel, pushing through the both of you before disappearing to the kitchen to share the goodies with his team. While they’re both grown men, there are some things that will always remain true, and Tommy fighting his brother for sweets is one of those things. You smile in amusement and let out a little laugh. Joel shakes his head but you notice the corners of his lips lift into a smile as he does. 

“Real sweet of you to drop by,” he says as he grabs your hand, and yanks it forward so your chest is snuggled against his. His lips fall to yours, and you let out a little moan at the warmth of them. While there are many things to love about Joel Miller, one of your favorites, especially this time of year is that he’s basically a walking space heater. His skin and touch always so warm, so inviting. He feels cozy. Homey even. 

He intertwines his fingers through yours, and signals you to follow him, “Come on, I’ll give ya a tour.”

++++

Joel walks you down this hallway that's practically a living museum of memories. There are framed photos of the crew in their dress blues, badges marking moments of bravery, a worn-out flag from an engine that responded to 9/11, and even a tribute wall for the firehouse dogs that have been part of the family over the years. It's like each inch of this hallway has its own story, echoing with the sacrifice, tight bonds, and history that define this firehouse.

The air is alive with the sounds of camaraderie and the clatter of boots against the station's scuffed floors. As you pass by the living quarters, Joel points out the communal spaces where the team gathers after a call. You smile as you see all of the guys huddle around the kitchen table, the cannolis spread out on a paper plate in the middle of it. You hear one of the guys whisper don’t tell my wife about this one as he reaches for what you assume must be his second – third? – cannoli. 

He guides you past the kitchen, where the lingering aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the savory scent of yesterday's family dinner. He pauses there to momentarily put the food you brought him in the fridge before continuing.

He shows you the training room, where the team hones their skills and drills to perfection. Joel explains the importance of constant readiness and practice. 

You walk past a set of stairs, and he tells you that’s where the beds and showers are. “Can’t take you up there though or I might get a little bold,” he chuckles and you lift one eyebrow to him in amusement, wishing he would. You have to admit the thought of Joel fucking you with the rest of his team below, completely unaware, is kind of hot. It turns on more than it probably should.  

Finally, the tour leads to the heart of the firehouse—the garage. The massive red fire trucks and the white ambulance gleam under the fluorescent lights. It smells a bit like gas, oil slick, and soap. You remember Joel telling you that they clean the firetrucks multiple times a day, something about the importance of taking care of the city’s multi-million dollar equipment, but you zoned out a little bit at the end of his speech, too distracted by his mouth as it moved. 

There are giant puffy black uniform pants neatly puddled and unbuckled on the floor, ready to be stepped into for whenever the alarm signals. 

You step further into the space, and Joel gestures towards the impressive array of equipment and black and yellow uniforms neatly hanging on racks, small locker shelves above each rack. You see that each hook has a last name above it. You see T. Miller above one, but you don’t see J. Miller.  

You run your hand along the uniforms adorned on the racks, and look at Joel as you ask, “And where is your rack, Captain Miller?” and fuck, you haven’t called him Captain since that first morning in his apartment. Somehow your question sounds just as provocative as it did the first time you asked him, You gonna let me say thank you properly for last night, Captain Miller? 

The memory of it causes his cock to flinch. He adjusts himself. You notice. 

He clears his throat, and tilts his head to the adjacent wall. “Uh, mine’s over here. Keep mine separate so Tommy and I don’t mix ours up,” he answers. You walk over to his space, and see his name. There’s a black helmet resting on the hook, a large white plaque in the front of it with blocky letters that say “33”, his last name “MILLER” above the numbers, and “NEW YORK” below them. 

Your hand darts out to touch it, and you trace your fingers over his last name. You pick it up and put it on your head, and look at Joel. “How do I look?” you ask, a cheeky tone to your voice, “think I pull this off?” Joel lets out a low groan of approval. Seeing you in his helmet almost does more for him than seeing you in his uniform shirt. 

“Look mighty fine in my clothes, Darlin’,”  he says while sauntering to where you stand and closing the gap between your bodies. His large palm reaches out to grab your wrist. He traces the pad of his thumb over your pulse and your breathing hitches in your throat. Even after all this time, his presence alone still has that effect on you. You’re convinced he could stop a Mack Truck on the freeway with his gaze alone. 

“Yeah? Think I’d be good at putting out fires,” you ask, lifting your eyes to his, peering at him through your lashes, your view slightly obstructed by the plastic. 

“I think you’re good at startin’ em,” he responds, amused. You give him a little smirk and pull your wrist from his grip as you walk over to the firetruck. You casually lean against it, feeling the cool metal on your back. 

“Oh come on, I could put out fires! In case you haven’t heard, I own a fire extinguisher now,” you playfully tease, still keeping your eyes locked on his. 

Of course he knows, he’s the one that bought it for you and walked you through how to safely discharge it. 

You drop your gaze to his crotch and are pleased to see a hardness forming there, probably from the memory of his demonstration and how less than two minutes into it your lips were wrapped around his throbbing cock. 

“You’re not paying attention, Darlin’, this is important,” he had said, not trying to stop you, not really, as you unbuckled his pants. 

“I’m paying perfect attention, and I agree, this is important,” you responded, giving him your own lesson on how to discharge something. 

Fresh off the heels of his little trip down memory lane, he walks over to you and meets you at the fire truck. His arm extends, placing his flat palm assertively on the metal above your head, revealing his sculpted bare bicep. You’re basically caged in by his body. Simultaneously, his other hand confidently finds your waist, and he tilts his face to kiss your lips. You feel his hard cock pressing back at you and it makes you whimper with desire. Your palm comes to grope the thick shape of him and he groans in response. 

“Can’t do this here, baby,” he says. He takes a step back and you shrug against the firetruck. 

“Hmm,” you respond. “I agree, this would be much better,” you say, stepping onto the firetruck. He’s not sure what comes over him, you just have that effect on him, but he follows you onto the rig. 

It’s not as big as the outside might make it seem, but there are four decent sized black seats, two on each side facing each other. In between each seat is a row of radios, headgear, and caution vests. 

Once on the truck, you think you might have to coax him to get what you want, but instead, you’re met with, “Pants off. Now. Gonna have to be quick about this, baby,” he says as he undoes the buckle of his belt and pulls his pants down, taking his underwear with it to reveal his massive package. 

You do as he says, not having to worry about your panties, considering you opted for none. It drives Joel crazy anytime he sees you’ve gone commando. His helmet is still on your head, and your nipples are hard beneath your shirt. The sight of him alone has you wet and Joel can tell by the way your inner thighs gleam with slick. 

He takes his place on one of the seats and holds his heavy cock by the base of it, positioning it straight up. “See what you do to me,” he groans, and gives his length a few strokes. “Come on darlin’, come take your seat,” and jesus. Commanding Joel is hot. You understand why they made him captain. 

You position your legs to stand above him and begin to lower yourself onto his cock. Your eyes flutter closed at the sting from the stretch of him. You’re wet enough, it’s just that he’s so fucking big. 

“Don’t close your eyes, baby. Look at me,” Joel says, and you do. He lets out a low wrecked groan of pleasure as your cunt swallows him. You feel the coarse hair at the base of him against your clit. 

“You’re so good for me, so fucking good around me,” Joel groans, and you begin to slowly move up and down his shaft, “fucking made f’me,” his filthy words cause you to shudder and move faster. 

“Touch your clit,” he orders. You steady yourself on his cock by placing one hand on his shoulder, using the other to rub your middle finger over your clit. You make figure eight patterns with your hips and it’s so good, so intense. His hands leave a bruise grip on your ass as he helps you grind into him. You’re close, Joel can tell by the way your walls clamp around him. 

“Come for me, pretty girl, wanna see you,” he says, as he brings his mouth to your clothed nipple and offers it a gentle bite. You moan, a little too loud, caught up in the sensation of the thick drag of him in and out of your heat. 

‘Gotta be quiet for me tho, darlin’,” he says as one of his hands finds its way to your mouth to silence you. With you now utterly quiet, the clapping sound of your thighs fills the air. He juts his hips up into you as you continue to ride him, and the tip of his cock brushes up against your cervix. With a few more strokes, you feel your sweet release rush through you like you’re nothing but a pool of gas ignited with a match. 

“Atta girl,” he praises, “so good for me, so pretty when you come all over my cock.”

It’s not long before Joel feels his wave of pleasure build. You pant as you do your best to continue riding him through your fucked out state, a sheen of sweat on your neck and face. His grip on your body tightens, “ah fuck, fuck,” he moans as he releases hot ropes of come inside of you. His forehead drops to your chest and you card your fingers through his hair, enjoying the sticky and delicious feeling of being full of him. 

Once he catches his breath, he looks up at you and your lips connect. 

In the middle of your kiss, a sound you're both familiar with goes off. 

The alarm.

The voice of a 9-1-1 dispatcher chimes through the speakers, “Engine 21, we have a stage three structural fire at 4145 Reed St. All units report.” 

Shit. 

You lift his helmet from your head and place it on his head before rising to stand. 

“Off you go then, Captain, I’ll see you at home,” you say, rushing to get dressed as he does the same. You quickly jump off the truck and manage to sneak back into the firehouse unseen as the rest of the crew swirls down the firepole and rushes through the door to the truck. 

Joel manages to get in uniform in record time, and is the first on the truck. 

As the rest of the crew piles in, Tommy finds his seat next to Joel and gives him a knowing smirk. “Smells like sex in here,” he says. 

Thankfully Joel is the only one who hears it. Joel feels heat rush up to his cheeks and before he can find the words to respond, the firetruck is barreling out of the station, sirens blaring. 

You hear the loud call of the sirens fade in the distance as it drives further away, and you begin your walk back to your apartment. 

++++

Once back at your apartment building, you don’t even bother to go to yours. You gather the mail that always inevitably collects on the floor by the entrance, and instead of stacking it into a pile at the base of the steps, you bring it up with you. 

You lift the boring, grey door mat and reveal Joel’s spare key underneath it. 

You slip the key into his lock and as it normally does, the space greets you with warmth. You grab a Bud Light from the fridge, and watch an episode of Friends before deciding to call it a night. You shower, once again using his shampoo and brush your teeth with the toothbrush that now permanently lives with Joel. You rummage through the wooden drawers in his bedroom and find the navy blue shirt with familiar blocky lettering that you’ve grown fond of. 

As you crawl into his bed, you’re reminded of your first night in New York. And just like you did that night, you stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for not just the past three hours, the past few months. 

You feel giddy, but not like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time, like a woman in love. 

You’re doing it. You’re really doing it. You’re just not doing it alone anymore. 

Maybe this was your aunts plan all along. 

++++ 

Nearly 6am the next morning, Joel returns home to find you curled up, peacefully asleep in his bed. The now familiar sound of your soft snores fill the room. He hastily showers, and slips into the sheets with you, curling your body against his as he glides his arm under your pillow, being careful not to wake you. You let out a soft little moan, but for the most part are in the liminal space between your dream world and the real world. Not fully asleep, but not fully awake, either.

With his broad chest against your back, he uses his free hand to play with a loose strand of your hair. He can tell you used his shampoo again. He can’t help the dopey grin that erupts on his face. 

He plants his lips against your temple. 

It’s too soon. 

He knows it’s too soon. 

But maybe, just maybe…I mean, you’re asleep, right? You won’t hear. He has to get it out, the unspoken words burning in his chest. 

He whispers a soft “I love you,” in your ear and allows himself to inhale your sweet scent mixed with lingering notes of him. 

As he goes to roll over onto his side to go to sleep himself, he freezes as he hears you whisper back, “I love you, too.” 

And boom. 

With those simple words, the house – your heart –  is no longer ablaze with a single flickering flame.

It’s on fire with an intensity you’re not sure could ever be extinguished. 

END

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[amiableness]

At Last

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: jj's cousin comes to town and attempts to get with y/n, pissing off jj in the process.

wc: 7.6k

warnings: dean turns out to be an ass, pet names (baby & sweetheart), oral (m & f), dirty talk, language, and p in v {there might be more, let me know!}

a/n💌: she's here! thank you for all your patience while i worked on this fic, hit some writers block while working on it. some of the smut might be familiar if you've read some of my old work, it's because i copied it from gentle. i will be deleting that fic and 'replacing' it with this one!

JJ Maybank couldn’t remember his childhood without Dean Maybank in it. There wasn’t a time he could recall when the nearly identical blonde wasn’t by his side. From diapers to teens, both boys spent most of their time together. Separated by only two months, the boys were practically brothers. There were mistaken for siblings nearly everywhere they went. Whenever one went, the other one was sure to follow. Their moms used to pretend they couldn’t tell the boys apart when they were little, sending both boys into a fit of giggles as they desperately tried to get their moms to remember their sons.

He was twelve when his mom left, and everything fell apart instantly. Luke turned to bottles upon bottles of alcohol to soothe the ache she left in her wake, and JJ was forced to grow up quickly. Andrew and Cecelia Maybank weren’t far behind, taking Dean with them. JJ never knew why his mom left or why his aunt and uncle followed him closely behind. But he was left alone to wonder for many nights why he was left behind.

JJ had years of practice burying the hurt and anger he felt, but as he sits across from his cousin at a table of The Wreck, he can feel the anger simmering. He’s not particularly fond of his cousin being back in town, but that’s not getting under his skin. It’s the fact that Dean has been eyeing you for the past twenty minutes.

“Wait, how long since you have been here?” Cleo asks Dean, attempting to break some awkward silence between JJ and him. Cleo slides into her chair next to Pope while she sends a welcoming smile to Dean, who sits across from Pope.

“Been a while, about seven years now.” Dean Maybank answers with a soft smile. He’s got the same blonde hair as JJ, but he keeps it a lot shorter and has dark blue eyes. They look like they could be twins.

“No wonder I haven’t met you then; I haven’t been around long.” Cleo supplies as Pope tosses his arm over her shoulder and presses a kiss to her temple.

“And Y/n?” Dean asks as he glances back over at you as you laugh with Kiara and Sarah while waiting for your order. Cleo’s lips part a little, and she spares a glance over at JJ, who has pulled his attention away from his phone at the mention of your name. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his body is tense as he stares down at his cousin. Dean doesn’t notice, his eyes glancing back at you.

“She joined the group about six years ago.” John B answers just as the three of you walk over with full hands. John B is sitting next to Dean, saving a spot for Sarah. From the look his best friend is giving him, he’s glad he sat next to Dean.

“Kiara, I love this place, but it’s so slow when you aren’t working here.” Sarah sighed as all the plates were set down and passed around. There’s a rumble of agreement at the table, and Kiara laughs loudly before sitting beside Sarah.

You slip into your spot between Cleo and JJ. JJ would never admit it out loud, but having you fall into the seat next to him and speak softly to only him sends a spark of possessiveness. He loves it when your attention is only on him.

“I got us a milkshake to share,” He watches as you rip the wrapper off the straw before pausing, eyes darting between the straw in your hand and the milkshake sitting in front of you. “They only gave us one; I’ll go grab-”

“We can share.” He grabs the straw from your hands before plunging it into the chocolate shake between you and taking a quick sip. You flush, realizing that you both will be sharing a straw. This wouldn’t bother you in any other case, but it’s JJ. You wouldn’t have thought twice about it if it had been anyone else. But something about him fills your stomach with that giddy feeling that makes you almost jittery with nerves.

His grip is still on the straw as he gives you a slight nod to take a sip. Your cheeks flush when you realize that he’s holding the drink, expecting you to take a sip like this. You lean forward, taking a tentative sip, ignoring how JJ watches you so closely. Having his eyes on you sets off that flurry of butterflies again.

“So cute, guys.” John B teases, making a heart with his hands, and your cheeks burn. You fight the urge to toss a fry at him. John B was notorious for calling out any moments you shared with JJ, which always left a hot flush on your body. Were your feelings for him that obvious? Did JJ know?

You peek over at JJ, who is flipping his best friend off.

The table is quickly drawn back into the conversation as your friends try and get to know Dean more. JJ stays quiet, instead choosing to eat and mutter things to you occasionally. You can’t help but be curious about why he avoids talking to his cousin. John B said that they used to be close, but from how JJ is acting now, you can’t help but wonder what happened.

“Y/n isn’t much of a surfer either.” Your ears perk up at the mention of your name. Sarah is giving you a pointed look indicating that you totally missed out on something.

“I was saying I’m not a big surfer,” Dean supplies at your confused expression. “Maybe we could do something else so everyone heads out to surf later.” The soft smile he sends your way makes your cheeks flush.

You open your mouth to answer, but JJ cuts you off.

“You used to surf all the time.” JJ’s tone is flat, surprising you that he finally decided to speak during this lunch. He had spent the last hour not saying a word to Dean. You glance over at him to see he’s sending an unimpressed look toward his cousin.

“Used to. Not anymore.” Dean shrugs, and you can tell he feels a little unsure around JJ, and you don’t blame him. If JJ was looking at you the way he was looking at Dean, you would feel a bit unwelcome too.

Ever the people pleaser, you send a smile over at Dean. “I would love that, Dean.”

“Dean Maybank is cute.” Sarah breathes out dramatically once all four of you are alone in her room. The boys are all at the Chateau; Cleo thought this might help JJ warm up to Dean more. You highly doubted it.

Your cheeks flush when you realize Sarah is directing this comment at you. You give a little shrug as you sit on the edge of her bed.

“Are you calling JJ cute then? Because they look like brothers.” Cleo teases as she pulls her bikini out of her bag. In front of the mirror, Kiara braided tiny pieces of her hair, laughing lightly at Cleo’s comment.

“Is that what we’re really gonna talk about right now?” You ask, feeling apprehensive about comparing the two. There’s no way you wanted to compare the two, mainly because you knew that JJ would always come out on top in your eyes.

“Yes! He seems pretty damn interested in you.”

“Maybe, but Dean isn’t the Maybank she wants.” Kiara sings songs, and your mouth parts as your sputter out a reply, but you can’t seem to deny it.

“I-no! JJ and I are just friends; we always will be.” You wanted to be sick saying these words.

“Are you serious? He looked ready to kill Dean when he asked you out.” Kiara glanced over her shoulder at you making your cheeks burn.

“He did not ask me out.”

“He made a move for sure,” Cleo called as she headed towards Sarah’s bathroom with her bikini. A sigh passed your lips just as the door clicked shut.

“Nothing is gonna happen whether he made a move or not.”

“Why not?” Sarah asked, tossing herself on her bed next to you.”

“I just-it feel wrong.”

“Because it’s not JJ,” Kiara states this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world as she finishes her hair and turns to face you. Sarah and Kiara nearly scream at the expression on your face, giving you away.

Maybe it was selfish, but JJ had been hoping you had forgotten about agreeing to spend time with Dean while the group went surfing. But here he was, watching the two of you walking up the beach and away from the group. Surfing with his friends meant you would be sat higher up on the beach immersed in one of the many romance books you owned. 

Not this time. He watched as you walked away, this time as his cousin held your bag for you.

“JJ, you comin’ or what?” John B hollered. JJ sighed and headed towards the beach, aware that this was the first time in his life that he did not want to go surfing.

“It’s not a date, man; quit pouting.” His best friend mumbled, clapping JJ on the shoulder. The blond sent him an irritated look.

“But he damn well wants it to be,” The thought made JJ’s stomach tighten with discomfort. “She could want it to be.”

“I doubt it,” John B shook his head in disagreement. All the different times he had caught Y/n or JJ pining after each other had proved otherwise. But that wasn’t his place to tell. “Listen, if you like Y/n, you need to tell her. I’m not saying she’s gonna end up with Dean, but I know she won’t be single forever.”

“It’s complicated,” JJ grumbles as he rakes his hand through his hair. He needs a haircut but refuses to get one after he overhears you say you like long hair on guys. Maybe that makes him pathetic, but so be it.

“It’s really not; you’re just making it that way by avoiding telling her.”

“John B, fuck off,” JJ snaps, but his best friend knows not to take offense. “Telling her how I feel could mean losing her as my best friend, and that’s not worth it.”

“But what if telling her means you get her as your girlfriend and best friend?” John B’s words cause his stomach to flip at the thought.

“Wishful thinking, man.”

Your time with Dean was going well, and you were thrilled that you got on with him so quickly. Part of you wanted to ask, but you were scared of making a fool out of yourself if he told you no. Not that you were hoping it was; you just genuinely weren’t sure how Dean viewed this hangout.

He had taken you to a little ice cream shop, one that he said his mom used to bring him and JJ to all the time. Your heart had squeezed in your chest at the reminder that you weren’t there to watch him surf, one of your favorite pastimes. Quickly reminding yourself to enjoy the present moment, it was fair to Dean if your mind was caught up somewhere else.

“This is the best ice cream I’ve ever had; how did I not know about this place?” A quick moan of appreciation slips pasts your lips as you bite, proving your statement true. Dean laughs at your reaction, thrilled to see you enjoying one of his favorite places so much. The last time he was here was with his mom and JJ to have a quick treat after dinner. They left two days after that.

“One of the best places in OBX, hands down,” He replies, studying you with a soft fondness that you are oblivious to. Your entire focus was on stirring your ice cream to make it nice and smooth.

“Totally out of my comfort zone today,” You confess as you take another bite of the cotton candy ice cream. But the soft pink color was so pretty you just couldn’t resist. “JJ and I usually share mint chips.” Dean drops his eyes down to his ice cream at the mention of his cousin. 

“Can I ask you something?” He finally asks, and you quietly hum to tell him to go on.

“Are you and JJ..?” He trails off, unsure if he should continue his question by the look on your face. You place your spoon in your bowl and sigh.

“We’re just friends,” By the shrug of your shoulders and the way you naw on your bottom lip, Dean can tell you aren’t a man of this.

“And you’re alright with that?” He asks, hoping for an answer that could turn this into a date between you.

“I-uh-” You clear your throat and glance at the window towards the ocean, hoping to catch a glance of JJ. To no avail. “I’ve liked him for years, but I’m pretty sure he isn’t interested, so we’re just friends.”

Dean gives you an understanding look, but inside, he’s thrilled about your answer. You weren’t JJ’s.

It had been a couple of weeks of hanging out with Dean: trips to the beach, talking about books, getting ice cream, and movie marathons. You knew how this looked, but it was purely just as friends. You knew that, and Dean knew that. Or so you thought.

“So let me get this straight, you guys have been going on dates pretty much but just as friends?” Cleo asked, totally confused by what was happening between you and Dean.

“Yes, just friends,” You clarified as you attempted to fix your hair in a way you liked for tonight’s party.

“He brought you flowers this morning.” She deadpanned, glancing over at the bouquet of pink poppies on your bedside table. They were placed next to a picture of you and JJ, making Cleo snort quietly.

“He was just being nice,” You sounded exasperated, and Cleo wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or her nitpicking. “Nothing is going on.”

“Maybe for you! He’s clearly interested; he’s been taking you on dates -“You open your mouth to cut her off. “Yes - dates, all week. He’s interested.”

“I thought you were team Dean.” Your hair fell from your hands as you gave up on making the perfect bun; it just wasn’t going to happen tonight.

“That was Sarah. I’m team whoever makes you happy.”

“So, would you be happy if I went out with Dean?” You nibbled on your bottom lip as you waited for her response. Her eyebrows rose, and she stared at you for a second.

“Thought you were just friends.”

“We are! I just-“You paused, taking in a big breath of air and holding it for a second. “I don’t wanna miss a chance with a great guy because JJ doesn’t return my feelings. I can’t hold out hope forever.”

“First party of the summer, Dean! You excited?” John B asks as he presses a beer into Dean’s awaiting palm.

“It’s not the first party of the season,” JJ grumbles, and you shoot him a look, hoping he can control his anger towards his cousin for the night and enjoy the party.

“The first one he’s been to; he’s been too busy with our Y/n here.” John B taunts, sending you a wink when he sees you looking flushed. JJ feels sick. Are you blushing at the thought of being with Dean? Have you actually been going on dates with him all this time?

“Baby, leave them alone,” Sarah admonishes, giving a light slap to his arm. He lets out a laugh and drops his arm over her shoulder, leading her in the direction of the house.

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. Pope, Kiara, and Cleo had already headed inside to get drinks, and you were now desperately wishing JJ had too. Anything would be better than the way he is currently glaring at Dean for standing too close to you.

“Want a drink?” Dean leans to whisper in your ear, and you send him a grateful smile.

“Yes, please,” You smile up at him, watching him for a second longer as he slips through the crowd. JJ clearing his throat is what brings your attention away from him.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing with him?” He asks, taking a step towards you. 

“We walked here together, and I-”

“No. What’s up with you spending so much time with him? I’ve hardly seen you in the last few weeks.” He steps closer and closer until the two of you are standing so close you can count all the freckles on his nose.

“We’ve been hanging out.” You supply, not wanting to give too much away. It’s not that we’re trying to be secretive, but you knew that JJ had a habit of getting protective over you. Guess what happens when you’re friends with someone for so long.

“Hanging out or going on dates?” His hand pushes the stand of your hair, blowing in the breeze. At the proximity of him, your heart squeezes, and your breath catches.

“Hanging out?” You answer in nearly a whisper, so focused on starting up at him. The heat of his fingers touching your skin feels like you have been branded.

“You don’t sound so sure.” There’s that cocky tone. He can tell you’re flustered by how close he is to you. You’ve always reacted to him this way. It’s moments like these where it doesn’t seem unbelievable to him that you might like him back.

“We’ve been hanging out, but it might be becoming more and-”

“Y/n” At the sound of Dean’s voice, you take a step away, startled. There’s a tone to Dean’s voice that JJ doesn’t like. He sounds possessive, too possessive for a guy who has only met you a couple of weeks ago.

Dean’s eyes flicker between the both of you, quickly picking up on the tension and closeness. In an act of jealousy, he slips his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, something he’s never done before. Your features flash with surprise that JJ quickly notices.

“Have a goodnight, JJ.” Dean bites out before steering you toward the direction of the house.

“I thought you said that you and JJ didn’t have anything going on.”

“We don’t.” You glance up at Dean, who still has his arm wrapped around your shoulder. His jaw is tense, and you feel a flash of discomfort at seeing this new side of him.

“Didn’t look that way. He was close enough to kiss you.” Dean grits out, squeezing your shoulder that makes you wince.

“But he didn’t. I don’t understand-”

“You said that he wasn’t interested. I thought I clarified my intentions when I started taking you out on all these dates.” Your stomach flips, and you glance around at the crowd. None of your friends are nearby.

“I didn’t-“You clear your throat, willing yourself to make your voice come out stronger. His shift in personality has really thrown you off. “I thought we were hanging out. I didn’t realize you thought these past few weeks were dates.”

“They were dates, Y/n. Does John B or Pope ever take you- just you - out for ice cream or to the movies?”

“No, but JJ-”

“Jesus, Y/n! JJ doesn’t view you as a friend. If we’re gonna be dating this summer, I don’t think you should hang out around him.” You were utterly confused. There was never a time when you two were hanging out. Did he act like this or make his intentions about dating you clear. And there was absolutely no way you would give up being around JJ, even if Dean’s attitude hadn’t done a 180.

You were beginning to panic, unsure how to handle his growing anger. 

“Dean!” Your shoulders immediately relaxed at the sound of another Pogues voice. You were sure his name was Noah, and that he was friends with the boys, but other than that, you didn’t really know him. You watched as Dean plastered a smile on his face and greeted his friend. Without warning, you slipped away from Dean and slipped through the crowd towards the bathroom.

Usually, a party like this is just what JJ needed, but his mood was much too sour to enjoy it. Not when you had shown up with Dean and disappeared into this run-down house on the Cut nearly an hour ago. He has tried desperately to shake you from his thoughts. But nothing has worked in the past couple of weeks, so he has spent this entire night pathetically sober and on edge.

John B and Pope had tried to include him in the conversation with other guys from the Cut, but he didn’t have the energy to pretend to be interested. So instead, he sat next to the fire along the group and continuously glanced back at the door as if somehow he could keep an eye on you that way.

Dean’s voice catches his attention and pulls him from his thoughts of you. Dean comes jogging down the steps carrying a beer and quickly finds an open seat amongst the guys. JJ ignores the urge to tell him his seat is taken; it feels too middle school.

“Where is she?” JJ asks, sounding terribly protective, but he can’t help it. He’s sat rigid in his seat, waiting for his cousin’s answer. He wouldn’t have left you alone at that party even for a second if he was with you.

“She wanted to spend some time with the girls.” Dean looks flatly at JJ, both boys growing frustrated with each other. Dean is becoming sick of JJ only acknowledging him when it has to do with you. He doesn’t want JJ’s thoughts to be of you at all. The tension between the two is glaringly apparent to the group, so Pope incessantly glances at the house door for about twenty minutes before JJ incessantly glancing at the house door finally pays off.

There you were.

Standing on the porch with tears streaming down your pretty cheeks and arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. JJ felt his stomach drop and the immediate desire to kill whoever made him feel like this. But it seems his cousin has the same desire because both boys stand up at the sight of you.

Dean is the first to step towards you, softly muttering your name. You don’t even glance in Dean’s direction. It isn’t until he repeats your name again, louder this time, that you finally look over at him.

JJ watches as you descend the steps, whip away a stray tear on your face, and stand a couple feet before the group of boys. You don’t take your eyes off Dean, and JJ prepares to watch Dean take you home and knows he will comfort you.

“I just wanna go home,” JJ doesn’t think he has ever heard you so broken up, and it makes him feel physically sick. “Can you please take me home?”

Dean immediately turns to grab his jacket that it tossed over one of the logs he was sitting on. “Of course, let me just-”

Then, you make eye contact with JJ, and the brief eye contact causes your eyes to tear up again. Without thinking, JJ jogs over and wraps you in his arms.

JJ has hugged you plenty of times, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt you hold him this tight. Your arms are tossed around his shoulders as his arms are looped around your waist. Dean turns, ready to take you home, and falters when he sees you wrapped in JJ’s arms.

“JJ, I’ve got her. She asked me to take her home.” Dean’s voice is flat, and you tense in JJ’s arms. Hoping to get a look at Dean, you pull away from JJ slightly so you can look over at him. While hugging JJ, both of you had shifted so JJ’s back was no longer to the group. Instead, Dean has a clear shot of both sides and how you and JJ are so intertwined. He feels sick watching you grip JJ so tightly.

“I was talking to JJ.” At this, JJ’s grip tightens around you as a possessive feeling strikes through him. He wants to be smug; rub it in Dean’s face that you chose him. But he would much rather get you home and figure out why you were so upset.

You turn your head, looking up at him, with his shirt clenched between your fists. Looking down at you, he can see the tears glistening in your eyes. “JJ, I want you to take me home.”

“I know, baby. Let’s go home.” He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and leads you in the direction of the Chateau. 

It wasn’t until you got to the Chateau that you finally let JJ know that happened, and he had been pacing around his bedroom ever since.

“I’m gonna kill him,” JJ practically grits out, his jaw so tense from anger.

“No, you’re not,” You sniffle as you stay wrapped up in JJ’s hoodie and sheets. The second you had reached his room, you climbed into his bed, you’re ultimate comfort place. There were so many times when you ended up in JJ’s bed, feeling wholly protected just by being next to him.

“Y/n, he acted like you were his. He didn’t even ask you! He was-fuck!” The bed squeaks as JJ tosses himself down at the bottom edge of the bed. His head is buried in his hands, and you can see the tension in his back. You slip out from beneath the covers and crawl towards him without saying anything. He tenses when he feels you wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his shoulder, but then he shifts to hold you to him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with men in my family.”

“You don’t have to apologize; you’re the only Maybank man I care about.” JJ nearly melts at the kiss you place on his cheek.

“Y/n.”

“JJ.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if I had told you sooner.”

“Told me what sooner?”

“About my feelings for you.” Your heart feels like it has given out when you hear him say this.

“No.” Your voice is a whisper as you look up at him.

“No?” His voice is just as soft as yours.

“That isn’t fair to put on yourself; Dean did what he did because he’s a dick.”

“I should have told you that I’ve been in love with you for a long that I can’t even remember when it started. It feels like I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I’ve loved you so for so fucking long, and I never told you,” He pauses, tucking a stray hair behind your ear like he did earlier in the night.

“I never thought I’d have a shot with you, and then I saw you with Dean. God, Y/n, I wanted to kill him. He had everything I ever wanted,” A soft sigh leaves his lips, and you simply watch him, your stomach fluttering at his confession.

JJ, you sigh, “Everyone knew my feelings about you; I don’t know how you didn’t. Why do you think I was always the first to clean you up after a fight? I would always share the couch with you if I had to. Not like it was a problem for me. I invited you to stay at my house; when have I ever invited Pope or John B to stay in my bed? I’ve always liked you, J, and always will.”

He stared at you as you talked, and you moved closer to him, taking a chance, sitting in his lap, and interlocking your hands behind his neck. His hands quickly found your waist and held you in his lap.

“I’ve always been in love with you,” You whispered softly, too nervous to say the words too loud, worried you might scare him off despite his previous comments. He didn’t say anything at first, simply tugging you into his chest so you had your legs wrapped around his waist as you hugged him. He pulled back to look at you, and your stomach flipped when you saw how he looked at you.

As close as you and JJ always were as friends, you had never been this close as you stared at him. Your heart was racing to see him stare at you like he found you stunning; he had never looked at you like this before. If he had, you had never gotten to see it.

“J?”

“Yea?”

“Can you kiss me?” When his lips meant yours, it wasn’t rough, or fast-it was gentle and soft-like he wanted to take all his time in the world with you. He brushed his lips against yours, slipping his hands into your hair. Relishing in the feeling of you pressed against him. His lips were soft and slow against yours, making you melt into him. Of all the times you had pictured kissing him, it had been quick and heated. But as he laid you down and pressed gentle kisses to your lips and neck, you preferred this to your fantasies.

He brushed his lips against yours, mumbling about how much he loved kissing you, making you smile against his lips. His hands trailed all over your body, barely touching against your skin, but enough to leave goosebumps behind. When he reached your hips, he would give a gentle squeeze. Sitting up, he used an arm to bring you up with him. You had waited so long to kiss JJ; now that you were, you didn’t want it to stop. His hands trailed along your thighs as you sat in his lap, leading the kiss.

“Arms up, baby,” He told you as he pulled your sweatshirt over your head, tossing it to the ground. Watching his eyes raking up and down your body made you dizzy. You let his eyes take in your body before tugging at the hem of his shirt, silently telling him that you wanted it off. This was your chance to admire his body’s dips and curves. There was never a time that you could admire him up close, and that you had, you never wanted to stop. You knew he was muscular from the countess times you had watched him surf and walk around shirtless, but getting to touch him this way was entirely different. Being alone meant you didn’t have to worry about your friends catching your longing looks; there was no John B to relentlessly tease you. Just you and JJ.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” He said as he slipped his fingers under your white bra straps and let them fall down your shoulders.

“Thank you, you’re pretty beautiful too,” Your voice teased as you threw your arms around his neck. Quickly, he leaned forward to kiss you, not wanting to waste another second without tasting you.

“Damn right,” He mumbled, making you giggle. You were about to reach around your back to rid yourself of your bra when he stopped you.

“That’s my job from now on,” He shot you a cocky grin and pushed your hands away from your bra to do it himself. He reached one hand around you, and you felt your bra drop.

“One hand, baby,” He joked. You laughed loudly, remembering that JJ and John B had borrowed yours and Kiara’s bras years ago, hoping to learn to do it one-handed. They eventually did know after you and Kiara stepped in to teach them.

“Pure fucking talent,” You sarcastically answered him, but he wasn’t really listening anymore. He groaned when he saw your bare tits and perky nipples. Your mind blanked as you heard the noise that came from him. 

His mouth closed around your nipple, biting gently, ripping a gasp from your throat. Their back arched into his chest to give him better access. He wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. Beneath you, you could feel how quickly this was turning his hair wild from when you had your fingers through his hair. Soft sighs were filling the room as he licked and sucked, alternating between both of your tits. The wetness between your legs grew more apparent as he touched you.

He grabbed your waist and moved you off of his lap, pushing you down so that you were laid out underneath him. His hands slipped under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, bringing your underwear with them. Your first reaction was to close your legs; you were not used to having someone see you like this. But he gently placed his hands on your knees and pushed them apart. 

You sat up as he stood at the end of his bed, slipping his shorts down. Oh fuck. Wetness pooled between your thighs as his cock was released from his underwear. You had always wondered whether he would be big or small, and you weren’t surprised he was in the bigger size. A quick kiss was placed on your lips before he touched your chest, pushing you back on the bed. With your back against the pillows and your legs spread, he finally got to look at all of you. All bare and glistening, and he swore he had never been harder in his life. He glanced up at you, asking for permission, and you nodded. Pressing kisses from your ankles to between your thighs, he slowly made his way to where you wanted him most.

“God baby, you’re soaked for me,” You could only answer with a whimper as he slipped his fingers over your clit, causing you to arch your back. He was slow as he began to circle your clit, adding fingers to pump in and out of you.

The moan you let out was pornographic when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, letting his tongue slide along your pussy. From the bottom to the top, he licked through your folds. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, but you knew he wouldn’t if you asked him to go faster; he seemed pleased to take things slowly and gently.

“Your pussy tastes so good, it could eat you out for hours,” He mumbled against you, causing you to moan loudly. Your fingers twisted in the sheets as you continued licking and sucking your clit, bringing you closer to your orgasm. Your legs began to shake, and you were momentarily embarrassed. It had been months since you were last touched, and without warning, JJ between your thighs was bringing you to your orgasm embarrassingly quick. Without warning, he pulled away from you, leaving you a little confused.

“Lay at the end of the bed,” You were still shaky, but you did as you were told and glanced up at him, kneeling at the foot of his bed. He kissed your lips before standing up, and you realized what he had in mind.

You watched as he grabbed his cock between his hand and guided it into your mouth. The moan that left his mouth as he felt your mouth had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Holy fuck, you look so pretty like this,” Desperation laced through his voice, making you feel entirely feral for him. You were willing to do anything that he told you to do.

His hands were in your hair as he created a makeshift ponytail to hold you in place as he fucked your mouth. Youhines were muffled b cock, and from the sounds that were leaving him, you could tell he was enjoying this. A quick peek up at him let you know just how good he was feeling. The flush on his cheeks and his furrowed eyebrows were your indicators.

You pulled away from him with a pop, leaving a trail of salvia attaching you to him, “I need you to fuck me; I’ve waited too long to do this.” 

Your voice sounded incredibly desperate as you begged him. He said nothing, just leaned down to kiss you before reaching beside the bed. He dug around in his shorts before grabbing a condom from his wallet. You sent him a soft smile and laid your back against the pillows, waiting for him. He sat before you, then situated himself between your legs and used his arms to hold himself above you. He looked down at you, and you sent him a giggly smile.

“I love you, J,” You told him, causing him to gently lean down and kiss you.

“I love you, baby,” He whispered against your lips, sending butterflies throughout your stomach. 

He sat up, grabbing your thighs with both hands, moving your legs so that you could slip between them. Your knees were bent, and your legs were on either side of him as he brushed his fingers against your clit again.

“God, you have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen,” His simple words caused a gasp to be pulled from you.

His cock replaced his fingers, teasing your clit before sliding the tip inside you. At the feeling, both of you let out satisfied moans. JJ quickly grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers before fully pushing inside of you slowly. “Jesus Christ,” He was nearly gone. “So fucking good.” All you could do was moan in response.

His thrusts began slow, sliding in and out of you at an agonizing pace, making you cry out at him to go faster. He didn’t listen.

“You look so pretty getting fucked,” He reached his hand down, using his thumb to rub against your clit in the slowest circles. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

If you hadn’t been so fucked out, you would’ve been embarrassed at hearing how wet you were desperately cried a pathetic, moaning as he quickly flipped you over and grabbed get enough of you.”

When he slipped out of you, you desperately cried in protest. But he was quick to flip you over and grab your hips, pulling you onto all fours. He gave your hips a gentle squeeze and placed a few kisses on your shoulder. Your skin prickled with goosebumps as he ran his fingers down your spine. Lifting yourself up so your back was pressed against him and your neck was exposed so he could press kisses against you. His arms slid around your waist, his right hand going up to grab at your tits as he nipped at your neck. Your legs felt shaky as he held you up and against him. The moans that filled your ears being this close to him drove you crazy. You didn’t think you would ever get used to hearing him like this. So fucked out and close to coming.

“Fuck J, please go harder.”

“You want me to fuck you harder, baby?” You babbled incoherently in response, making JJ grin.

“Beg me, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, JJ! Please, I need more of your cock. I want you to take me, be rough with me.”

He pushed you forward, forcing you back on all fours. You let out a loud ‘fuck’ when he shoved his cock back into you, not sure how long you could hold yourself up. His hands gripped your hips tightly, keeping you in place, and he slid his cock in and out of you, the room filling with both of your moans.

“Is that what you wanted, baby? Wanted to fucked rougher?”

As he quickened his pace, you stuck your ass in the air and pressed your cheek against the bed, raising your arms above your head as he fucked you. Your fingers were tangled in the sheets, and you knew the neighbors could probably hear you. Out of all the times you had been with a guy, you didn’t think you had ever been this loud. Each time he thrust into you, you let out a high-pitched moan, unable to stop yourself.

His name and curses fell through your lips, and you got closer and closer to coming. You knew you would come quicker than you usually would since you had spent years fantasizing about JJ. You had spent countless nights getting off to the thought of getting to be with JJ, and if you knew him at all-he did too.

“Fuck JJ, I’m getting close,” You whined, your voice shaky as he pounded into you. “Gonna cum!”

“Fuck. Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” you knew you could let go with him. You could tell by his quickened pace and sloppy thrusts.

When you felt him grab your hips hard and pound into you a few more times, you knew you could let go with him.

“JJ! Fuck, I-”

“I know, fuck. I’m gonna cum.” that admission, your back arched as you felt your pussy squeeze around him. The moans leaving you were beyond loud, and you hoped to God none of your friends had decided to come back from the party.

“Fuck.” He grunted as he thrust one final time into you before squeezing your hips tightly. The feeling of him switching inside you sent you over the edge. You let go, pleasure coursing through you as you felt your whole body shake as the feeling shot through your entire body.

“Jesus, baby,” JJ mumbled as his head dropped to your back. You let out a giggle, understanding how fucked out he was feeling.

He slowly slid out, falling onto the bed next to you. You let your hips drop, moving so that you were on your side facing him. You were both breathing hard and knew you would need a shower and clean sheets after this.

“God, I love you.” He kisses your head before standing up and heading into your bathroom. You hear him come back after a few minutes.

“Turn over, baby.” You turn to see him with a warm washcloth; he slowly moves your legs apart and cleans up the mess between them. Your heart melts as you watch him take care of you. Once he’s done, he tosses the rag and lays beside you; you move so that you’re lying against his chest, and he throws his blanket over the both of you.

“JJ?”

“Yea, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for taking me home.”

“Be fucking quiet; you’re gonna wake her up.” JJ snapped, sending a glare over at John B. It was nearly 9 am, and they were the only two awake, the rest of the group fast asleep after the party.

“I am being fucking quiet, dumbass.”

“I don’t need her finding out what happened this morning,” He grumbled, glancing down at his bruised and bloody knuckles. John B’s snort caught his attention, and he glanced up at his best friend, who was looking at his hand.

“Like that won’t give it away?”

“I’ll just say I got into it with some kooks.”

“You’re gonna lie to her?” John B sent him an unimpressed look.

“Jesus, John B! I don’t know what I’m gonna tell her yet.”

“Tell her the truth. That you beat the shit out of our cousin for her,” He shrugged like it was the most straightforward option. “Where is she anyway? Did you take her home?”

JJ faltered at that question, the memories of last night running through his head. He still needed to update John B that your friendship had been properly ruined. But he didn’t know what the two of you were now. Were you dating? Casually seeing each other for now? That was something that he should clear up soon.

“No, she’s uh-“His door creaked, and you were wrapped in his sheets. Your hair was a mess, a couple of marks littered your neck, and your eyes were squinted with sleep.

“J?” You called quietly, and JJ nearly melted. How did he get so lucky? How did this angel have feelings for him? “Can you come back? I miss you.”

You must have been delirious with sleep and not have even noticed John B because there was no way you would’ve felt comfortable looking and speaking this vulnerably in front of him any other time.

“Yea, baby. I’ll be there.” You sent him a sleepy smile and closed the door. JJ nearly jumped up from his spot to get to you.

“Baby?” John B let out, sounding incredibly smug and wearing a grin. “Looks like you finally told her.”

JJ didn’t say anything; he just flipped him off with a smug smile as he closed the door to his bedroom and slipped into bed with you.

“Hi,” He quietly greeted as he settled into his pillow facing you.

“Why’d you leave?” Your voice was laced with sleep as you scooted closer to him.

“I went and saw Dean,” He felt you tense in his arms, and for a second, he wondered if he had made the wrong decision by telling you. He would never regret punching his cousin for the way he treated you.

“J, what did you do?”

“I punched him, and I know you aren’t a fan of that, but-“His words were cut off by pressing your lips to his.

“Thank you, he deserved it,” You quietly mumbled before snuggling back into his chest.

JJ had never loved you more.

[planet-marz1]

Tangled Triumphs

Summary: Joel learns how to do Sarah's hair Relationship: Joel and Sarah Word Count: ~800

Tags/Warnings: no warnings! just lots of fluff here :)

A/N: just some cute little joel & sarah cuteness i've been working on for a bit! tysm to @pascalpvnk for beta reading!!

beautiful dividers by @/saradika-graphics

| main masterlist | ao3 link | follow my fic updates blog @planetmarz1-notifs

The soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over Joel's small apartment. Toys scattered, and crayon drawings adorned the walls, painting a vivid picture of life with a spirited four-year-old named Sarah. Today, he’s facing a new frontier: the art of styling Sarah's wild, curly hair.

In the heart of the apartment, the kitchen table bore witness to the unfolding saga. Joel, armed with an array of hair tools and a laptop playing a tutorial, stared intently at the screen. Sarah, a ball of energy in her favorite princess dress, twirled around, giggling.

"Daddy, look at me!" she called, her curly crown dancing with each twirl.

"In just a minute, sweetheart," Joel replied, his gaze shifting between the laptop and the intimidating hairbrush in his hand.

Transitioning to the bathroom, Joel and Sarah stood before the mirror. Joel, with a gentle touch, spritzed Sarah's hair with water, creating a halo of droplets around her head.

"It's cold, Daddy!" Sarah protested, her enthusiasm momentarily dampened.

"I know, darling. It's part of the process," Joel reassured, glancing at the online tutorial for guidance.

Joel attempted to detangle the curls with a wide-tooth comb. Sarah stood in front of the mirror, her curls seemingly possessing a life of their own, evading Joel's efforts.

"Daddy, it's pulling!" Sarah whined, her patience waning.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Just a bit more," Joel said, beads of frustration forming on his forehead.

The bathroom became a battleground as Joel grappled with knots and tangles. Sarah squirmed, the process proving more challenging than anticipated.

"Can we play something else?" Sarah pleaded.

"Just a little longer, princess. We're almost there," Joel reassured, beads of sweat forming on his temples.

Returning to the kitchen, Joel embarked on the styling phase, attempting to replicate the hairstylist's intricate twists and turns. Sarah's patience dwindled, and she fidgeted, making Joel's task even more intricate.

"Daddy, I wanna go play!" Sarah insisted, tugging at Joel's sleeve.

"Just a moment, sweetheart. We're almost finished," Joel said, determination etched on his face.

In the kitchen, amidst the remnants of detangling spray and hairbrushes, Joel made a decision. "Alright, sweetheart, how about we go on a little adventure?"

Sarah's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Adventure? Where are we going?"

"To the store," Joel declared, scooping up Sarah into his arms. "We're going to find the perfect things for your beautiful hair."

The fluorescent lights of the store illuminated rows of hair care products. Joel, pushing a cart with Sarah seated in the front, navigating towards the hair care section, a world of colorful bottles and promising labels. Sarah, nestled in the cart, scanned the shelves with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

"Okay, sweetheart, we need something that will make your curls happy. What do you think?" Joel asked, examining the array of products.

"Maybe that one!" Sarah pointed to a bottle with a picture of cheerful curls on it. 

Joel hesitated, reading the fine print. "Hmm, let's see."

As he tried to decipher the mysterious language of hair care ingredients, Sarah giggled, her small hands reaching for another bottle.

"No, Daddy, this one! It has sparkles!" she insisted, pointing to a bottle that promised an extra touch of magic.

Joel chuckled, appreciating his daughter's keen eye. "Sparkles it is, then. A touch of magic for those beautiful curls."

Next, they ventured into the accessories aisle, a paradise of colors and shapes. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of butterfly clips, hair bands, and ribbons.

"Look, Daddy! Butterflies!" she exclaimed.

Joel chuckled, appreciating the simplicity of his daughter's joy. "Butterflies it is, then! Pick out your favorites, sweetheart."

Sarah carefully selected a handful of butterfly clips in different colors, her eyes shining with delight. Each choice felt like a treasure unearthed in their quest for the perfect adornments. Joel watched, a sense of pride welling up as his daughter made her choices.

Back home, with their newfound treasures, Joel and Sarah settled in the living room. Armed with the chosen hair care product and the butterfly clips, Joel embarked on the next part of their quest.

"Now, let's try this magic potion first," Joel said, spraying the detangling spray.

As the mist settled on Sarah's curls, Joel gently worked his way through the tangles. Each stroke of the comb was a small victory, the detangling spray making the curls more manageable. Sarah, now more patient, sat with anticipation, her eyes fixed on the transformation.

"And for the finishing touch..." Joel added the butterfly clips.

Sarah beamed as the colorful butterfly clips were delicately placed, turning her curls into a whimsical masterpiece. Each clip held a story, a choice made with joy and excitement.

"Look, Daddy! I'm a butterfly princess!" she exclaimed.

"You sure are, sweetheart. A butterfly princess with the most beautiful curls in the world," Joel said, smiling.

tag list: @pertinentpostmortem @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @bastardmandennis @catchallfangirl @chaotic-mystery @beskarandblasters @amanitacowboy @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @pedrodascal @sweetercalypso @ilovepedro @cool-iguana @alwaysmicado @lovers-liability @futuraa-free @morgaussy @pedritoferg @spookykoolkat @wethairjoel @chronically-ghosted @buckyispunk @pattwtf @morning-star-joy @elvinaa @tinycozycomfort @magpiepills @pr0ximamidnight @joelscurls @janaispunk @5oh5 @farmerlarrry @maximoff-forevermore @atinylittlepain @joeldjarin @spookyxsam @honey-dip-24 @hiroikegawa @mcira @mrsmando @hyzer34 @limerence4u @sin-djarin @reddedmiller @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa @kajashe @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

pls lmk if you want to be removed from the tag list!

[tpwkwriter]

could u pls pls do one where anxious reader calls harry having a panic attack but its from his pov and kinda tells how it worries him that shes like that and would do anything for her????

First off thank you for the request! How cute would Harry be omg<3

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, worries, slight cursing and mentions of lot ending 😭

————————‘Half the world away’———————

As ‘love on tour’ was halting to an end a lot more of Harry’s time was being taken up, perfecting each rehearsal, each song, making sure each outfit was correct, putting the band to practice, these next few days were gonna be hectic no doubt, and with LOT coming to an end Harry wanted to ensure it had a bloody good send off.

However balancing work, fame and a relationship could be tricky. Y/n has such an amazing sense of understanding and patience Harry wasn’t sure she was real, whenever Harry would be out late or have to leave for periods of time y/n would always put a brave face on and late him go no matter how reluctant she was.

It was a hot July in Italy, Harry had rented out a gorgeous luxury b&b for there stay, the plan was to stay out in Italy after the tour to finally bask in some quality time under the Italian sunshine.

Y/n knew Harry loved his job, despite the judgemental public, the paparazzi, and certain interviewers he loved his job, and seeing her love celebrate his winnings and travel the world preforming to thousands and millions each night was truly a sight to y/n’s eyes.

However sometimes y/n just wanted her Harry to herself, she hated how selfish that sounded but it was true, she often wanted mornings just to themselves or evenings where they could cuddle up in there bed, but with Harry’s tight schedule this rarely happened at the moment.

“Baby v’gotta go” Harry quietly told y/n who still lay on the bed.

“M’kay” she hummed.

“Y’alrigh?” Harry asked.

“Mmm”

“I’ll be back for lunch alrigh?” He says softly smiling, seeing there clearly was something up.

“Okay”

‘She might just be sleepy’ he thought to himself.

“Okay baby, I love you” he said leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Mm, love you” she said closing her eyes after his lips left her body.

It was safe to say he left feeling like an absolute arsehole, she was clearly not happy or her usual self and he couldn’t out his finger on why.

————Harry’s pov————

The instrumental to ‘music for a sushi restaurant’ blared through the speakers of the empty arena, nothing went right this morning, this was the 3rd try of trying to get through ‘MFASR’ without a technical difficulty.

“Fuck sake” I muttered under my breath after the 4th time of the sound not working.

“Harry let’s take a break, sounds gone bust” Mitch said from my side, while taking his guitar off.

“Yeah yeah” I mumbled.

The last show of the entire tour was slowly approaching and I want this show to be my best, as a thank you from me to everyone who’s ever attended my shows and a goodbye for a while, it was a bittersweet moment.

Backstage of the arena I saw the loveband sit on sofas and vanity desks al sat around having conversations about his knows what.

“Harry don’t be so stressed man” Pauli called as soon as I walked in.

“M’trying mate” I smiled, plopping down on the empty seat next to nyoh.

“I want this show to be good” I stressed.

“And it will be, and even if something goes wrong we can laugh about it” Mitch pipes up from the corner.

“Your fans wouldn’t care H, there definitely bright people” nyoh adds

“Mmm” I hum, suppose they are right.

“I’m just, I don’t know, worried about y/n”

“Y/n?” Pauli asks concern on all the members face now, y/n was practically a little sister to them.

“I thinks she’s mad at me pauli, no idea what I’ve done” I calmly state putting my head in my hands.

“You Need to check on her Harry” nyoh warns

“It’s Not an Easy Lifestyle sometimes” she adds.

“I know I know, she shrugs my questions off, I know somethings not right”

“Harry! Where’s Harry!” We suddenly heard.

“Sarah?” Mitch called opening the door.

“Harry” she continues, while making a direct beeline for me

“Harry it’s y/n” she claims hastily passing me her phone which happens to be a call.

“Y/n?” I whisper before taking the phone from her hand.

“Harry?” I hear a familiar sniffle, fuck.

“Baby, Baby it’s me shit what’s happening” I immediately ask as I go an excuse my self from the rest of the band and shut myself into the dressing room.

“Baby I need you to breathe what’s going on hmm?” I ask trying to keep my voice quiet and calm.

All I can hear from the line is sniffles and quick breathing from my girl, my minds made up.

“Give me 5 minutes tops and I’ll be with you my love fuck I’m coming, I love you and stay exactly where you are”

With a quick confirmation of “ok” I swiftly hang up and pass Sarah’s phone back and explain what’s going on and run out of the door.

—————————

Harry wastes no time getting into the rented house, searching top to bottom of where she could be, luckily there shared en-suite was open.

Harry entered the room the see his y/n sitting in the shower with just a top and his boxers on.

‘Fuck this was a panic attack’ he knew this because the feel of cold water normally helped regulate the girls feelings.

“Oh baby” he’s fast to throw his jacket on the floor and toe his shoes off and join her, he switches the shower off and sits next to her leaning his head against the glass shower wall.

“Darling” he said wrapping his arm over her shoulder.

Immediately she fell into him, she moved herself to sit on his lap and bury her face into his chest and made herself as small as she could on his lap, he put one arm around her head as he leaned his chin on top of her head and the other arm around her legs almost holding her as if she was a baby.

“I feel silly” she breathily mumbled.

“No, absolutely no need too” he said into her hair, pressing a kiss there too.

“I miss you Harry” she honestly admitted.

“Baby-“

“I really can’t go without you” she cries, causing him to hold her even tighter.

It had just clicked in his head what’s going on, he hasn’t been very attentive these few days, he admittedly had been prioritising work, a flood of guilt and shame filled his veins.

“Fuck, fuck. fuck” he mutters

“Baby im so fucking sorry fuck” he says, truly meaning every word he said.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me, you mean the fucking world to me, I love you so fucking much it hurts me baby fuck” he says voice cracking towards the end.

That’s all y/n wanted to hear, she wasn’t often insecure or upset but she now knows she really can’t go without Harry.

“I love you Harry, M’sorry” she says more tears falling at the idea of her making him feel shitty.

“Got nothing to be sorry for, fuck”

“After this tour, m’all yours I’ll always be yours, your stuck with me love, we can go away, we can go home, absolutely anything fuck, as-long as I’m with you” he pleaded, now pressing kisses all over the girls head.

“I like that, I like a lot” she nods.

“M’sorry H I’m never normally this, clingy or crazy but, I miss you I miss your arms, and scent, having meals together, feeling you close to me” she admits absolutely emotional now.

“Hey, hey, darling y’gonna breathe for me hey?” He said pushing his fingers on her chin so she can look up him.

They then started breathing slowly together, and endured a moment of silence, nearly forgetting they where they were.

“Think we needed this” she mumbled.

“Mmm me too lovie”

“Y’ready to get out hmm? We can get comfy and into bed for a while” he adds

“What about rehearsals?”

“Fuck em we got all week”

A smirk formed on the girls lips after he said that.

“All mine, mine mine mine” the girl whined pressing further into his chest.

“That y’are, I’d do anything for you love, shit, I love you so bloody much”

——————————————————————————

Hope this is okay!

[i-who-has-never-had-a-name]

Books I think the crows would enjoy:

Kaz: Frankenstein, One flew over the cuckoo's nest, The catcher in the Rye, The secret history, Crime and Punishment, No Longer Human, The silence of the lambs, Demon Copperhead, Eileen, Trainspotting, Hesse's and Cormac McCarthy's works, Antigone, Hamlet, The Stranger, Sherlock Holmes (when he was a child), Attack on Titan & Vinland Saga (manga)

Inej: The color purple, all of Toni Morrison's books, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, Jane Eyre, Love in the Time of cholera, Mrs. Dalloway, The Bell Jar, a lot of Shakespeare's work, Antigone, Medea, White Nights, Wuthering Heights, Valley of the dolls, Play it as it lays, On earth we're briefly gorgeous, Sex and Rage

Wylan (he'd listen to audiobooks): Giovanni's Room, The picture of Dorian Gray, also the secret history, The great gatsby, The song of achilles, The Illiad, Shakespeare, Letters to a Young Poet, Demian, also Jane Austen's works and Wuthering Heights, Confession's of a Mask, Joan Didion's works

Jesper: That man doesn't read for shit nor does he have the patience to listen to most audiobooks but he'd like to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Harry Potter, definitely a lot of fantasy partly ya, On the Road and also The Great Gatsby.

Nina: Let's be honest she would probably read a lot of trashy romance novels or fun, lighthearted stuff, not that there's anything wrong with it she has endured enough. Would enjoy tropes like enemies to lovers, smut and ya. I have a feeling that she'd like Sarah J. Maas' stuff. I think she would also like Daisy Jones and the six and the seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo.

Matthias: He doesn't care.

Feel free to leave suggestions.

[baker-coded]

Barbie and Ken {S.H.}

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Steve Harrington x reader

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 870

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Steve sees you for the first time in a while at the bookstore while getting a present from Robin.

𝓐/𝓝: I wrote this in an hour. Be nice. Also I'm back to writing again so woo fucking hoo. This is set up to be a series btw. And Barbie isn't reader's name but I really hate typing {Y/N} personally. It feels unnatural to me. Anyway. Enjoy <3

Ah yes, Steve Harrington. He goes by many names. "Steve". "Steven". "The Hair". "King Steve". And, sometimes, simply "Harrington" by teammates and coaches... and rivals. Most notably Billy Hargrove.

But this story isn't about those two.

It's about you. And Steve.

You've gone by a few names yourself in your high school years and post-high school it's like no one bothered to learn your name.

"Queen Barbie" is what they called you. "Queen Barbie" was known as a sweet girl by most people and regarded as a bitch to others. But nothing played into your "Barbie" persona as much as your love for the color pink and the smile that constantly adorned your face.

Always smiling even while you worked. It was a job you loved in all fairness. A bookstore. Quiet. Not a lot of people passing through. And you loved it.

The bookstore was a nice change of pace from high school. It was small and family owned. Not by your family of course, you and your family had... issues to say the least. But that's a story for another time.

In school you wore hot pinks and baby pinks paired with white or gold. Working you went for more muted pinks. But pink is pink and nothing has made you less "Queen Barbie".

And nothing made Steve less "King Steve".

Especially when he came in to buy Robin a book for her birthday. If anything that made him better in your eyes. Steve was always kind to you but you never were into him like everyone expected you to be. He was sweet to you but you knew he was kind of an asshole to others.

He came up to the counter with a copy of Patience and Sarah. You saw the book before him and got excited about it.

"Oh this is a wonderful book. Good choice." You said happily as you took it. You turned the book on its back and put the price in the register as you spoke. "It's about a woman and her lover, who's another woman. One of the main characters is pretty masculine and she eventually 'transitions' to a man kinda. Then she goes by- You know what? I'm sorry. I'm rattling on. Uh... it's five nineteen."

Steve just smiled and nodded at you as he got out his wallet. "I didn't know you read that much Barbie."

Your head snapped up to see Steve, in all his glory. His hair was shorter than you remembered, maybe a bit flatter. He was definitely more muscular but you didn't really know what he's been doing to be so much stronger looking.

You hadn't realized how he had freckles in school. They looked good. And he had the prettiest eyes. And he also-

"Uh... receipt?" Your mouth stopped your thoughts. Auto pilot can really be a bitch sometimes.

Steve seemed to be in the same boat. He looked startled when you asked. "Oh, uh, yes please. It's a gift for a friend."

You smiled and handed him the receipt. "I think we have gift wrap in the back. I can wrap it for you!" You offered, totally not still thinking about his eyes and freckles.

Steve's eyes widened as he nodded. "Please. Their birthday is tomorrow."

"King Steve doing something last minute? I'm surprised!" You teased. "I'll go wrap it."

You took the book and went into the back room to wrap it. It wasn't official wrapping paper. It was just brown paper with book covers printed on it. You put a "To/from" sticker on it and came out with a sharpie.

Steve was standing awkwardly by the counter and his face lit up when he saw you with the now wrapped book. He went to grab it from you and you pulled the book back.

"I remember your handwriting." Was all you said to him. You set the book on the counter and took the lid from the sharpie. "Who's it for?"

"Robin Bobbin Buckley."

You blinked at him in confusion. "Is that their name or...?"

"It's more of an in joke."

"Cute."

You could have sworn Steve's cheeks turned pink slightly but you had no idea. You knew he didn't really blush so it was hard to decipher if it was blush or the summer heat was seeping into the store.

Steve rocked back and forth for a few moments as you wrote down what he told you. You had barely finished when he blurted out: "Barbie let's go on a date."

"What?"

Steve stumbled for a second before finally getting out a coherent phrase. "Date. Me. Please?"

You smiled and handed him the book. "How about in two days yeah? Your friends birthday is tomorrow."

Steve smiled and took the book from you. "I can do that. That works. Movies?"

"Just like school."

"Exactly Barbie." He chuckled. "I know how much you love drive-ins and milkshakes."

"It's fun!"

"I agree! That's why Saturday at 8 is going to be the perfect time."

"I can't wait Steve."

Steve left the store as casually as he could before absolutely freaking out in his car. He couldn't believe he got you. And he was gonna do his damnedest to keep you.

[pleasingforharry]

What’s So Great About Me?

SUMMARY: Y/N wanted to let Harry go because she thought he needed better, but he wasn’t ready to give up on them. It’s a story of fighting each other to love each other.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: heavy drinking

-

She wasn’t trying to be an asshole. She told him multiple times that they wouldn’t work. She said it to him in front of all their friends so everyone heard her rejection. But nothing she said stopped him from trying to finally break down the wall she built with steel.

The whole friend group, Harry’s band, were split in the middle. They knew why Y/N had been trying to avoid all of Harry’s feelings towards her, but they also rooted for Harry to win her back again. They all thought it was only a matter of time and patience until Y/N finally admitted why she didn’t want Harry to be with her anymore, and he could fix them.

The band was in the middle of rehearsals in the studio when Y/N entered with a cupholder of drinks. They varied from coffee to fruit smoothies. She tried to sneak in so their session could run uninterrupted, but it was like Harry felt the presence of his joy getting closer. His eyes immediately darted to the door of the studio room and a wide smile curved on his lips.

Sarah and Mitch caught the singer’s line of vision before sharing the same frown. He just didn’t get it. But they were glad he didn’t. Harry and Y/N deserved each other, and it was going to take a lot of work for the stubborn girl to realize that.

Y/N hadn’t yet realized her plan went straight down the drain as she subtly made her way over to Jeff on the couch behind the sound controls. “Hey, stranger,” He exclaimed, patting the seat next to him.

“Hello to my favorite engaged man. Long time, no see. How’ve you been?” Y/N asked as she leaned into his short hug before placing the cup holder on the ground and sitting back in the couch. 

“Wonderful,” He sighed happily.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. I’m so excited for you both. Tomorrow is going to be simply magical,” She exclaimed. “I just came to bring the band their drinks before I ran some errands.”

“So I’m guessing you’re not gonna stay long enough for Harry to say hi?” He instantly smirked, watching the girl’s cheek tint pink as she dropped her eyes to her interlocked hands on her lap.

She shrugged, “Sarah asked if I could come by to drop their drinks off, that’s all.”

Jeff rested his hand on Y/N’s shoulder and raised a brow at her. She knew exactly what he was saying without even saying it. Y/N laughed and slapped his hand away.

Harry watched his girl chat with Jeff in mild jealously. A smile was prominent on her lips and it frustrated him that he couldn’t get that from her anymore. A guilty frown always stayed around when she was with Harry. He hated it.

“You’re gonna break the poor man’s heart,” Jeff sighed with a disappointed head shake. 

“Well, he has a million fans to piece it back together for him,” Y/N shrugged, standing up from the couch. “I still haven’t forgave you for partnering us up together at the wedding rehearsals.”

Jeff covered his mouth to laugh. “I can’t even begin to explain how hilarious your face was when you were walking down the aisle with him.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Ha ha, so funny, Jeffrey.” She unfortunately looked through the glass at the band at the wrong time as Harry immediately caught her eye. His brows raised as he waved at her. 

Y/N wanted to return the gesture but she thought it would be wrong to lead him on in thinking they were okay. So, she just glanced away.

“Now that’s just sad, Y/N,” Jeff chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just wave back, it’s the least you can do.” Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry, who didn’t stop staring at her, and waved subtly. She didn’t let their eye contact hold for long as she moved to Sarah behind her drum set.

Y/N leaned down to grab her coffee and raised it. Sarah jokingly pumped her fist in the air before motioning Y/N inside the soundproof room. 

“I have to go,” Y/N mouthed with a shake of her head. Sarah gave her a bored look and curled her finger in a hither over motion. Y/N slightly panicked as the rest of the band joined in, calling their good friend inside. Harry watched intensely, smiling reassuringly.

“It would be rude to not say hi,” Jeff spoke just over a whisper, causing Y/N to glance over her shoulder at him. “Just saying.”

“You’re an ass,” She rolled her eyes, “I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow,” Jeff smiled widely at the reminder of his future wedding and gave Y/N a thumbs up.

Y/N grabbed the cupholder and made her way inside the booth, shyly nodding her head at everyone. She placed the drinks on a random table before darting in Sarah’s direction and standing with her best friend in hopes to excuse a conversation with the one person she wanted to avoid.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks for the drink,” Sarah exclaimed, standing up from her seat and moving around her drum set. “Are we still on for tonight?” She asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Y/N stuffed her hands in her back pockets and nodded. Sarah smirked as her eyes wandered behind her friend. Y/N knew exactly who she was looking at, but wouldn’t dare to follow her line of vision.

“What’s tonight?” He asked, bringing his full attention to Sarah and the back of Y/N. Sarah raised her brows as she switched her eyes between the two past lovers. When Y/N didn’t show any effort to turn around and answer his question, Sarah did it for her.

“We were just going to go out for some drinks.”

“Is Mitch going?” He asked, looking over at Mitch sipping on his new coffee. He glanced up at the mention of his name but shook his head as an answer. “So, just you girls?”

Y/N huffed and finally turned to look at Harry. His eyes slightly widened as he didn’t expect her to acknowledge him at all.

“No, you can’t barge in on our girls night to bother me. Wasn’t seeing me here and at the wedding rehearsals enough?” She snapped, before glancing back at Sarah. “I’ll see you later.” 

With that, Y/N didn’t answer to everyone’s quick call of her name as she darted out the studio and into her car. 

She felt bad for the rest of the day. That was an asshole move to snap at him like that in front of everyone and she wanted to apologize but that meant actually talking to him. So, that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Sarah came by Y/N’s house to pick her up so they could head to the bar together. Y/N kept her head down as she approached Sarah’s car, knowing exactly what her face was going to say.

“So,” Sarah smirked as Y/N got in her car, “what was that back there?”

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’ll probably apologize,” she shrugged.

“Probably?” Sarah lifted a brow. “You mean, you will? That was very rude to yell at him like that, Y/N.”

The girl groaned in her hands, and Sarah decided to not push it anymore.

“We’ll talk about that later.”

When they got to the bar, they found two stools to sit at and immediately ordered their first round of drinks. Y/N didn’t want to drink anything hard as she said she’d be the designated driver home.

Sarah brought up Jeff and Glenne’s wedding and how excited she was for tomorrow. Y/N couldn’t agree more… the only thing was being partnered with Harry during the ceremony. She knew it wouldn’t be for long, but just being near him took a lot of strength.

“The bridesmaids dresses are amazing too. We’re gonna look so hot,” Y/N laughed.

“And the venue. It almost brought a tear to my eye,” Sarah agreed. “At the rehearsal, I couldn’t stop looking around like a tourist.”

“Yeah, I had to pinch your side to bring your attention back to the actual engaged couple.”

“They were too busy playing pretend wedding to notice. I’ll do better tomorrow,” she defended herself.

The girls went silent to enjoy their round of drinks and to bob their heads to the club music. It was just what Y/N needed after a long gross day. Sarah knew her all too well . A girls night was a necessity that night.

“Harry and Mitch are going to ride with us to the wedding, I forget to tell you,” Sarah spoke just over the music and quick enough that Y/N had to take a second to process her words.

“Wait, what? You just said one big word,” she laughed.

“I just… it was Mitch’s idea for you and Harry to carpool with us to the wedding,” she shrugged, trying to make the proposal as nonchalant as possible.

Y/N frowned deeply and kept her mouth completely shut. Sarah waited for her to suddenly burst, but it never came.

The duo had moved their conversation forward, and Sarah took Y/N’s lack of response as a ‘yes’ to carpooling. Harry knew about it already and was completely in. But he wanted Sarah to let Y/N know beforehand so she wouldn’t get in the car and during the whole car ride contemplate jumping out and just walking the rest of the way.

When Sarah could tell her friend was a little loosened up, she tried to ask a burning question that everyone was curious about. Only she could get something out of her best friend. So, everyone counted on Sarah to give them a lead with where Y/N’s head was.

“Hey, be honest, but how have you really been doing, dealing with the breakup?” Sarah asked, taking small sips of her drink. Y/N smirked and bumped shoulders with her best friend.

“Great, I’m single and ready to mingle.”

Sarah scrunched her nose to cringe. “Yeah, right. You still love him, Y/N. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

“No, I don’t. I can speak for myself when I say I’ve moved on a while ago.”

“You just broke up. You were crying and locking yourself in your apartment ever since you talked to him that day,” Sarah furrowed her brows at Y/N. “He was basically the same way. I’m sure he still loves you, babe.”

Y/N shrugged, “I can’t help him with that. Send him on a blind date or something.”

Then Sarah got an idea. A pretty good fucking idea that would put her best friend that she knew very well right in her trap.

“We did.”

Y/N eyes suddenly widened, but she quickly recovered with rapid blinks and scratching her eyelids.

“Oh? How did it go?”

Sarah watched her friend’s expression closely. She was on to something.

“Actually, not bad at all. They went out to dinner then he said she brought him to her house to show him her art room,” Sarah slyly fibbed before bringing her glass to her lips to hide any evidence in her face that she was lying.

Y/N took in her words and simply nodded.

“Oh, that’s great! I’m happy for him,” she forced a painful smile. “What’s her name? What does she look like? Anything like me?” Y/N wanted to immediately smack herself for randomly bursting such pushy questions.

Sarah cocked up her brow. “Sydney, I think. She looks almost like you, but you’re obviously prettier,” she teased, wigging her fingers at her friend. Y/N laughed and shot back the rest of her drink. She needed that burn bad.

“He has some good taste. I’m rooting for them,” Y/N sighed. “Sydney and Harry. Harry and Sydney. Harney? Sydrry? Which one?” She thought out loud.

Sarah snicker under her breath and called the bartender back over for more drinks.

Y/N had zoned out into her own world while Sarah ordered. Her best friend knew exactly what she was thinking about, and she gave her some time to do that. She just waited patiently and sipped proudly on her new drink.

“I wonder if he liked her because she looked like me? Or if she reminded him of me?” Y/N hummed before biting her lip. Sarah shrugged, even though she knew those questions weren’t directed towards her.

“I’ve met her, and I want to say she’s a keeper, but Harry still has some things to figure out.”

“Like what?” Y/N shot back.

Sarah gave her a knowing look. Y/N was a little lost with what she was trying to indicate, so Sarah just said it,

“How he’s going to move on from you. Or if he even wants to.”

“But you said the date went well. And he went to her house.”

“So? They could just see each other as friends. Maybe he just needed a dinner date to refresh himself. You kinda knocked him into this weird phase,” she joked. Y/N didn’t laugh with her, though, as she stared at Sarah blankly.

“Friends? That’s it?”

Sarah shrugged, “I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe talk to him and ask.”

Y/N immediately shook her head at that idea. “Fuck no, I can’t talk to Harry about his new…”

“Friend. I think they’re just friends.”

“Doesn’t matter. Fresh exes can’t talk about that stuff to each other. It’ll only make the break up process harder.”

“Oh does it?” Sarah smirked.

“Don’t give me that look. I know what I’m talking about,” Y/N frowned, before finishing her glass in one go. “Okay, no more Harry, or Simone—“

“Sydney.”

“Yeah her, let’s just have fun,” she exclaimed, waving the bartender over again. “This round is on me.”

The pair ended up drinking more than they were supposed to. Y/N kept thinking about Sarah’s words. Harry had met someone? Who was Sydney? How does he really feel about her? The only way to get those questions out of her head was to burn her throat with more alcohol.

“We should dance. Let’s stop talking about guys, it’s a girls night,” Y/N proposed, sliding off her stool and reaching her hands out for Sarah.

“Are you sure? You hate dancing on crowded floors without Harry,” she asked with slight caution. Y/N rolled her eyes and grabbed her friend.

“I never said that. You all just assume I can’t let loose without Harry by my side. Well guess what, Miss Jones,” she smirked, “I’m ready to fucking party!”

Sarah was worried. Really worried.

Y/N was a sight that caught many eyes while she danced. Her hair went wild and her body unconsciously moved to every beat of the song. She kept Sarah in her arms at most times, because, as she recently denied but knew it was far from true, she was scared to be around all those people without Harry bringing her comfort to let loose.

A few men built up the courage and audacity to stalk over and try for a smooth conversation with Y/N. But as she met eyes with each one, they all lacked what she once had. Beautiful and honest loving green eyes.

“I’d like to buy you a drink,” a dirty blonde requested with his eyes wandering everywhere but Y/N’s face. Sarah held her shoulder from behind and got ready to speak up for her friend, but she was interrupted.

“No thanks,” Y/N replied, politely.

“Why not? It’s on me. Maybe we can get to know each other,” he tried again.

“I’ve had plenty and will be just fine keeping our relationship as purely strangers. Like I said, no thanks,” she shrugged with a pitiful smile for the poor embarrassed guy.

His nose started to flare as he took a bold step forward, hovering over both women from his height. ‘Meh, Harry was taller’, Y/N thought.

“You fucking bitch, you were just whoring yourself on the dance floor and acting like you’re better than everyone here—“

Sarah was positive Y/N could handle the situation, but she couldn’t just watch anymore. She moved to stand beside her friend and crossed her arms.

“Listen dude, she doesn’t want anything to do with you. There are a million other women, and men, here that would love to mingle with you,” she motioned around the three of them.

Y/N nodded, “I don’t think you’d really like to buy this whore a drink anyways. I have a castration kink.” Sarah snorted and bumped hips with her best friend.

The dirty blonde was stunned by both of the women in front of him. And not wanting to spare another minute with them, he rolled his eyes and walked away.

Y/N and Sarah turned to each other and laughed before embracing each other in a tight hug.

Because of that guy ruining the mood, the girls decided to find their way back to the bar to cool off. It was hot and the cold alcohol in their system didn’t really help at all.

“Im going to make a quick call, I’ll be right back,” Sarah had told Y/N, but before she could step away, her arm was grabbed.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, stay here. I promise it’ll take two seconds,” she assured her friend.

Now Y/N was curious with who Sarah was going to call because she wasn’t welcomed to overhear the conversation. “Who is it?”

“Mitch.”

Y/N still wasn’t convinced that Mitch was a good enough excuse to walk away on her own, but she was a little too lightheaded to even make it outside without falling over. So, she just nodded and shooed Sarah off.

She turned back to the bar and crossed her arms on the table. The bartender that was secretly monitoring the girls until they both left safely had made his way over to Y/N. Her eyes were floaty as she was deep in thought. About who?

Harry.

“Hey, are you okay? Ready for some water?” He asked with a laugh. Y/N tiredly nodded and mouthed a ‘thank you’. “Don’t worry about it. Are you going home soon? Do you need me to call you and you friend an Uber?”

That’s when it hit Y/N. She groaned and hit her forehead softly because she didn’t have the strength to do it any harder.

“That Uber was supposed to be me,” she sighed, looking over her shoulder for Sarah, ready to break the news to her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, babe.”

Y/N snorted and nodded.

“Let me know when you and your friend are ready to go. I’ll make sure an Uber is here and then just come tomorrow when you’re sober for your car,” he explained. Y/N thanked him with a sweet smile and downed the water he set in front of her.

After what had felt like forever, Sarah finally made it back with loud pants. Y/N patted the stool next to her and pushed a glass of water closer for her to drink.

“You were gone for a long time, what the hell happened?” Y/N frowned at her. “You and Mitch argued?” Sarah shook her head and glanced over her shoulder.

“Okay, don’t hate me but—“ she turned Y/N’s stool around so she could completely face her friend.

Y/N immediately started to laugh. “I love when you start sentences like that.”

“We’re a little too drunk to drive home so I called someone to pick us up,” Sarah explained, cautiously watching Y/N face.

“Okay? Mitch? Why would I hate you?” Y/N cocked a brow up. Sarah sighed and bit her lip.

Just then, the one person she didn’t want to see came up behind Sarah with a frantic look on his face. Y/N’s eyes widened at her friend, ready to pounce on her.

“Are you fucking serious, Sarah!?”

Harry.

He maneuvered past Sarah right to Y/N and held her face. “What happened? Did someone touch you? Was something put in your drink? What—“

Y/N stared at him dumbfounded and placed her hands on his chest. “Harry, calm down. Wait a second, you’re talking too fast.”

Harry stopped, taking a breath to compose himself. Sarah just watched with a slight smirk on her face.

“I’m sorry, I was fucking worried sick when Sarah asked me to take you both home,” Harry explained, letting his hands slide from Y/N’s cheeks to her shoulders.

Y/N leaned her head to the side to look over at Sarah. “What did you tell him? Nothing happened.”

“I tried to tell him that you just weren’t comfortable driving home because you drank a lot, but he wouldn’t let me finish my sentence. He just hung up and drove here,” she raised her arms in surrender before flicking the back of Harry’s head.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you guys were okay,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”

Sarah reached for Y/N’s arm and interlocked them as they followed Harry to his car. Y/N aimed for the backseat, but Harry was quick to open the passenger seat and called her name. Sarah bumped her hip and told her to sit next to him.

“You both are a pain in the ass,” she grumbled, using Harry’s shoulder as leverage to step up into his Range Rover. He placed his hand on top of hers until she was settled in her seat. He made sure to move her seat forward as she liked to be close to the dashboard.

Sarah peeked her head forward to watch them from the backseat. Y/N wasn’t complaining about his silent assistance as she had seen it as normal. He was always gentlemen like, and she knew he wouldn’t change that just because they weren’t together anymore.

“That close enough or more?” He quietly asked, glancing up at her.

“I like it here, thank you,” she nodded. He smiled and shut her door before jogging to his side of the car. Sarah reached forward to rub Y/N’s arm for her attention.

“How ya feeling?” She asked her friend.

“Tired,” Y/N shrugged as Harry situated himself in the car. He didn’t drive right away as he pulled out his phone to text Mitch that he retrieved both of the girls. “How about you?”

Sarah chuckled, “Sore from all that dancing.” Y/N joined her and nodded in agreement. Harry glanced an eye at Y/N.

“You hate dancing while drunk. Especially without me there to be on lookout,” he commented. Y/N rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Well I guess I got over that. I don’t need you around anymore,” she muttered the last part just loud enough for him to hear.

Harry looked at Sarah through the rear view mirror, and they both shared a weird expression. “Did anyone touch her?”

“Oh my god, Harry,” Y/N laughed as Harry pulled out of the bar’s parking lot. “Sarah, do not answer him.”

“You’re too stubborn to admit if something happened to you without me there,” he snarled at her, annoyed. Y/N knew he was right, but she still took offense to that.

“Oh please, you just assume I can’t live, or even breathe, without you there. Newsflash Harry, my life doesn’t revolve around you. I’m very capable of having fun and staying safe without you there,” Y/N argued back as she pointed at him. Sarah watched cautiously, switching her eyes between the past lovers.

Harry knew it wasn’t the right time to fight with her because she was drunk and Sarah was present, so he locked his jaw and kept his eyes on the road. Y/N smirked proudly as she assumed she won that argument.

“Some guys came up to her, but she was able to take care of them just fine, Harry. She was amazing back there,” Sarah finally spoke up to ease the obvious tension. She could practically see Harry internally relax as his shoulders drop.

Y/N reached over to flick the side of Harry’s head and giggled. “Impressed?” She asked while wiggling her brows at him.

“Very, but not because I’m surprised, but because I knew you had it in you all along. You didn’t need me,” he answered, monotony. He returned Y/N’s flicking gesture, but on her thigh as he didn’t want to look away from the busy road to find her temple.

She sighed, “I did, actually.”

“Do you still need me?” He boldly asked. The car got loudly quiet that Harry immediately regretted his question. He glanced at Sarah, but she only smiled sincerely.

Y/N didn’t answer, and she never did. She decided to keep her response to herself because she didn’t want to know what that meant next for the past lovers.

Harry pulled up to Sarah’s house first, and Mitch was standing at the end of their driveway. He waved at Y/N in the passenger seat while she rolled the window down.

“I’m guessing you girls had a nice night,” He laughed, opening the back door to retrieve Sarah. Y/N shrugged before looking behind her seat. 

“Night, Sarah,” She sighed. “I had fun.”

“We’ll talk more about this,” Sarah pointed at her as Mitch helped her out the car. She came to the window and looked at Harry. “Thank you again for getting us.”

He waved it off, “Of course. Night, Sarah. Night, Mitch.” Y/N blew a kiss to the both of them as they walked up to their house.

Harry waited until the couple made it safe in their house before heading to Y/N’s house. She kept her head laid against the headrest and fluttered her eyes closed. Harry consistently glanced over at her and smiled. Y/N was glad he wasn’t trying to force a conversation like she assumed he would. Just being alone with her was enough for him.

The drive wasn’t long, but for Y/N, it felt like hours. She listened to him quietly hum and tap his fingers against the wheel. The silence was getting uncomfortable as the seconds passed.

“Do you need me to help you get to your room?” Harry suddenly asked her. 

“Nope,” She immediately answered, shaking her head. He sighed and decided to try again.

“You can’t walk in a straight line, Y/N.”

She laughed, “You showing up at the bar definitely sobered me up.”

“You were too drunk to drive home. I came to make sure you both got home safely. Sorry that I care,” Harry scoffed, pulling up to Y/N’s block. “We’re here.”

Y/N finally opened her eyes and looked out at the window to see her house in view. She sighed in relief and unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Thanks,” She muttered to Harry without looking at him. 

“I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow. Get some sleep and make sure you take something in the morning,” He told her as she got out of his car.

Y/N was about to dart towards her house, but she suddenly turned around to say something, catching Harry off guard. She huffed before finally looking at him. His eyes slightly lit up as he anticipated her words. But was definitely humbled in a split second.

“Can we not speak at the wedding? Like, at all?” She asked. “I know we are partners, but I just… I can’t think about you like I know I will if you talk to me,” she tried to explain nicely.

Harry bit his lip and gave her a hurt look. She groaned and leaned against the door as the window was rolled down.

“It’s Jeff and Glenne’s day and you want to focus solely on them. I get it,” he shrugged.

“Let me rephrase myself. Can we just not talk about us? I can’t handle that conversation and pretend to be fine at the wedding,” she proposed.

Harry smiled sincerely at her new request and nodded. He could do that. Maybe?

“Of course, Y/N.” She rolled her lips inwards and started to back away but almost tripped over her own feet. “Are you sure you don’t need any help getting inside?”

“I’m a strong independent woman, Harold. I got this,” she yelled, spinning around and attempting to walk in a straight line to her house.

Harry was contemplating to ignore Y/N’s wishes and just bring her upstairs, but he chose the latter. The more he got on her bad side, the harder it would be to win her back.

So, he stayed in his car and watched her somehow make it inside.

-

The wedding was beautiful. Y/N couldn’t help but shed a few tears as she listened to Jeff’s vows. One thing she didn’t notice was that Harry was watching her all night. He couldn’t help but awe at the bridesmaid dress she wore. Even though she was matching with the other girls, she still was the most breathtaking.

And before the doors opened for the ceremony, Harry had Y/N’s arm tangled around his. He looked down at her and smiled as she nervously chewed the inside of her mouth.

“You look great,” Harry whispered to her. Y/N was pulled out of her trance to look up at him. She smiled shortly, before looking back straight. “What’s on your mind?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing.”

Harry knew Y/N too well and it was obvious something else was on her mind. But now wasn’t the time to press the topic. So, he just set it in the back of his head for the time being.

“Well, don’t be a stranger, you can tell me anything.”

Y/N nodded politely, “Thanks, Harry.”

While they stood across the room from each other, lined up with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of Y/N. He took notice every time she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. When she tilted her head up to push tears back in her eyes, he smiled. Anytime she sucked in a hard breath, he watched. 

The afterparty was fun for Y/N at first. She stayed with Sarah and their other friends. She was dancing and drinking, enjoying the rest of the night. Harry couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he watched her. She was happy, and that made him ecstatic.

Y/N’s head began to float, so she excused herself and returned to her assigned seat. A waitress brought her some simple wine to help her relax and unwind, which she gratefully accepted.

The music suddenly turned slow, encouraging couples who haven’t touched the dance floor to meet together and fall in love all over again. Y/N stayed lonely in her chair, sipping melancholy on her rich wine. She tried to watch everyone share smiles with their loved ones as they swayed to the music, but it just stung that she couldn’t feel that peace.

Sarah watched her best friend from the corner of her eye and sighed. She didn’t know what she could do in that moment to help her because they were brutally surrounded by new and old love. 

She wasn’t the only one staring at Y/N from afar. Harry stood against a hidden wall with a hard frown on his face. He wanted so bad to grab Y/N and swoop her off her feet to the dance floor. But she had to make it clear that she didn’t want him to make the night about them.

“Hey,” Harry heard while a hand slid on his shoulder. It was Sarah.

“Hey, what’s up? Mitch didn’t want to dance so you need a partner now?” He smirked as she rolled her eyes and hit his arm.

“I’m not the one who needs a dance partner,” She flickered her eyes to Harry’s original view. “I’ve seen you watching her this whole time. Go dance with her.”

Harry shook his head and rolled his lips inwards. Sarah was a little baffled that he suddenly started to give up. Harry would take any opportunity he could get to be near Y/N, so why wasn’t he taking it now?

“She needs you to keep trying, Harry. Even if she tells you to stop, you need to work harder. Please don’t give up on her,” Sarah pleaded. “She needs you so much that she thinks it’s hurting you.”

“What?” Harry finally broke his eyes from Y/N to look over at Sarah.

“She doesn’t think she’s good enough for you or your career. She’s been insecure about herself since the day you started dating,” Sarah explained. “I won’t tell you everything she’s said to me because that’s for her to one day express to you. But for now, just win her back. Please.”

She needs him so much that she thinks it’s hurting him.

It was like something clicked in Harry’s head. He excused himself from Sarah and darted straight in Y/N’s direction.

She sighed again, checking her phone to see when it was a good time to pretend she was too tired to stay any longer. Everyone around her could’ve partied for another two hours, but Y/N didn’t have it in her to smile like she was happy to be there anymore.

Her nails traced the designs on her plate as the other sipped on her wine.

“Dance with me,” Y/N had heard over her. She looked behind her to find Harry with his hand out and a hopeful smile.

She cringed slightly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m all about bad ideas.”

Y/N shook her head and hugged herself. “Really Harry, we shouldn’t. Maybe somebody else?”

Harry sighed before snagging the seat next to hers and scooting close enough that their legs slotted between each others. “I’ve seen you watching everyone dance. You want to be like them.”

“I do,” Y/N admitted, smiling at Jeff and Glenne slowly dancing, cheek to cheek. 

Harry said he’d try to not make the night about them like she asked, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted her to know that he could fix them.

“Then dance with me. Let’s be like them. Just for tonight,” Harry tried again, reaching for Y/N’s chin to lift her eyes to him. He hated seeing the permanent frown that sat on her lips when he was around. He just wanted her to smile.

“But we aren’t them. We can’t be them anymore.”

Harry grabbed Y/N’s hands and guided her out of her seat. That time, Y/N simple accepted it and followed his lead.

“So, let’s pretend.”

“Harry, I feel like I’m playing with your feelings if I do that. It’s wrong to lead you on like that,” Y/N complained, but still let him walk her to the dance floor. Harry shrugged and smiled at her.

“I want to pretend to be them with you, Y/N. Don’t overthink it.”

Y/N sighed, realizing that Harry wasn’t getting it, and he probably wouldn’t for awhile. So, in the meantime, she’d accept his offer in their game of pretend. Because just for that night, she wanted to be like everyone else slowly dancing with their love under the wide sky.

In the moment, it just felt so right.

Harry had his hands tight on Y/N’s hips as they swayed to the subtle music around them. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her right there, but he knew she was going to move her head to the side for it to land on her cheek.

“Look at me, pretty,” He whispered, making sure their chests were solid against each other. Y/N shook her head and kept her eyes on his peeking sparrow tattoos. “I’m not letting you forget what happened between us go so easily, Y/N. I’m going to make you open up to me so we can work this out.”

“I can’t,” She whispered, hugging herself against him so she could slot her head in his shoulder. “Why won’t you let me go? There are so many girls who would be lucky to have you.”

Harry chuckled, “That girl is you, Y/N.” The girl sighed and shook her head in his shoulder.

“You’re annoying,” She huffed, earning a soft laugh from Harry. “I shouldn’t be dancing with you.”

“I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else,” Harry turned his head to kiss her temple, but kept his lips there afterwards. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Y/N. God, I can’t let you go.” Harry’s voice quivered and he tried to cover it was a cough, but Y/N knew her presence made him sad.

She tangled her fingers in his curls as he continued slow circles on her hips.

“We weren’t together for that long, Harry.”

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” He asked, bluntly ignoring her last comment. “Everyone in here is wearing the most glittery, eye-catching outfits ever but you still outshine them effortlessly.”

Y/N mustered up the strength to pull her head back and meet eyes with the man she wanted to escape from. He smiled softly and brought his nose close enough to touch hers. Out of an inevitable habit, she wiggled their noses together to symbolize a ‘butterfly kiss’.

“Sarah said you were seeing someone. That’s nice. Sydney, was it?” Y/N asked with a sweet smile, holding his jaw to brush her thumb against his cheek. Harry immediately relaxed into her touch and hummed in satisfaction.

“She was lying, Y/N.”

“Wait, what?” She paused with furrowed brows. Harry shrugged, and reminded himself to scold Sarah about that later. “But she said you guys—“

“She probably said it so it would make you feel less guilty or whatever if you thought I was over you,” Harry answered nonchalantly, watching her expression fall like he expected. “I just want you. No matter how long you’ll make me wait for you, I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

Y/N sighed in frustration. “I don’t want to hold you back from a relationship you deserve. Go out and find the right one, Harry. Please.”

Harry's face dropped, his hands slipping from her hips. “Am I scaring you? Or just making you uncomfortable?” Y/N panicked, realizing she may of gave off the wrong signal. She wasn’t scared of Harry, but of the hurt she could cause him.

She immediately shook her head and boldly kissed his cheek. “Never, Harry. I feel so safe around you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to find better.”

“That doesn’t exist for me, Y/N. Why can’t you understand that? It’s not easy to one day hear that we weren’t meant to be and that I need to move on like it’s a simple task. Y/N, you are my world. I would stop my tour and end my career if that’s what it takes to be with you,” Harry argued with her, grabbing her hands from his neck and interlocking them. He held their joined hands between each other and looked down at their matching nail polish.

Y/N rolled her lips inward as she rested her forehead against Harry’s. “I won’t let you do this to yourself. I’m not good enough and I want you to find better.”

“I won’t let you do this to yourself, either,” Harry interrupted her. “We will figure this out, one way or another, but you are not losing me so easily. I’ll follow your pace, okay?” Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head again.

She wanted him so fucking bad, but she wasn’t enough. He didn’t see it yet because he was so focused on the present. She could see that she’d end up ruining everything. She wasn’t good for anyone and deserved to be alone. It was hard enough to let Harry go, but now he wouldn’t accept it.

“Day by day, baby. Let’s work through this,” Harry brought his lips close to hers. “Can you help me fix us? I need your help.”

“I’m not good at this.”

“That’s fine, Y/N. We can work on that, but you can’t keep pushing me away, alright?” She wanted to fight his idea because she didn’t deserve someone to fight for her. “I’m going to take care of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N looked Harry in the eye, trying to express the sorrow she felt. He shook his head and smiled lightly at her.

“I’m sorry too.”

Y/N looked at him, confusedly. “For what?”

“For making you feel like you weren’t enough for me. But I’m going to do better,” he tried his best to smile but it was filled with sadness.

“Harry—“

“I love you so much, angel. We’ll get through this.”

Y/N decided to stop fighting him. She didn’t want to anymore, so she smiled. And she nodded. She was going to do better. She was going to give it a try.

“It’s me and you, Y/N.”

“Me and you.”

-

Disgusting, I hate love :/

[cowgurrrl]

This is incredibly random but it made me think of you; Oh, how I want my rockstar husband Joel to sing Tennessee Whiskey to me..🫠

Saphy, thank you for your patience and your beautiful brain

Tennessee Whiskey

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: PS sorry this took so long to finish

Summary: A (somewhat) quiet night as you and Joel adjust to sharing life again [1.2k]

Warnings: the tiniest reference to spice, regret, longing, oh they’re so in love and sweet

Since your temporary break from accepting new projects, you and Joel have been together as much as humanely possible. You have a whole year to catch up on, and he's taken every opportunity to spend time with you. Movie nights with Ellie and Sarah (even though she has her own dorm), beautiful, candle-lit dinners at some of LA's best restaurants, walks with Daisy, sleepovers, all of it. But tonight, Sarah is studying for a midterm, and Ellie is seeing a movie with her friends Dina and Jesse, leaving you and Joel alone in the house. Well, Daisy's there too, but she's much quieter than the girls. 

He promised to make you a homemade meal but refused your help, delegating you to sit on the island and drink wine while he cooked. The gold necklace he's taken to wearing since you've been gone peeks out from his collar, and a flush of heat rushes through you as you remember the way it swung in your face earlier in the day. He catches you staring and smirks as he tosses a towel over his shoulder. "See somethin' you like?" He asks, and you shake your head, hiding your blush as you sip wine.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" He parrots. You roll your eyes and rest your hands on the counter. He raises his eyebrows like he's waiting for an answer, and you smile.

"Yes, Joel, you're very nice to look at." You say, and he hums. He leans across the island to kiss you sweetly before turning back to the food. He seems very in his element in the kitchen and getting to add his own spin on the dishes. Watching him cook feels like you're getting to know another part of him. A very welcome part. Many of the people you've dated in the past haven't even owned a kitchen big enough to cook in, so you're perfectly fine being spoiled. 

"Now, I'm not a fancy chef or anythin' like that, but I think you'll like this." He says as he puts the salmon in the oven, and you smile.

"I'm sure it'll be great." You reassure him, and he smiles before turning on the stove and filling a pan with vegetables you watched him cut earlier. You're about two glasses of wine in (on an empty stomach), and the room is spinning pleasantly. 

These nights are your favorite— devoid of watchful eyes and high-speed cameras. He smells like aftershave, and your body wash when you come up behind him while he cooks, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing the curve of his spine. His hand covers yours as he sautés the vegetables and hums a familiar tune. You put your wine glass on the counter and let yourself fully rest against Joel. The vibration of his humming thrums through your chest, and you rest your chin on his shoulder. 

"You still owe me a song, Miller." You mumble, and he laughs. 

"I wrote you a whole album of songs." He says, and you roll your eyes. 

"Yeah, but I haven't gotten a real-life Joel Miller serenade yet."

"I was just on tour."

"I was in Ireland, remember?" You ask, and he takes a deep breath like he doesn't want to be reminded of that time. The tour was only in North America, and you weren't in a space, in your work or emotions, to come back to see him. You wish you would've. He wishes he would've come to Europe. You wish you would've gotten to this place of reconciliation and forgiveness sooner. There's no lingering frustration on either side of how things ended, but there's a lot of grief. The air shifts between you, and he swallows thickly. He squeezes your hand a little harder, and you kiss his jaw. "'M here. I'm here now."

"I know." He says as he turns off the knob and moves the sautéed vegetables to a cooler part of the stove. You open your mouth to say something about the ridiculously high heat he had the burner on, but he cups your face and kisses you before you can. "You're here." He whispers, pulling back just enough to kiss you again and again and again. He hums against you, and your hands rest on his waist as he slowly sways with you in the kitchen.

Then, slowly and quietly, he starts singing to you. You were never one for Chris Stapleton or most modern country music, but Tennessee Whiskey sounds so good when he sings it to you like this. He gives each note his full attention and spreads his breath perfectly across each lyric. You don't think many people were born to do many things, but you believe, deep in your soul, that Joel was born to be a singer. You bury your head in his neck to hide the tears pricking in your eyes. You're not sure why you're crying. It could be the wine, or how he's holding you, or the year you spent apart finally catching up to you. 

He kisses your temple and rubs your back as he sings. A tear falls down your cheek, and a wet nose nudges your knee as if she could hear the water trickling down your face. You laugh and see Daisy sitting at your feet, whining as she stares at you. You make a sympathetic noise and reach out to scratch her head to tell her you're okay. She doesn't seem satisfied with that, though. Without breaking focus, Joel bends down, scoops all forty pounds of Daisy into his arms, and lets her join in the slow circle you're dancing around the kitchen. She licks your tears away, and you giggle when she rests her head against Joel's chest, too, perfectly content to be babied. You and Daisy each get a kiss, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself down. He carefully places all four of Daisy's paws on the ground again before wrapping you in the biggest, most Joel Miller hug possible. 

"'M here. 'M not goin' anywhere." He says, and you nod into his shirt. "I love you." 

You've avoided saying the L word since you rekindled your relationship. Not because it wasn't still there but because you were afraid of rushing into anything too fast. The unspoken rule seems stupid now that the words are reverberating across your skull with a scarily easy acceptance. He loves you, and you love him. Enjoy it, dammit. 

"I love you, too," you whisper. "Thank you for singing to me."

"I'll sing to you whenever you want, honey."

"Whenever I want?" You ask, pulling back to look at him with a mischievous look. You expect him to try to rescind his statement and launch into a lighter conversation, but he doesn't. He cradles your face in his hands and nods.

"Whenever you want." He says with a kind of finality that makes your heart sing. You won't admit it for two more years, but in that moment, you both know he means forever, and for once, that doesn't scare the ever-loving shit out of you. You stare at him, searching his eyes for any signs of uncertainty or doubt but find none. All you see is love and total adoration. 

So, you nod in agreement, the closest you would get to promising yourself to him until your engagement, and say, "I could get used to whenever." 

[theladyofbloodshed]

I think SJM has a thing for giving the sweet compassionate moments to pairings that don't end up together. I don't ship Feylin or Feysand but it's absolutely wild to me that Feylin had a lot of sweet moments in ACOTAR and Feysand's never had a single scene where Rhys isn't trying to get into Feyre's pants. Like no sweet, compassionate wholesome "this is THE couple of her series" moments.

Same with Cassian and Nesta. He has all the time and patience in the world to treat Feyre with love and understanding. He even tells her at one point that because she's High Lady of Night she's not just Rhysand's, she's his (and the IC's but the declaration was more passionate than any Nessian moments). Ugh. I just feel like Sarah self-inserts as Feyre and Mor and they're the only two ever allowed to have "moments" with the men of the series.

Once they meet their significant other, it's horny hours only.

I agree they're her self-inserts.

[cryptid-in-your-closet]

Someone tell me which WIP I should work on instead of studying for my finals

You Have the Wrong Guy - in which everyone is giving Jake the shovel talk when it was Bradley who broke off their first relationship - Exs to Lovers, ft. dagger squad and class of 86’

Unpacking - how each of the daggers (and Mav) find out about trans!Jake - not romance centered but has the development and destruction and ultimately getting back together of Hangster, Javy is the best friend ever and deserves all the love, this is very self indulgent

Running - Jake has ran his whole life. If no one can catch up to him no one can leave him. Then he meets Javy. The man seemingly has unlimited  patience and always seems to be a step ahead of Jake. - character study, Macheresin, Jake has an absent father and issuesTM

Ballett AU (unnamed) - In which Ice is a Ballet instructor and Mav takes care of Amelia for Penny when he’s not test piloting the military’s newest planes. - plenty of misunderstandings, Icemav endgame but mistaken Mav/Penny, Penny&Sarah friendship

Dinner for Three - when Beau gets an invite to the Mitchell-Kazansky household he figures it’s something to do with the dagger squad, after all the first (and only other time) he was invited over was to celebrate the success of the dagger mission, what he was not expecting was a fancy dinner cooked by the handsome couple that are blatantly flirting with him. This is some cosmic joke, right? - Cyclone/Maverick/Iceman, might end up being smut but won’t promise anything, ft. Cyclone having a massive crush on Ice and reluctant feelings (ew) for Mav, surprise they like him too, Bradley shows up in here for some reason

Dadmral - the obligatory fic in which the dagger squad finds out Mav is married to the COMPACFLT - Pov Phoenix which is different for me lol, some texting, dagger squad and class 86’, Icemav, Ice is alive, Rooster gets smothered by his uncles who have missed him

Coming Home - Rooster fixes his relationship with Mav while working on the Mustang and getting awful (and some good) relationship advice - Icemav, Hangster, Mavdad, Icepops

Goose Been Knew - in which Goose has to deal with idiot pilots who clearly love each other (twice), don’t worry he has a lovely wife and partner to go complain to. - Goose lives, Icemav, Hangster, Slooserole, really just short bits of Goose putting up with Mav and then Rooster

Guitar - Bradley owns a guitar for reasons completely unrelated to his ex who he’s definitely not still in love with. That would be crazy. They’ve been apart for years. - Hangster Exs to Lovers, bitter Hangman, Phoenix and Javy are DONE, the rest of the dagger squad are confused

A Series of Weddings - Tom and Pete get married for the first time in 91’ despite what the world tells them they can do, they talk about it in 2011, they get married legally in 2013 when Ice is diagnosed with Cancer, talk about redoing vows and throwing an actual celebration in 2015 (they don’t), redo their vows in the spring of 2021. In 2023 they attend the Bradley’s wedding. - this is honestly one of my favs, inspired by this post, Icemav, no relapse of cancer, lots of weddings, love, and fluff, Hangster at the end, class of 86’

[calimera62]

One thing I love about the musical, yet is quite underrated, is Alfred and Professor Abronsius’s relationship. I think they have a lot of potential, beside the comedic aspect of them being amateur vampire hunters who failed at their job.

When you think about it, Alfred and Abronsius have a lot in common. They’re both alone, both friendless, both bookish, both seen as a bit weird.

Alfred is most probably an orphan (during “He, Ho, He” he basically says no one would miss him if he were to disappear), so it’s likely he has no friend and no family. I think he lives alone with just books for companions and Abronsius as his only friend and authority figure. He’s shy and insecure, yet longs to be noticed and understood and loved (he quickly fell in love with Sarah and was ready to follow her anywhere, also how he latched on when Krolock gave him attention during “Vor dem Schloss”).

As for Abronsius, he’s mocked by his pairs who think of him as a fool (in the movie, he’s called “The Nut”) so it’s likely he’s alone as well as he’s mocked, seen as an outcast, an odd bird.

In short, everyone think of Abronsius as a fool.

Alfred? Alfred thinks he’s brilliant.

He probably stayed after his classes to talk to Abronsius or even offers his help to gather his stuff, and they ended up bonding over their shared interests, one of them being vampires.

Granted, I don’t think the nature of their interest toward vampires is the same. I headcanon Alfred as secretly fascinated by them and having a bit of a dark side, a thirst, a longing that’s less noticeable than with Sarah, but he is as fascinated by vampires as he is scared by them, something Abronsius probably doesn’t know about and wouldn’t understand.

Because that’s the thing about Alfred and Abronsius. While I do believe they are genuinely fond of each other, they’re not always on the same page, they don’t understand each other very well.

Abronsius can sometimes be seen as coldly academic. He dislike showing emotions, he’s all for logic but no emotions. He often ignores Alfred or dismiss his feelings, which cause Alfred to feel misunderstood and neglected. Abronsius often gets too distracted or preoccupied with his studies he can ignore Alfred or lacks patience with him (something Krolock definitely noticed in “Vor dem Schloss” and uses to his advantage, to try to lure Alfred to his side. During the song, he mentioned Abronsius and how Alfred should leave him, how his mentor doesn’t understand him and his feelings, his wants. He focuses his attention on Alfred and Alfred… can’t help but be fascinated, at least curious).

It doesn’t mean Abronsius doesn’t care. Of course, it depends of the actor portraying the Professor, but I do believe he cares for Alfred, despite not always showing it and in spite of the way he can treat him sometimes. In some versions of “Sie Irren Professor”, he pushes Alfred behind him as if to protect him from Krolock’s taunt/temptation. In another version of the musical (Kentaur?), Abronsius is looking for Alfred at the end, which mirrors the opening scene and humanises the Professor.

In short, Alfred and Abronsius are two lonely and odd birds who found each other, who enjoy each other’s company, yet they can’t always understand each other. That’s the tragedy of their relationship.

Alfred and Abronsius deserved better, yet… it’s all of this which make their relationship so interesting, with a lot of potential!

[firenati0n]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you to @alasse9 @anchoredarchangel @myheartalivewrites @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise

@tailsbeth-writes @cha-melodius @ninzied for the tags! i am so so so behind on all tags and questions and asks and i am sorry for the delay!! <3 thank you for your patience :)

How many works do you have on ao3?

7 under my name, 1 anonymously

What's your total ao3 word count?

32,316

What fandoms do you write for?

rwrb :)

Top five fics by kudos:

An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat (5,094 words)

our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go) (2,970 words)

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless (5,422 words)

each time we touch / i wanna take too much (1,339 words)

who truly stuck the knife in first (3,697 words)

Do you respond to comments?

yes! i haven't replied to any on angel fic yet bc they make me cry LMAOOOO but i will get to them soon :) comments mean everything to me. receiving any is a privilege. connection is so lovely.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i would say who truly stuck the knife in first but it's not angsty, just open-ended. they're spies, so happiness for them at the moment is fleeting lol.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i always write happy endings but i think and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life aka the angel!henry fic is the sappiest. it's so sappy I'm giving it a sequel for more sappy endings. it's the happiest ending because it also makes me cry.

Do you get hate on fics?

not yet, thankfully. people have been very nice and welcoming, which has been a real blessing.

Do you write smut?

no lol i got into my M game with who truly stuck the knife in first (sexually charged wrestling), keep me up all night / i wanna scratch your surface (prosey fade to black), and each time we touch / i wanna take too much (fingers in mouths) but i don't think I'll be writing smut anytime soon.

i could barely handle arms and legs in spy fic (@cha-melodius knows how terribly i struggled jfalksdjflkjasdlkf). how the fuck am I supposed to factor dicks into the equation????

Craziest crossover:

none yet but i am cooking up a sci-fi thriller au that may never see the light of day based on Dark Matter by Blake Crouch but no promises jfalksjdlkfadsf

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of. I've had art and moodboards and a podfic but no translations.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i am writing one right now with [redacted] and it's going to be so fucking good y'all are not prepared for this AU fr

All time favorite ship?

firstprince forever. alex and henry are my babygirls. Close second is Sydney and Vaughn from Alias or Chuck and Sarah from Chuck.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i have a lot of docs with bullet points but typically if i start WRITING real words in a doc, i will be finishing it EVENTUALLY. it will either take me 4 months or 4 hours and there is no in between unfortunately, considering i write most of my fics between the hours of 2am - 7am in a fugue state. fatal flaw. all of my docs with actual snippets in them WILL be completed at some point. it's just going to take me. forever.

What are your writing strengths?

i hate perceiving shit like this bc i always think i sound like I'm blowing smoke up my own ass lmaoooo so I'll go with dialogue. i like the dialogue i write.

@anincompletelist also told me that I can "curate a VIBE and TONE like nobody’s BUSINESS" which is extremely kind (ily) and i think i agree. I do like experimenting with tone and atmosphere. I have been playing with genre and expression with each fic and i like what I've done so far.

i also just love a silly goose time fr ok i love my fun fics like amateur's guide and worm fic and actor au. they make me laugh.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i struggle to plot things out bc i get so caught up in dialogue and snippets of things i actually want to write LOL so weaving the snips together is always a pain for me. i am also a perfectionist so it takes me way longer to get over my mental hurdles and put words on the page. i also struggle to write angst sometimes like angst does not come as naturally to me as zippy banter. neither does prose. i have to work at those.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

love!!! i find it so beautiful.

First fandom you wrote in?

i do not count the 1d fanfic i wrote in my notes app as a mentally ill thirteen year old as actual writing, so let's go with RWRB :)

Favorite fic you've written?

and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life. it's my most personal and a fic I used as a coping mechanism to get through some yucky times. i also like the emotional beats in that one a lot. it is my least read / least popular but my favorite.

no pressure and open tags under the cut <3

@wordsofhoneydew @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @magicandarchery

@getmehighonmagic @indestructibleheart @14carrotghoul @onward--upward @sparklepocalypse

@porcelainmortal @nontoxic-writes @piratefalls @dumbpeachjuice @clottedcreamfudge

@tintagel-or-cockleshells @orchidscript @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @smc-27 @everwitch-magiks

@kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @ships-to-sail @rmd-writes @welcometololaland

[seharschronicles]

Story of Ibrahim AS - Chapter 6

Ibrahim AS left Hajra in a desert. She is alone. The child is alone. There is nothing to eat or drink. The child kept crying. And the mother ran barefoot between Safa and Marwah. Until the spring burst forth from the child's footsteps. And that spring is still flowing today. And the patience of this mother became a sign.

Millions of Muslims have been running to follow her example for centuries. They walk thousands of steps on air-conditioned roads and marble floors. And they get very tired. They complete the Sa’i and shave their heads. Then they head straight to the nearest restaurant or mall. They eat food. And go to sleep in their hotels.

But when Hajra was alone, there was no hotel or mall near Hajra. The water flowing did not mean that her life became easy.

What do women usually do? They need their husbands for everything. If he's there, they can manage everything, but if he's not, they struggle a lot. Obviously, husbands should be there because they are both responsible for the child. But sometimes, according to Allah's will, what you "need" doesn't happen. Humans don't always stay together. Death, illness, tragedy, anything can separate you from your biggest support. In such situations, many women walk into self-doubt.

We say, “what should we do? We are helpless. We are left alone.”

But Hajra didn't do that. Hajra trusted in Allah. Just like Allah allowed Ibrahim to enter the fire, similarly, Allah also allowed Hajra to walk between Safa and Marwah.

Allah will test your limits and tire your body on His path. Its reward comes after the difficulty. The hardships have to be borne first.

It's not like Allah abandoned Hajra. If Allah told Ibrahim to stay with Sarah, it doesn't mean Allah didn't care about Hajra. Rather, Hajra's life was more important than that marriage.

Every person has a purpose they need to fulfill. Hajra had work to do in her own share. And it couldn't happen while staying in Palestine with this marriage. Allah had a separate plan for Sarah and a separate one for Hajra.

So whenever you feel like Allah has given someone else the blessing you wanted in your test, like if Sarah wanted children, it doesn't mean Hajra didn't want companionship with her husband. She did too.

So whenever something like this happens, or you feel deprived of a blessing, then know: that blessing is not included in the plan that Allah has set for you. He has a separate plan for you.