#WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU USING HAMMERS IN THE MORNING

[hotmess-exe]

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[nadvs]

cam girl (part eleven)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning alcohol use

summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.

» masterlist

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Rafe has never had a hangover this bad. The sharp ache hammering against his temples is relentless.

He feels absolutely fucking finished. Last night, he passed out on whoever hosted the party’s floor, so not only is his head a mess, but his back is sore as fuck.

And the black eye doesn’t feel so good, either.

Even after last night’s aggravating argument with you and the embarrassing drunk texts he sent and this residual hangover from hell, when Rafe gets home in the late morning and finds you curled up in his bed, he feels better.

His head always does this when he’s around you. It’s like the whole world is nothing but fucking noise but with you, the loud turns quiet.

He still doesn’t know how you do that.

Rafe peels his clothes off, takes a hot shower, brushes his teeth and puts on new boxers… and he comes back to see you still passed out on his bed.

You must be exhausted. He feels the usual warm and incomprehensible buzz in his chest when he looks at you, even though he’s mad at you.

Rafe settles in his bed half-naked, slow not to wake you.

He’s half-asleep, fighting the ridiculous urge to turn around and hold you, when he feels you finally shift behind him. He turns to look at you and hates how his first thought is that you look pretty. He’s supposed to be pissed off at you.

He has no idea what the fuck happened last night. Why you made him feel like you’re sick of him all of a sudden.

“Crap,” you whisper as you sit up, realizing where you are and dropping eye contact with him immediately.

“Thought you needed a break from me,” Rafe mutters. “Why are you in my bed?”

He didn’t intend for his words to come out so sharp.

“I didn’t… mean to fall asleep.” You don’t even look at him. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

You’re about to get out of his bed and Rafe is powerless to his impulses like he always is around you. His hand circles your wrist, pulling you back.

You drop to sit on the edge of the bed and he can tell you’re annoyed by the way you look up at the ceiling and sigh. He remains on his back, the pain radiating through him keeping him from sitting up.

“I have work to do,” you say, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Did we go too long last night?” Rafe asks, needing to know why you’re so cold, why you’re done with him all of a sudden. “Is that why you’re being like this? That shit was your fucking idea.”

That stupid toy you got was what kept him from cumming for so damn long. He was fucking you for ages. Maybe it was much for you. He can’t think of what else could have compelled you to say you want a break.

“I’m obviously tired, Rafe,” you breathe. “In every possible way. Just let me…”

Your words fade into nothing once you look at him. He sees the same concerned expression you wore when you towelled the raindrops off of his face last night.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice soft.

He knows how rough he looks; he saw himself in the mirror this morning. His right eye is covered with an ugly purple splotch that spreads down to his cheekbone. Evidence of the fight he got into last night. He doesn’t want to think about it.

So, he resorts to what he does best and tries to suffocate the feeling with sex.

“You wanna make me feel better?” he asks suggestively, cocking his head. He hopes he has the effect on you that he usually does.

You’re motionless, your eyes still hard on his face. Okay. Now he’s fucking desperate.

“Please?”

Did he really just say that?

The corner of your lips curl up into a small smile. He’s embarrassed, but thank fuck you don’t look angry anymore.

“Are you… begging me?” you ask. Your voice is back to that playful tone he’s used to.

His hand is still curled around your wrist, tense that you’ll try to leave again.

“Come here,” he says.

“How bad do you want me?” you tease. He loathes when you fuck with him like this. But why does he kind of like it, too?

He only says your name in warning, even though he knows he doesn’t have the power here.

It’s so goddamn frustrating. He’s used to you doing what he wants. But after last night, after you mentioned a break, he realized he needs to feel needed by you. You’re the one actually in control here.

“I’m all you think about, right?” you goad him. “According to your text?”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. It’s humiliating how he typed out everything he was feeling last night.

“I was drunk,” he says defensively. Your smile drops and you start to twist your wrist out of his grip. Shit. Wrong thing to say. “But, yeah,” he adds. “You are.”

“You’re only saying that to get laid,” you murmur.

“I’m not,” he admits. He takes a breath. “All I do is… wait until the next time I can see you.”

Rafe’s not looking at you as he stammers his way through his words.

“That’s what you meant last night?” you ask him. He thinks back to the way he had you bent over the table, stupidly saying he’s the one who always has to wait.

He needs to fuck. Now. He can’t take this feelings shit.

Once he finally meets your eyes again, he’s relieved to see that your stare has softened. You turn to move towards him and his muscles immediately lose their tension.

You straddle him and the way your thighs box him in like this feels so fucking good that he forgets he’s hungover.

You start to grind against him and the thrilling promise of satisfaction washes over him, his boxers getting tighter as he gets harder.

“Does this help?” you whisper. He watches you through low lids, his hands on your thighs.

“Yeah, like that,” he groans. “Good girl.”

He slides his hands up to grip your waist and beckons you to lean over so he can kiss you, but you stiffen and reject the advance. Whatever. You must still be kind of pissed off, but he’s not about to stop what’s happening.

You sit up straighter and pull your dress up over your body, tossing it on the floor.

Rafe’s eyes hungrily trail down your body. Every time he sees your body or even just thinks about it, arousal burns through him.

He hates the feeling of you getting off of him, but once he realizes you’re taking off your panties and straddling him to fuck him in reverse cowgirl, his head feels like it’s spinning.

The sight of your bare ass perched on his pelvis is mind-blowing. He feels you pull down his boxers just enough to take his cock out, your hand running up and down his length.

You stroke him to get him fully erect, which barely takes any time. He gets hard for you in seconds.

When you lower onto him, he exhales in pure elation. You’re so wet and tight and soft and the moan you let out when you fill yourself with him is so fucking pretty.

You finally put all your weight on his hips, your hands stabilizing yourself on his knees. It’s heaven the way you squeeze him so damn tight.

You start to rock on him and his eyes drink in the way his cock is burying into you, the way your pussy looks stretched out like this.

Rafe looks over at the mirror mounted on his closet door to watch you arch your back and start to bounce on him. He doesn’t know which vantage point is hotter.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Look how fucking good you look.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror, your lips puckered as you hold back your moans. That look is for him only. He can’t stand the thought of you doing it for another man.

He watches you put your hand on your clit, touching yourself while you ride him. There’s something so fucking hot to him about how you know your body and how you shamelessly chase your own pleasure.

Rafe looks forward again, taking in the way your ass is bouncing on him, the way your back is curved, the way your cunt is clinging to his cock with every recoil.

He feels himself getting to the edge. He shuts his eyes in an attempt to delay it so you’ll get there first. Cumming will remind you of how good this arrangement between you is and you’ll forget this stupid ‘take a break’ idea.

You start to writhe even faster and breathe even quicker. He knows he’ll finish before you at this rate, so he buries his fingertips into your hips and holds you down to stop you from moving anymore.

“Why?” you whine, needy.

“Sit on my face,” he orders.

You lift your hips off of him, his cock popping out of you, glossed with your wetness. You obey and shift back on your knees.

You lower your core onto his mouth. Rafe fucking loves the way you taste. He puts his lips on you, rolling his tongue out over your velvet folds.

When he feels your hot mouth wrap around his cock, he exhales sharply. He sucks and licks you as he revels in the feeling of your tongue flicking up and down his length.

The way you’re pleasing each other at the same time makes his stomach tighten with something he’s still not used to. His body hasn’t ever reacted like this during sex, but it keeps doing this lately with you.

Rafe shoves away the thought.

He hooks his arm around you, dipping two fingers inside and curling them as he eats you out, eager to get you to cum.

Your breath is shaky, your hole tightening around his fingers. The way you looked at him when you told him you needed a break last night flashes through his mind again, pissing him off all over again.

“Nobody else can make you feel like this, hmm?” he mutters, his lips wet from you.

“Rafe…” Your voice is thin.

“Answer me.”

“No,” you tell him.

“And you want a break?” he huffs. “Do I need to fuck some sense into you?”

You’re silent, your mouth sliding up and down his cock, palming him. Frustration rises in him when you don’t answer. He needs the control. He needs to know how badly you want him.

“Do I?” he asks angrily, fingers slipping out of you to slap your ass. Your back arches at the impact, bucking up off of his face. “Do you need to watch me fuck you to get it through your head?”

Rafe pushes through the stiffness of his hangover to press against the backs of your thighs, forcing you to sit up.

“Get on your knees,” he says. “In front of the mirror.”

You groan out of irritation, but you listen to his instructions like the good girl he knows you are.

His eyes remain locked on you as you get up off of him and settle on all fours in front of the mirror on the floor, looking back at him with those beautiful eyes.

Rafe guides himself into you, finding bliss all over again. He lustfully looks at your reflection and sees the necklace he gave you hanging on your neck. It starts to swing as he thrusts into you, a reminder of how you belong to him.

Every plunge into you is fucking perfect. You squeeze his cock so nicely.

When you tighten around him, your breath hitched, he has no chance of stopping himself anymore - he cums at the same time as you, his moan tangling with yours.

Rafe can see stars as you tremble beneath him. He feels you take in everything he has to offer.

“Damn,” he says gruffly. He can’t stop himself from teasing you. “Sleeping and fucking on the clock. You’re looking to get fired.”

You let out a weak laugh and pull away from him. You stand to pick your uniform up off the floor, giving him another view of your hot, quivering body.

“Tell on me, then,” you challenge. You walk to his ensuite, shutting the door behind you. He’s sure that you know he’d never risk letting you get fired and losing this access to you.

Rafe’s heart is racing. How does every time he has sex with you feel better than the last?

He gets back into bed and pulls his cool comforter over his bare body, coming down from the high. He’s needs to figure out why the hell you’re retreating from him. And he’s determined to show you why you shouldn’t.

But with the hangover and lack of rest, Rafe falls asleep before you step back out into his room.

୨ᰔ୧

You couldn’t let Rafe kiss you. You’ll allow that sort of tenderness if, and only if, you’re more than a sex toy to him, and all signs point to that possibility being a big, ugly no.

When you step back into his bedroom to see that he fell asleep, you take a second, just a second, to look at him.

His lips are slightly pursed, his hair a tousled mess. The bruise on his swollen eye looks painful. You wish you knew what happened. You figure you’ll ask him tonight when he inevitably comes over.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the rush from the sex you just had starts to dissipate and you realize you shouldn’t have done it. You have heavy, unavoidable feelings for Rafe. You said you needed a break. Giving into the temptation was stupid.

But the way he was looking at you, holding your wrist… You couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull you seem to have for each other.

The self-destructive hope flares up as you think about what he said today. It rattled you. He thinks about you? He’s always waiting to see you again? It can’t all be sexual, can it?

You’re desperate to know what’s going through his mind.

You begrudgingly accept that because of the time you spent sleeping and having sex with Rafe, you’ll need to stay late to complete all your tasks today.

After finishing up your work in the kitchen an hour later, you head out to the backyard to throw out a few bags.

You give a polite smile to the gardener, who’s standing by the gazebo. Your mind flashes back to what happened when Rafe caught you talking to him.

Rafe’s possessiveness couldn’t possibly be purely sexual. Not after the way he looked at you once you reassured him he was the only man who could touch you.

You drop the bags in the bin and turn to head back inside, but get stopped in your tracks.

“You should be careful.”

You look up to realize the gardener is speaking to you. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“What?” you ask.

“I overheard him talking about you.“

“Sorry?” you repeat.

“The son. I heard him.” Anxiety fills your veins. He wouldn’t know Rafe’s name - he’s just the son of the millionaire you’re all working for.

He heard Rafe say something about you? You decide to play dumb. You have to. You could lose your job.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“He was with his friends out on the balcony a few days ago,” he says. “I was working and I heard him say that he’s… uh, nailing a maid.”

The word seems to make him uncomfortable. You’re so used to Rafe’s vulgarity that you forgot some people blush at a crude word.

Honestly, you expected Rafe to brag to his friends about fucking you. But you didn’t expect a coworker to hear.

You remember watching him through the window that day. Sending him that explicit video. Slowly developing feelings for him when you knew you shouldn’t.

“What, and you think it’s me?” you say with a laugh. Maybe there’s a chance you can convince him that Rafe was lying or that the conversation wasn’t about you.

“People have been talking… Apparently you got caught in the laundry room?” he says.

Shit. All that other maid saw was Rafe in the same room as you. That was it. You didn’t expect to make friends at this job, but this is ridiculous. Do they have nothing better to do but gossip?

You’ve been found out.

“Please don’t… say anything,” you finally say quietly. “I can’t lose this job.”

“I won’t. And I’m not judging,” he says, but he definitely is. You can see it in his expression. “Just wanted to tell you that I heard some… bad stuff.”

“What?” You cross your arms, feigning confidence.

“He told his friends that you’ll do anything he wants you to,” he says. “And that you never say no.”

“Okay,” you say. You’re trying to keep your gaze steady. This is humiliating. But it’s all true and not a surprise. You didn’t expect any better from Rafe.

“And one of them said something like… that’s the type of… um…” He looks nervous again.

“Just say it.”

“The type of… slut you run through then drop when she gets boring.”

This is what finally breaks you. You only nod, trying to seem unaffected.

“What did he say to that?” you ask. You hate that you have a little bit of hope that Rafe would defend you, show a shred of respect for you.

“They all just laughed.”

Your heart sinks.

Of course that’s what Rafe thinks of you. Of course to him, you’re just a whore that he’ll get tired of eventually. You shouldn’t have ever given him the power to disappoint you.

For fuck’s sake, you asked him point blank over text last night if all he wants to do is fuck and he replied with a clear YES.

“Okay,” you say, turning away before he can see the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Sorry. Thought you’d want to know,” he says to your back. “These rich guys are all assholes.”

“Yup,” you reply, walking away.

You don’t even give a fuck about your job anymore. It’d be better if you lost it so you don’t have to see Rafe ever again.

This is fucking agony. You feel so dehumanized.

When you make it home that evening, two hours later than usual, you type a text you mentally drafted on your drive home.

You open the conversation with one of your close friends from college and text her: hey, are there any parties tonight?

Getting drunk and partying is not a healthy way to cope, you know that, but you desperately need to get your mind off of things. Thankfully, your friend responds quickly about a party at a frat house on campus.

After you get ready, you take a cab to the address your friend sent you. It doesn’t take you long to find her and start downing shots.

Your phone buzzes, right on cue. It’s 10 pm, after all. He’s waiting for you on that depraved website where it all began. The text is blurry through your tipsy eyes.

Rafe: where are you?

You finally send him the message you’ve been toiling over, anger and disgust and embarrassment and sadness heavy on your chest.

You: i’m done. this is over. i’m not even a fucking person to you am i

{ read part twelve here }

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone wakes you. The room tilts as you open your eyes. A dull hammering thrums in your temples. The morning light makes your brain rough as sand paper. 

Dregs of vodka stick to your dry tongue. The hangover weighs you down like an anchor. Just the thought of moving hurts. 

You reach blindly for your jittering phone. Bubbly music tinkles from the speaker. Shit. It's Barrett. What did he forget this time? 

You answer and put your clammy palm to your forehead. You squint at the ceiling then your eyes slowly round. Where the fuck are you?  

"Hey, babe. You at Wendy's?" Your husband asks. 

You gulp and peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth. This isn't Wendy's house. 

"Yep," you croak. Your eyes ping side to side. 

"Look, I'm sorry about last night. Things got heated and I know I was an ass--" 

You cough as you sit up in the strange bed. "Yeah, you were." 

"So why don't you come home and we can talk it out." 

You peer around the room and your lips curve in a frown. Where the hell would you go besides home your loyal best friend's? You scratch you scalp and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, "let me get myself together." 

"Babe. Please. I'm sorry." 

"When I get home." You hang up.  

It was a hell of fight. The minute he started yelling, you bailed. He knows better. You're not doing a ten hour day and coming home his nagging. So you left out your coffee mug. Big deal. You didn't say anything about the garbage bag he left out to be torn apart by raccoons. 

Whatever. Fighting over dishes. Not of it matters right now. 

Your clothes are on the floor. Someone's floor. Who it is is far from the point. You stand and stagger. You catch yourself on the nightstand. Your hand moves instinctively between your legs. 

You're naked and tender. Did you have sex? 

Think! You ran out with your purse. You went to Wendy's. She was up for a night out. A night to forget and body did you. First drink, second, third, then it gets blurry.  

Fuck! You didn't. You wouldn't. You're pissed at your husband but you wouldn't cheat on him. You're not that type of person. Right? 

You don't have time for that. You have to get out of here.  

You dress as you search the room. It's tidy. Half the bed is mad and the other half messed from your drunken slumber. 

You shake out your hands trying to shoo away the flurry of guilt and denial. Just get out. You'll think better with some coffee in your system.  

You push down the door handle slowly. You listen to the silence of the hall. You tiptoe out warily, checking left and right as you advance. It's a nice place. A condo. Much nicer than your cramped one bedroom. 

Not important! 

You come out into the spacious front room. It's as empry as the rest of the place. The kitchen too. The bathroom. No one. 

Your purse is by the door. Your shoes too. You grab both and let yourself out. You'd rather not face your mistake. 

No, you didn't do anything. You wouldn't. 

You hurry down the hallway to the elevators. You don't look back, just keep going. You don't think, just go. 

It isn't until you're outside the familiar cafe marquee that your let your mind settle. You enter and join the queue. Your order a black coffee and drink it at a stool by the window.  

You lean your elbows on the high table that stands inside the pane. You take a slow, savouring swig of coffee and let it trickle down your throat. You shield your face from the New York morning and put your hands over your ears. 

You can't remember anything but Wendy. Your anger had you ordering round after round, trying to drown out the bile. The thought makes your stomach lurch and you gulp thickly. 

You shake your head and groan. Your phone chirps. It's probably Barrett. Several messages from him and missed calls. All through the night. It's bad enough you betrayed him, you had him up worrying. 

No, you didn't! 

It can't have happened if you don't remember it. A generous stranger took you home so you didn't wake up on the curb. That's it. 

That's the story. Nothing happened. And you'll let Barret believe you were with Wendy. It won't make a difference. 

Your mind is set. Nothing happened. 

Nothing. Happened. 

Because you don't remember. Because you were too drunk to do that. Because you're married and it can't happen. 

You're going to finish your coffee and go home. Everything will be just like it was before... after you tell Barrett where to put that coffee mug if it's such a big deal. 

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[catboyieejeno]

nct dream reaction ༊*·˚

"i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now,"

content: gn! reader (no pronouns mentioned, no other implications of gender), the dreamies being the cutest boyfies, tooth-rotting fluff

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mark lee

"are you not tired?"

you quickly shake your head, blinking at him with soft eyes, "no," you mumble contently, "i like watching you play,"

mark's cheeks glow a light shade of pink as he stares down at the guitar in his hands, nodding, "okay,"

he continues to strum, pretending that your gentle gaze doesn't make him nervous; quietly, he starts humming along to a random melody in an effort to soothe the hammering in his chest.

you watch, completely enamored by everything that is him: his hair that lacks any sense of direction, the glasses that hang low on his nose, waiting patiently to be pushed back. even the tiny pimple patch on his forehead invites a smile to your lips. the way his fingers strum the different chords on the guitar is mesmerizing, and you think, god, i could watch him for hours.

"i love you," you blurt out.

he stops playing and his gaze meets yours. when the three words leave your lips, mark stops breathing; his eyes glance between yours, greedily soaking in the fondness of your confession.

"and i love you, pretty," he finally breathes out, gawking at the expression on your face, "wow," he mutters. perhaps, it's the lack of sleep or the certain fogginess brought on by staying up until the earliest hours of the morning, but you have never looked more fascinating.

"what?"

"nothing, i just-" his eyes are dazed, deep in thought.

"what? tell me?" you insist.

"it's just... i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now,"

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ huang renjun

your eyes dart between the canvas on your lap, an abomination of colorful smudges and scribbles that look like a primary school student’s best work, and that of your boyfriend’s. his painting is carefully done, organized, clearly mirroring the vase of tulips you were using as reference.

“i’m never painting with you again!” you pout, arms crossing stubbornly against your front. renjun, more than amused at this, laughs loudly.

“why, honey? i love it.”

“liar! it looks like terrible, jun-“

“it looks beautiful,” he starts, placing both hands on your shoulders, “because you drew it. it’s... abstract, unconventional,” he encourages, “it’s freaking cool, just like you!”

initially, you roll your eyes but after a few seconds, you can’t help but give in, letting your arms fall to your side in defeat.

“you’re so corny,” you huff, feigning annoyance.

“maybe," he agrees, "or, maybe i’m just secretly convincing you to paint with me again because i love you and i love spending time with you like this.”

your eyes lose their sternness instantly. instead, they widen, looking up at renjun. at his words, you feel your heart swell up, the tips of your ears turning hot. that definitely wasn’t the response you expected.

you wrap your arms around his waist tightly, muttering a shy, “really?”

he bobs his head up and down, fascinated by the way you look at him.

“yes,” he mumbles, “and i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now. how's that for corny?"

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lee jeno

jeno throws his controller onto the desk, cursing loudly.

your head shoots up from the crook of his neck where you were beginning to drift off, curled up in his lap.

"fuck, sorry," he apologizes, bringing a hand up to rub your back, "it's just that fucking haechan- i'm sorry, baby," he breathes out.

"it's okay," you run your fingers through his locks, slightly amused at the way he gets so worked up over a game.

"his girlfriend came into the room so he just left his controller there and kept the game running instead of telling me he was leaving," jeno rambles, "and now we lost two games in a row,"

unable to help the giggle that leaves your lips, you brush his hair away from his forehead, pressing your lips to it, then kissing each one of his cheeks after. he stops complaining, settling for letting you pamper him.

"you're so cute," you whisper. he only grumbles beneath you and holds you closer against him. you give him a peck on his lips, using your hands to smush his cheeks together.

"i'm sorry i woke you up," he whispers once you pull away. you shake your head.

with your fingers lazily tracing his features, you reassure him, "s'okay, i don't mind. i wasn't even asleep yet. just drifting off."

"well, how about i turn off the game and we can go lay down- why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?" you ask, unaware of the way your tired eyes are glossed over with love as you stare at the prettiest boy ever.

"i don't know," he mumbles, leaning in so his lips are barely brushing yours, "i can't describe it but- all i know is-" his heart skips a beat as you subconsciously bat your eyes, "i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now," he presses his lips against yours and picks you up, carrying you to the bed.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lee donghyuck

"mmm.. that feels good," hyuck purrs. his voice is muffled as a result of his lips pressing into your shoulder blade, lazy kisses leaving behind a trail of wet marks.

meanwhile, your nails rake up and down his back, tickling and scratching his warm, bare skin. haechan swears he could melt in your arms.

"you're so good to me," he admits, leaning up to take a peek at your face, already looking back at him with so much sentiment, "and you're so beautiful," his brow furrows, "i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now,"

"i know you had a long day," you start, smiling as you feel his hand squeeze your side, "it's the least i can do,"

"staying up past a reasonable hour so i can cling to you and complain about my day is the least you can do?"

"i do it because i want to," you reiterate, "and give yourself credit, bub, you do a lot for me, too,"

"i should be doing more," he sighs with discontent, leaning his chin on your chest, "if i wasn't always so busy-"

"you make me my favorite foods on the days you have practice so that i won't miss you too much while you're gone. you run me scented baths when i'm sick and rub menthol on my chest even when there's snot in my nose," he playfully grimaces, although he can't contain his quiet giggles, "and you always let me pick what movie we watch, even if we've already seen it a dozen times," you explain, "i would do this a hundred nights over, hyuck."

his cheeks burn red, and for a moment you think you may be hallucinating. it wasn't common for donghyuck to be flustered, nor was it an easy task to accomplish.

he puckers his lips as if to ask for a kiss, which you gladly give him.

"for the record," you mutter, "i never want you to stop looking at me this way either,"

hyuck shakes his head, "never, baby," before nuzzling his face back into your neck.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ na jaemin

"hold still," jaemin insists.

you shift around, trying to get comfortable where you sit up on the bathroom sink. your boyfriend stands in front of you, wearing a half-hearted scowl and a bright green face mask that made it impossible to take him seriously. he has one hand on your hip to keep you steady while the other applies the cleansing goo to your cheeks.

"babe," he tries when you wiggle again.

there’s no chance you can concentrate on keeping still with how ridiculous he looks. you snort and shake your head, "sorry, sorry."

"you're lucky you're cute," he grumbles, focusing on getting an even layer of product across your forehead.

having him so close, conveniently situated between your legs, made it so easy to stare at him. you found yourself glancing between his eyes and lips as you pucker up, leaning in.

“ah-ah” his finger comes up between your two faces, stopping you before you can come any closer, “what do you think you’re doing?”

your eyes roll as you move aside his hand, stealing a kiss any way.

“hey!”

“oh, come on, shrek, it’s not that deep,” you laugh, fisting the material of his shirt and pulling him in, pressing your lips against his. he clumsily puts down the green container on the edge of the sink when your kiss takes him by surprise. his hands blindly feel around for the towel, wiping off the excess product so that he can properly hold you and deepen your affection, so much so that the both of you only break apart when you’ve run out of air.

“even covered in green,” he pants breathlessly, “you’re still as hot as ever.”

“you have a way with words,” your thumb swipes at his lip to wipe away what you've smudged.

"i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now," he exhales.

"woah, where did that come from?"

"it's just been on my mind for a couple days... i've noticed how your pupils dilate when you look at me, there's so much adoration in your-" he whispers, "well, i just feel like i don't tell you enough that i love you, and that i appreciate the way you love me."

"jaemin..." you coo, but he interrupts you, capturing your lips in another kiss.

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ zhong chenle

every one of his features is perfectly shaped, but boy, are his lips are so deliciously plump and pink. it isn't the first time you find yourself drooling over them, and you certainly don't think it'll be the last.

chenle tears his eyes away from the tv when he catches sight of you out of the corner of his eye, "what's on your mind?"

"nothing," you sharply reply and shift your gaze back to the screen, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

but your answer's not enough for chenle, who sits up and pauses the movie, turning to face you with his brow furrowed in concern.

"hey, what's wrong?" he chimes, poking his finger into your cheek.

"no, nothing's wrong. i just don't want you to make fun of me." you warn.

"why would i make fun of you?"

"for staring at you."

chenle's lips break into a smile and he laughs loudly.

mortified, you gasp and yank the blanket up and over your head, "see! you're making fun of me!"

"no no," he takes your hands into his, moving the blanket out of the way so he can see you clearly, “i’m laughing because you think i'd make fun of you for that,”

“it’s just,” you brush your hair away from your face, “i just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable cause i was staring at you. i know you're not super affectionate, which is fine, but-.”

“you can stare at me all you want. as a matter of fact, i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now. the day you stop, i’ll just have to assume you don’t love me anymore.” he crosses his arms, huffing.

“yeah, you’re not affectionate," you laugh, "but you’re definitely dramatic.”

ੈ♡˳

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ park jisung

"i don't understand why i can't have another bite."

you savor the taste of your ice cream and then hold it far away, arm outstretched so that jisung can't reach it, "it's not my fault you ordered a flavor just because it was colorful,"

he whines, grabbing the end of your shirt to keep you close, "it was bright blue! i didn't know cotton candy would taste so bad! stop walking, lovey," his hand slips into yours and he spins you around until your chest presses against his. taking advantage of your proximity, he quickly kisses you. he pulls away with a pop, licking his lips.

"did you just-"

his eyes grow wide, as do yours. "well, you wouldn't give me another bite of yours so i-," even he can't believe how bold he was just a minute ago, "-i had to t-taste it on your lips."

my, that had to have been the cutest thing you've ever seen him do. you're pretty sure your eyes have turned into hearts with the way you're ogling him, "ji..." you start.

"mine tasted really bad," his tone is nervous, defensive even.

"ji," you beam again, but his eyes look anywhere but yours. that is, until your palm cradles his face, directing his attention back to you, "that was so cute,"

his teeth are pressed together, almost gritting as he speaks through them, "it-it was?"

"you should do that more often,"

"do what?"

"be bold like that..."

he slowly nods up and down in understanding, "okay, as long as you do that more often, too."

now, it's your turn to ask, "do what?"

"keep stop looking at me like that,"

"looking at you how, ji?" you shrug.

"i never want you to stop looking at me the way you are right now, and if it takes me kissing you by surprise more often, w-well, then-"

smooch!

and he's done it again!

ੈ♡˳

[macfrog]

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst 

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves) 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

[starsinthesky5]

wanna get out of here? | joe burrow x reader

description: an impromptu getaway is exactly what you and joe needed

a/n: ahhh my second fic!! all the love on my first one gave me the motivation to go and write another one :) i hope you all like this one!

warnings: smut (hope it’s not too bad since it’s my first time writing it LOL), language

word count: 6 k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday 

The sounds of hammering rain and thunder were all you could focus on as you were sitting on the couch, curled up in a blanket trying to finish an overly complex project for work. You had been trying to finish the final section for the past week but you simply could not get rid of the restless feeling that had engulfed you over the past few days. 

Joe, on the other hand, was sitting right next to you. He was staring at the TV which had on some random rerun episode of The Office. Normally, he’d be laughing along to the show no matter how many times he had seen the episode, but today he was quiet & agitated. He had been overwhelmed this past month with intense rehab for his wrist injury; on top of which he had his off-season workouts every day which had also been incredibly vigorous. He was mentally and physically burnt out and needed something to take his mind off of everything. He noticed that you also had been swamped with work which caused you to be on edge the whole week, preventing you two from having any real 1 on 1 time like you usually do, and he wasn’t having it. 

You were typing away on your computer, another idea that would probably lead to nothing, before you heard the TV turn off. 

You turned your head to Joe and saw his blank face. “Everything Okay?” you questioned while reaching for his hand. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked while interlocking your hands, still looking expressionless. 

“Joey there is literally a monsoon happening outside right now,” you deadpanned as you squeezed his hand. 

“Not out there. I mean do you wanna get out of Ohio?”.

“Who are you and what have you done with my fiancee,” you laughed. 

“What?” he asked, looking quizzical as if he had no idea why you said that.

“You, the same man that never leaves his house unless it’s business or football related. And sometimes due to a forced social activity, or occasionally to have fun, wants to leave Ohio? You’re practically a turtle that stays in its shell all day,” you say before going back to your work project. 

Joe is slightly taken aback by what you said. Deep down he knows you aren’t wrong, he doesn’t go out very often, which made what he said next even more necessary. 

“Let’s go to the Bahamas this weekend. I can call up Ted and get a jet here and we can leave Friday morning. I’m thinking we stay at a lowkey house on a private beach for maybe 4 days,” he says.

You think he’s just messing with you but when you look over at him, he looks serious. 

“Where is this coming from?” you say with worry in your voice. In the 5 years, you and Joe have been together, he’d never sprung an idea of a vacation on you by himself, it was always mutual. And you’d never left the States before either. You close your computer and turn to face him. 

“I’m just so fucking tired,” he says with a sigh. “These past few weeks have been really intense and I just need a break.” 

Your face drops as he continues. He’d been under so much pressure lately with OTA’s slowly approaching and training amping up; plus all the background noise. He’d start throwing in the next month or so and deep down he was nervous. He didn’t know how it was going to go and if all this rehab was even worth it if he was never going to be able to get back to where he was. 

“And you’ve been stressed out all week because of work and it feels like we haven’t had just ‘us’ time,” he adds. 

Joe was right. He’d be gone all day with either rehab or workouts and the only time you two would get together would be dinner. And by dinner, you’d be too exhausted to do anything but eat and rush off to bed. 

You spend a few moments contemplating his offer. It would be nice to get away for a few days and you both needed the change of environment badly. 

“Okay, let’s do it," you say with a smile as you pull him in for a hug. 

“But just so you know, since we’d be leaving in 2 days, I’m going to be an absolute nightmare when it comes to packing,” you say before planting a kiss on his cheek. 

“Oh, I'm well aware. You only get 2 days to stress about packing and not a whole week like usual,” he laughs. 

Thursday Evening 

You both spent the majority of the day planning your impromptu vacation. You found the perfect beach house on the other side of Nassau, away from the main part of the island. It was hidden by palm trees and had a private beach which made it easy to unwind without any prying eyes. You would spend the week there and pick out a few activities nearby to occupy your time. You also chose a few places to eat although you both decided to cook at home for the majority of your stay. 

Currently, you were sitting on your closet floor attempting to pack your suitcase but were majorly failing. Packing was never your strong suit, especially if you had to pack the day before a trip. The closet looked like a war zone, things were everywhere. 

“This is the wrong time to not be able to find anything,” you say to yourself while getting up once again to hunt for missing items. 

Joe walked into the closet and saw you frantically pacing back and forth looking for something. 

“Babe, are you Okay?” He asked while sitting down on the stool. 

“Have you seen my new white bikini? Or my sunglasses? Or my tank tops?” You asked, aggravated that you couldn’t find your stuff.

“I literally cannot find anything,” You added before giving Joe a look. He knew that look all too well, you were 1 misplaced item away from having a full breakdown. 

He got up from the stool and walked over to where you were, put his hands on your shoulders, and said “Y/N you could wear a potato sack and still look amazing. Stop stressing about it, this vacation is supposed to get rid of the stress. Not add onto it,”

You let out a deep breath and say “You’re right. It’s just us anyway. I’ll just pack some nice dresses and stuff whatever in the suitcase,” 

“The fewer clothes the better,” Joe smirks and says before leaning in and planting a kiss on your lips. 

“You’re insatiable,” you say against his lips. 

After you finish packing your suitcase, you get ready for bed since you have a fairly early flight. It took Joe about 15 minutes to pack his things, which came as no surprise since he is the biggest outfit repeater you know. You’re just about ready to doze off before you feel Joe’s hand creep up your leg and squeeze your thigh.

“Mmm Joe not right now,” you say half asleeply. “Go to bed,”

“Not that,” he states. “I can’t fall asleep,” he mumbles. 

You let out a sigh before turning to face him. No way you’re getting any sleep now. “What’s wrong,” you say as you move his messy curls out of his eyes. 

“I don’t know, I just can’t fall asleep,” he says. 

You knew Joe too well to know when something was bothering him. His confession earlier was only the tip of the iceberg. Something was bugging him and you needed him to talk to you.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours,” you say as you play with his curls. 

He stayed silent for a few heartbeats, not knowing if he should unload his heavy thoughts on you right before a vacation. But he knew that it was just you. You’d always listen to whatever he had to say, no matter the time or place. 

“Just everything.” He says, meeting your eyes. “Rehab has been going great and training has been too, and I should be happy about that but I just can’t get rid of that feeling,”

“What feeling?” You question.

“Feeling like I won’t be good enough. I know what people are saying; overpaid, overrated, no rings, injury-prone. And they aren’t wrong. I don’t have anything to back up why people think I’m a top 3 quarterback,” 

Your heart breaks as he continues to talk. The fact that Joe feels like he isn’t good enough is mind-boggling to you. He’s one of the best damn players you’ve ever seen and you wish you could do something to get rid of his doubts, but you knew that that was something he had to do on his own. 

“But you do have things to back it up. You had one of the greatest college football seasons ever. Winning the Natty and the Heisman was only the start of your legacy. You were drafted by an organization that was in desperate need of saving and you made an impact that not many could have done,” you say as you see a small smile on his face.

“You had a shitty rookie season with tearing basically everything in your knee, but you worked hard and came back better than ever fucking before. You went on and led the team to their first playoff win in 30 years and went to the fucking Super Bowl in your first full season,” you add.

“Yeah, you didn’t win. But you put the entire league on notice and showed them who the hell you are. And then you did it again next year even though you didn’t go all the way. This past year was rough and didn’t go the way anyone would have expected, but this is part of what makes you, you.” you say with a smile as he stares deeply into your eyes. 

“You thrive when there’s adversity. It makes you work harder for what you want and it always pays off one way or another. You always come out better and stronger. You are a great quarterback and are absolutely more than good enough. You’re going to have your moment soon, and I know it,” you conclude. 

Joe stares into your eyes for a few more heartbeats. You knew exactly what to say to bring him back down from whatever cloud he was stuck on and he was so thankful for you. 

“I love you,” he said as he pulled you onto his lap, pressing kisses all over your face. 

“I love you more, always,” you laugh as he kisses the hell out of you. 

You two spent the rest of the night in each other's embrace. You finally felt at peace once you heard Joe’s soft snores fill the room and finally got some sleep.

Friday

You both got up pretty early for your flight, taking a quick shower before packing the car and heading to the airport. After boarding the plane you both took off your shoes, pulled out your fav blanket, and got comfy. 

“Are you excited?” Joe beams.

“Excited is an understatement, Burrow,” you smirk. “Getting you out of Ohio might be my favorite part,”. 

“I’m so looking forward to getting some sun and swimming in that big pool,” he says, referring to the massive pool that’s a part of the house you rented.  

“It’s like you’re a whole new person,” you smile while leaning your head on his shoulder. He smiles and kisses your forehead before pulling out his laptop to turn on a movie. 

“Oooo what are we gonna watch?” you excitedly question. 

“I was thinking of either ‘Grown-Ups’ or ‘21 Jump Street’,” he responds.

“Hmm, let’s do Jump Street, it’s been a while since we watched that,” you say. 

You spent the rest of the flight watching movies, playing a few card games, and eventually taking a small nap before the plane landed. 

A few hours later

After the plane landed, you both drove to your house for the week and it was like something out of a fairytale. The house overlooked the beach and the crystal blue water. Lush green palm trees surrounding the house provided ample privacy, especially for the large open pool in the backyard. You two settled into the house before changing into your swimsuits for a nice afternoon dip in the pool. You did end up finding your new white bikini, which was perfect for the occasion. 

Joe walked out of the bathroom and saw you brushing your hair in the mirror. His eyes trailed down to your bare legs, up to your perfect ass, then to your toned stomach, and straight to your chest. You looked so sexy and he was in heaven. He walked up to you and hugged you from behind, his warmth causing you to melt into his arms. 

Your eyes met his in the mirror, “Like what you see, Burrow?” you teased. 

“Absolutely,” he chuckled as he swayed you two back and forth, pressing a kiss on the back of your shoulder while sliding his hand down to your ass. Joe was grinning like a love-struck fool as he watched you close your eyes and melt into his embrace. He was making you feel more relaxed than you’d ever been before and you both were loving it. 

You both ventured out to the pool and sat down on the pool chairs, hoping to get a quick tanning sesh in before a swim. A few minutes in, Joe found himself staring at the pool when he got an idea. 

“I’m gonna jump into the pool,” he casually said.

You quickly turned your head to him and said, “Are you crazy, the water will get everywhere,” You gasped.

“It’s just us though, nobody around to complain. Besides, I can’t do it in the pool at home since we spent way too much money on redoing the backyard. At least here there isn’t any vegetable garden at risk of being destroyed,” he smirked before quickly running back to the patio door and launching himself into the pool, not giving you a moment to lecture him. 

The water did in fact get everywhere but it was worth it when you saw Joe come up from the water. He shook his head back and forth to get the water out of his hair before he took his hand and attempted to slick it back. Your eyes navigated to his muscular chest which had stray water droplets sliding down his abdomen, back into the water. God, he looked so hot like this. 

“Like what you see, Burrow,” he teased as he noticed your expression. 

“Yes, in fact I do. Very much actually,” you say while getting off the chair. “And I’m not a ‘Burrow’ yet, still gotta wait a few months before that,” you say as you make your way into the pool. 

“Well, you’re practically already my wifey sooo,” he trails off before swimming over to the steps and helping you into the pool. 

You giggle at his words. He couldn’t wait to marry you and he never failed to make it known. 

You immediately latch onto him when you're in the pool. This was pretty normal for you both. You’d always use him as a floatie and make him do all the work while you just lay on him and relaxed. 

A few moments later you release yourself from his embrace, making him slightly confused at the sudden loss of contact. 

“Y/N come back,” he whines out.

“Someone’s clingy today,” you say while playfully rolling your eyes and swimming away from him. 

He stared at you for a few moments, a sad look on his face while you continued to swim around and away from him. You felt bad that you’d left him hanging but you were having too much fun teasing him. 

“Come and catch me shiesty,” you yelled. He hated it when you called him that. That nickname was only for football-related individuals to use and he thought it was a little cringe whenever you would use it. Not in a bad way, it’s just he preferred you calling him other names that football-related people can’t use. You knew how he felt about it but you also knew that this would for sure set him off. 

“Oh you’re done for,” he playfully growled before swimming after you. The pool was massive so you had just enough space to get away from him. 

You two were swimming circles around each other, occasionally splashing water into each other's faces in hopes of catching each other off guard. Your arms began to get tired of swimming around so you stopped by the ledge to take a breather while Joe was settled on the other side of the pool. 

Before you knew it, Joe had swum over to you and pulled you back into his arms. 

“Got you,” you whispered against your ear. 

“I guess you did,” you whispered back. 

“You look absolutely gorgeous by the way,” he said looking down into your eyes. “I love this bikini on you,” 

You blushed at his sweet comments. He never failed to tell you how pretty you looked. 

“Ya know, I look even better with it off,” you tease. 

Joe’s face dropped immediately when you said that. He’d been horny since he saw you in that bikini but had to compose himself since you both were looking forward to swimming in the pool. But now that you’d gotten your swim time in, nothing was stopping him. 

He slowly pressed you against the wall of the pool and kissed his way up your neck right up to your sweet spot. 

“Joe,” you moaned out. 

“What baby?” He asked, knowing exactly what you wanted.

“I need you,” you whined.

He looked at you momentarily before lifting you out of the pool and rushing you inside to the large bedroom. You let out a squeal as he pushed you back onto the bed. Joe climbed over you and situated his body in between your thighs, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You stayed kissing each other for a few minutes before you felt something hard poke at your stomach.

“Getting eager now aren’t we,” you tease. 

“Please, I’ve been waiting to get you in this bed since I saw you in this bikini,” he grinned. 

“Then I suggest you do something about it,” you replied.

Joe smiled and started to untie the strands of your bikini top before tossing it to the side. He kissed his way down to your perfect breasts, swirling his lips around your sensitive bud which caused you to let out a breathy moan.

“Joe,” you moaned out while shoving your hands in his hair. 

He spent a few moments sucking on your breasts before he continued his way down. He pressed a few sloppy kisses on your stomach before eventually making his way down to where you needed him the most. He slowly peeled off your bottoms which was driving you insane.

“Joe please,” you whined out.

“Patience is key, baby,” he teased. 

He threw your bottoms to the side as he made his way back up to your heat. “You’re so wet,” he says while ghosting his fingers over your folds.

“Joe I swear to god-,” You suddenly felt his warm tongue lapping at your folds which caused you to let out another moan, “Ohh Fuck”. 

He buried his warm tongue inside your core as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. He moved one of his hands up to cup your breast as the other was firmly on your thigh. Joe moved up and started to rhythmically suck on your clit which made you see stars; something which he made you see often. “Joey, fuck don’t stop,” you said breathlessly.

“You like that?” he chuckled against your core, sending vibrations throughout your body. Those 3 words always managed to get you more horny than you already were. "Yeah," you whispered.

He went back to lapping at your folds as he used his thumb to rub your clit. The combination of his mouth and fingers was sending you over the edge. You started to arch your back which caused you to lift your hips slightly but Joe pushed them back down as he continued to send you into a frenzy. You fisted your hands into his hair and started to pull on the loose curls which caused Joe to let out a soft moan against you. 

“Joe I’m so close,” you whispered as you pushed his head closer to your core. You felt a familiar warmth in your belly as you were moaning Joe’s name out (which was driving him insane). Joe thrusted one of his fingers into you, causing the imaginary rubber band in your lower belly to snap; feeling a familiar gush of liquid pool below you. You were overcome with a feeling of pure pleasure and satisfaction as he cleaned up your mess with his skillful mouth. He pressed delicate kisses on the insides of your thighs before moving back up and pushing his lips against yours again. 

“You’re so hot,” he said in between kisses. 

You felt a blush creep up on your face. “I’m flattered Mr. Burrow, but have you seen yourself”. 

“Shut up,” he chuckled before going back to kissing you. You stopped kissing him after a few moments and said “Joe, I need you inside me.”

“Your wish is my command babe,” he replied as he pulled down his swim trunks and threw them to the side. His cock was rock hard and the sight of it had you sizzling with anticipation. 

Your core was slick with your arousal which made it easy for him to push his dick into you. The tip slowly teasing your folds before he buries himself inside of you, causing you to let out a loud moan. You will never get tired of the feeling of him inside you. 

He started slowly thrusting into you which made you wrap your legs around him, wanting him deeper asap. 

“Joe, Fuck,” you moaned out. “Faster baby,”. 

He began snapping his hips against you, faster & harder than before. “God, you feel so good Y/N,” he moaned out. You brought him in for another kiss, this time quick, messy, and sloppy. He continued thrusting into you and you bucked your hips each time to match his movements. The sound of your arousal and skin-hitting skin filled the room as you two were caught up in the euphoria that was happening between you. 

Joe buried his face into your neck, sucking on your sweet spot, as your hands found themselves in his hair again. You were on Cloud 9 right now and it was all because of him.

“Joe, don’t stop. Shit, you feel too good,” you moaned. You felt him move deeper inside of you as he repeatedly hit your cervix. 

He continued to pound into you, making you feel like nothing else mattered but this moment. You both felt your arousal building up, begging to be released. 

“Fuck Y/N, I’m close,” he panted as he slowed down.

“Me too,” you whimpered. 

He picked up the pace of his thrusts once again, this time moving one of his hands down to your heat, toying with your clit. “Fuck,” you moaned out for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered. You felt your walls clench around him, signaling you were almost there. Joe felt you clench around him and pinched your clit which set off your orgasm. Your chest heaved up and down as you whimpered out his name while seeing stars again. He continued to thrust into you, chasing his pleasure. 

“Y/N,” Joe moaned out. You knew he was close by the way his thrusts started to become sporadic. 

“Come on baby,” you encouraged while pulling at his hair and kissing his neck. 

After a few rough thrusts, Joe let out a loud moan as you felt hot spurts of his cum fill you up. He collapsed on top of you as you both panted, needing a moment to recover after the workout you two just had. You moved one of your hands to his back, softly sliding it up and down to help him relax.

“I love you,” he softly said as he kissed your cheek, making you smile. 

“I love you more,” you whisper in his ear as he buries his face into your neck again. 

The next day 

The next morning was pretty chill for you both. You had breakfast at the local beachside cafe, stuffing your faces with delicious fresh fruit from the island before embarking on a pleasant morning walk on the beach. 

“This is nice,” Joe says as you both walk hand in hand alongside the water, a content look on his face.

You look up at him and smile, “Very nice,” you giggle. “Although, I don’t know how you’re not uncomfortable with walking on the beach in shoes,” you question while looking at your bare feet and then his shoes. 

“You never know when a crab might come up and pinch your toes,” he says with a straight face. 

“Righhhht,” you say while relishing the feeling of sand between your toes. 

“So, what should we do today? We pretty much have the whole day since we’re cooking at home tonight,” he says while squeezing your hand. 

“Hmmm,” you wonder for a second. “We could go out on one of the boats?” you carefully question while looking up at your fiancee. 

Joe did not like going on boats. He hated the idea of being out on the open water with no way of getting back to shore other than using the boat. He always questioned what you would do if the boat broke down or even started sinking. You always told him the sinking part was highly unlikely, but you blamed yourself for that worry because you’ve made him watch Titanic with you one too many times. He also didn’t like how you couldn’t see what was in the water. But lucky for you, the water in the Bahamas was crystal clear. 

He stayed silent for a few moments, making you a little sad since you wanted to experience something new with him. 

“Let’s do it,” he says while flashing you a smile. 

You looked up at him, a little surprised. “Really?” you beam. 

“Yes, now let’s go before I change my mind,” he says before stopping to pick you up. He doesn’t give you a moment to respond because he throws you over his shoulders causing you to let out a squeal. He leads you both back to the house so you can get freshened up.

You both got changed into your swimsuits before walking over to the docks and renting a boat for the day. You weren’t sure how you managed to get Joe to go on the boat, but you certainly were not complaining. 

The driver had taken the boat not too far from shore, which kept Joe’s mind at ease. You swam in the water for a little bit and enjoyed a few drinks. 

“Mmm, this like the best Mai Tai I’ve ever had,” you say while taking another sip. Joe was currently in the water in front of you, while you were seated on the steps of the boat, legs partially in the water. 

“Come in the water,” Joe says while splashing some water onto you. 

“Mmm, I think I’m good up here,” you tease while placing your drink to the side.

Joe swam closer to you and said “Nope.”

You were confused at what he meant but then you felt his wet hand wrap around your wrist. 

“Joe, don’t even think about it,” you playfully growled, knowing exactly what he was about to do. He didn’t listen and pulled you into the water, causing a big splash. You came back up to the surface with a frown.

“Someone’s mad,” Joe laughs. You swim over to him while he is fully anticipating an ass-kicking but is pleasantly surprised when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

You laugh and say, “If this is mad, let me be mad more often,”.

A few hours pass and you both are sitting on the boat in the net seating area that was right above the water. Joe had put on one of his many bucket hats and shades and was laid flat against the net, soaking in the golden sun. You were applying another layer of sunscreen before noticing his chest turning red. You knew he’d be a pain in the ass if he got sunburnt so you took the bottle and moved closer to him. 

You squeezed out a dab of sunscreen and started applying it to his chest. He flinched at the sudden contact before realizing it was just you. 

You felt him flinch and laughed, “Daydreaming, Burrow?”. 

“Maybe,” he smiles while taking off his shades. He looks down and sees you applying sunscreen on him, “Oh, thanks,” he says while meeting your eyes. 

You let out a playful sigh and say, “What would you do without me,”.

“For real,” he says. “I’d be walking around like a tomato,” he laughs. 

After applying the rest of the sunscreen, you lay back against the net and Joe lifts one of his arms, motioning for you to curl up next to him. He rests his hand on the small of your back while you tangle your legs with his. 

You lay there briefly, soaking up the perfect scene before breaking the silence. “Are you enjoying this? I know boats aren’t really your thing and I hope I didn’t force you into this,” you softly say. 

“Of course, I’m enjoying this. I will admit, I was a little nervy when getting on but you’re here with me so I’m fine. Besides, If the boat breaks down at least we’d be stranded together,” he jokes. 

“I guess that’s true. Better than being stranded with a bunch of randos too. I’m glad we could get a boat just for the two of us,” you reply. 

“Yup. This isn’t as bad as I thought. I can see everything below us too so no risk of a random shark popping out,” he deadpans.

“Like that would actually happen,” you say while softly hitting his chest.

“You never know,” he says while shaking your shoulder in an attempt to scare you.

You spent a few minutes messing around with each other before the driver came out to tell you that you were heading back to the island. You both got up and sat on the bench, your back pressed into Joe’s chest and stared out into the open waters, taking in the view before it was time to go back. You were mindlessly sliding your hand along Joe’s leg while he had his arms around your waist, gently squeezing your soft skin. Everything about this moment was peaceful. Joe felt at ease for the first time in a long time and he had his favorite person to thank for it. 

Once you got back to the house, you both took a nice shared shower before starting your dinner prep. Before arriving at the house yesterday, you had stopped at the local market to pick up some groceries. 

“So, what are we making tonight,” Joe asked as he sat down on one of the barstools. 

“I was thinking of shrimp-avocado tostadas and some of that wine we picked up yesterday?”

“Sounds delicious,” he said while rubbing his belly.

You let Joe fry the tortillas and make the avocado mixture while you cooked the shrimp and assembled the tostadas. While you were assembling the dish, Joe found a few candles in the cabinet and got an idea. He went outside to the backyard and set up the candles on one of the patio tables, setting the scene for a nice sunset dinner. He picked out a few flowers from the front of the house and put them in a vase to use as a centerpiece. He then poured the wine into 2 glasses, setting one on each side. 

You had finished plating the tostadas and didn’t see Joe anywhere. “Joe? Where are you,” you yelled out.

“Out here! Bring the plates outside,” he yelled back. 

You were a little confused but went along with it. You walked outside with your dinner and saw Joe setting the table and your heart melted. 

“Joe, this is so romantic,” you cooed while putting the plates on the table. 

He gave you a warm smile before pulling out one of the chairs for you to sit in. You sat down as he settled into the chair across from you. You both devoured the tostadas while making small talk about your plans for tomorrow. After you finished eating, Joe took the plates and set them inside; he suggested you both finish up your wine on the daybed since you would get a comfier view of the sky. 

Later that night, per your suggestion, you and Joe were sitting in the bathtub surrounded by bubbles and a few candles. You felt so relaxed even though you’d only been here for 2 days, and it was all because of Joe.

“I’m glad we finally get to have ‘us’ time,” Joe says while rubbing your thigh under the water. “I missed just being able to sit with you and do nothing. This past month felt so repetitive, I feel like we barely saw each other,” 

“Me too. We needed this,” you said as you pressed yourself into his chest a little more. Your back was to his chest and both your legs were tangled under the water. This was your favorite position; the warmth radiating off of his body felt like a big hug. 

“Thank you for doing this by the way,” you add.

“Doing what?” He questioned.

“This trip. I needed it more than I thought I did. Getting away from home and the change of environment was much needed. I think if I stayed in Ohio for another day I might have spontaneously exploded,” you joked, causing him to let out a soft chuckle. 

“Anytime,” he replied while kissing the nape of your neck.

“Do you feel better?” You asked. “I hope you were able to get your mind off of things. Your stuff was a lot heavier than mine,”

He lets out a content sigh and says, “Actually, yeah I do feel better. I think I just needed to get out of the chaos and get out of my head. This trip has helped me decompress and realize that not everything has to be so stuffy all the time,” Joe says. 

“Exactly,” you chirp as you lean your head back to place a kiss on his neck.

“I can’t do anything about what people are saying, they’ll always talk. But what I can do is work hard to get back to where I’m supposed to be. And I won’t be able to get there if I’m constantly pressuring myself,” he says. “Letting loose and having fun is a part of that journey. I need that balance,” he adds.

“And this is a great start,” you say while smiling up at Joe

“Yes it is,” Joe says while pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

You both had spent the rest of the night talking about the rest of your exciting activities planned for the final 2 days of the trip. You even talked about a few fun things you could do around Cincinnati when you get back home so that you could keep the work-life balance that you both so desperately needed. 

“This impromptu vacation might have been the best idea you’ve had so far,” you tell Joe as you both are about to fall asleep. 

“We should get away more often,” Joe grins.

--The End--

[olive-fics]

Abby Anderson x Injured Reader

I need to be held so.. Just some fluff. Uses Y/N and some pet names, Some mentions of blood and a deep cut, Friends with benefits, Abby just kinda taking care of you cus she loooovesss you.. Not proof read.

It was your first patrol back after an incident that left you sidelined for weeks. Abby Anderson, someone you considered more than just an acquaintance, had insisted on being your patrol buddy for this crucial return to duty. . .

Hail hammered against your coat and hat, each icy pellet sent a jolt against your skin, matching the erratic pounding in your chest as you struggled to keep pace through the freezing storm. Abby's grip tightened on your arm to keep you balanced with your limp leg after snagging it on an old fence.

“Damn it, Y/N..” Abby’s voice trembled with a mix of worry and frustration, her breath visible in the frigid air. “It’s your First patrol back your surgery and you’re hurt again.. Base is too far. We have to camp out in this cabin..” Abby’s voice was breathy from the cold breeze and sniffle from her nose.

Her words cut through the howling wind, Together, you stumbled towards the rustic cabin. With every step, the hail seemed to intensify as you slowly inched to the door. You couldn’t help but wince from the sharp, uneasy twinge shooting through your leg.

Abby cautiously eased the door open, her senses alert for any sign of danger, her pistol drawn and ready in case infected had breached the cabin.

“It’s clear.. Let’s get you on that couch..”

The sight matched your imagination: an abandoned, dirty place, its abandonment was clear in the busted up floor boards and dirt along the trim.

"It's better than nothing," you managed, your voice trembling with each syllable, punctuated by the relentless waves of pain surging through your leg. "It’s just for tonight- I'll be alright by morning." Your words strained through the discomfort as you sat down on the filthy chair.

“I think I have a few matches left..Lets get a fire in here..” Abby rummaged through her pocket and grabbed a match, tossing it into the fireplace. Abby let out a low sigh as she focused her attention on you.

"Now, let me take a look at this knee, Angel.”

You couldn’t help but feel flustered by that stupid nickname she called you. She knew it pissed you off but you were in no mood to argue.

"It's nothing," you admitted reluctantly, feeling a pang of vulnerability as Abby rolled up your jeans. “Just... hurts more than I thought..”

“Oh yeah? Then why are you making a fuss about me just rolling up your jeans then?”

You couldn’t argue with that and just let her off with a grumpy sigh.

“I probably just.. pulled a muscle.”

Abby sighed as she saw the Laceration. “Sure thing..”

Abby unzipped her backpack and retrieved a med kit, she pulled out an antibiotic cleaner. With a careful touch, she began to clean the cut.

"It's gonna sting a bit," she warned, her voice gentle yet tinged with concern. "you need to hold my hand or somethin', love?"

You scoffed and looked away not wanting to accept her hand.. when suddenly the stinging was intense and aching throughout your thigh to ankle.

“F-fuck..!” You exclaimed and gripped the couch cushion to try and alleviate some pain.. Nothing worked. Abby’s free hand reached yours gently and she sighed, “Told you, Gotta listen to me more Princess.” 

Whatever..

Abby removed the blood-soaked rag and applied some ointment. She then wrapped a gauze bandage on your cut and sealed it with medical tape. “Don’t get up from this couch until tomorrow morning. And I mean that Y/N.”

You let out a weary groan, adjusting yourself on the couch, using your backpack as a makeshift pillow. The dull ache persisted, and despite the discomfort, you tried to close your eyes to sleep while Abby searched the cabin for supplies and rations.

“There’s a bedroom if you wanna lay in there.” Abby leaned on the door frame to the living room looking down at you on the couch.

"Gods, yes I do," you whined, attempting to rise from the couch when Abby abruptly halted your movement. Her sudden intervention paused your attempt. Her hand rested gently on your shoulder.

"Easy there," Abby's voice was firm. "Let me help."

With a gentle hold, Abby swiftly slid her right hand under your thighs and her left hand under your back, lifting you with ease. Abby's biceps were toned and defined, when picking you up the muscles in her upper arms flexed, revealing a gentle curve.

"Comfortable? Just a few more steps. Easy now Princess.."

You couldn’t help but have that tiredness in your eyelids hit you as soon as you smelled her musky pine soap. The gentle tickle of the end of her braid against your arm was a subtle, soothing touch, each strand brushing lightly and creating a calming sensation. A soft yawn escaped your lips and you shut your eyes, you nestled your head into her shoulder as she lowered you into the little bed.

“Sleepy girl.” Abby laughed quietly and stroked your hair.

“Don’t go..” you whined as Abby started to walk off..

“You want me to stay? Like… in bed with you??”

“Yes.”

Abby couldn't deny that sleepy voice.

Abby slowly crawled into bed next to you. She picked you up and placed you on top of her chest where she cuddled you the rest of the night.

---

[milf-murdock]

The Scare: Part II

A/N: Y'all this is filthyyyyyyy. Absolutely fucking disgusting and I cannot get enough of it omg. I think I blacked out while writing this.

Check out Part 1 here

Warnings: Dark!Simon AU, breeding kink, pregnancy mentions, baby trapping, creepy behavior, red flags (dreamy), and if there's anything else I need to tag just let me know!

Putting the read more right at top because babes we are just jumping right into it ;,)

Simon is legendary when it comes to details. Nothing gets past this man. Especially, when he’s on a mission. And right now? Simon was a man on a mission. 

“Fuck babe,” he grunted as he pressed your legs even farther back, your knees nearly to your ears. “So fuckin’ tight.” His thrusts were deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. 

You were beyond response. Not only had he made you come on his fingers while he sucked on that pretty little clit, but he’d made sure to put a couple pillows underneath you, propping up your hips for him, opening yourself to a new angle that had you seeing fucking stars. All you could do was moan and gasp as Simon gripped your hips and drove his cock into you at a relentless pace. 

He had seen this position online, when he was conducting his late-night research on a private, completely locked-down browser, searching up the best ways to get you pregnant. 

___

He knew that he needed to lock you down, to ensure that there was no way you were going anywhere. He wanted you all to himself. And he wanted everyone to know just who you fucking belonged to. 

You’d be the prettiest mum, Simon thought to himself as he scrolled through the online articles, absentmindedly stroking his cock. You were fast asleep in the next room, and he was so thankful. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, round with his baby, heavy breasts, your supple curves growing even more. His fist moved faster, sliding over his thick cock, pulling back the skin to tease the bright red head. If he got you pregnant now, you’d be due just at the end of summer. The thought of you in one of your gorgeous sundresses, heavily and adorably pregnant with his baby, was enough to send him over the edge, hips rutting up into his hand. He tried to conceal his groan as the hot spurts of come landed on his bare chest. 

___

Simon is phenomenal when it comes to details. Which is how he has your cycle fucking memorized. Which is why he has you spread on your bed, legs in the air, pounding into you with everything he has. 

He knows this is your ovulation window. Sure, he had made sure to fill you up yesterday, and he’ll make damn sure to fill you up tomorrow, too, just to be safe. But today? Today was when you were most fertile. He knows, because he’s been secretly tracking your ovulation, taking your temperature while you sleep to make the most accurate prediction. He had been so disappointed to see that negative test last month. His hopes had been so high when he saw that you were late. Only to be dashed the next morning when your period had started. He coddled you through it, of course, bringing you medicine, hot tea, heating pad, endless snuggles. But the whole time, he was planning how this month would be different. 

He’d knock you up if it was the last thing he fucking did. 

___

“Such a good girl, taking my fuckin’ cock,” Simon groaned, pulling back his hips, all the way so just the tip rested inside you. 

“I can’t—it’s too,” you sputter, absolutely cock drunk. 

“Ah, but you can, love,” Simon smirked to himself as he thrusted deep into your weeping pussy, all the way to the hilt. He reveled in the way you screamed in pleasure. He continued the pattern: pulling out, thrusting in, picking up the pace. His heavy balls bounced off your ass as his pace picked up. You were getting close, he could tell, your body starting to stiffen, your cries getting louder. He used his broad hands to grab your hips and hold you steady as he hammered into you, relentless in his pursuit. 

“Gonna come for me, dove?” He teased, his voice deep and earnest, filled with lust. He needed you to finish. He’d read an old wives tale saying the seed was more likely to take root when the mother finishes. The thought alone nearly had Simon coming right then and there. Your shaky voice brought him back to reality. “Yes, uh huh, don’t forget—“ you screamed as he thrusted in you particularly hard. “Pull out,” you mumbled, hazy in the oncoming fog of your orgasm. “Fuck Simon, fuck, fuck FUCK,” you screamed as your orgasm overtook you.

Simon watched as your eyes rolled back into your head and your back arched off the gentle stack of pillows, pushing your breasts forward. Simon couldn’t help the mental image that popped into his head: you, swollen with his child, those same breasts full of milk, ready to nourish your child, his child. Everyone would know how he had pleased you, claimed you, made you his. 

Simon’s hips stuttered as he came, a resounding growl of pleasure escaping his lips as he slammed into your cunt a final time. His seed flooded your cervix, filling you with a warmth you were too blissed out to recognize. Ropes and ropes of his spend filled you,  his cock twitching inside you, as Simon pressed his face against your chest, breathing heavily. 

“Fuckin hell, love,” he moaned. “Gonna be the fucking death of me.” 

He slid his softening cock out of you, careful to use his fingers to scoop any escaping seed back into your aching cunt. He silently tutted to himself. We can’t be having that, now can we? 

[ilongfor-the-arts]

A REQUEST FOR LIP PLEASEEE!! him getting hammered in a party then he calls you to rescue him or smth then you gotta drag him and drive him back home. he asks you sleep over and you stayed! thats basically my idea u can develop it however u like <333 can be fluff alone or added w a bit of spice🤭 but we’ll enjoy it nevertheless

Drunk Mind, Sober Heart

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x fem! Reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, angst (nothing happens bc Lip is drunk), dirty talk, language

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 2.5k

An ear splitting noise startled me awake. I shot up, my eyes flinging open, only to discover that my bedroom was completely dark.

Was that my alarm?

No, there is no way in hell it was eight in the morning already.

I groaned in frustration and reached for my bedside table. As my eyes adjusted, I ran my palm along the smooth wood, my bedroom gradually coming into view. Unfortunately, my vision was not properly adjusted to perceive the small black box. My hand pushed a mysterious object, and a soft thud echoed.

“Shit!”

I exclaimed. I threw my torso off the bed and inspected the carpeted floor for my phone.

Whoever was calling me at this hour was gonna get it.

When I realized I didn't have much time before the call went to voicemail, I quickened my pace, grunting from the unexpected effort.

“Yes!”

The artificial glow burned into my retinas as I flipped the phone over to expose the screen. I was forced to squint so I could see who had the audacity to call me at such an inconvenient hour.

I rolled my eyes.

Of fucking course.

With a sour attitude, I accepted the call. I was miffed at Lip for ruining my perfect night of restful sleep.

“What? This better be good Lip, or I’m gonna be really pissed.”

I flopped onto the bed and fixed my gaze on the boring ceiling. On the other end of the line, there was a cacophony of voices and screams. It was so loud that it resembled a roar. To prevent going deaf, I moved the phone a few inches from my ear.

“Heyyyyyy Y/N. How are ya?”

Every syllable lacked clarity. Oh, come on, why did I have to be the one getting booty called tonight? I disregarded his inquiry and instead put forth my own.

“Lip, what time is it?”

I inquired in part to gauge his level of inebriation and in part because I was too sluggish to remove my phone from my ear to check the time.

“Uhhhh- that’s a great question.”

There was rustling from the other end of the line.

“It’s 9 oh 3.”

I cocked a brow.

“You sure about that?”

“Uh-hold on. Gimmie a sec.”

Rustling.

“Do you read from left to right or right to left?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. At the very least, this would make a good story in a few days after I recovered from my extreme sleep deprivation.

“Left to right, at least in English.”

“Okay, thanks. You’re so smart.”

Rustling.

“Okay, it’s 3 oh 9. Well… 3:10 now.”

I tried to shake the sleep from my brain by closing my eyes and gently kneading my soft eyelids.

“That’s just perfect. You do remember me saying I had an 8 am class today, right?”

“Yes I do. I just-I lost my phone, and yours is the-the only phone number I remember.”

He had never been this drunk before. Lip had a very high tolerance for alcohol. The number of drinks he must have consumed to get to this point is beyond my comprehension. His speech was becoming more slurred by the second, almost as if he were nodding off.

I completely ignored the fact that he used his phone to call me. He was comprehending very little at this moment.

“How many drinks have you had, Lip?”

Silence.

“Uh-that’s another great question…”

His voice trailed off. I sure hope he didn't doze off on me.

“Alright Lip, don’t fall asleep.”

I threw myself into a sitting position and switched on the bedside table lamp. The room instantly filled with bright light. My eyes watered. I squinted to accommodate the abrupt change.

“Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear as I reached down to put on my slippers.

“Uh-I don’t know the address.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, well, can you give me any information that could help me find you?”

I stood, the phone pressed to my ear. I threw a light jacket over my shoulders to hide the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra.

“Uh-it’s down the street from an old gas station.”

I knew exactly where he was. There was only one party host who lived next to an old gas station.

“Are you at Christian’s house?”

“No. Well, actually, I don’t know.”

I walked to my front door, shaking my head in disbelief. I plucked my car keys from the wood tray by the door, twirling them between my fingers. The silence that engulfed my apartment complex was deafening compared to the soft jingle.

“I’ll come and get ya’. Just give me ten minutes. Don’t move a muscle.”

“Okay. I’ll be waitin’ for ya on the front lawn.”

“Perfect.”

I drove slowly, not in a hurry to arrive at Christian's house. Lip could handle himself when he was drunk. Sure, he said stupid shit at times, but if I truly believed he was a danger to himself, I would increase my urgency.

Not even a meek flicker of light could be seen in the windows of nearby houses. My car was engulfed in darkness. Everything was pitch black save for a few street lamps that did little to penetrate the gloom. The world was still and silent.

It reminded me of the twilight zone. I was imprisoned in an environment where time did not exist. I was alone. There were no people who could guide me. I was trapped.

That was the impression I had up until I arrived at Christian's house. The street was lined with parked cars. There were sober individuals mixed in with those who were stumbling drunk. Christian’s house was bursting at the seams. People could be seen congregating on the lawn, in the upper windows, shoving their way inside, and shoving their way out. I stopped my car in front of the grass. Sure enough, Lip was standing on the front lawn, gazing at the street with a blank stare.

I giggled. He looked lost.

I opened my car window and protruded my head outside.

“Lip Gallagher! Your chauffeur is here!”

I shouted sarcastically. My joke elicited a few giggles from various partygoers. A stupidly uneven smile appeared on Lip’s face as he awoke from his stupor.

“Oh hi, Y/N! I didn’t even know you were coming!”

“Get in Lip. I’m gonna take you home.”

Lip walked over, nearly tripping ten times in the short distance he had to cover. I laughed at his erratic behavior.

“You're gonna sit in the back, Lip?”

I caught a glimpse of him in the rearview mirror. His head was leaning against the headrest, and his eyes were closed. He looked serene. Lip jerked awake. His half lidded eyes hurriedly scanned the back of my car as if expecting company.

“Uh-no. I’ll sit in the front.”

I anticipated that he would exit the vehicle and move to the front seat. Instead, he launched himself over the center console.

“Jesus Lip!”

I exclaimed, a flurry of limbs obstructing my view. His body relaxed as he sank into the passenger seat.

“That’s better. It’s much more comfortable up here.”

I scoffed and decided not to participate in this pointless conversation.

Lip didn't speak once during the entire drive back to his apartment, which surprised me. His breathing evened out. I could only assume that he had dozed off. His head would softly crash into the window when I crossed a bump in the road. Although the position didn't appear to be comfortable, Lip was too far gone to bother.

I parked in front of Lip’s dorm complex.

“Lip.”

The mere mention of his name caused Lip to instantly become alert, his hands fumbling all over my car.

“Yes?”

I grinned.

“Do you need help walking or can you manage?”

“I got it.”

Lip stumbled out of the vehicle and looked up at his run-down dorm building. Thank God he was at a dorm and not in his chaotic home. Only occasionally have I had to pick up Lip from a party. Yet, I always seem to run into one of Fiona's conquests who is using the cover of night to elude detection.

“This isn’t my house.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Lip, you moved. You live in a dorm now.”

Lip squinted, still not convinced.

“Oh!”

His eyes widened as his face relaxed.

“Yeah, I remember now.”

We moved slowly as we ascended the stairs. Lip kept stumbling forward, tripping, falling, then shooting back up. The cycle was then repeated ten steps later. Eventually I caved and slung his arm over my shoulder to quicken the process.

“Are your roommates home?”

I wanted to ignite a casual conversation because I could feel Lip growing heavier. I was struggling under his weight and quickly ran out of breath.

“Yes. Actually, no. I don’t think so. I think they left town.”

“Where did they go?”

“They went… to- somewhere.”

Thank God. I could throw Lip on his bed, tuck him in, and leave without any awkward encounters.

I threw Lip’s dorm room open and reached for the lightswitch.

“Noooooo. Don’t turn on the lights.”

I reconciled.

“Alright. Whatever you say.”

It was the home stretch. Lip’s bed was in sight.

I threw him onto it. Under his weight, the springs groaned loudly, disturbing the peace.

“Alright Lip, looks like my work here is done.”

I couldn't help but smile as I turned to leave. Even though I adored Lip and knew this would make a great story, I was eager to crawl into bed.

“Wait…”

He said meekly.

I turned, exhaling an exasperated sigh.

“What now?”

In the ten seconds that I was looking elsewhere, he had somehow gotten himself into a seated position.

“Come here.”

With the most threatening voice his inebriated mind could conjure, he demanded. I rolled my eyes as I approached him.

His expression was sluggish. He seemed to be in a drug-induced coma. Lip’s eyes were half lidded and the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned in a silly manner.

I came to a halt about a foot and a half in front of him.

“Come closer.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest and taking a step forward.

“Closerrrrrr.”

He was undoubtably fucking with me. But whatever, I’ll play his stupid game. I took another step forward, our knees brushing.

A slight smirk appeared on his lips as he glanced at me through his thick lashes.

Shit.

What have I gotten myself into?

Lip encircled my thighs with his large hands, tugging me forward until the waistband of my shorts was level with his nose.

The air hitched in my throat.

“Lip!”

I exclaimed.

Lip began pressing tender kisses to the tops of my bare thighs, maintaining intense eye contact.

“Come on Y/N, live a little.”

I chuckled, my face flushed with embarrassment, despite the fact that Lip was completely unaware of his actions.

“Lip you really are drunk out of your mind.”

Lip chuckled against my skin.

“Maybe.”

He mumbled.

“No, not maybe, definitely.”

His voice was remarkably crisp and clear. Lip was in his element. He was truly demonstrating his ability to woo any woman, even when his mind was under the influence of alcohol.

“Okay, I’m a little drunk.”

I couldn’t deny that he looked unbelievably sexy with his hot mouth trailing along my thighs.

“But I bet you’re already wet just thinking about me inside you.”

His tone was sultry.

How did he manage to flirt drunk better than I could flirt stone cold sober?

Smug bastard.

“I-“

I couldn't refute his accusation because he was completely correct. I could already feel the wetness pooling in my panties and all he had done was kiss my thighs.

“Come on Y/N, just let me fuck you.”

He pushed the hem of my shirt upwards, exposing a thin strip of my stomach. Lip’s fiery touch ignited an expanse of goosebumps along my soft skin.

He pressed several hot, open mouthed kisses to my lower abdomen.

I shuddered.

My knees began to shake.

Jesus.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and meekly pushed him away. Lip resisted, his mouth remaining pressed against my body.

“You’re so tense all the fuckin’ time.”

I gulped, squeezing my eyes shut. If I continued to maintain eye contact, I would never have the strength to put an end to this.

“You need to relax… and I can make you relax. I can eat you out and make you cum all over my face- I can fuck you real slow- make you feel really good-“

His warm mouth was hovering just above my waistband.

“Lip, we’re friends-“

“Friends fuck. Friends fuck all the time.”

He moved a hand forward, rubbing soft circles into my clothed clit.

Jesus, he was touching me through two layers of clothing and I was still getting insanely hot and bothered.

No.

Hell no.

“Sure, but sober friends don’t fuck drunk friends.”

I was more assertive in my actions. I pushed him away from me. Lip's mouth disconnected from my stomach with a soft pop. His hands landed in his lap.

“No?”

He asked with a sarcastic pout.

“Maybe another time.”

I said despite knowing Lip wouldn’t remember this tomorrow.

“Okay. But I got ya thinkin’ about it, didn’t I?”

He asked smugly.

“Yes, you did.”

Lip fell to one side, his head hitting the pillow.

“Will you stay with me?”

I chuckled.

“What are you, seven?”

Lip groaned, his eyes shut.

“No-I’m at least 10.”

Despite my jokes, I wanted to be with Lip. I'd possessed a small crush on him for the many years we'd been friends, but I wasn't sure if it was something I should pursue. It was always a minor nagging thought in the back of my mind, never something to take seriously.

Until tonight.

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

I crawled into bed with him, slinging an arm around his waist.

“Love ya Y/N.”

His voice was slurred to the point where his words could barely be understood. But I recognized what he was saying. When it was time to say goodbye, he always told me he loved me (platonically, of course). I'm grateful that drunk him still clung to our traditions.

“Love you too Lip.”

Lip smelled like stale tobacco and cheap alcohol. It wafted into my nose in waves, lulling me to sleep.

[ummmlife]

Miserable Salaryman!Nanami ( pt. 2 )

part 1

Warnings!: pure nsfw (mdni) ; needy Nanami ; headcanon ; miserable Nanami (i love him) ; afab reader ; pussydrunk Nanami ; overstimulation ; cunnilingus ; he's just so cute :(.

Your poor boyfriend has been edging himself since the morning. This was his fault, he accidentally looked at his album of nudes that you have sent to him, poor man has been dealing with a painful boner all his way to work and in the office. But now he's at home.

— "I can't hold it anymore, dear… please… please let me fuck you". His day wasn't the best either, he made a mistake with some documents and his boss scolded him to the point where he was simply holding his tears back, he's so stressed and needy. Kento doesn't waste more time and hugs you tightly as he kisses you, basically sliding his tongue to your throat.

On the bed, on the couch, on the floor even. Nanami simply gets on top of you, eagerly removing your clothes with his shaking hands. He wants to do it so badly and he knows you won't complain, but he feels guilty, guilty of using you like this. He simply doesn't deserve you.

— "You… You're so gorgeous, my love". Kento can't help but keep making out with you as you also help him to remove his clothes. Once you're completely naked, just like him, he starts leaving a thread of kisses from your neck to your pelvis, kissing also your inner thighs. — "All this for me? My… I don't deserve you, you're way too precious to have this pathetic man eating you out…". Nanami moves his nose closer to your clit, pressing it gently with the tip of his nose to then start sniffing the scent of your minge. — "So, bon appetit".

Kento is a foodie and his favorite food is your own wet pussy. He eats you as if you were a continental breakfast, sucking your clit softly as the tip of tongue moves up and down to stimulate you.

His big hands are pressed on your hips to keep you stay still as he moves his tongue to your hole, drinking your juices like a thirsty dog. — "So wet, so good. Oh god, babe". His eyebrows frown in delight as he keeps eating you with devotion. No whines or moans from you could stop him, not even when you reach your climax and he keeps leeching his mouth to your pussy to keep tasting your cum.

His mouth is all dirty with your cream but he looks at you with devotion, adoring you as his goddess. — "I love you…". You could lie if you don't find him just so damn adorable like this.

But my god, he's not done yet. Kento wipes your cum from his mouth with his arm and moves up to kiss you, now you should be more than ready for his big dick. He slowly slides inside your dripping cunt as he hugs you tightly. — "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, hah. You're so tight". He's ashamed of enjoying how your walls squeeze his length in a welcoming warm hug. — "I'm sorry, dear, I'm so sorry". You don't know why he apologizes so much, but he sounds so needy when he says that.

Nanami thrusts into you hard and sloppy, putting all his weight on you, kissing you nonstop. — "Hmm, love. Oh, my dear, you feel so good…". All the stimulation makes him squirm of pleasure as he fucks you even faster.

His thick cock is stretching your hole so damn good that he's turning you into a dumb plaything. — "Too much, babe… Ah, I'm sorry, can't help it. You're so wet". With each forceful thrust, Nanami reaches a new whole level of delight. — "Darling, oh darling… Mhm, taking me s'well, hah".

Yes, Kento whimpers, but he whimpers even more when he's about to cum. — "Honey, honey, please… Hah, take me, let me fill you, please". You could hear his balls slapping against your ass repeatedly in an erratic rhythm while jack-hammered into your warm and sticky cunt. — "... Gonna cum, honey. I'm gonna fill you. Ngh!"

Even if he just came and fills your cunt with his warm and soft jizz, he won't stop thrusting into you until you cum as well. — "S'good, darling… fuck, too much". He's getting overstimulated and his whole body is squirming and shaking, but he keeps going, hitting your sweet spot until you cum with his cock.

Poor man is crying and fucking your hole all overstimulated, you already came but he keeps torturing himself like this — "Please… babe… so good". He lets out a big sob and collapses on your chest, sniveling softly. — "I'm sorry, I'm a mess, I didn't mean to… Ugh, you're so good, my love".

Please hug him and tell him that you don't mind all the mess nor all him cum leaking from your pussy. — "Thank you… I love you".

*ugly sobs* I WANT HIM!!! A big tough man crying for me after we [REDACTED]

[reverie-starlight]

crawling back to you- fushiguro megumi

just something silly I started a while back that I'm finally finishing up!! i'm very in love with megumi and since I was doing a season one rewatch with my dad, I have plenty of megumi-centered thoughts I can't talk abt with him. but I can write them!! and YES okay the title was a failed bug pun.

warnings: just fluff! death of a spider, though. megumi is a little annoyed, but it gets resolved super fast, so no angst at all.

gn! reader, no specified gender or physical description, but they do stay in the girl's dorms for this fic for the sole purpose of being nobara's next door neighbour!!

You opened your door and stopped in your tracks when you saw something scuttle across the ceiling from the corner of your eye.

A loud gasp was released and Nobara, already in her PJs, peeked out from her door to see what the fuss was. “Y/n? You okay?”

You frantically beckon her over, your eyes never leaving the beast that decided to infiltrate your room. She made it to your side and followed your eyes.

“Ew! Why’d you have to show me a spider right as I’m about to go to bed? Now I’m going to be paranoid all night, thanks a lot.” She crossed her arms and made a yuck face.

“Nobara,” you started, deadly serious, clutching her arm. “I need you to use your hammer and nails to get this thing. We don’t have to get close to it that way.”

She looked as though she was seriously considering it for a moment before reluctantly shaking her head. “Y/n, cursed energy is for jujutsu work, not creepy crawlies. Besides, it’d leave some nasty holes in your wall.”

You sighed and almost resigned yourself to having to find a long stick or something to get it with. But then she spoke again.

“What about Fushiguro? He brings out his demon dog for you to play with all the time, right? What’s one more non-curse related job for a frog who’d probably love a snack?”

This finally brought your attention away from the eight legged monster on your ceiling. You looked at her with so much admiration and thanks and hugged her tightly. “Oh, Nobara you’re a genius! Thank y-“

You visibly deflated when you realized that your boyfriend wasn’t exactly happy with you at that moment.

Nobara winced. “Ouch, is he still upset?”

You nodded and frowned. Of course this would happen at a time you didn’t have him as back up.

It was a petty argument that got you into this situation- in the shared kitchen for the students, you accidentally ate a snack of his that he had been saving, which you apologized for. Great! Should’ve been over with after that, right?

…Except you accidentally did it again the next day AND forgot to put his milk back in the fridge that he had just measured out for some recipe he was excited to try.

And even though you apologized and he reassured you that it wasn’t that big of a deal, mistakes happen, he still wasn't letting you hang out in his room after training as usual. He seemed to be annoyed with you at the very least.

With the long week he’s had from being sent on two missions back to back, you understood why. He really need the mental break that you accidentally took away.

So yeah, you really doubted that he’d be willing to kill a spider for you when he’d barely even talked to you in the past 24 hours (save for his usual good morning text and a peck on the cheek when he saw you in person).

Nobara patted your back and sighed. "I think you should go ask him anyway. He's probably suffering from Y/n withdrawals by now, you know? Yuuji said he was sure he caught Fushiguro pouting on their jog earlier. Could be a good sign."

You looked at her hopefully and smiled. "Thanks, Nobara, but I think I'll just wait until morning. I'm sure if I could just find a-" your attention was drawn back to the ceiling and a feeling of dread washed over you. "Nope, I'm going right now, the spider's fucking gone," you quickly shut your door and stepped away.

She made a blended noise of disgust and fear. "Alright, I'm out. Good luck and don't let that thing out. If I see it in my room tomorrow I'm putting my nails through your clothes." She waved and headed back to her room.

You waved back and headed the other direction, towards the boy's dorms. Since it was getting late, you had to be mindful of noise so you wouldn't get caught by any faculty member- especially Gojo.

If he were to catch you "sneaking" over to Megumi's room, you were pretty sure you'd never hear the end of it, and even more sure that it would just irritate your boyfriend further.

So you put your stealth to the test until you were finally at his door. You quietly knocked three times, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear it.

When he opened the door, he raised an eyebrow at you and checked out in the hall before dragging you inside so you could talk at a somewhat normal volume.

And of course you wanted to take the time to make everything up to him, to talk it out for real and not have him be annoyed at you anymore- if Nobara said he was starting to have Y/n Withdrawals, then you had already been feeling the effects of Megumi Withdrawals since his first mission earlier this week- but right now the most pressing matter on your mind was the spider currently lost in your room.

So you decided that sweet talking him was the way to achieve your goal of getting his help.

"Megumi, love and light of my life, my one and only, my beloved-"

"Please stop."

You got down on your knees and took hold of his hand. "I am so sorry that I have ailed you this week, I promise that I will be more mindful moving forward and use my eyes to look for your name on things in the fridge-"

"You don't have to beg for my forgiveness, get up." He was basically a tomato, his whole face red and slightly covered by his hair. If you weren't on such a time crunch, you might keep going just to tease him.

"And I come to enlist your help on a quest that only you have the required tools to complete!"

"Ah, there it is. So you just need my help, then?" He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but you caught it and immediately stood up to explain yourself.

"Baby, no, I do genuinely want to apologize and fix things! But um... yes, I do actually have a problem that only you can help me with."

He sighed and regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, what is it?"

You immediately lit up and shook his hand excitedly. "Really? Thank you so much!"

"So... what is it?"

"There's a spider in my room, and I lost it and I need your toad to eat it."

He gave you a deadpan look before throwing his head back with a long sigh, looking at the ceiling. "Alright, let's go."

On your way back to your room, you fell into silence. Mostly because you didn't want to get caught being out past curfew, but also because neither of you really knew what to say.

Once you were in front of your door, you opened it and let him in. He summoned his toad and helped you search for it (by helped, you really meant he did all the searching while you stood outside and quietly directed him to where you saw it last.

"Can you at least come and help me look?" He asked, currently looking around on the floor under a couple of bags.

You hesitantly walked in, surveying everything before standing next to him to double check.

He broke the silence first. "You know... I really wasn't mad at you for any of the kitchen stuff. I know I told you that already, but I feel like you don't believe it."

You sifted through some clothes. "No, I did. I guess I was just sad that you weren't letting me hang out with you as much. I totally understand it- you needed a break from everything and I respect that, but I wish I could have helped before you got to that point. And I'm serious, I'll keep a better eye out before I accidentally eat your stuff." you both kind of laughed at that.

It was silent again for a couple seconds. "I'm sorry I kind of pushed you away and isolated myself."

You smiled a bit. "I'm sorry I kinda tipped you over the edge."

You turned to face each other for a moment before he wrapped you up in his arms. "You didn't. I promise next time I feel overwhelmed I'll let you know so you don't think I'm upset with you," he mumbled.

"Thank you... I love you."

"I love you too."

You stayed like that for a moment before you pulled back a bit and smirked at him. "Nobara told me that Itadori said you were pouting on you jog together earlier."

He blushed. "I was not. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

You giggled a bit and cupped his face. "I would bet a million yen that you were!"

He groaned and tried to gently pry your hands away from his face. "Stop it... I was not pouting, I don't pout."

"You so do! You're doing it right- holy shit Megumi the spider is right there gET IT PLEASE-"

The sweet moment was ruined by the spider from earlier scuttling across the ceiling over your bed. You jumped onto your boyfriend for protection, even though he couldn't do much while supporting your entire bodyweight so you wouldn't fall. He managed to send the toad after it, and it happily chased it with its tongue.

The spider was no more.

You settled back on the ground and patted the toad on the head before Megumi released it back to the shadows.

You sighed in relief.

"Thank you, my love, I appreciate it."

He nodded at you. "No problem. I should head back to my dorm now before-"

"Want to stay with me?" You tentatively interrupted.

He paused and looked towards you. "We'll get in trouble if we're caught."

You tugged on his hand a little. "Please, Megumi? I've missed you this week..."

He sighed and let you pull him to your bed, hiding a small smile when you cheer. "Fine, but I'm leaving before the sun comes up. I'm not letting Gojo think he has anything over me."

You giggled. "That's fine," and then you both got settled under the covers.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't missed you while he was isolating himself, but he pushed any thoughts of that away and fell into a peaceful sleep with you in his arms.

this took foreverrrrr but it's finally done since I have time to write today!! ty for reading, hope you all enjoyed <3

[withleeknow]

HAII! i’m so happy to hear you’re opening requests, your writing is incredible !!

if you remember my idea with the dancing, as you said a short thing, could you write something similar to that maybe?

if not, lee know and yn play truth or dare together one night, “do it, i dare” what happens is free for you to decide 😊

-🍓

devastate me.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: brother's best friend au, mutual pining, kinda fluffy?, kinda angsty?; tbh idek if this makes sense bc my apologies, i finished it at almost 3 in the morning in a delirious state of mind lol, unedited @.@ word count: 0.7k note: hi strawberry!! i chose to do the second one bc i wasn't sure if i could do your original justice with just a quick drabble, but i hope you like this one regardless!! merry christmas heheheh <;33

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

what is lee minho?

to many, he's wonderfully charming, handsome, insanely smart and funny to the point that it's almost annoying, because how on earth can someone have it all just like that? he's kind and sweet. honest and gentle. the perfect man.

to you, he's all of those things and more. much more.

he's the person that you've been in love with for as long as you can remember. the person whose name you will forever associate with the longing of first love. it's beautiful, but it's pain nonetheless.

he's forbidden fruit, the one you want the most but can't possibly have.

your brother's best friend.

but...

if that's the case, if he's off limits to you and you're off limits to him, then why does he have a hand on the wall next to your head, looming over your body with the intensity of a predator? why is he caging you between his arms in the middle of a hallway, at a party in a stranger's house, where anybody could walk by and see you? why are his hips pressed against yours, blurring a line that could be never uncrossed if you take that step? why is he leaning in until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, until your lips are brushing, so close and yet... so far away?

you know why, and it's possibly the worst thing that you could ever be aware of.

that as much as you're in love with him, he's in love with you too.

you feel it every time his eyes fall on you from across the room. every time his touch lingers on your skin from the simplest of interactions. every time he softens when you’re around. every time you’re alone together and he bites his tongue, swallowing down the words you wish he would say - the words you wish you could tell him yourself.

your voice comes out as a mere whisper. "what are you doing?"

maybe it's because you both have had something to drink. maybe it's just simply liquid courage.

“when are we going to stop pretending that there’s nothing going on between us?” he asks, voice dropping low, husky. it sounds a little vulnerable, just like you.

there’s no point in denying it. the truth is clear as day.

“we can’t,” you say.

“why not?”

“you know why.”

minho sighs, then clenches his jaw before he speaks next, frustration laced into every syllable. “i don’t care what anyone else thinks. i just want you.”

“min-”

“fuck,” he interrupts, leaning his forehead to rest against yours, his fingers holding onto your waist more tightly. “i love you.”

you place a hand on his chest, meaning to push him away but then you find his heartbeat under your palm instead, hammering against his chest like it wants to escape from his body.

in a split second of weakness, a split second where the logical part of your brain falters, your eyes flicker to his lips.

and minho, ever the sharp observer even in a state of mild inebriation, notices.

“do it,” he mutters, his words a stark contrast to the helpless tone that he says them with. “i dare you.”

a shaky inhale from you, an almost pleading look from him. even when he's practically begging you, he's handing you all control. to say no if that's what you really want. to leave and dismiss everything as just some stupid joke later on, and go back to revolving around each other in secret, like a couple of powerless fools.

your fingers grip his shirt, because goddamn, of course you want it. you've never wanted anything in your entire life more than you want him. you already have one foot in already, half a mind to blow it all the way to hell and deal with the fallout when the time comes.

you catch his eyes once more, and the sincerity in his galaxy shakes you to the core.

fuck it.

you pull him in, obliterating the gap.

i love you, but you’re telling him in a different way.

so, if someone were to ask you again: what is lee minho?

he’s a lot of things. charming, handsome, smart, funny. the person you love, the very one that you can’t have. the answer is pretty much the same.

but most of all, lee minho is devastating.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.12.2023]

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Call It What You Want (Superstar Chapter 2)

'Cause my baby's fit like a daydream

Walkin' with his head down, I'm the one he's walkin' to

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to 

 Sequel to Superstar where the Reader and Roy Kent have their first date.

Roy Kent x Reader

5.7k words

Warnings: language (because Roy Kent), adults drinking adult drinks

Note: We’re in a parallel universe where Roy & Keeley never date and Keeley is in a healthy relationship with Jamie. Also, this came out a bit longer than I expected but dang it was fun to write!

The tension came to a head during lunch that Friday, our office door closed as we both sat at my desk, eating falafel out of the foil containers Roy had smuggled in past Ted and Beard. As I took a bite, I snuck a glance at Roy, who was gazing at the orange sticky note he’d stuck above my computer the day before:

~

It had been a week since Roy Kent had discovered the shrine to himself in my childhood bedroom. The following days had been sprinkled with autographs left on any papers that didn’t look too important, teasing pleas for no pictures during work hours, and one particularly mocking offer to save his beard trimmings the next time he shaved. But it was also filled with lingering stares in the hall, chocolate muffins left on my desk each morning, lunches shared in our tiny office, and the occasional smile and wink on the pitch when no one else was looking. A few times, Roy even brushed his fingers against mine when we squeezed by each other in doorways. With each small touch or moment of longing eye contact, I felt myself wondering how long it would take for one of us to break.

To my biggest fan

XOXO Roy Kent

“When’s your mum’s birthday?”

God, would I ever get used to his out of nowhere questions? “Why, d’you want to crash her birthday dinner too?”

A snort flew out of his nose as he turned his attention back to his lunch. “No. Just wanted to make sure you’re not busy tonight before I ask you out.”

Look up the signs of a heart attack when you get home, you might be having one. “Oh, really?” I tried to keep my breathing steady. “You think I’m the kind of girl who has no plans on a Friday night?”

Roy rolled his eyes and stuffed another bit of falafel into his mouth. “I think,” he said between bites, “you’re the kind of girl who’s gonna be really fucking annoying on our date tonight.” He paused to meet my gaze. “Unless you’ve already got plans with David Beckham? Or Lionel Messi?”

Another one of his recurring jokes that week was asking about my interest in other football players. I narrowed my eyes. “Unfortunately Becks was busy tonight,” I played along. “So, I guess I’m all yours.”

“I like the sound of that.”

A heat filled the air as Roy used his foot to roll my chair towards him, opening his knees slightly so I could come close to him. My knees hit the inside of his thighs and our noses practically touched; the back of my neck prickled. This was the closest contact we’d had since our kiss upstairs at my parents’ house. His eyes searched mine, thick eyebrows raised. My heart hammered as I leaned forward-

“Roy? Hey Roy?”

My chair was swiftly kicked back into place before Ted opened the office door, his head bent over his phone. We both quickly turned our attention back to our lunches, as if eating falafel took a lot of effort. By the time Ted looked up, Roy and I looked like we’d just been eating in silence- which was actually completely believable.

Ted’s face lit up when he saw me. “Oh, there you are. Was wondering where you’d gotten to.” He turned his attention to Roy, then paused when he saw the food in our hands. “Aw, you’re already eating.” He snapped his fingers. “I was gonna invite y’all go get some fish ‘n’ chips with me ‘n’ Beard.” He shrugged. “Well, enjoy your…” He studied the bowls a moment. “Meat? Whatever it is, looks tasty.” With an oblivious wave he turned on his heel and left, calling out for Coach Beard to follow him.

After a moment of listening to the sound of their receding footprints, followed by blessed silence, Roy finally looked back at me. “Well, he fucking ruined that moment. So, I’ll get you at seven?”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll text you my address.”

“No need.” Roy grinned. “Don’t forget, you’re an easy stalking target.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, amazed at how comfortable I had grown with Roy “he’s here, he’s there, he’s every fucking where” Kent over the past week. “I turned off my Snapchat location, thanks to you. So be nice or else no address.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Fine. Then you can just meet me at the restaurant, and we can miss out on the whole ‘you open the door and my jaw drops when I see you’ moment.”

We narrowed our eyes at each other for a moment before breaking out into matching grins.

“Pick you up at seven,” he repeated.

~

From the moment I got home from work until the moment I heard a knock on my door, my hands shook and my heart hammered. I was incredibly grateful that Roy had used the word “date” in our conversation that afternoon; if he hadn’t, I probably would have spent hours agonizing over what the evening ahead meant. Even with the confirmation that this was indeed a date, I was a mess as I agonized over the perfect outfit and fought with my hair, desperate to look special compared with what Roy saw each day at work. When the sound of knocking reached my ears at 6:59, the tremble in my hands spread to my whole body.

Relax. You know he likes you. He wouldn’t have kissed you and asked you out and tried to kiss you again if he didn’t.

An involuntary gulp escaped when I opened the door and saw Roy standing in front of me. He looked really good in his fitted black slacks and black button-down shirt. He looked even better when he smiled at me, his brown eyes traveling down my frame slowly.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyebrows raised. “You look great. Really fucking great.” He held his hand out to me, his eyes sparkling. “Are you ready then?”

We walked out to his car, neither of us saying a word. When we got to the car, he opened the door and helped me in before climbing in on his side. I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat.

“So, what’s the plan, Kent?”

“Figured we’d go sit in our office and eat takeaway,” he answered as he started the car. “Y’know, same shit we do every day.”

“Romantic,” I snarked.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, he took my hand, interlocking our fingers. “Fine, nix that plan then. How about drinks and then a late dinner? Just no fucking work talk please.”

I stared at our hands, wondering if he could feel my pounding pulse through my fingertips. “Sounds great,” I agreed, giving his hand a squeeze.

It was a somewhat quiet drive, but a comfortable one. I’d turned on the radio to some pop station, and Roy drummed out the beat with his fingers, tapping the back of my hand rhythmically. With his attention on the road, I allowed myself the opportunity to unabashedly stare at him. He was still Roy Kent: grizzled, dark, something of a brooding aura surrounding him. But he looked different that he normally did in the office, more like he had that evening at my parents’ house. His shoulders were relaxed against the driver’s seat, and his mouth was curved ever-so-slightly upwards, a shadow of a smile. As if he could feel the heat of my gaze, his eyes shifted off the road and towards me, causing his mouth to curve even further upwards.

“Admiring something?” he asked, clearly amused.

A bit embarrassed to be caught staring, I turned my eyes back to the road. “Just… taking in the sights.”

“The sights,” he repeated, nodding his head. “I’d say to take a picture since it’ll last longer, but I think you’ve got enough fucking pictures hanging at your mum’s house, wouldn’t you agree?”

My embarrassment deepened. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Roy gave my hand a squeeze. “Nope. Only because I like seeing you blush so much.”

We finally arrived at the pub, with me refusing to look at Roy’s smug face for the rest of the car ride. He quickly got out of the car and jogged to my side, opening my door, and holding my hand to help me down.

“D’you really need such a massive car?” I teased as his hand settled in the small of my back.

A playful huff came out of Roy’s mouth. “Oi, don’t make fun of a man’s car. Otherwise, you’ll be walking home.”

“Aww, but how will you walk me to my door and kiss me at the end of the night?” I asked with a pretend pout, crossing my arms to give the full bratty effect.

Roy gave a hearty chuckle as we entered the dark pub. “You’re a presumptuous thing, you think you’re getting a kiss on the first date?”

I rolled my eyes as Roy guided me to a secluded corner booth, letting me slide in before following me into the seat. “Oh, I’m sorry, can you only kiss a girl when you’re surrounded pictures by yourself? Because I stopped carrying your photo in my wallet ages ago. Might still have a couple saved on my mobile though, would you like me to check?”

Roy stared at me hard for a moment, his dark eyes practically drilling holes into my brain. “You talk way too fucking much, anyone ever tell you that?”

Before I could come up with some clever response, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. I could only squeak weakly in response as my eyes fluttered closed. This kiss was a bit rougher than the one we’d shared a week ago, with my lips parting to mirror Roy’s own slightly open mouth. It ended entirely too soon, with Roy smirking at me.

“That ought to shut you up for a fucking minute,” he chuckled as an older woman in an apron approached, a knowing smile on her face.

“How’re you Roy?” the woman asked casually, although her eyes were on me.

Roy grunted in response, suddenly reverting to his usual monosyllabic self. “Fine. Usual, please.”

The woman hummed and raised her eyebrows at me. “And you sweetheart?”

I quickly ordered my drink, offering up a couple of pleases and thank yous. With drink orders out of the way, I finally let myself look around the pub. It was dimly lit, with a couple televisions above the bar. There was a mostly older crowd, with most other customers having at least a decade on my parents. There were darts on a far wall and a foosball table near another wall. A jukebox in one corner played a Vann Morrison song that I vaguely recognized. The place was a far cry from the loud, crowded, sweaty clubs my mates usually tried to drag me to. If I had to pick between the two, I’d take this pub any day of the week- especially with Roy Kent by my side.

When I turned my attention back to Roy, he was already staring at me, his mouth in a straight line for the first time all night. “Is this alright?” he asked bluntly. “You weren’t expecting champagne and caviar, were you?”

Behind the hard expression on his face, I could see anxiety in his eyes. My mind wandered to the women I’d seen him with in magazines and online… models, influencers, a couple B-list actresses, none sticking around for more than a couple months. I’d even read one blog post about a woman who stole his watch before ending the relationship. It dawned on me that most of the women he dated would probably not be okay with a place like this. Despite the almost-scowl on Roy’s face, I felt myself melt at the realization that he was nervous about what I thought of the place.

“I think,” I said after a moment, “that this place is great.” I laid my hand on his, feeling him relax instantly beneath my touch. “You must come here a lot if you have a usual?”

“Couple of times a month,” he admitted, his facial expression softening. “The old geezers know who I am, but they leave me alone for the most part, sometimes give me shit about Richmond when the team fucks up. Never have to worry about them posting pictures of me on Twitter or some shit. And the barkeep, Rose, she doesn’t always tally up all my beers correctly and undercharges me all the fuckin’ time.” His smile returned. “So at Christmas I like to clear a tab or two, to make up for the free shit I get.” He nodded to himself. “It’s nice to just come here and have a beer, not have to worry about being Roy Kent, y’know?” He squinted at me for a moment. “Alright, now you kiss me, because I’m talking way too fucking much.”

I laughed as the older woman- Rose- returned with our drinks. She smiled at me as she set down my glass. “He must like you,” she mused, her eyes darting to Roy. “Never brings his dates here. ’less you count that pretty-boy soccer player. Went on that bloody reality show. The one they sing that stupid shark song about?”

“Jamie Tartt?” I offered, eyebrows raised. I turned to Roy, whose eyes were practically behind his head. “Do I have competition? Because Jamie Tartt is definitely hotter than me.”

Roy dramatically threw his head back and let out a massive, growling sigh as Rose walked away, her chuckles echoing behind her. “Don’t ever call Tartt hot, I swear I’ll cut my ears off.”

“Relax, van Gogh,” I scoffed. “I won’t get jealous of Jamie if you don’t.”

“Hmmf.” Roy eyed me carefully, taking a sip of his beer. “Who’s hotter, me or Tartt?” he challenged. The tiny upturn at the corner of his mouth assured me that he was teasing.

“Definitely Jamie,” I deadpanned, taking a sip from my own glass. “I’m only here because he and Cristiano Ronaldo didn’t call me back.”

Roy shook his head and smiled, sliding his hand out from under mine and placing his on top. “Just so you know,” he murmured, leaning in close. “Ronaldo’s a fuckin’ prick.”

Before I could laugh, he pressed his lips to mine, mirroring the kiss from earlier, but gentler, slower now, full of affection. My eyes fluttered closed as I kissed him back, the little voice in my head unable to form a coherent sentence.

Roy Kent kissing me it’s Roy Kent he’s here he’s there he’s kissing me Roy Kent

~

“Fuck.” Roy gazed at his phone. “We were supposed to be at the restaurant a fucking hour ago.” He grimaced as his eyes met mine. “Had a reservation and everything.”

My fingers traced the rim of the glass in front of me as I shook my head. “Roy, it’s fine,” I laughed.

We had spent the last couple of hours- and rounds of drinks- cuddled in our booth, cracking jokes and sharing stories. Roy told me about his sister and his little niece and reluctantly explained his workout routine with Jamie Tartt, while I shared stories about my ridiculous brothers and gave a detailed ranking of Jane Austen’s leading men. The way his arm wrapped around the back of the booth and his hand grazed my shoulder made missing the reservation worth it.

Roy wrinkled his nose. “I should feed you,” he argued. “’d be a shit date if I didn’t.” He glanced at his phone again. “D’you like pizza?”

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting across from each other, sodas in front of us, Roy’s pensive expression tinted red by the neon glow advertising Fresh Pizza.

“Can I tell you somethin’?”

I nodded, sipping my Coke through a straw. “Hmm?”

“This is the most fun I’ve ever had on a date,” he murmured. “And the first time I feel like I’m with someone who’s interested in being with me, not just being seen out some fucking footballer.” He gave a small nod. “So, thanks. Really, thanks.”

Heat rose in my cheeks as his eyes bore into mine. “Honestly, Roy,” I breathed. “Sharing an office with you is the best part of my workday.”

A grin flashed on his face. “Oi, we said no work talk.”

“Oh, shove off,” I mumbled, giving him a soft kick under the table as a young man in a red polo shirt brought us our pizza. I grabbed a slice and began to nibble on it as the teen employee did a double take at Roy before going back behind the counter. “Take a compliment, Kent.”

“Compliment,” he repeated gruffly, grabbing his own slice. “Is that something I’ll have to get used to? Being complimented?”

I tilted my head and swallowed a bite. “What d’you mean?”

He shrugged and took a sip of his Coke. “Gotta know what dating you involves. Spoiler alert, after tomorrow’s game I’m going to ask you if you’d like to go out again sometime.” His eyes darted away. “Hope that’s alright,” he grumbled, that nervous look in his behind his expression again.

I gave another kick under the table, much gentler this time. “You better ask me out again,” I teased. “Because this is the best date I’ve had in a long time.”

“You must’ve been on some fucking shit dates,” he joked, his eyes meeting mine. “Guess I’ve got to make up for that.”

For a moment, we just sat there, smiling at each other under the buzz of the neon light, slices of pizza in our hands. If two months ago someone had told me I would be on a date with Roy Kent, sipping drinks in a small pub, eating pizza in a hole-in-the-wall shop, I would have never believed it. But there I was, unable to look away from the brown eyes I’d spent years dreaming about, making him laugh and smile. And honestly, having the best time I’d had in a while.

The sudden preoccupied look on Roy’s face brought me out of my dreamy bubble. “Oi, there is something we should talk about.” The air suddenly felt heavy.

“Hmm?” Good, stay cool, don’t act nervous.

He took a deep breath, exhaling with a tiny growl. “Don’t take this the wrong way- I feel like a fucking prick saying this out loud-” He groaned, shrugging in defeat. “Would you be okay with, I dunno, not telling anyone about this-” He gestured between us. “-just for a bit?” A grimace now completely covered his bearded face. “It’s not like I’m embarrassed, or like I want to date anyone else-”

“That’s a relief,” I teased. My cheeks turned warm seeing him so flustered; it was endearing. “I thought you were completely ashamed to be seen with me and wanted to see if you had a shot with Jamie Tartt.”

That smile finally returned. “Come on, I’m being fucking serious.” He reached across the table and grasped my free hand. “Look, I really like being with you. I feel less pissed off at work when you’re around. And I want to see you outside of our fucking office. But you’ve seen the muppets we work with. They’ll never leave us the fuck alone once they find out we’re seeing each other. And I’d like to be in, I dunno, a little fucking bubble or something for a bit. Just while we’re getting to know each other and seeing where this goes.” His thumb stroked my hand. “Is that okay?”

The earnestness in his eyes nearly stopped my heart. “Of course,” I assured him, nudging his foot with mine. “I like the idea of being in a bubble with you.”

~

It was nearly midnight when Roy walked me up to my flat, his arm wrapped around my waist. After pizza we had gone walking around aimlessly, neither of us quite willing to say goodnight to the other. But my gentle reminder to Roy that Richmond had a game the next day was enough for him to sigh dramatically and agree to call it a night.

We paused in front of my door, turning to face each other as I fiddled with my keys nervously. Despite all the hand holding and flirting and shared kisses, I still felt a flutter in my stomach when I saw the fondness in his eyes as he gazed down at me. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw such warmth aimed in my direction; the fact that it was Roy Kent was just a bonus.

“Think I could give you a ride to work tomorrow?” he asked softly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

I grinned up at him. “What happened to keeping things quiet at work?”

He shrugged, his hand still lingering beside my face. “Do I sound like a fucking prat if I say I just can’t wait to see you again?”

“Just a little,” I teased, leaning my cheek into the palm of his hand, not caring that he could feel the warmth of my face. “But I like it. Pick me up at 10?”

“How about 9? I’ll buy you tea and a muffin.”

I laughed and pressed myself a smidge closer to him. “Bribery works wonders on me. I’m in.”

A small kiss landed on my forehead. “I love that you’re easily bought.” Another kiss on my cheek. “Guess I should let you head inside before some nosy fucking neighbor sees us.”

“We’d be trending on Twitter within the hour. Roy Kent and Random seen outside flat the night before Richmond game.”

“The fucking press’d definitely blame you if we lost tomorrow.” A kiss on my other cheek. “So, we better say goodnight.”

I nodded, not bothering to hide my smile. “Guess we should.”

His mouth found mine for the millionth time that night, assuring me that this would not be the last time he’d be walking me home. A wide smile filled his face when he finally pulled away. “Good night then.”

“Goodnight, Roy,” I answered, planting one last peck on his lips.

~

Roy’s car now felt familiar as we rode to the Dog Track. I leaned my chair into a comfortable position and fiddled with the radio until I found a station playing an hour of 90s hits. I ripped off a bit of the giant chocolate muffin that sat on my lap and tossed it into my mouth, reveling in the brief domestic bliss before we had to act professionally in front of everyone.

“Gimme a bite,” Roy mumbled, eyes on the road. I ripped of another piece and popped it into his open mouth. “Thanks,” was his muffled reply as we pulled into the still empty parking lot. “And thanks for riding here with me,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “It was nice.”

A smile crept across my face. “Thanks for offering,” I answered. “We should probably head on in, I’ve got some things to do in the office before everyone comes in.”

The halls were eerily quiet, only a few cleaning crew milling about, offering nods and soft “good mornings”. I flipped on the lights in the changing room and coaching offices, quickly setting to work as Roy leaned on Beard’s desk, watching me with that thoughtful look on his face.

I started my Game Day routine: leaving our report on the opposing team neatly on Ted’s desk, right next to the playbook that I pulled off his bookshelf, updating the league standings on the whiteboard next to Beard’s desk, noting the possible rank changes based on game outcomes, setting up the coffee maker to their specifications so all they had to do was hit the Start button when they walked into the office. Between tasks I paused for the newest addition to my routine: stealing kisses from Roy, taking full advantage of the empty building.

He followed me into our office so I could organize my things; Game Day had quickly become my favorite part of my job. During games, I would stand by the coaches with my tablet, keeping track of different statistics: goals, passes, saves, anything and everything the coaches could analyze later to improve their plans. Ted kept repeating something about me “putting the Excel in excellent” when I first presented my detailed spreadsheet to the coaches, so I knew this was valuable data to them. It was the part of my job I took most seriously.

And I loved that it allowed me to be on the sidelines with Roy all game long.

“Are you going to be able to focus out there today?” Roy teased softly, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind me.

“Are you?” I shot back, leaning into him as I tapped away on my tablet, setting up my new spreadsheet. “I’m working, all you’ve been doing is staring at me.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Trust me, as soon as those pricks show up, I’ll be my usual grumpy self.”

As if on cue, the sound of Coach Lasso’s voice echoed from down the hall. Roy immediately released me and threw himself into his chair, planting his feet on his desk and pulling out his cell phone; to anyone who just happened in, it looked as though he had been completely ignoring my existence, rather than holding me close. I shook my head and grinned to myself as Ted and Beard entered their office.

“Mornin’!” Ted called, poking his head through our shared door. “Look at you early birds. Y’all are just a couple of peas in a pod.” He pointed at me, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Thanks again for figuring out the Keurig. You’re a k-cup K-Pop star.”

I smiled and nodded, still unsure about what to do when the man complimented me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Roy smirking behind his phone.

Ted noticed too. “You’re looking downright chipper this morning, Roy. Anything special you wanna share with the class?”

Roy’s smirk faded, his eyes still on his phone. “No.”

“No worries, I’m just happy you’re happy.” Ted was completely unphased; the guy was truly remarkable. He turned back to me. “Say, could I bother you to run some papers up to Rebecca’s office? Get some steps in before we head to the field.”

“Sure,” I agreed, setting down my tablet. “And it’s ‘pitch’, Coach.”

Ted nodded. “Right, right. ‘Pitch’.”

After a few more Lasso-isms, I was on my up to Rebecca’s office, carrying a folder filled with papers. I had shot Roy a wink before I left our office and was awarded the smallest of smiles, which was enough to make me practically skip down the hall, past the players making their way to the changing room. I smiled and waved at each of them, feeling excited to have a small role in this special team.

“Come in,” Rebecca called when I knocked on her door. She and Keeley Jones were sitting on her couch, Keeley adorable as ever in pigtails and a fluffy sweater, Rebecca the picture of class in her dress and heels. The women smiled and waved me in.

“Hey!” Keeley called, jumping up to give me a small hug. “How’re you doing? I tried to call you last night, but you didn’t pick up.” Within two days of me starting work at Richmond, Keeley had decided that we were meant to be friends, an offer I was more than happy to accept. She pouted at me playfully. “Were you out getting some?”

My ears burned. “Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “My phone’s been acting up lately, sorry about that.” I reached around to hand Rebecca the folder. “From Ted,” I told her, trying desperately to avoid the topic Keeley had brought up.

Rebecca opened the folder and glanced at it. “Shit, I should look at this,” she muttered to herself. She nodded towards Keeley. “Why don’t you head to our seats to watch warm up? Just don’t wolf-whistle at the boys too much, hmm? Save some for the game.”

Keeley gave a salute to Rebecca and linked her arm with mine. “Shall we?”

We strolled down the hall, Keeley talking a mile a minute about the party she had tried to invite me to the night before. “There were lots of real fit guys there,” she gushed, knocking her hip into mine. “Some of them were even worth talking to. Come on, what’s your type? I need to know what to look out for.”

I cleared my throat. “I don’t really have a-”

“Oi. You forgot this.”

Roy appeared out of nowhere, holding up my tablet, its case covered in Richmond stickers I’d bought the day I had gotten this job. My cheeks were warm as I accepted it, careful not to touch his hand. I could feel Keeley eyeing me curiously.

“Thanks,” I murmured, avoiding Roy’s eyes; I knew that any contact would tempt me to kiss the man.

He seemed to understand completely. “Keeley,” he greeted, giving a short nod to the blonde. He nodded to me now. “See you out there.” He turned and walked towards the doors that led to the pitch.

Once he turned the corner and was out of view, Keeley squealed and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Fuck, you should ask out Roy!”

My eyes widened. “What?”

She nodded, her pigtails bouncing. “Come on. He’s fit, he has a good job, and if anyone ever messed with you, they’d never find the body.” She wiggled my shoulders, waggling her eyebrows. “And the man looks good shirtless,” she added.

As if there wasn’t a shirtless picture of him tapped inside the closet of my old bedroom. I made a quick mental note to take it down and hide it- maybe burn it- before the next time he came over. Surely, he’d be coming over to my parents’ place again sometime? Maybe not anytime soon, but eventually, right?

Whoa there, relax. Don’t get so ahead of yourself.

“Come off it, Keels,” I scoffed. “I’m not asking out Roy Kent.” Well, you’re not lying. He asked you out, after all. “We work together. We share an office for God’s sake. And besides, he’s Roy fucking Kent.” I laughed and shook my head, trying to be really convincing. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not his usual type.”

A smile spread across Keeley’s face. “Well, all I know is that last time he and Jamie were working out, he told Jamie he was sick of dating just to date. He’s sick of models and shit. He told Jamie he wanted something real.” She shrugged. “I dunno. You seem like the kind of girl who could be something real.”

I did my best to hide the pleasure on my face as Keeley confirmed what Roy had told me last night. Instead, I cleared my throat and turned my attention to my tablet. “Well, good for Roy. But I should be going, I’ve got to get to the pitch.”

“Yeah, gotta go stand next to Roy for the next few hours.” Keeley winked at me. “Don’t think I don’t notice the blush on your face whenever he’s around. You’re not as clever as you think. I’ll get you two together eventually.”

Little does she know, the little voice in my head chucked. “Sure, Keeley,” I humored. “I’ll see you later.” I planted a kiss on her cheek, reminding myself to try to match the affection she brought to a friendship, and waved as I walked away in the direction Roy had disappeared in.

I should have been more surprised when I turned a corner and found him leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. He smirked when he saw me.

“Did you wait to me?” I asked, not bothering to hide the smile on my face.

He shrugged, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Maybe.”

“Very sweet of you,” I hummed, shoving his shoulder with mine as he fell into step beside me. “But you should probably be a little bit less obvious at work. Keeley was just telling me about her new goal.”

“And what would that be?”

“To play matchmaker for us,” I answered casually. “Which means our chemistry is obvious.”

Roy let out a scoff of a laugh just before we reached the pitch entrance. “Let her try. I’d kind of love to see what kind of scheme she cooks up.” He sobered up as we walked onto the green, where the Greyhounds were beginning their warmup. From the stands closet to the pitch, I could already hear Keeley whooping and hollering. She’d definitely have something to say about seeing me and Roy walking to the dugout together, but I’d come up with my excuses later.

I took my position between Ted and Beard, showing them the stats from our previous match and reminding them about the adjustments they’d discussed based on it. Ted said something about me being just like Q from James Bond, a reference I actually understood. I smiled at the praise and took a seat, not needing to do much now until the match started. Instead, I took advantage of the cover around the dugout to brazenly stare at Roy, grinning to myself every time he yelled “Whistle!” at the top of his lungs.

As if he could feel my gaze, he turned his head subtly, a half smirk on his face when our eyes met. He shook his head at me and pulled out his phone. A moment later, my own mobile vibrated. I glanced at the glowing screen.

You’re going to make hiding this really fucking difficult, aren’t you?

Of course. Making your life harder is half the fun.

My phone vibrated again. Fine. Whatever. Grab a bite after the game?

My grin widened as I began to type back.

Only if I can get an autograph.

Roy turned his head again, that upturn of his mouth barely visible. I relaxed into my seat, tapping away at my tablet. For the first time in my life, I could hardly wait for a Richmond game to be over.

[moutainrusing]

hallucination

Sirius’s lover was the spy.

It was obvious, actually. Remus Lupin was betraying the Order, giving secrets and information to the Death Eaters, to Voldemort, allowing Muggles and Muggle-borns to die, and deserting Sirius. And Sirius was just as bad, because all he cared about was the fact that Remus didn’t care about him. He couldn’t care less if Remus was a mass-murderer, as long as Remus still loved him. But Remus didn’t and so Sirius hated himself, because he was still in love with a traitor, and all he wanted was for said traitor to love him.

It started off okay, at first. In the first few months, Remus was doing typical Order work, normal shifts and lookouts and guards. Casting spells, making wards, sorting papers. Then in the next few months, he began going on missions every full moon. Sirius immediately deduced that Remus was working with werewolf packs, even if Remus wasn’t to breathe a word about it, because who was he to not memorise the dates of every one of his lover’s transformations? So that was okay. Remus came back, wearily smiling, but still fighting.

But then things changed. A couple more full moons, and Remus looked like he’d completely given up. He wouldn’t smile anymore, he wouldn’t touch anyone, he would flinch, always watching his back, like one of the Order members would attack him, and for what? Why would his allies hurt him? Unless they weren’t his allies anymore. But Sirius had shaken that thought out of his head; something must have happened with the packs. But Remus wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t accept comfort. When his lover reached out, he would curl within himself, hide away. Sleep on the couch, never their bed.

Then he began leaving at random points in the month. No correlation to the moon. He’d go up on “missions” and disappear for days, coming back looking harder and meaner. Jaw set, fists clenched, eyes sharp. He’d still have his full moon missions, but there was no news whatsoever about werewolves aiding the Order. So what was Remus doing with them?

It got worse. It got to the point that Remus spent more time out of the apartment than in it. And then he started leaving for reasons that weren’t even missions: started going to the pub, getting hammered out of his mind, returning in the morning stumbling and swearing. He started regularly smoking and drinking, and you could never see him without a bottle or cigarette.

Right now, Sirius was alone in their flat, which might as well just be his, because once again, Remus was not in it. He wrinkled his nose at the couch, with its unwashed sheets Remus had been using for countless days, its Muggle beer stains, its cigarette ash. And then, because he was an infatuated dunderhead, he walked to the couch, picked up the blanket, and inhaled.

His stress vanished. How could it be that even when he was stressing over Remus, his scent still calmed him down? It wasn’t fair.

Then he heard the wards come down, and the unlocking of the door, before his aforementioned lover stepped forward. And Sirius could let go of the blanket and retain his dignity, but the drunken thug probably wouldn’t even notice.

He was right. Remus simply toppled into the couch, not even glancing at Sirius. Sirius threw him the middle finger, stomping off to ensure the wards were back up, and to lock the fucking door. Did Remus want the Death Eaters to come here? He probably did, being a traitor and all.

He turned, about to storm into their bedroom, now probably just his own (honestly, why didn’t Remus just break up with him already?), curl up in the sheets and cry into his two-way mirror, when he heard Remus murmur, “‘E was sniffin’ yer blanket. Stinks. Should wash it…”

Sirius froze. That was the most amount of words he’d heard from Remus in months. And it still sent his heart careening in his chest. And then Remus grumbled, “An’ ‘e flipped yer off. Bitch.”

Sirius turned around and raised a brow. “Excuse me?” He asked coldly.

Remus blinked. “Hallucinatin’. Yer nutter. So fuckin’ in love.”

Sirius stalked towards him, heart in his chest. Was this finally it? “Finish that train of thought, Moony.”

“Moony,” Remus echoed softly, closing his eyes as tears gathered in his lashes. “Yer like that, don’t yer?” he smiled twistedly. “Pathetic.” Sirius tensed.

“Fine, Remus, fucking spit it out then,” he snarled.

“‘E’s not real, mate. Go on, touch ‘im,” Remus mumbled, tears slipping down his cheeks, leaving shining streaks across his skin, which Sirius desperately wanted to wipe away, once more trailing his fingers across Remus’s rugged face, tracing the scars and imbuing them with love, pressing his thumbs into his cheeks until dimples appeared beneath them, connecting the dots between his freckles… and Remus had said ‘touch him’, hadn’t he?

Sure, Remus wasn’t making much sense, but with the tip of his forefinger, Sirius took a tear off Remus’s cheek. Remus’s eyelids snapped open and he jerked back on the couch, blinking furiously. “You’re not real,” he said, louder and more clearly.

Sirius immediately retracted his hand to his side. He raised a brow. “I’m real.”

Remus hesitantly reached out and drew some sort of wobbly pattern across Sirius’s wrist. And maybe Sirius was going slightly mad, but that was definitely the best way someone had ever touched him. Remus pulled his finger back, and inspected it curiously. He looked back up at Sirius. “Never been able to touch you before.”

Sirius was getting increasingly concerned. “Moony, love, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Remus smiled timidly. “You’re nicer than the others. Mind must like me today, huh?”

“Remus, Remus, I’m real. Your mind’s not imagining me or whatever,” Sirius vaguely gestured to Remus’s head.

And then Remus burst out into sobs. Sirius immediately dropped to his knees beside the couch, reaching out and running a hand across Remus’s back, through his hair, trying to stop the man he loved from hurting.

“Wand, wand,” Remus muttered, procuring it and casting a silencing charm around the couch. “So real you won’t hear,” he explained, jabbing a finger to the bedroom. He blinked up at Sirius happily and hopefully. “‘M drunk enough to imagine your touch. Hug me?”

So Sirius clambered into the couch beside Remus and wrapped him in his arms, pressing his lips to his hair. Apparently, Remus had hallucinations about him. And apparently, Remus cast silencing charms so Sirius wouldn’t hear him cry. Sirius squeezed Remus tighter, while he snuggled into his chest. And he should probably let Remus sleep, but maybe Remus would tell his hallucination things?

“What’s on your mind, Moons?” Sirius mumbled into his hair.

Remus looked up, fist curled into Sirius’s chest. “I miss you, you know,” he whispered, the words brushing over Sirius’s mouth.

“Yeah? Why don’t you go talk to the real me?”

Remus’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently, burying his head back into Sirius’s chest. “Can’t. Got too much shit now. Don’t wanna hurt him. An’ he hates me now.”

Sirius frowned. There were many things wrong with what Remus had just stated. “How could you hurt him? And he doesn’t hate you.”

Remus laughed brokenly. “Does too. Can’t stand the sight of me, can ‘e?”

“He barely gets to see you,” Sirius pointed out. The real reason was that he couldn’t stand the sight of Remus not being his.

“Better that way,” Remus muttered, hand over Sirius’s chest, brows furrowed but slowly relaxing, as his breathing matched the beat of Sirius’s heart.

Sirius wanted to smile down at him, but also scream in his face. He controlled himself, softly asking, “Why?”

“Oh, y’know. The packs an’ all that. Greyback’s bein’ a bitch. Likes attackin’ us while we’re human, still. Like, mate, take a break, yer already bit me and ruined my life. I dunno how many people I’ve killed at this point. Or how many fellow werewolves, actually. My mouth always feels so dirty.”

Sirius simply gaped at him, while Remus tilted his head up and smiled absent-mindedly. “Been ages since I last hallucinated you, love. Got so much to tell you.”

“Tell me,” Sirius somehow uttered, hands tightening in Remus’s hair as he fought the urge to throw up and cry.

Remus grinned excitedly. “Your voice is so perfect.” Sirius felt his heart shatter. Remus then frowned, “I dunno where to start. Still got my full moon missions, where I run ‘round with the packs and try to stop them killing Muggles and Muggle-borns. I think sometimes I succeed, ‘cause I’m still with other animals, right? I think better. Although I’ve got so much innocent blood on my hands. Every time I suggest going to the woods, they all snarl at me. I told Dumbledore, I dunno why he keeps trying to convince them. They’re not budging. It’s ‘cause of Greyback, too. Poisoning their minds.”

Remus looked up, tears streaming down his face. “They could be so good, Sirius. You don’t understand. There’s so much waste. Wasted lives, Sirius. I can’t—” Remus began shaking.

Sirius rubbed his hands along Remus’s body repetitively, burying his nose into his hair and breathing, placing soft, feather-light kisses over his tightly fisted hands. “I’m sorry, Moony. Please don’t hurt. Please. I love you. So much,” he said reverently between kisses.

Remus simply shook even more. “You’re not real, not real, stop, stop, please,” he clutched his head, tugging at his hair.

Sirius made a decision, grabbing Remus’s hand and pulling him up from the couch. “I am real, and honestly, it’s insulting that you’re so convinced I’m not.” He tugged him towards their bedroom, kicking the door open. “Look. Sirius ain’t there. Sirius is right here, holding your hand, because I am Sirius, and I love you so much.”

He stared fiercely into Remus’s rapidly blinking eyes, daring him to call him a fucking hallucination one more time. Finally, Remus choked, “You can’t be. You, you can’t—” Remus threw himself into Sirius, yelling, “Stop, please, stop—”

“Stop what?” Sirius pulled Remus back and looked him in the eyes. “Stop your missions? Yes, I think I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna tell Dumbledore to stop your fucking missions, because they’re fucked up, and evidently pointless. And if Dumbles can’t see that, he’s evidently fucked up and pointless too.”

“No!” Remus flailed. “It’s for the greater good! The greater good, the greater good…” he muttered to himself.

“Fuck the greater good. You’re the greatest good. You’re the one that matters, you’re the one who needs to be happy, not fucking Dumbledore.”

Remus looked at him sceptically. After a long time of just staring, he spoke, “When do you think real Sirius will be back? Think we can sleep in his bed?”

Sirius genuinely wanted to rip his hair out. “Yes, you can sleep in our fucking bed, because it belongs to you and Sirius. And I’m Sirius! For the love of Merlin, please! I’m Sirius son of a bitch Black!”

Remus just stared at him. And then his face split into a small smile. “I was joking that time.”

It was Sirius’s turn to stare at him in shock. “REMUS LUPIN. YOU ARE BLOODY LUCKY I LOVE YOU.”

[lousypotatoes]

Tumbling Dice - Husker

"Baby I can't stay, you got to roll me

And call me that tumbling dice~"

Pt.1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Song Recommendation:

Tumbling Dice - The Rolling Stones

Playlist

Warning! This contains rape and physical abuse. If any of those topics trigger you or make you uncomfortable, please with caution!

Prologue

70 years ago...

"Come on sweetheart, pretty please?" Roy slurred. Y/N could smell the booze coming of his breath. She was disgusted.

"If you straighten up and stop drinking, maybe," she angrily said, stomping off. 

"Why not?" he whined. She heard stumble into cabinet. 

"For the last time, Roy, I'm not having sex with you while you're drunk off your ass!" she spat, walking into her and her husband's shared bedroom. 

Suddenly, Roy grabbed her and threw her into the wall. 

"Don't you ever talk to me like that bitch!" he snarled, holding Y/N up by the collar of her dress. "You talk to me like that again, I'll fucking smash your head against the bedpost!"

"R-Roy!" she sniffled, blood dripping down her forehead. "I-I'm sorry just put me down! Please!" It was the first time Roy had ever been this violent. 

Instead of putting her down, Roy threw Y/N down on the bed. 

"What are you doing Roy?" she said, as he unbuckled his belt. She backed up the headboard. 

"I don't give a damn, if you wanna have sex with me or not, you're fucking doing it!" he said, grabbing Y/N and pulling off her dress. 

"Roy, stop!" she cried out, attempting to get out of his grasp. 

"Stay still," he growled, biting harshly on her neck. 

"Roy-"

"You say one more fucking word, and I'll gut you like a fucking pig,"

After months of this Y/N finally had enough. 

Being careful not to wake her husband, she slipped out of bed as quietly as she could. 

Tip toeing over to the closet, she grabbed the overnight bag that she had packed the previous night. She was going to stay at her mothers and deal filing the divorce in the morning. 

"Where do you think you're doing?" said a voice out of the blue. 

Y/N whipped her head around and saw Roy standing in the closet doorway in nothing but his boxers. 

"Roy!" she said, pushing away the overnight bag with her feet. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart," he said menacingly, walking towards her "You're not trying to leave, are you?" 

"No of course not I-" Roy seized her wrist. 

"I know when you're lying to me, Y/N," he growled. "Now tell me the truth, were you trying to leave?"

"No, no! I was just-"

Roy grabbed onto her throat, and squeezed as hard as he could. 

"I told you what was going to happen if you ever tried to leave!" he snarled, spitting in her face. 

"R-" she choked out. "R-R-Roy-"

"Save it, slut," he said calmly, bringing his other hand up to her throat. "You're going to die and it's all your fault." 

Y/N's vision was starting to get blurry, black dots were clouding her vision. Desperate to live, she started to feel around the shelves of the closet for anything she could use to defend herself. She finally found a hammer. She didn't know why Roy kept his tools in their closet, but she was grateful that hhe did in this moment. 

As hard as she could, she swung and hit Roy's head with the hammer. 

CRUNCH!

With a bloodcurdling scream, Roy let go of Y/N, falling to the floor. 

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!" he screamed, blood pouring out of head wound. Roy tried to stand up but he fell down. "I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I DID TO YOU Y/N!" he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. 

"Don't give me that crap, Roy," Y/N said coldly, brandishing the bloody hammer. "If you were really sorry, you wouldn't have done it at all." 

"Y/N please just for-"

His sentence was replaced with another scream. 

"DO. NOT. SAY. YOU. ARE. FUCKING. SORRY. YOU. ASS. HOLE." she screamed. After ever word she said, Y/N hit him with the hammer, until he wasn't recognizable. 

She dropped the hammer, satisfied that he was finally dead. Y/N was surprised at the fact that she was so calm, despite just killing her husband. 

Grabbing some clean clothes from the hangers, she quickly changed into a new set of pajamas. No longer needing, to stay at her mothers, she unpacked the overnight bag and put the clothes away. 

Before she walked out of the closet, she looked back at Roy's dead body. 

"I wish I did this sooner," Y/N muttered, closing the closet door and settling back into bed. 

yes, i know i've already posted this part but this is the official chapter

the previous one was just a preview

this very very beautiful banner was made by the very wonderful @al-of-the-stars

i suggest u go check out their blog. there's some pretty good stuff on there

in the heights is such an underrated musical

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

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