#i got into an argument this morning with my dad because i actually thought i could tell him i felt i wasn’t being taken seriously—

[rosesradio]

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[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) 

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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.

[moongreenlight]

GIRLIE PLS I NEED MORE YOUNG HOUSEWIFE x PRICE 😭😭

Instead of starting every ask response with “sorry it took me so long to get to this I suck” I’m just going to issue a blanket statement that I have like 45+ asks in my inbox rn and I get so overwhelmed looking at them that I just ignore them until I need to write something. I love you all for messaging me I love hearing your ideas and compliments please don’t stop sending them just bear with me as I sift through them. <3

Also- I got legit death threats on my first post like this. I’d like to make this ABUNDANTLY CLEAR that this is a LEGAL AGE GAP. It’s not grooming, it’s not predatory, it’s ENTIRELY LEGAL. You’re early twenties. He’s mid-to-late-thirties. Please do not bite my head off.

Anyway I’m back on my Price and his young housewife bullshit below the cut. Xoxoxo

Here’s the OG post if you need a refresher

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

There’s this scene in the MW3 campaign where Price and Farah are talking about where she got the missiles from and he’s trying to shoulder up with her, but she just shuts him down in the end. (Like always I hope you’ll trust me. Implicitly) (John Price the man that you are!!!!!!) and I really think that’s the household dynamic. He’s always the biggest in the room, but he’s got this incredible reverence and respect for women who can out-bitch him. Bends his rigid spine BACKWARDS for you. Would move mountains if you’d only ask.

Doesn’t always have to be serious things. Like maybe you’ve made friends with some moms in the neighborhood (it’s a point of pride for him that they’re all minimum 5 years older than you.) and they all go to this obscenely expensive Pilates class at six in the morning. You mention in passing that you’re signing up and the suburban white dad in him makes his ears perk.

“‘N how much ‘s this class going to cost me?”

“Dunno. Think it just goes on the account.”

“Course. Gym membership doesn’t cost enough as it is.”

And then all it takes is him seeing you in a matching workout set for all of his protest to die down. For SURE makes a comment about how he ‘didn’t know it’d be this worthwhile’

Loosely following that point, I think any real arguments get hostile very quickly. He’s not so egotistical that he won’t apologize, but I’m certain that it’s like pulling teeth to get him to that point. He can hold a grudge unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Borders heavily on immature when the two of you are in the thick of things. Starts shit just to start shit. (Secretly because he just loves makeup sex. Would rather eat you out until you’re sobbing than actually say the words “I’m sorry.”)

Having thoughts about him bringing you to some military ball. The both of you dressing up and sliding into the car that was sent for you just to sit on opposite ends of the backseat and not speak a single word. He burns through a cigar in record time and you toss back a few glasses of champagne. You both put on appearances getting out of the car. Hook your hand around his bicep while he shoves you inside with his hand on the small of your back. Hissing nasty quips back and forth about making this quick. Few hellos. Show your faces and then you can get home and get away from each other. Putting on appearances only goes so far, though, because when John is pissed- everyone feels it. Sucks the life out of a room and replaces it with an eerie feeling like a bomb’s about to go off.

He leaves you alone with a few other wives. Pulled away by Laswell with a promise of a ‘quick’ meeting. He comes back half an hour later fuming when he sees that somehow you’ve been pulled away from where he left you and found company chatting with his boys at the bar.

He gruffs some greetings before dragging you away by the arm so roughly that you have to stifle a yip.

“Are we leaving?”

“No.”

“So what is it, John? You’re making everyone think we’re miserable.”

“We are miserable.”

He’s yet to stop yanking you away. You have to do an awkward half-jog to follow him down a short hallway just outside the washrooms.

“Christ, would you just-“

“You look like a slag in that dress.”

He about throws you straight into the corner at the end of the hall. Muscles in his jaw ticking under the force that he’s using to grit his teeth.

“Sorry?”

His lips are brushing the shell of your ear. Bullying you further back into the wall. You’re entirely taken aback by his ferocity; especially because he usually prefers you wear something much more revealing than this. Some twisted point of pride, him seeing all the men your age drooling over you even after knowing you’re on his arm.

“Ought to let the boys pass you around. See if that won’t sort out that fucking attitude of yours.”

Theres some more protest from you, but it was entirely useless given how worked up he was. He ends up making good on his threat and shoving you into Ghost’s side when he brings you back out. He says something, but you can barely hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. Though you assume it’s a half-warning, half-explanation by the way Ghost snakes an arm loosely around your waist and gives a sharp nod. You get off relatively easy all things considered because Ghost is the only one smart enough not to take Price’s words at face value and sneak you away to some coat closet. That’s a permission granted only when John was present and in his right mind.

I cannot stress enough how much it gets him off to see you pregnant. Not like sexually, but he is nothing if not a glutton when it comes to feeding his ego. Likes it when you wear shirts that hug your swollen belly tight so he can see exactly how much your body is changing. Even better if they’re crop-tops that show off the skin that’s now littered with stretch-marks from growing his babies.

I have been saying this, but just to make it clear, he wants a small army of children. Like enough to have one of those trashy reality TV shows about how many kids you have. (In reality I’m getting 4/5 kids in total vibes) Loves coming home from work and seeing you carefully stirring a big pot on the stove while bouncing a baby on your hip, pulling a clingy toddler around on your leg, and situating your school-aged kids with their homework at the table.

But he most definitely hires a live-in nanny to help you out. Knows it’s not fair to leave you with that kind of responsibility. But also it just makes him so hot to see you mothering his kids that he needs to be able to take you away and not have to scramble to find something to occupy the kids.

Makes the nanny take over bath time more often than not so the two of you can take a bubble bath yourselves. He loves the casual intimacy of pouring two glasses of wine and having thirty or forty minutes to yourselves.

Having this visual of you before you’ve started having kids sitting in the tub after being strangely quiet all night. He offers you a heavily-poured glass of red and you’re a little glassy-eyed and staring up at him but making no move to take it.

“You alright, doll?”

“Mm?”

“Said you alright? Don’t want a drink?”

A long moment of silence from you. Long enough for him to perch on the rim of the tub and gently tip you up to look at him by putting a few fingers under your chin.

“John, I think I’m pregnant.”

“So no drink, then.”

[munsonsprincess11111]

Just confused.

Eddie munson x hopper!reader

Summary: you and Eddie have an argument around your house and you say something that pauses everything.

You ans Eddie were arguing over something stupid. It started because he didn't call to tell you he was going home after hellfire and you thought something had happend to him. Eddie said you need to calm down. And it blew up from there.

You were in your room arguing. Hopper was sat in his recliner watching TV with el laying on the couch. Their eyes glued to the screen until your bedroom door opened. "Your so overdramatic Jesus christ." Eddie said as he walked out your bedroom.

"OH I'm dramatic says the person who was fucking speeding and got caught two weeks ago cause he was gonna be late to the hideout!" You shouted following after him.

"SO what that's none of your business how fast or slow i go without you in the van." HE argued back. Hopper looked at el and she looked at him. This was the first argument you two have ever had. You'd been dating 2 years. However you tended to worry about Eddie when he didn't call and he didn't understand how much you'd worry.

"You know sometimes it feels like your only with me to piss of My fucking dad!" You shout at Eddie who is by the front door. But he freezes in his tracks. So do hopper and el as they stare at you. Eddie puts his shoes down and shrugs his jacket back off. Looking at you heartbroken. The only nose to be heard was the TV.

"You think... y/n what." HE says just above a whisper. Your stood looking slightly stunned stuttering over your words bottom lip wobbling. "Baby you don't actually think that right?" Eddie askes taking one step towards you.

"I-I don't know." You say looking at the floor. Hopper shifts in his seat in position to stand up if needed el turns the TV off. "Babe." Eddie says quietly.

"Whenever your coming over and you know my dad's here you always come straight here. When your not sure you go elsewhere and don't call then I'm sitting worrying if somethings happend to you. Then you make smug comments to him n stuff and sometimes it feels like that." You say as a tear runs down your cheek. Hopper glances at Eddie curious what he's going to say.

"Baby. I would never ever do that to you. I know I'm a dickhead but no. I love you. Your my girl babe. I am so fucking sorry. I promise you. Swear on my own life, that I'm not dating you to annoy your dad. That's just an added bonus. I love you for you. I like your clumsiness, your random energy outbursts at stupid o'clock in the morning. Late night walks and drives. Your smiles, your eyes, the way your hair goes in the mornings, the list goes on. Don't ever think I'm dating you to annoy your dad. I'm sorry I keep not calling. I went home and showered and then came here. I'll call you next time so you know I'm safe." Eddie says as he approaches you closer taking your hand in his.

You don't know what to say so you nod. "I love you too. 'M sorry for freaking out and causing an argument and for what I said." You say tears running down your face as you squeeze Eddie's hand.

"Come here sweetheart." Eddie says pulling you into a hug which you willingly except arms going around his middle as he sways with you. After a few moments you look up at Eddie and ducks down and kisses you lightly.

"Ewwww." El says from the couch. You pull away from Eddie and huff a laugh. "You two done screaming at eachother?" Hopper askes as you both nod. "Good, come sit down and watch a movie with me and el let's have some chill out time." Hopper suggests. You both agree. El scoots onto on couch cushion instead of all three.

Eddie sits on the one furthest from el and pulls you onto his lap. You rest your head on Eddie and legs on the empty cushion as the movie Hopper just put in starts.

-

Thr movie finished and you got into comfier clothes and climbed into your he'd with Eddie's he held your close kissing you. "M sorry I didn't call I promise I will next time." HE mumbles.

"I'm sorry I overreacted when you called me dramatic." You whisper back.

"I'm not with you to annoy your dad I love you and only you. Annoying your dad's the fun bonus. Never ever think that again. I'm yours." HE mumbles kissing you again.

"I know." You kiss back.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I love you more."

"You really gonna start that battle with your half asleep girlfriend munson?"

"If it means we can lay here forever then yes."

-

[katz-chow]

Coming from puff puffs blog 🤧🤥 hope you don't mind 😝🙈🙉 ur also totally gaining a new follower..

WHAT ARE YOUR HEADCANONS ON SOAP? 🥰🥰🥰 unless you've already done this before then I am so sorry 😓

relationship with soap headcanons

warnings: sfw, fluff, some angst, relationship arguments, family trauma mentioned, religious trauma, homophobia, bad dad

a/n: my fav cod man is soap so this took my top priority!!! i think about this man a lot, 09 and reboot version. reboot is my fav though, realistically, he's who i would actually get with. here’s all the things i’ve thought about him, there’s probably more tbh… OK OK HERE :))

childhood hcs

johnny soap mactavish comes from a large family of 5 siblings, he's the second oldest. it's elsie, him, blair, callum, and olivia.

growing up in a family of mainly girls got him on that respect women juice. he would always have to make sure his younger siblings are ok and aren't you know, being bullied. his parents were adamant on 2 year age gaps between them all.

his cousin, jack, was an sas operator and that was what made him want to join. they had to call security forces to arrest him out at some point because he kept sneaking in to watch them do stuff lol

elsie left for uni with her bf to live in soho when johnny was 16, the same year he would talk to recruiters around his hometown, driving hours and then getting rejected the same day due to his age

9th grade (year 10) chemistry got him obsessed with stem and its *explosive* results. he aced chemistry and then took advanced chemistry and physics just because he loved it so much

after this, as soon as he turned 18, he went to sign his papers THEN graduated school (he's just like me fr). his mom was so worried for him, especially when her sister told her about the danger that jack would get himself into. in the end, he promised he'll always call her and his siblings

his dad's an ass, hes an alcoholic, a cheater, a *bitch*... he would always take the kids to church on sundays and twisted the religion into a reason for his behavior. claiming that johnny's mom being at home was just "their culture"

she makes a killer shepherd's pie though

always had had some sort of love-hate relationship with the catholic faith. on one hand, it was nice to know there's always at least someone watching out for him, but after hearing the constant belittlement from his father, claiming he wasn't "manly enough" for not willing to give his life up in the service, he started to resent the “all merciful”.

he ended up blaming god for all his faults, letting him take accountability. this especially happened when he got diagnosed with adhd when he was 17, his dad didn’t believe in mental health. his mom was only a bit better about it, they both refused meds for him.

he's bisexual, leans towards women though. found this out after a truth or dare game in junior year (year 12) and some beers in a closet

at one point, callum acccidently let it slip at dinner when johnny had first moved out that he had met a cute guy and their dad screamed and yelled at the whole family, especially their mom, about "raising a fucking whore of a son, dragging the family down to shite"

blair called and told johnny a few days later and johnny rushed his work as quickly as possible and begged his chain of command for a few days off to go back home to his family

his family gets loud…like really loud. there’s 7 people what do you expect?

it gets especially bad when it’s sunday morning and you gotta get 7 people awake and looking their church best for an hour and a half 😔

johnny is the quickest everything there is, which has its downsides too. he could run and swim the fastest in the family, but he was also the quickest eater…meaning he’s on dish washing duty. he’s quick at that too so by the time everyone’s finished, he’s washed all the other dishes that took to make dinner

broke his arm chasing a cat through someone’s yard (he was 14)

had a goat scream and kicked him because he wanted to give it a hug

he got a part time job at a local bakery in 10th grade (year 11). the pay wasn’t much but neither was the work really. olivia, who was 9 at the time, made him promise that he’ll get her a doll to have tea with. her tea set had 4 cups but only one of her, so she must get another one to join her! he kept his promise; he ended up getting three dolls for her

he can make amazing soda bread and brioche loafs now too, still keeps a starter from the owner of the bakery to this day

he had a mountain bicycle that he would take everywhere. had room behind his seat for packages and his backpack, which he would tie down. that thing had such a loud bell too, would ring constantly to “let people know hes coming and get ready”

was terrified of selkies for some reason, always had the window closed and made callum sleep by it while he slept by the door

wasn’t much of a troublemaker, but would get into trouble with his adventurous heart.

got lost in the woods once and after a while of fake courage, he sat down and cried until elsie found him. he was 20 yards (13 meters) away from the clearing 😭😭

laugh at that guys, mf was 15

personality & relationship hcs

johnny is such a fun lover. he’s handsome yeah, but what makes ppl flaunt over him is his humor. he’s what jessica rabbit said “he makes me laugh”

such a charismatic and charming person, gets it from his dad. he could talk about just about anything, also the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store. then end up with their number and a date or helping them dog sit

this isn’t always a good thing though, one time before he was medicated, he would talk on and on, his story becoming incoherent due to the amount of self-interruptions he made, that a group of guys got so annoyed at that pub, they punched him.

he was young, 19, and couldn’t fight, so he didn’t win and came back to the barracks with a nasty black eye

he likes to be the big spoon, has to hold something in order to sleep

feel like he’s the type to wrap his arms around a pillow and lay on his stomach to sleep

speaking of sleeping, he HATES sleeping with socks on. he tried it one day and he just shivered at the feel of it, woke up and his socks were missing (he found them under the bed)

i also feel like he sleeps like a log, unmoving once he finds his comfort, i also think it's because he had to sleep in the same bed as his siblings at one point and he didn't want to wake them by moving, so he got accustomed to being a still sleeper

one time he accidentally got into a fight at a bar when a guy kept being misogynistic and was arrested and kept in jail for the whole night until one of his civilian friends bailed him out

johnny's the type to race you in the rain to the car. again, he's quick so he's always ahead of you but then he slips from the rain and ends up all wet and muddy and in the car.

his favorite thing to do is hear you laugh. he'll do anything to hear you laugh.

whenever you're sad, he'll purposely stub his toe or trip down the stairs or make you kiss his "owie" (a papercut) to get you to cheer up. like yeah it hurts like a fucking bitch but seeing you sad hurts more than a silly tumble

number one date event is city exploring and hopping. like cafe hopping, pub hopping, museum hopping, restaurant hopping, anything that makes you get up and get going with time to sit and chill at the same time.

feels like he can eat a lot, he's the type to eat your food if you end up not liking it or being too full

when he gets home from missions and the initial excitement of seeing you dies down, he also dies down and nap for hours until it's the middle of the night and he gets up to eat something.

he loves naps. feels like he needs a nap time every day if it was possible

he's a very kind lover, he's easy going so its not hard that sometimes people take advantage of this and push his buttons until he can't take it anymore

causes a huge blowup because he can have a nasty temper whenever he bottles stuff up and pushes things aside

not a physical manifestation of anger, but definitely a verbal anger, will say things he doesn't really mean just to say it and realize right after the words leave his lips that he fucked up

but he'll stake out in front of the guest bedroom in which you've locked yourself in until you come out and he gets the chance to forgive you

the type to stand in the rain and hold a sign saying sorry right outside your window, a very cheesy romcom style (gaz made him watch them)

he loves you more than anything and loves you even more than you can keep up with him and laugh at his jokes, no matter how awful they are

he wants 4 kids by the way

[cameronspecial]

Thorn In My Side, Rose In My Hand (Part 7)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Swearing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4.6K

Summary: After a frustrating argument with his dad, Rafe goes to seek comfort in Y/N’s arms. This leads to him finally asking for the moment he has been waiting for. 

Masterlist

Y/N wakes up the next morning in the Camerons’ guest bedroom. She has a slight headache from the alcohol she drank the night before. She thinks about what almost happened with Rafe and is glad he pulled away. Now, being sober, she remembers what she saw at Midsummer and finds herself upset again. They never had a chance to talk about it. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door being opened. Sarah comes in with a glass of water and Tylenol. Sarah being 14 meant that Rafe forces her to stay at a friend’s house whenever he throws a party. “Rafe told me to bring this up to you,” Sarah tells her as she hands over the things. Y/N takes the medicine, “Thanks.” “No problem. The boys are making breakfast downstairs,” Sarah informs as she walks towards the door. “And Y/N, I’m sorry about Wilson.” 

After a few minutes of lying in bed, Y/N finally makes her way downstairs and greets everyone at breakfast. Everyone eats with pleasant conversation. Sarah needed to get to the Trembley’s house to babysit the kids, so Mason offered to drive her, which left Y/N and Rafe alone to do the dishes. “So what does last night mean for us?” Rafe asks, handing over a wet plate for her to dry. Y/N takes the plate and starts to dry it, “Rafe, I appreciate you waiting to kiss me, but I saw you with Elizabeth at Midsummer and I know you know how I feel about her. I know that the unconscious part of you chose her because it would hurt me. So I can’t be with you right now. I need some time.” “Okay, I get that. I’m sorry that it hurt you, I wasn’t trying to. I want to be honest and tell you we did end up kissing last night too. But we only ever made out, it never went further than that,” Rafe confesses. This eases Y/N’s mind a little, but she still needs time to figure things out, “I understand, thanks for telling me. Since we are done, I think I’m just gonna go to the beach for a bit.” She places the dish towel back onto the oven railing and heads to the guest bedroom to get her stuff. 

She gets her stuff, heading back downstairs to say bye. “Can I borrow Sarah’s bike to go home? If she needs it any time soon, she can just text me and I’ll bring it over to her,” Y/N asks. Rafe looks over his shoulder at her from the sink, “Actually, hers is being tuned up at the store, so you can borrow mine. I’ll pick it up next time I come over. It should be around back near the pool.” Y/N nods her head. “Cool, thanks. See you later.”

———

Y/N got home safely and is now relaxing on the beach. She always tries to spend as much time here as she can during the summer because she feels at peace surrounded by water. She is relaxing on a water inflatable when Lacet finally makes her way to Y/N. “Look who is finally awake. It’s like three in the afternoon,” Y/N teases, shielding her eyes from the sun. Lacey groans, taking a sip from her coffee, “Shh, I still have a headache from last night. I never want to drink again.” 

Y/N laughs at her friend’s misery, “I’ve heard that before. At least it sounded like you had fun last night.” 

“You and I both know I like to pretend. This is totally tmi, but important to the story. I was on the toilet this morning because we both know that being hungover gives me the shits. But like I was looking at these recipes for different ways to make wellingtons and it got me thinking that we should have another girls’ dinner. Maybe tonight?” 

“Oooh, I love that idea. I could go over some of my writing with you. I was able to write another chapter.”

“I cannot wait. I can make some mocktails for us. Because mama cannot do another hangover tonight. I’m gonna make a beef Wellington and a mushroom one.” 

“Lol, I like the sound of that.” 

“So, now that we have that out of the way. How are you feeling about Wilson?” 

“I’m feeling better since last night. I mean I’m more hung up on the fact that he used me. Looking back on our relationship. I wasn’t really into him that much anyways. I think in a way, I was using him too.”

“Really? How so?”

“At first, I definitely do think that I liked him. But as I started to get to know him, I realized we weren’t good for each other and I should’ve ended it then. And yet, when I started to realize that maybe I didn’t hate Rafe, I pushed myself to be with Wilson because I didn’t want to admit it. We dated for a month, even though I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. I definitely don’t think that what I did was as bad as what he did because I did genuinely want to explore what we could be, but I wasn’t exactly perfect in the relationship either.”

“You are right. Using Wilson to ignore your feelings about Rafe wasn’t great. But at least, you recognize that. I bet you Wilson doesn’t even think he did anything wrong.” 

“True. I just want to get past the whole thing though. And before you try to shift the conversation to Rafe. I’m really not ready to talk about where we are out right now. Maybe tonight after I’ve eaten some delicious wellingtons and mocktails.”

Lacey nods, knowing her friend just needs some time to process what she is feeling. The two girls spend most of their time in the water for the rest of the day. Only making their way to Lacey’s house when the sun started setting.

——— 

The next day, Y/N is picking up some groceries for her mom. She rounds the corner of the aisle and accidentally hits someone else’s cart. “I’m so sorry,” she begins until she sees who she hit. “Oh, Elizabeth. How are you?” Y/N tries to be polite with the other girl. They may be rivals, but they are mostly civil with each other. “I’m pretty good. I’m sorry to hear about the break up though. What Wilson did was totally a jackass move,” Elizabeth replies sincerely. “Thanks. How are things going with you and Rafe? I saw you guys at Midsummer and he told me about you guys during the party,” she says, hoping to see if Rafe and Elizabeth’s stories match up. Elizabeth’s face turns into a slight frown, “Nothing really happened. We just made out both times. Honestly, I’m pretty sure he was just using me to distract himself from you.”

This causes surprise to cross over Y/N’s face. “Why do you think that?” she inquires with her head slightly tilted to the side. “Well, at Midsummer, I stopped making out with him because he groaned your name when I played with his hair. Then at his party, we were making out, when all of a sudden his phone started ringing. With the way he shut down the party after the call and from the rumours I heard, I’m pretty sure he dropped everything to go pick you up. Anyways I gotta go. Bye.” Y/N calls out a goodbye as Elizabeth walks away. 

Rafe told her the truth after all. What is more interesting to the girl is that Rafe seems to have done the same thing she has done. She finishes up her shopping and heads back home. 

———

A week has passed since Y/N’s break up, which means that school is also bound to start up again in about two weeks. Rafe is sitting in the living room, watching some random show he isn’t really paying attention to. His focus is diverted to his dad as Ward walks into the room with a huff. “Tell me why I just got a call from Mr. Porter saying that if you don’t give his son a public apologize, then he will have no choice but to file a lawsuit against you for assault,” Ward gripes to his son. Rafe honestly thought nothing more would come from the punch because it had been a week since it happened. “He was an ass to Y/N. I had to make sure he knew what happens when he messes with her.” Ward runs his hand down his face, “God, I knew that girl would get you in trouble. I want you to give that public apology tomorrow morning. You are going to do exactly what Mr. Porter says because if you don’t, then I’m not gonna clean up your mess this time. Is this understood?” Rafe agrees with the statement. He knows Y/N would prefer he takes the peaceful way out of this situation. 

He thinks the conversation is over, but his dad doesn’t get up from his seat on the couch. “I also want to know why I was sent a parent approval form from Marvin to sign, so you could start an internship with him,” Ward interrogates, his voice beginning to rise. Right, Rafe had forgotten to talk to his father about this before the paperwork was sent. “Well, Marvin and I were talking a few weeks ago about his law firm. He said he needed some extra help with some organizational stuff, so I offered to help,” Rafe begins to explain. “You wanted me to figure out how to do swim team, university work and an internship at Cameron’s Development, so I thought this would be a good trial run for university and Marvin thought the same. He said if I have any trouble with handling the internship and everything else, then it would be fine if I quit. Pre-law students are always looking to intern with him.” 

Ward shakes his head in disapproval, “If you wanted to intern somewhere, you should’ve just come with me. I don’t understand why you would work at a law firm. It has nothing to do with development.” “I know you have this life plan for me, but I wanted to do something for myself once. I may have been given help from Marvin to get the job. But it’s something new though and I asked for myself. I want to be able to experience other things in life other than just the development company,” Rafe clarifies to his dad. “Whatever, I’ll sign the stupid paper, but I don’t understand why the fuck you would make that choice. Why can’t you just do as you are told?” Ward complains to his son, storming off toward his office. Rafe expected a screaming match to happen between the two of them, but this felt worse somehow. 

Rafe keeps trying to do what his dad wants, but even when he thinks he has it figured out, he still disappoints his dad. Instead of feeling the normal anger that would normally radiate off of him after an argument with his dad, he feels this sadness that washes over him. His mom would always push him outside of his comfort zone and it was part of the reason why he offered to help Marvin. He thought his dad would understand that and be proud of him. But like always, Ward just wants to be able to control every aspect of Rafe’s life. Ward has this life plan for Rafe that he isn’t allowed to deviate from. Rafe knows Sarah doesn’t have to listen to what her dad plans for her life. He doesn’t understand why his dad puts all this pressure on him. Rafe feels like utter crap after that conversation and there is only one person, who he knows can make him feel better. She can be found in the Y/L/N residence. 

———

Y/N sits outside in the gazebo, reading her book in the hanging basket. She lifts her eyes from the page when she hears a knock from the screened door. “Hey, Y/L/N. Care for some company?” Rafe interrupts as he slowly opens the door. She could see his  watery eyes, looking like he is going to burst at any second, “Of course, what’s wrong?” She immediately wraps her arms around the boy and buries his head into her neck whilst leading him to sit on the loveseat. “Why does my dad insist on controlling my life? Why can’t I just do things for myself without him questioning everything?” Rafe cries, feeling safe to now let himself be vulnerable with the girl. 

Y/N knows this is always a source of upset for him. Rafe’s relationship with Ward will never be anything like Mason and Marvin’s. “I don’t know why your dad is the way that he is. But I do know that you are not at fault for how he treats you. He has issues that he doesn’t realize he needs to fix and that is not on you,” she tries to comfort. 

“I know. It’s just last time we were fighting about how I didn’t want to join the uni swim team because I wanted to focus on school and my internship. And he absolutely blew up about that. Now, I want to do a trial run to see if I can find a balance between school, work and swim team and my dad isn’t proud that I’m trying. It’s like one step forward and twenty back. I don’t know how much longer of this I can take.” 

It pains Y/N to hear how much pain is in Rafe’s voice as he explains it to her, “Why didn’t you tell me things were getting this bad?”

“Last time it got this bad, you were avoiding me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here now.” 

“I know, thank you. You are the one person that could’ve made me feel better right now, honestly.” 

“I’m glad I can return the favour.”

Rafe smiles, knowing she is referring to how he took care of her after Wilson broke her heart, “Right, how are we feeling after that?” 

The look in Rafe’s eyes tells Y/N that he is really asking how she feels about him, “I’m actually feeling great considering we only broke up a week ago. I think my heart was always set on someone else.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, that someone is ready for more. If you are ready too, of course.”

“Really? Would he maybe want a kiss? I wouldn’t want to take advantage of his vulnerability,” she jokes as she strokes his hair.

“He absolutely wants a kiss.”

Rafe removes his head from where it is buried in her neck and pulls Y/N into a kiss. His lips passionately move against hers and after a few seconds, his tongue makes its way into her mouth. She feels butterflies in her stomach and she hears him groan as she gently tugs his hair. Rafe removes himself from her lips and starts attacking her neck with kisses. She lets out a soft moan when he reaches her soft spot just under her ear, which causes him to grin and start to suck on the spot. Eventually, the two pull away from each other because of Rafe. He places his forehead on hers and looks into her eyes. They both have a soft grin on their lips. “Would you want to go on a date with me the day after tomorrow?” he whispers to her. They may have just been kissing, but he still is fearful that she will say no. She gives Rafe a quick kiss before answering, “Of course. I would love to.” 

———

The next morning, Rafe gets up earlier than usual to make his public apology to Wilson. It wasn’t very public seeing as he was just instructed to go to Wilson’s and the only people there are Wilson, his parents and all of his dinner guests from that night. However, the Porters still had to make a ridiculously big deal about this and have Rafe make his apology on a makeshift stage and podium. “I am sorry for assaulting you, Wilson. I was wrong for doing so. You are an amazing person and the fact that my dirty and violent hands touched you never should have happened,” Rafe reads off of the cards that one of Porter’s employees is holding up for him. The group claps and Rafe zones out as everyone bustles about around him.

Once he is allowed to leave, Rafe makes a mad dash to The Wreck to meet with Lacey to ask her for help with his and Y/N’s date tomorrow. “I hope you know that you are paying for whatever I order. And I plan to order a lot,” Lacey notifies him, not even looking up from the menu as he sits across from her. Rafe laughs at her antics, “I don’t expect anything less. But I need your help with something for Y/N and mine’s date tomorrow, please.” “And what exactly does that help entail?” Lacey replies; this time actually diverting her attention to the boy. “I just need you to cook some things for me. I’ll make you a list of the foods and then you can give me the bill after you get the stuff you need,” he answers. “Okay, I can do that. Especially if it’s for Y/N. Now, let’s order and then we can talk about this more. Mama is hungry.” 

———

 Rafe picks Y/N up at ten in the morning. He told her he had a whole day planned out for them and he knew she is an early bird anyway. He is wearing gray flannel on top of a gray T-shirt with some jeans. When Y/N opens the door, Rafe just pauses and admires her beauty. Her purple sweetheart neck raglan sleeve sweater shows her collarbones, which have a golden heart-shaped necklace resting between them. Her black pleated skirt rest just above her knees and this causes his eyes to follow down her legs to her white embroidered high-top converse. He knows she embroidered the flowers onto them herself. Her fingers are littered with rings and her double ear piercing both have hoops in them. Her hair twisted back behind her head with a claw clip. Rafe notices she is wearing some light makeup; god, he wants to smudge that pinkish-red lipstick. 

Y/N smiles softly at him and gives a tiny wave, “Hey, are you okay?” Rafe snaps out of his trance. “Yeah, just soaking in how happy I am to finally be taking you out on a date. Are you ready to go?” he admits whilst holding his hand out to her. She nods her head and takes his hand as she places her brown purse across her body. They get into his car and he drives off to their first destination. 

———

The massive grin on Y/N’s face, when she sees the sign for Outer Banks’ biggest independent bookstore, tells Rafe that he is on the right track for their date and this causes his heart to swell with pride. He holds open the door and she practically runs into the shop. They randomly walk around for a little bit to start. The conversation only begins after Y/N sees the Percy Jackson books. “Rafe, these are my absolutely favourite books. I owe my love of reading to Rick Riordan,” Y/N gushes to him. Rafe loves how passionate she is about the books and how she is not afraid to show it, “Really? How so?” 

Y/N's heart leaps at the genuine interest that Rafe is showing, “When I was a kid, I had a hard time learning to read. So I hated doing it. My parents tried getting me to read so many different books. I never really felt seen with any of them. But with Percy, I felt a connection with his character because of his dyslexia. His sarcasm and jokes made him relatable to me and I fell in love with reading because of it.” 

“I never knew that you could connect to a character on that level. The last book I remember reading is the Harry Potter series and I don’t think I really felt that way about any of the characters.”

“Yeah, it feels kinda magical when you can. It really helps you immerse yourself in the story. I’m actually thinking about starting a YA book club. Maybe, you can join and you’ll find your connection.” 

“I would love to join. You really have interesting perspectives on books and I would love to learn more. Plus, I think it would be fun to have reading dates together.”

Y/N is surprised that Rafe actually likes her idea. The excitement she feels about being able to show him some of her favourite books grows. The rest of the time at the bookstore is spent with Rafe holding Y/N’s stack of books she wants to buy, listening to her point out the books she has read or wants to read. He finds it adorable and it reminds him of a little kid on a scavenger hunt. It takes a lot of convincing from Rafe to get Y/N to let him pay for all of her books. He asks her to take the books out to the car, saying he thinks he forgot something in the store. He quickly locates the Percy Jackson series and runs it up to the cash register to pay. Rafe knows he could probably borrow the books from Y/N, but he wants it to be a surprise that he is going to read them. 

———

The next destination for their date is Rafe’s kitchen, where Y/N finds all the ingredients she needs to make chocolate chip cookies on the island. “I thought we could make cookies for dessert for dinner,” Rafe announces to her. Y/N looks at him with delight, “Okay, but only if you let me take the lead.” “I will always let you take the lead,” Rafe confesses with adoration in his eyes. This causes Y/N’s cheeks to heat up. 

Y/N’s back is facing Rafe; she is concentrating on mixing the ingredients, so she doesn’t notice Rafe scooping some chocolate chips into his mouth from the bag. She turns around to ask him something when she sees his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk and giggles. “Are you eating some chocolate?” she laughs as he nods his head with a guilty look on his face. “You really are just like a child. Come here, please. I need you to help me place the balls on the pan. You roll the balls and I’ll place them.” Rafe listens to her order and scoops some of the dough into his hand and forms just about the smallest ball she has ever seen. This causes some more giggles to fall past her lips. “Those are too small and it looks more like a cube than a sphere. Here, let me help you,” she instructs, wrapping her arms around his to help guide him with making the next ball. She directs his hands to the ball and helps him take some cookie dough into his hands. She places her hands over his as she helps him make the motion to make the balls. 

Y/N is not going to lie; she gets a little distracted by Rafe, who smells like the salty sea air and a hint of chlorine. She pauses for a second and this causes Rafe to look down at her to see if she is okay. He smiles when he notices she is admiring his smell. She snaps out of the daydream and continues to help him form a golf ball-sized dough ball. Now, knowing how to make the balls, Rafe continues on his own. Y/N places the pan in the oven when all the balls are formed and they go to watch Clueless as the cookies bake. 

———

Dinner is served picnic style on the beach, watching the sunset. Battery-powered lanterns litter the sand around the picnic mat to create light. It illuminates the spread of sushi, pasta, cheeseburger sliders and mini tacos; all of Y/N’s favourite foods and all cooked by Lacey. The couple gorges themselves on the buffet before they cuddle together on the beach, sharing the cookies they made together. “When did you think you started to fall for me?” Y/N ponders, taking a bite from the cookie and then handing it over to Rafe. 

“You are going to call me a liar. But I think I’ve been slowly falling for you since we were five. I remember thinking: ‘She is totally wrong about who won the race, but I love how she isn’t afraid to fight back in her own way.’ Also, I found it funny how long you could hold a grudge. How about you?” 

“That is totally a lie and such a cliche. For me, it is probably when you took me to McDonald’s after my first date with Wilson. You knew what I needed and what I liked without me having to tell you. I really appreciated that. You also did a bunch of things that Wilson didn’t even do for me on our date and I kept thinking about that.” 

“No, it can’t have been then. It was so recent.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. It’s when I knew for sure though that I had feelings for you. Maybe I started unconsciously falling for you way before then.” 

“Good. Because I want the book of you and me to be a really long one. So your chapters have to start before that.” 

“Okay, whatever you want.” 

“You’re cold. My swim team sweater is in the basket for you.” 

“How did you know I’m cold?”

“Caring for you is my sixth sense now.”

Y/N untangles herself from his arms and goes over to the basket to put on his hoodie. He loves to see her wearing his number and last name on his back. One day, it’s going to be hers too. She goes back into his arms to cuddle for a little bit. After a while, he notices she is growing tired and they pack up to go back to her house. 

———

Rafe is parked outside of her house, waiting for her to get out of the car. She doesn’t move, but instead turns towards him, “Can you sleep over? I don’t really want this date to end.” He tiredly smiles at her and turns the car off. They get into her room and go around getting ready for bed in sync. The scene felt perfectly domestic as they brushed their teeth together. He gets into the bed first and lets his arms wrap around her when she lies beside him. She rests her head on his chest and her eyes flutter closed, “Goodnight, Rafe.” “Goodnight, my rose,” he whispers, placing a kiss on her forehead before falling asleep. 

———

Marvin and Cassie Y/L/N find their daughter in bed the next morning in the arms of Rafe Cameron. They are not surprised by the sight and are glad the two have finally gotten together. “You owe me a book,” Cassie mumbles as she closes Y/N’s bedroom door and they walk downstairs. Marvin lightly grumbles, “They really couldn’t have waited a year. I thought they would finally realize it in university.”

“Not them. They were meant to be.” 

Taglist: @itsalexwin​ @sublimepenguinpeach-blog​   @gillybear17​   @terraeluce​  @f4ll-for-you​

[sirfrogsworth]

I have two best friends.

Which is not an apt description.

Best friends is too small a term to describe what they are to me.

Chosen family. Ride or die. People I would drop everything for if they needed me. People I would protect with my last breath. People who know embarrassing details they will take to the grave.

Now that my mom and dad are gone, they are my lifelong companions. I trust them with my life.

I talk about Katrina all the time. But I tend to keep my friendship with Delling a little more private. I don't love either of them any more or less. There is no ranking system for my besties. But Katrina and I are basically like an old school comedy duo, so we have a lot more shenanigans to share. Shenanigans are easy content for a blog.

Delling is disabled like me. We have a lot of the same consequences from our health issues. Extreme fatigue most of all. Delling was unable to get disability benefits though, so they have to work a 9 to 5 job. And it exhausts them to the limit. They often will work and go straight to bed. If it were possible, I would talk to Delling every single day like I do with Katrina, but circumstances don't always allow for that.

So we have less shenanigans, but the same amount of love.

I'm also a little more protective of Delling at the moment. They are trans and for some reason a large portion of the "very online" people have decided to hate my best friend. And sometimes I worry about drawing attention towards Delling from the few trolls who still hate follow me.

Delling is almost always in my thoughts when I write about trans issues or argue with transphobes on Twitter. But I refuse to invoke "I HAVE A TRANS FRIEND" most of the time. For one, I don't advocate for trans people just because I have a trans friend. Though it does make the emotions I feel very intense sometimes. A lot of tears and anger. But I also don't want to sound like those conservatives who justify everything they say because they have a friend from a marginalized group.

There are certainly times people will be like, "Why would you mutilate someone and cut off healthy breasts??" and I wanna be like "Delling is much happier without boobies and I can see a huge difference since their surgery and you don't know what the fuck you are talking about with that mutilation nonsense. FIGHT ME!"

But I don't think I need to announce my bestie's private top surgery details just to win an argument on Twitter.

I'm just really happy for them and I am glad it helped. They struggled to get the surgery for so long and fought like hell to make it happen. People acting like it is this horrible thing make me so angry. When it finally happened it was... a relief. A weight lifted off their shoulders... err... chest.

After my dad died, Katrina was unable to get away from Florida to help me out. She was dealing with her disabled dog, Lucy, and her end-of-life care. That just isn't something you can ask someone else to look after for a few days. So Delling got permission to do remote work and drove down from the top of the country to help me. They came on the weekend of my dad's service and stayed a few days after to help me get the house sorted.

I'm honestly not sure I could have made it through that experience on my own. During the service, Delling just clung to my side as I tried to act normal when long-lost relatives offered similar grief platitudes over and over. And I kept introducing Delling and saying they were from the wrong state for some reason. I do actually know where Delling lives, but I guess my brain was not functioning in that situation.

Delling also helped me finish my eulogy literally hours before I gave it. And they helped me print out a bunch of photos of my dad that almost no one looked at. I'm so glad we spent all morning frantically doing that. *sigh* Though I'm hoping the photos will come in handy when I do an online memorial for my parents, so it was not all for naught.

There was a moment when a certain someone gave an impromptu speech at the end of the service about how she let my dad see his granddaughter for a couple of hours a year ago and how special that was, and Delling tightly squeezed my hand to help channel away my anger.

Ya know, those totally normal *yearly* visits all grandpas get to have.

Sometimes friends just know, ya know?

Delling and I also revamped the kitchen for my needs, which I have already turned into absolute chaos. And we had a fun shopping trip to Sam's where I bought tender beef jerky that was the toughest to chew jerky I've ever experienced. I guess the "tender" on the label was sarcastic.

All I know is that casually shopping with my friend was this beautiful bonding adventure where we just got to hang out and be together. It's weird the experiences that stick with you. Trying to pick out wholesale sushi with my bestie will be a treasured memory for the rest of my days. And I think that is kinda perfect in its simplicity.

There are not enough thank yous in the world for what Delling did for me. I wish they could have stayed a few months instead of a few days. I miss having them here in person. But they had a foster bunny to take care of and a job and a family. So I had to give Delling back to the top of the country.

I just wanted to write this in appreciation of my other best bestie. I love them more than anything. And I can't tell you all how special it feels to have someone who will drop everything, drive across the country (through tornado weather, no less), and keep you company during a very lonely time.

[eyra]

winning arguments without crying

Three years ago I liked you and now I think you’re hideous That’s really all it is. Crumbling stone above your sink in a houseshare bathroom that feels like an aeroplane toilet. A corona of snakes that couldn’t be saved by a beautiful tragedy. You have to train them, you see To bite beautifully and in a tragic sort of way A literary way You can’t just wash your red hair and let it dry like that. I would know. Mine are revered and I think people are afraid of them but in a beautiful sort of way.

That’s another story that I’m trying to write and I wish I could block you from the pages like I’ll block you on Instagram.

I think you’re hideous A gradual  and then very sudden descent into a cramping hatred like the way you think hot weather is just fantastic and I think the sun is fucking obnoxious Like you A loudly epic microcosm  A study in how to learn to hate a stranger measured by unprecedented times and a handful of afternoons eating  blue cheese and crackers on London grass waiting for the time to pass If nobody likes you and everybody likes me then does that make me awful too? or does it just mean I’m right

You glittered like a mirror for a morning our sisterly reflections in mourning A summer snapshot from the lens I’m still in charge of Now you’re a black hole or something worse probably an empty shell pretending to be a whole person. Boring boring boring Everything about you is boring I’m bored with how boring I find you This poem is boring. It’s boring to talk about you but I can’t stop none of us can stop we’re all awful. You were a mirror and isn’t that funny considering how much you fucking love looking at yourself now Is this fucking play about us? as long as it’s all focused on you Tell us to knock the f-stop back as far as we can until it’s just The You Show again but you’ll say you hate the lens I’m standing behind. Apparently it’s all so condescending of me but I think you just don’t understand what that word means and what you actually mean is I’m older than you and know how to win arguments? What you actually mean is I can fight without shaking and my face doesn’t turn red when I’m angry? and I’ve always thought that a very lucky trait to have I think I probably got that from my dad although he doesn’t really get angry. I think you should write a poem about what you got from your dad But you’ll never do that even if  it’s the easy pick to the door you say someone else bolted you behind screaming. I unpicked mine when I was twenty and I’ll always shoot if someone slags off my closet And you think you’re the gunmaster here

But that’s a totally separate conversation and I can’t be bothered having it with you so can we just move on because you’re too narrow to get that.

The most caring person in the world until empathy starts unearthing your enemies As if you don’t already have a thousand. And none of it feels important anymore so I’m embarrassed that I even care but it’s not a caring sort of caring. If you’re compelled by right and wrong I’m compelled by love and hate I think that’s my coin and one day soon I’ll stop spending it on you But for now I’m solvent Even if I’m letting you steal from me and your steel city state is richer than my ancient woodland but your vaults are beneath iron girders of fantastic and thanks so much and so it becomes a girlish and quietly-biting sort of coin that burns lips and makes everything taste like copper mine is just a mist and then you accuse me of being non-confrontational when actually I’ve always quite liked confrontation.

It’s something I’m good at

and yet you keep trying and honestly I find that mortifying But you’re a child so I don’t even care. Maybe I should swaddle you but you said you're wise beyond your years so I guess let’s go with that? And if everyone hates you and nobody hates me then maybe you should go back to your mirror and look there instead of at your front-facing camera because that’s mortifying too  and you should’ve gone to university because you would’ve met other mirrors there And at least I know I’m a bitch

I met my mirrors ages ago.

But you run from reflection and choose your front-facing camera instead because it does that thing where it flips the image and you get to pretend that you’re the opposite thing to the thing you actually are and you get to tell yourself that you’re so tiny and the world is the Big Bad pecking at your nest. But you’re the awful thing And everything is backwards And everything is mirrored to you And if I saw myself in you then send me the invoice and finish your email with  thanks so much  for teaching me how to be something else because honestly if I became what you already are I think I’d just die  I can see you rolling your eyes on the playground because someone else was enjoying the swings but in a stupid way and the tarmac was hotter in Germany but that doesn’t make you more interesting. God I wish I could tell you that.

I told you once that sometimes I pretend I’m on Graham Norton when I’m in the car I thought everyone did that but apparently they don’t But that’s fine I think and you didn’t need to laugh about it with your fiancée But she's left you too and I found that funny So let’s call it even.

I dive headfirst into the oil when it comes to you because it feels so hotly delicious  To nestle in the anonymous ranks of whatever armies you think you did nothing to provoke You’ve got spears for crutches but your armour is accountancy note paper With lecture notes too boring to comprehend I don’t think you’re actually interested in investment risk and taxation or fraud analytics Is anyone? It’s just something else to put on your brown sash and on your HER profile. Tell them about how you’re on every battlefield and I’m just softly at home writing a stupid poem about you And if you’re reading this now because you keep tabs on everyone and everything and if you were waiting for me Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you. Because I already don’t remember how old you are but I think you get a notification when I post an Instagram story of myself as a child.

I have a pitchy black well of everything that you don’t have and I throw myself into it and you screw your face up lime-sour when actually I think you’d love to build one for yourself  but you can’t stop looking at your Instagram followers for long enough to work out  How to cast bricks or divine water or whatever else you need to build a well

You don’t even have the land for it yet.

I’d rather write a stupid poem than be your blank piece of paper I’d rather write myself as a villain than play your antagonist  Write me out of your boring story I’m begging you. It’s been a year and you’re still looking up how to spell my name  Between notes about investment management and derivatives And I don’t even know what that means Thank God. God it’s so boring But I’m laughing at the idea of one day forgetting your name.

I can be rotten but I think the thing that saves you from Hell is the welcoming of the rot and if I can be this but also sleep with my friends and love my American cereal and the little squares of sun my mirrorballs cast to my blue walls Then what does it matter I don’t think it matters. But you can’t be told about any of that Because you’re too busy romancing your front-facing camera and  one-hundred-and-thirty-three people in fluorescent ceiling panels who won’t ever clap at a volume that fills you So I’ll leave you waiting for your lean applause And I’ll just be lighter.

I watched a video today of my niece on a ride-on lawnmower Grinning with my dad in the field behind our house and that was me twenty-two years ago. God I love that I can love.

[toodrasticallydumb]

Stricklake headcanon?

Oof. Okie- I *may* have gone overboard... Still, have some headcanons I got for ya! Because I have no self-control! And yes, there is a lot of them.

He speaks in innuendos almost exclusively, but she will just be blunt with it ‘cause who got time for that.

He follows her. Just. He follows her. (🎵walk him like a dog, sis, walk him like a dog🎵) Okay, but actually he follows her (especially after the Eternal Night when he’s stuck in his troll form) because his arms are much longer than a human’s so it’s a bit uncomfortable to hold hands while walking beside each other because either she needs to stretch her hand down or he has to sort of angle his shoulder up, so, to compensate he always walks just behind her so that his hand is easy to keep in hers. Hence: he just follows her. (yes, he had the choice to lead, no, he did not take it.)

After they get comfortable with each other again, Barbara MUST boop him on the nose when he yawns and does the *biiiiiigggg streeeeetch* but, when he always complains with a little grumble, she’ll kiss his cheek as compensation. (and a bonus little scritch on the base of his horns if he’s especially grumpy)

Speaking of which, he PURRS. A lot. At first it sounds super scrungly and rough because he never did it very often, but Barbara makes it her personal mission to coax the purrs out of him and turn them smoother by constantly making him do it. (She succeeds, obviously ;} and when Jim and Strickler are having a petty little argument for funsies she’ll butt in ‘all serious’ and give him the stink eye and flex her fingers ready to make him purr in front of Jim and he’ll automatically, but grumpily, shut up and let Jim win)

He blushes LIKE CRAZY at like the smallest look from her ‘cause oh my God how could he not??? She’s wonderful, and stunning, and bewitching, and oh man he’s hers and she’s his, and could he be more fortunate to have her and— Meanwhile Barb will NOT blush at much, EXCEPT, of course, when he gives the worst dad joke in the world or some stupid, down-bad line like a nervous dork and THEN she’ll blush like a tomato.

As much as I love the hc that Strickler snores loud…my mom is the one that snores really loud……………………………………….so, BARB is the loud snorer and when she’s asleep she’s ASLEEP AND UNLESS THERE’S AN EMERGENCY SHE’S NOT WAKING UP. You could poke her, prod her, move her around, she WILL NOT wake up and WILL continue snoring like she’s gotta scare off the morning birds from the tree by the window. Strickler is the lightest sleeper the world has ever seen, Barb could be shifting around and his eyes will bolt open and he’ll just lay there. But, when he is exhausted and starts dozing off on the couch he’ll already be asleep but when Barb asks if he wants them to go to bed he’ll wake up all offended like a true dad and say “I wasn’t asleep, but if you’d like.” “You were snoring.” “That is……my usual breathing at night.” “Uh-huh. Sure.” “It is-!”

(He always falls asleep easier when they cuddle, but for a while he didn’t completely understand he could just *ask* her to cuddle and she probably would, he didn’t want to bother her so he always waited for her to initiate it. Until one day he gets the nerve to ask her to cuddle and she’s like “Hon, you just had to get closer to me and I would’ve cuddled whenever you want.” “It was that simple???” “Yes, we’re MARRIED.” “Oh. Fair point.”)

He gets restless really easy (especially after the Eternal Night when sometimes he wakes up earlier than she does and he’ll be swamped by thoughts of his plummeting self-worth to actually be sleeping beside her after everything he’s done to them) so he’ll go for ‘morning jogs’/morning flights in the forest nearby and return to make Barbara breakfast. It makes him feel a bit better and he always comes back with a different flower every time to give to her, but when Barb catches on to the main reason why he does this, she starts trying to cheer him up more when he comes back. One morning she asks why he picked the flower he did and one thing leads to another and now he’ll always bring back a flower and explain to her the history of the flower and its meaning and all the dorky stuff he loves to talk about and she’ll listen while eating her breakfast.

His eyes dilate insanely wide whenever he even thinks of her and everyone has dubbed it the “Lover Look for Lake” so they (mostly Toby) can say “Ohoho, the triple L combo! You’re a loser for her, Strickler, take that L so you can kiss that L.” He NEVER lives it down.

Sometimes, on really cloudy, late nights, when Barb is working at the hospital and finally gets out, exhausted and fatigued, a little someone will pop by with dilated red eyes and a flap of leathery wings. After a LONG TIME of mini-flights, she finally trusts him enough to close her eyes and let him carry her home after her long shifts so she can soak up the lightness of the night sky while she can hear a purr in his chest as she rests against it.

Hope I satisfied your request lol

Reblog if you have any headcanons of your own!!!

[garnetblackwater]

The Rustle of Leaves

Human female x forest guardian

Chapter 5-A Wandering Mind

The week following was a blur for Vanessa. Most weeks were fairly monotonous, going to lectures either as a student or teaching assistant, grading papers, just general college things, but this week was different. Monday was full of excitement, of course everyone was losing their minds over the blatant head wound covered in a bandage, shoulder bandaged, and band aids covering her legs. Her friends were constantly asking if she needed anything, especially one Carter Rosmund aka Cyclops, much to his chagrin. He had made many arguments for other x-men, mostly wolverine, but they always fell on deaf ears. Carter stood at 6 foot 3 and genetics had been kind to him. Sun kissed skin, short brown hair, broad shoulders, and blue eyes. He wasn’t extremely buff but he obviously took care of his body, and others noticed. But he only had eyes for one person.

“Vanessa what happened? You sent that picture then radio silence. Are you alright?” He reached for her face to give it a once over.

Vanessa pulled his hands away, “It looks worse than it actually is. I just fell a bit.” 

“Just? And how does one fall a bit?” Carter asked skeptically.

“Well. You know. You slip on an outcropping, tumble a bit, and then pass out for an hour or two.” The last few words lost in a mumble.

“Ness!” Vanessa cringed at the nickname, “Did you go to a hospital? Do you still need to?” Carter was uneasy, “I’m sure Professor X will be fine with us missing class considering the way you look.”

“You worry too much. I was checked over and I’m fine. Now let's go before we are late. I have a reputation to uphold.” And Vanessa marched on ahead of him. She really was fine, all thanks to Ten. Whatever he had done really did take the pain away. The wounds were still healing but they didn’t slow her down. She was lost to her thoughts again. The memory of Ten. The gentleness of his touch. The surprising warmth of him. She could feel that same warmth swim over her and settle in her chest. She could feel his lips ghost over her knuckles again. It all swam through her head, along with the worry. Worry of what was to come, and what she was to give in return.

“Ness you sure you don’t need me to get anything for you? You haven't been able to focus all day, let alone hear anything I’ve said.” Carter had been hovering around any free moment he had since the morning. He offered his arm for her to lean on.

“My legs work just fine. I can get around no problem. I just have a lot on my mind.” Vanessa kept walking towards the library. 

“You’re not feeling light headed? Need to lie down or anything?” Carter stopped in front of her looking into her eyes. He started to reach for her face.

“Calm down jeeze. You’re like a helicopter mom. I’m fine, I swear. Don’t you have class?” She swatted his hand away, and kept walking.

Carter checked his watch, she was right, but he didn’t want to go. “If you need anything just ask, got it? Even if it's just to talk.” His tone was serious. Vanessa knew that wasn’t an option. She knew Carter’s intentions were good and that his heart was in the right place but..

How long before an inch becomes a mile? Best to keep distance.

“Okay Dad whatever you say. I’m fine, just go.” Vanessa missed the way he hesitated at her words. Didn’t see the need in his eyes, but the focus of her mind was elsewhere. No matter what she did her mind trailed back to the forest. Everything happened so fast and it was so unclear. The uncertainty made her anxious. Her sleeping was sporadic and her focus nonexistent. Any free time she had was spent pouring through books and various websites looking for any answer to put her at ease. Before she knew it, it was Friday night. She was in her kitchen with Sandy baking. Sandy had decided on berry muffins, mostly because she had a craving for some, but they were also very portable. “I mean who doesn't like muffins? Especially blueberry muffins, ya know? Classic. Delicious. Van, are you even listening?”

Vanessa was pulled from her thoughts as she was taking the last batch out of the oven.”Listening to what? You stuff your face while I do all the work?” Sandy gave an over the top gasp. “I’m sorry Cheeks, I’m just nervous for tomorrow.” 

“Nervous for what? Wait. Hold up. Was he hot? The guy that saved you. Need a wing man?” Sandy joked but Vanessa’s stomach turned at her words. She had no idea what would happen once she went back. Her mind had jumped through many hoops during the week, some not so savory. 

Vanessa took a deep breath, hoping to stop the incessant spiral of her thoughts, “I promise I don’t need a wing man. Though he was definitely attractive.” Vanessa could not deny that she held a level of attraction for Ten. Even when her thoughts went to unsavory places, she did not always mind. There was also a level of comfort she felt when he held her. She remembered his gentle touch, but also the way he held her. Secure and safe? It only made her nerves spur on. 

Sandy’s eyes sparkled with glee, “Oh shit! Okay Van Van, let's get your man then!” The rest of the night was fueled by Sandy’s determination. Outfit planning, plans to get them alone, any scheme to get him to notice. 

The drive the next morning was anything but quiet. While Vanessa could feel the pit of despair in her stomach, Sandy was absolutely jamming!

“Van Van you have to get in the mood! Pump yourself up!” Sandy bobbed her head and shimmied her shoulders. “Come on Van!” Vanessa gave in and danced along with her. Maybe Sandy was right, just have to get in the right mood.

[creaaki]

I've been reading jerejean fics and I love how at one point everybody agreed that Jeremy comes from a crowded household with many siblings. My boy KNOWS how to deal with shit smoothly because he probably has a long history of:

Pulling back together after realising he isn't the No1 priority at the moment, winning heated arguments with minutes of patience and bullshitting just because, counseling of hours after one of his sisters' break-ups or brothers' breakdowns over a fight with their parents, being compared to them, parenting the little ones when mom and dad aren't home, sharing a bed with others when guests are staying over on holidays, falling asleep in one of their beds after a nightmare, waking up with one of them under his blankets some other day, crossing the hallway on his tippy toes at 3am and finding the kitchen already has its lights on filled with quiet whispers to not wake their parents up (there's always a gossip going around about the mom's side of the family, and he still remembers the first day his big sister didn't sent him back to bed because he is now one of the grown-ups.), quietly opening his window at midnight to let his brother sneak back into home after a party which Mrs and Mr Knox would not approve of, spending exactly eleven minutes to figure out how to slice the pie mom made evenly because this nine-year-old has to have some issues for fucking God's sake.

Jeremy always had someone looking out for him, and someone to look out for. He knows the importance of trust and respect and love and everything that you need to give people to be family. Jeremy values family. It's only normal when he makes the Trojans his new crowded loud family after leaving the house.

He adores Trojans, he wants them to be happy, he wants them to be happy while playing Exy. So he does everything he can to make them fall in love with Exy, not winning because he doesn't want his sisters and brothers to break themselves apart like he did in high school when he heard a teacher say "A shame the young Knox is nothing like his brother". He trusts his team, he knows they will fight with all they have until the last moment, they always do.

When he expresses his new plan to his team he's well aware they might lose. Foxes played the whole season with nine people, and it's a complete new thing for Trojans. He isn't afraid, though; not all of the team think of it as a good idea at first, but they all come around at some point and decide to give it a try, because they love playing Exy and hungry for improvement and it's going to be fun and a little fair, too, because the Foxes are actually nice people and what are they playing for if they're going to freak out and keep their weaknesses a weakness?

They lose, and the first thing Alvarez does after leaving the court is to barge into the men's changing room with Laila following her and express her remarks on the match, not so politely. ("No, but how the-"). Second thing she does is to tell Jeremy her suggestions on changing the training drills slightly to adapt the team into building up more stamina, she got these ideas on the court, by the way. Jeremy can't scold her for not focusing on the game because she was focused, and he is kind of scared of her. They still have their party, and decide to gather in Jeremy's room for the night, turning the party to a slumber one. Jeremy doesn't mind being squished. In fact, you could say he is very, very happy in the morning despite the sweat and dampness, all off the Trojans peacefully breathing and cuddling each other makes his chest warm.

The next year, Jeremy knows they will win. He told the Trojans they would, and they trust him. He just knows. And they do win. His room is a little more crowded now, with the new freshmen and their seniors who graduated last year (he thought they should invite them, the Trojans owe their seniors for them giving up on the trophy last year).

Jeremy thinks he loves both his families.

[soundslikediamonds]

Rescuer (part 1)

Summary: (I'm not very good at summaries but!)

This whole concept came to me after watching Butler's interview with Josh Horowitz. Just seeing him in his hoodie and with his scruff just in that cold apartment over zoom made me think of this whole concept, yet it's super long, so I'm writing it in parts. I also got inspired seeing all those pictures with fans on the set of Bikeriders.

This is a fic where while walking alone at night, reader is being followed, but fortunately before anything can happen Austin saves reader.

Word Count: 4291

Disclaimer: This is my first time using Tumblr and first story posted here. I hope everyone enjoys!

Warnings: uncomfortable topic of being followed late at night, family dysfunction...

Hope you enjoy! (y'all I am SO nervous to put this out there lol)

_________

You close the front door and seal it with the lock. It's pitch black outside, a swollen full moon out with distant clouds. The air you breathe is cold and fans out little fog clouds each time an exhale escapes your mouth. It's no later than 12:00 am and you just finished all that you were taking for the night.

You would be back in a few days, when you were sure your Dad would be out. He was away this night, working a long night shift and you knew that. That was the reason why you managed to sneak back into the house and take some more of your belongings without your dad knowing you were here. It was clear he didn't want you back, not after that explosive argument last week that the two of you had which left him kicking you out.

You had no problem with leaving. Actually, it was something that tempted your mind for quite some time now. Somewhere between dad's anger, and the two of you fighting all the time, it was so exhausting. He made you get out of the house and made it very clear that he didn't want to see you again. You grabbed some extra clothing and toiletries for the night and your backpack before you called your friend Ava asking if you could sleep over. She was obviously awake and wasn't one who would take much to persuade.

You didn't go into detail of why you needed to be over there. It was late and the last thing you wanted to do was tell her that you, a college student, was officially homeless, having no real thought-out plan of what you would do. You just kept it simple; you were at the campus library studying into the night and by the time you headed back, you realized you forgot your keys and no one was in the house.

'just need somewhere to sleep for the night and then i'll be out tomorrow morning. kinda crazy how this is my life rn ahahaha'

You had texted Ava those words, to which responded in laughing crying emojis.

'dww!! it's life. it happens. i'll make sure to give you some of my clothes'

Shoot. The clothes. Although you did have a set of pajamas for the night, it would probably make more sense that you would burrow Ava's clothes. After all, you were locked out of your house. Where would those clothes come from if otherwise?

You placed everything you gathered in your backpack and took the bus to get to the other side of town. On the bus there was practically no one and as you had the back seats to yourself, you took this time to really think about what this meant for you.

You didn't have a home. You had class in the morning, and then two more in the afternoon, but you didn't have a home.

If you wanted help (which you probably should have asked for), that would require you telling the whole story of what happened, which was something you didn't want to go through.

If you took time to really think about it, you would probably cry. It was a surprise that you haven't done it yet, but it was probably because you haven't had the time, in retrospect. It was only the sound of your dad's tone that rung your ears, telling you to "leave and never come back" that made you scurry to your room, take what you needed to take and leave without saying another word, or giving eye contact to your parents. Your body moved quickly than what your mind could even process and now that you were sitting still since this pressing hour of chaos, you allowed your eyes to close, resting your hand on the top of your head as a small sigh escapes your breath.

What would you do now?

You stayed in that position for only a little while before deciding on opening your phone and choosing to listen to the song you thought would suit the moment best. As you looked out with window, you allowed for the duration of the melody to give you a sort of comfort and you told yourself deep down inside that everything was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

That was last week.

Now, as you start down the stairs throwing one more glance over your shoulder at your old house, you tread down the street. For these past few days you've just been keeping yourself in an small Inn. It's been okay, mostly you were out for the day and so the Inn only did its thing and helped you out at night with a bed to lay down on and rest. But tonight was your last night and you had no idea what you were going to do afterward.

You were sort of on this plan of just going to a 24/hour coffee shop and stay there "studying" for the night. You've looked it up and there are a couple of places in the area. So, you considered that at least for the night you'd stay at the coffee shop to think things through.

You aren't alone as you walk. You glance down at your phone and notice that you have 15 more minutes before you'd reach the bus stop. The sounds of footsteps are distant behind you and, just because, you look over your shoulder just a little bit, but a chill runs through your arms when seeing that it's a man wearing all black with a hood over his head. He looks right out you and you whip your head forward, feeling your chest heave in a mini-gasp.

Now, you tell yourself, there's no need to overreact.

That would usually help you, but it is late and dark, and no one else is out. Plus, he's walking pretty slow, and has no problem with walking and staying behind you. Curiosity now takes over you as you decide to lessen the pace of your walk just a tad, and suddenly you hear his footsteps slow its pace as well.

Frowning, you now pick up the pace, to which this man does the same. Your heart starts beating fast and you check your surroundings, realizing the neighborhood you're in is dark and the lights to the houses by the streets are all out, indicating that everyone is either asleep or away.

You take a breath and decide to cross the street, just going at it because there aren't any on-going cars, but once you reach the sidewalk, you look down at the silhouette that's casted from the orange streetlight and see a distant but present shadow still trailing behind you.

You are officially. Being. Followed.

You've heard of stuff happening like this, and it's absolutely horrible. No one should be able to feel their own life being threatened just by walking down the streets at night. You just never thought of it happening to you, yet right now, your chest rises and falls as your hands collect sweat.

You have to stay calm.

If you start running, chances are he'll take off after you. You need to lead him someplace where there's people, yet you don't know this area half as well, and it's hard to make up places in the dark.

Silently praying that nothing happens, you take a risk a turn a sharp corner to another block which at this intersection you would normally continue to walk straight, but your legs aren't in control of what's going on and move out of fear and in search for desperate help.

Your eyes luckily find a light and you realize that you're coming to a gas station. The lights are open, so you knew that there has to at least be someone in the corner store. If you just casually walk in, the man following you would have to leave.

You start to hear footsteps from behind you pick up and your heart starts pounding within your chest. For some strange reason, although you are ridiculously scared, you aren't running. You aren't screaming for help. You're managing to speed walk with your head held high although trying to focus on your breathing and steady yourself. It's crazy how you're not looking back, but only walking faster, keeping your eyes straight on the blaring lights.

The Gas Station is right across the street from you and- without even clicking any buttons at the intersection which you should- you walk down the street and go up the small hill, and as your eyes avert to the station, you notice a tall man in a Carhartt jacket over black jeans, walking out of the corner store. He's looking down at the receipt in his hands as he walks to the pump. You're relieved to see someone at least, and you know that you're just seconds away from safety. However, as you're walking, you're scared when you see now in the corner of your eye, the man who is following you, starts jogging in your direction.

Without thinking you start making a light jog, no longer to the corner store, but to the man who's right in front of you, who has no idea of what small chase scene is in front of him as he looks at his receipt. By the sound of nearing footsteps, the man in front of you looks up just in time for you to greet him loudly before wrapping your arms around his neck, holding on to his tall frame. The man stumbles backward, but you turn your head to whisper in his ear.

"The man behind me is following me, please help me," You whisper, and that's all it takes before you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist.

"Hey, babe, sorry, I was just about to text you. Didn't mean to make you walk over to me." He says, the low tone of his voice vibrates your forehead as your head rests against his chest.

You're squeezing him now, thankful that the security in his voice and the tightness in his hold makes you feel safe right here in the Gas Station parking lot, right where some creep has followed you to. You don't even know if he's still there, or walking closer, and you don't want to know. You're not lifting your head up from being buried in this man's chest.

"Hey, the funniest thing happened at work today, but I'll tell you all about it once we go home. And you get to pick the movie tonight, but I gotta tell ya, if it's those cartoons again, I might just cry." The man says, a small chuckle coming out. A breath escapes your lips, almost like relief in itself. You'd smile if you could, if you weren't so scared.

Now, as you're still in the hug, you can't really hear anything. It's quiet and you're not sure what's happening in the world where your face is not against the fabric of a fall jacket, where you're not heavily breathing with tears stinging your eyes. You'd like to hear what's going on, or maybe you don't, but you can't, because all you hear is the sound of your heart pounding through your ears.

Finally after what seems like the longest seconds of your life, you feel the pad of a thumb stroke slowly through your hair just barely, just enough that you can tell it's within intent. To soothe you. You begin to match your breathing, your chest rising and falling, to the thumb strokes against your hair. You suddenly feel a lift of the hand and arms start to loosen just by a little bit.

"He's gone." You hear this man whisper in your ear.

Those words suddenly break you and now all of the emotion from the following to the chase catch up to you as hot tears slide down your cheek.

The man in your arms now holds you tightly once more and starts swaying you in his embrace.

"I am so sorry. I truly am, I...I'm so sorry." He says, with a deep and genuine ache in his voice. You nod, even though he did nothing but save you from what could've been, and just the thoughts of how the night could've turned out entirely worse, sobs now bubble and pour out as you begin crying on his chest.

"Do you wanna sit in my car?" His voice asks, and you hear the decibel of his voice raise just a little bit higher as it coats with soft and gentleness. You realize he's asking you that way because he wants you to decide. He wants to make it clear that whatever it is, he's not the one telling you to do anything. Not after this horrible experience.

"Okay." You choke out, nodding once again, before you slowly pull yourself away from where you nestle in his chest. You blink back to reality and look around you, seeing that the creep indeed is gone and you're standing outside in the parking lot of the Gas Station, while this tall man, who looks just a few years older than you, stares at you with kindness and grace. This is the first time you actually look into the eyes of your angel of the night. He has golden hair, a hint of scruff on his chin and around his pink full lips, with piercing baby blue eyes that sparkle even in dim light.

You try to smile, though you're wiping your eyes at the same time, and you can't help but feel like you look rather like a mess.

"Thank you so much." You say above a whisper.

The man doesn't comment on what he did, instead takes your arm gently and leads you to his car, a black vehicle near the last pump nearest to the car wash. While one hand still rests on your arm, you watch as this man digs up his car keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks the doors. He opens the passenger seat for you, to which you whisper thanks before he closes the door and walks around his car, leaving you only a few seconds to truly absorb everything that just happened in what seems to be in slow motion and in a flash at the same time.

You sit in silence for a moment, leaning backward in your seat as you try to look back and see if the creepy man would just pop out from nowhere. You're subconsciously doing it. You don't even realize that's what you're doing, looking at the back window until his hand is planted on your arm, bringing you back into reality. You turn immediately, looking at your rescurer.

"You're safe here." He says.

You nod. You believe him, but you don't even realize your hands are shaking until he looks at them, and you notice his jaw clench. You hug yourself, trying to remove the attention from your shaking hands and you feel his hand touch your shoulder. You try another smile as you turn to look at him.

"Thank you. I don't know what more to say but... thank you so much." You say, feeling like there are not enough words to express the true gratitude your heart.

He nods before he looks down in his lap, letting out a big sigh. You shake your head in response, now using your hands to massage your forehead in small circles. The two of you are silent in the car, but the both of you are thinking of everything that went down.

"My mind wants to think about how...he could've done anything to me. I've just been saved, and that's what I'm shook up about- the fact that it could have happened." You say, wondering what's even wrong with you.

Sure, you almost had something terrible happen to you. But someone came to your rescue just before it did. And instead of focusing on that and being grateful, you're still thinking of what it was that could've happened. Is that normal?

"I would be more concerned if you weren't thinking about the "what ifs". That's completely and totally valid." The man sitting beside you says. He then takes another breath.

"But I'm so glad nothing happened. And I'm proud of you for doing what you did. You know, you saw someone and immediately went to them when you felt in danger." He expresses.

You're sort of blocking that amount of praise that's trying to enter in, just because you don't believe you did anything out of braveness but out of fear. You were trembling in this man's arms, for crying out loud. He could have someone, or maybe he didn't want to get involved, or anything of that matter. But, you were grateful nonetheless.

"Thank you for going along." You say in a small voice. And he really was amazing. There was something about what he said, there was no hint of never knowing you before this. It was like you both were together. It was like you were truly going home with him. It was like you were going to pick the movie. With no hesitance he was able to get into this character and save you just by how he held you.

He shakes his head now, folding his arms as he looks ahead. "I was, uh...I was supposed to go to the other gas station, a few miles away from this one. There was too much traffic, and I decided to go here, even though I was complaining because the prices here are more expensive. But I realize that there was a reason why I was here."

He turns and looks at you, an actual scared look on his face. "If we were just seconds from each other, who knows what could've happened?"

You close your eyes. Your mind is going there, but you don't want it to. You don't want to go there. Based on the fact that you're not answering, the man breaths out a sigh.

"What happens now? Is there somewhere I can take you? Are you going home?" He then asks.

Your eyes then flicker open. How are you going to explain this?

Somehow in the midst of everything going on, you haven't thought of the fact that there was no place to stay. That your friends' places couldn't be used, or that your time at the local Inn was up. You couldn't think of anything when that creep was after you, but now that it's all over, you have to face the reality of the scary revelation.

"I, uh..." Your eyes flicker down, and you look at your shoelaces. You then look over at him. You're about to tell him, but your throat gets caught and you bring a hand to your head and close your eyes, slowly rubbing your forehead in small circles.

"You can just take me to the coffee shop. The one on Berden." You reply, your voice small.

He blinks at you, before giving a little nod, and you watch as his fingers mindlessly strokes the bit of scruff his has on his chin.

"Oh. Sure, yeah, we can stop for coffee if that's what you'd like. And then after that where will I take you?" He asks.

"Well..." You let out a breath. "I'm going to be staying there. I have, um...I have a lot of studying I need to do. That's where I was going, anyway. To the café...before...y'know, everything happened. Before I met you. I was on my way to the coffee shop." You ramble on.

You mentally kick yourself. Why do you have to sound so awkward when you're lying? I mean, sure you actually do need to study, but you're not really planning on it.

The man's eyebrows furrow as he turns and looks at you. You can tell just by the look in his eye that he's confused, and that he doesn't believe you.

"You can't study now. Not after everything. You need to rest somewhere." He argues.

You shrug, not meeting his eyes. "I'll be okay."

"I won't be able to sleep knowing that I had a chance of taking you home and refusing it. It's no problem driving you, really. Even if you live an hour away." The man says.

"It's okay, really." You try and persuade.

"It's just..." You watch as the man sighs, drawing his fingers to the scruff of his chin. He scoffs. "I don't know, it's so dangerous here."

He looks over at you in seriousness. "Is there no where I can drop you off?"

You nod. "Yes, the café on Ber-"

"No, no." You watch as the man shakes his head. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. When he finally looks at you, you swallow the guilt of not being able to tell him the whole truth. In this stranger's eyes there's a look of wanting to keep you secure.

"I have this feeling...you don't want to be home right now." He guesses, his voice a whisper.

That causes you to look down at your shoes. You feel his eyes on you and you know you're done. With that instant motion of not being able to look him in the eye, you're sure he can tell that his assumption is right.

When you finally look at him, you shoot a small smile. "You know...I can take the bus or something. You've done so much for me already, and I thank you. But, you probably have family waiting for you at home, or someplace to be." You say.

There's a silence as the man leans back, his back touching the seat. He slowly smiles, looking down at his hands.

"I uh...I live by myself in a lowly apartment, so...it really is no problem to-"

Suddenly, the man stops talking and then turns to look at you. He looks at you with a puzzled look on his face and you're wondering just what it is that he's thinking.

"I could propose something, but it might be strange." He starts, his fingers going back to resting on his chin.

He tends to do that a lot more than he's conscious of, you think to yourself.

You look at the hesitance on his face and blink. "What is it?"

"Well," He sits up straighter in his seat. "What if you just crashed at my place for the night?" He asks.

You blink. "What?"

He shoots a gentle smile. "Yeah, I mean...it's late, and it's obvious you don't want to go home. My apartment's close, and..." He holds you arm gently.

"I'd be completely out of your hair, there's a room that's completely secluded, you wouldn't see me at all, and there's office space if you dare wish to study...even though, I personally feel like with everything that's happened, going to sleep would be the best option, um...but I...I could make you some tea, uh...and I have these scented candles that I find always helps me, just feel better after a long tiring day...of course, I've never been through what you've just gone through, I mean that's absolutely terrifying, but-"

You then touch his arm. The poor man is rambling without even taking a breath. And he looks so apologetic, almost like it was his fault.

"What's your name?" You ask, changing the subject completely.

It takes him aback, for sure, and you find yourself start to smile. He blinks, chucking a little bit.

"I guess we haven't really formally introduced each other. I'm Austin." He says, extending his hand out.

You look at his eyes. Austin. It wouldn't be the first name you would guess, it's sort of unexpected, but looking at his face, you don't know if there's any other name you would give. It's charming, which is one of the words you would use to describe him.

You smile, reaching over and shaking Austin's hand as you say your own name. He gives a friendly smile laughs.

"Nice to meet you." He says shyly, which causes you both to laugh awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you, Austin." You smile. Then Austin looks at you with a serious look.

"Hey, um...I really am offering for you to stay at my apartment. Just for the night if that's easiest, and then," He shrugs. "And then, whatever you want to happen next, I'll allow." He says.

You nod. You know his intentions are good. You know, and it doesn't take much to know- that he is a good man. You almost experienced what wasn't a good man, and it scared you. It scares you to think that somewhere that man, and other people like him are out and about, roaming innocent streets to do sinful deeds for humans that don't deserve anything like that.

A chill runs down your spine as you think back to what could've been. Right now, however, there is nowhere else you can go. You'll admit you're in a very vulnerable state. You're mind isn't the best that it can be. You're still shook up. You're scared, and you know deep down that if you are anywhere away from Austin this time of night, you'd be even more afraid.

So with that, you look at Austin, who's been looking at you this whole time. You take a deep breath and then nod.

"Okay. I can go to your place for tonight. Thank you." You say in a small voice.

Austin nods, giving your arm another reassuring touch before he starts the car. And without another word he's set and soon you both are off, driving into the empty streets of night.

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

SCREAMING!! That Billy fic was so freaking good, I have to agree with the last person the subtle reassurance he was giving was soooo mf nice.

The “I’ve got you angel.” And “I know I know.”😩

If you’re actually taking requests I would love to see some hurt/comfort where Billy is actually the one comforting reader. An argument gone too far when billy makes a comment he definitely shouldn’t have, causing his girlfriend to start crying. Immediate guilt. I don’t want reader to give into his consoling immediately but…eventually they just cling to him and tell him not to say that ever again. 🫠

Holy crap my first ever request. Thank you so much Anon for not only the prompt but your lovely feedback. I started working on this at 5am this morning and looking over the first draft I went way too hard with Mean!Billy and had to significantly pull it back, because I sure as hell wouldn't have forgiven him. Maybe that's another fic for another time. I hope I did your prompt justice.

Warnings: Explicit language, underage drinking, mean girls.

When The Party's Over.

Billy is in a shitty mood and has been all week, you've tried to get him to talk about what's wrong only to be shot down each time, you even go so far as to ask Max. 

"He's the same douchebag he's always been, maybe you're just noticing it for the first time." She had deadpanned.

You had hoped things would get better at the weekend, neither of you had school or work, his dad and Susan were away, Max was staying with Jane, you could finally spend some time together. 

Billy, it seems, has other ideas.

"Tommy Hagan has a free house tonight." He told you when you turned up at his place early evening on Saturday to find him knee deep in Aramis and Aqua Net.

"Meaning?" You ask perching on the edge of the bed, flipping through one of his many nudie mags, just for something to do. 

"A party." He says obviously, twisting his front curls into definition, eyeing you from the mirror.

"I thought we could maybe spend some time together tonight?" You hated how unsure you sounded, but Billy's attitude the past few days had thrown you for a loop.

"Yeah we can, at the party." He answered absentmindedly, whilst blasting another hairspray related hole in the Ozone layer.

  You had hoped things were looking up on route to Tommy's place, Billy had held your hand the entire drive, and reassured you that you'd do something together tomorrow.

The minute you both stepped foot inside the bustling house however, he dropped your hand instantly, hailing Tommy who was busy setting up multiple kegs.

You followed Billy through the crowd like a lost sheep, being jostled in his wake.

"Hargrove you fucking made it man!" Tommy calls out loutishly, chucking a can of beer at Billy which he catches adeptly, breaking it open and chugging down at an alarming rate.

Billy must have sensed you watching him.

"You want one?" He asks you loudly over the music, taking another two cans.

"No I'm good, I'll get a glass of punch or something." You say, pointing back towards the kitchen, expecting him to follow you but all he does is nod, turning back to continue talking to Tommy.

Ordinarily Billy wouldn't leave you alone at a party for a single second, he would always be touching you in some way; an arm around your shoulders or waist, hand on the small of your back, pulling you down to sit on his lap, pressing heated kisses to your neck.

You try to ignore your building feelings of hurt, reassuring yourself that he just needed to let off steam for a minute.

Carol Perkins and Nicole Smith were by the punch bowl when you got there, you hated them, a walking, talking pair of John Hughes clichés, spoilt and mean.

"Y/n! Oh my god, hi, we were just talking about you!" Carol says in a tone of fake delight as she spots you.

"You were?" You ask in confusion, sipping at your drink.

"Mhm, we think it's so cute how you trail around after Billy, like a little puppy." She simpers, with a malicious little grin. "Especially when everyone else can see that he doesn't want you around." She pulls a mock sad face, Nicola snorts, and you resist the urge to throw the punch in her piggish face.

"Well as ever it's been great talking to you Carol." You say with a sarcastic smile, but her words stung you as turned heel heading back towards Billy, who was doing a keg stand.

He straightened up howling like a wolf to the cheers of everyone around him, you push through the crowd gathered, trying to force a smile as he turns to you.

“You see that shit? New record!” He shouts into your ear.

 

It’s an hour later and Billy is getting more and more wasted, the look of self-destruction bright in his eyes. You're sat miserably on a sofa watching helplessly but after another catty comment sent your way by Carol you decide you’ve had enough, you approach him gingerly as he chugs two beers at once.

“Billy?” You say, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” He asks absentmindedly, barely acknowledging you, laughing raucously at something Tommy has just said.

“Can we go?” You ask quietly, it gets his attention, he rounds on you looking confused, face flushed with alcohol.

“We just got here.”

You bite your lip, feeling severely uncomfortable, Carol giving you the stink eye from over his shoulder.

“I know, I just - I’m not feeling well.” You stammer, fingernails digging into your clammy palms.

“Ok so go home, I’ll see you later.” He responds flatly, your mouth is oddly dry as he turns away once more.

“Without you?” You say in a small voice, tugging slightly on his shirt like a child.

He huffs loudly.

“Jesus, Y/n, you’re killing my buzz here, would you just go.” He says harshly.

  You take a step back, feeling your bottom lip tremble, having never been on the receiving end of Billy’s temper before. Carol and Nicola snigger nastily behind their hands, tears blind you and you bolt, legs carrying you quickly out onto the cold street. 

You hear rapid footfalls immediately chasing after you.

“Sunshine!” Billy calls, you flinch at the nickname. "Sunshine would you just stop for a second?!" 

“Don’t call me that!” You shout, rounding on him. “I was wrong about you Billy, everyone is right you are an asshole.” Glaring at him, eyes stinging, hands shaking.

“I'm sorry.” He says weakly, you’ve hit him where it hurts in retaliation but can’t bring yourself to feel sorry. “I don’t know why I told you to go, that’s the last thing I want.”

“I do. It’s just like Carol and Nicola said, you don’t want me.” You say, desperately trying to keep your voice level but failing miserably.

“What? No that’s not true, it’s the exact opposite baby.” He reaches out with placating hands and pleading eyes.

“So why do you keep pushing me away?” You sob, hugging yourself around the middle.

“Because I'm a fuck up, and a jerk, and you’re right an asshole. I don’t deserve you.” He says heavily.

“You’ve been distant with me all week, if you want to break up with me Billy just save us both some trouble and do it now.” You mumble, staring resolutely at the ground, mostly hoping it would open up and swallow you whole.

“Break up with you? Angel, I - I fucking love you.” That gets your attention, eyes snapping to his, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I know I don’t say it enough but you mean everything to me.” He says softly.

You desperately want to burrow into his arms, but his dismissal of you still stings, honing in on your biggest insecurities. You weren’t anything special, you knew that, not compared to the Heather Holloway’s of the world; and fucking Carol always getting under your skin stoking the idea that one day Billy would just up and leave.

“You really hurt me.” You say shakily, “Please don’t ever say something like that again unless you really want me to go, because I can’t do this a second time.” You plead.

“Never, ever.” He promises, caressing your face, gazing intently into your eyes.

You sniffle loudly, finally allowing him to fold you into his arms. “I’m so sorry I made you cry baby.” He apologizes, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of your head. 

“You scared me.” You whimper, wrapping your arms around him, clinging hard to his back.

“I know, I know.” He rocks you gently, before tilting your face up to kiss you softly. “But I'm not letting you go angel, ever.”

[404writes]

being raised by daryl dixon: part two

Masterlist!! Get added to my taglist!!

Being raised by Daryl Dixon masterlist!! Being raised by Daryl Dixon taglist!!

A/N: ty for all the love on part one!! mwah mwah!! i rlly wanna put it out there, the strong group bond exists! that just isn't the focus of this story so it does get skipped over a bit. also i apologise for this part covering such a short time span. did also change y/n to be feminine, it's needed for some of my later ideas to make sense, which you begin to see in this part. hope you enjoy!! <333

-S404

Warnings: Just normal TWD stuff! Also kind of a filler part, nothing too serious happens, just a ton of fun Dad Daryl moments!

Word count: 1.3k

After the ordeal at the highway, the group spent months travelling on foot. It was during this time your bond with Daryl really grew stronger. You had learnt not to complain about being hungry, or your legs being tired, but Daryl didn't need you to say it for him to carry you on his back and give you more rations than he could spare.

He spent a lot of time separate from the group, hunting whatever animals remained out there. He realised then, that he was doing this for the whole group because he cared about them, not just because he had to.

After a few weeks of travelling, the group reached a promising small town. Hershel was given the responsibility of watching over you whilst houses were cleared, as Daryl was out hunting. That day you got into an altercation with a walker which ended with a bite taken out of your sneaker.

When Daryl came back and Hershel informed him on the situation that day, everyone fell silent in the next room to hear what he would say. "I don't care if she didn't get bit ol' man. If she ever come back to me with a hair plucked out of her head, or god forbid an actual injury, whilst yer the one caring for 'er, you will never see the light of day again, yer hear me?" As Daryl walked into the room, everyone pretended to have not paid any attention.

Over the next few days, Daryl found you proper hiking boots and began teaching you basic knife skills. You told him you were jealous of Carl, because he could shoot, Daryl promised to teach you how to shoot when there was the leisure time and ammo to spare. He stayed around the group as much as he could until he was confident you wouldn't be found in that situation again if he was gone.

Back on the road, scouting out a grocery store, you found a box of pregnancy tests and gave them to Lori because you read the word "pregnancy" and thought of her instantly. She laughed and said "God I can't wait until we really settle down and get these kids learning again." Shortly after, her and Daryl got into an argument because he thought teaching you how to hunt was more important than teaching you how to read, because "Yer don't need to read 'rabbit' to kill it."

You felt much safer after arriving at the prison. As promised, the second working on the prison's security wasn't mandatory for him, Daryl began taking you outside of the perimeter to teach you how to shoot. You were such a natural that after a week of practise, Daryl could move onto teaching you what he really wanted to, hunting skills.

One day, you and Daryl were tracking a squirrel, and just as you were about to take a shot at it with his crossbow, you stepped on a stick and alerted the creature. As it started to scatter away, Daryl ran after it, eventually pinning it on the floor, letting you take the shot again, he knew how much it meant to you.

You were there to witness Lori's death, and it devastated you. You watched everyone piece themselves back together eventually, but you felt on edge constantly, feeling as though something like that could happen again easily at any given time.

You moved into Daryl's cell to make yourself feel safer. At first you snuck in during the night with your pillow and bear, and slept on the cold concrete floor. You woke up that morning tucked into the bed. The next night when you went to sneak in, you were welcomed by three stacked mattresses on the floor, with pillows and blankets on top ready for you. The two of you never said anything about it, but it became routine.

Daryl took on Judith very well, and you helped him look after her whilst Carl and Rick were grieving Lori. You loved the baby. Daryl left you with her once and came back to you telling her that she was "going to beat the world." He told you that "she'd only be learnin' from the best." That made you smile.

When Maggie and Glenn decided to give each other haircuts in the prison barber's, you begged Maggie to cut your hair like hers. Daryl said no because "you'd regret it, yer love your long hair don't ya'?" But really he just thought you'd look so much older with it cut, he didn't want you to grow up. When you told him it was annoying and got in your face all the time, he offered to braid it for you instead. He didn't know how to braid. He got Carol to teach him soon after the exchange, and prepped himself up heavily for the moment you finally came for him to do it.

You finally felt comfortable in the prison at night, so you started sleeping alone in your cell again, that was until Carl came to you one night asking if he could sleep on the floor, Judith was being too loud in the other cell block where he usually slept.

You and Carl spent the next day moving a second bed into your room, Daryl helped you on the condition you wouldn't tell Rick he was involved. You all ran and hid after dropping the mattress from the balcony which made Rick call out "What in the hell was that?" He walked into the silent cell block, but caught you all after Carl started giggling too loudly, Daryl bolted away from the scene and Rick chased after him. You were sore from laughing afterwards.

Daryl made Carol help him give you the boy talk that he felt was growing necessary. Carol gave you the entire talk whilst Daryl sat next to her occasionally grunting in agreement. The only contribution he made was when Carol stared at him, trying to get him to say something encouraging. He said "If a man... or a woman, up to you. If they ever try pull anything on you that yer don't like, you remind 'em who taught ya how to kill." As you looked at him mildly confused, Carol definitely regretted allowing him to speak.

For your thirteenth birthday, Carl recruited Daryl's help to bake a cake for you. They sneaked into Rick's farm to milk the cow and collect eggs. The milk was an easy grab, but they found there were no eggs at all. Daryl, in frustration, held a chicken at knifepoint, cursing at it to "scare it into layin' something." Carl just stared at him. They ended up surprising you with a chocolate bar instead.

You became aware of a prisoner being held hostage in the prison, no one would tell you what her business was being around in the first place, so you decided to speak to her yourself. Michonne explained Woodbury to you, about the Governer and what he would do if he knew the prison existed. But the information that shocked you the most was of Merle's survival.

You knew that if faced with his brother again, Daryl wouldn't know what to do with himself and he'd end up losing all the progress he'd made in the group. You had to look out for him just as he looked out for you. You had to kill Merle before Daryl even caught a whiff of his living existence.

~ taglist: @unadulterated-syd @darylsgarden @lilfishyyyy

[winterinhimring]

"The Right Question" Deleted Scene

(This was written before a certain someone decided that dramatic self-sacrifice was the best way to deal with the Spider-man reveal instead of an argument. I'm too fond of the Osborn Angst TM which it contains to delete it, so here it is.)

Harry didn't even know what time it had been when he went to bed. He'd been too exhausted, mentally and physically, to so much as bother to change out of his clothes. All he knew about what time it was when he woke up was that it was light outside and his phone was ringing.

He flipped it over, saw the caller ID, and answered immediately only to hang up, put it on vibrate, and drag himself into the shower. He was...considerably less sore than he'd expected, given the fact that he'd climbed the stairs all the way up the damn Oscorp tower, which was probably thanks to the suit's healing function, but he was still tired and achy. Sleeping in your clothes was never a good feeling even when you hadn't spent the evening being electrocuted.

When he got out of the shower, he poured himself a glass of scotch. He shouldn't have been drinking in the morning, certainly not before breakfast, but what the hell did it matter? He was dying anyway. Even if he managed to get Oscorp back, all that would do was give him something to occupy himself while he died.

Slowly.

Horribly.

Turning into a thing like Norman had been, with green, scaly skin and pointed nails, until he had to hide himself in the dark behind curtains because anyone who saw him would rightly recoil in horror. It was all very well for Aunt May to say that it was your impact on those who loved you that lived on after your death; she had people who loved her.

People didn't love Harry. What was it about him, he wondered, that made everyone push him away? It had started with Norman, but it hadn't stopped there. Did they somehow sense the disease that was crawling through his veins, waiting to turn him into that horrible creature that still lived in his dreams? Did they know that there was something wrong with him?

He stepped out onto the balcony and looked out over the city he'd helped to save last night. That should have been a happier thought than the last, but it was soured by the reminder of Peter. Peter who'd sworn they'd be best friends forever when they were ten and Harry was shipped off to boarding school. Peter who had promised to be there for him after his father's death. Had hugged him.

Peter who had lied to him. Peter who was Spider-man, who could save him, but refused to.

Harry turned away from the view and choked on his drink, because Peter was standing on his balcony.

"You didn't answer the phone," Peter said plaintively, tugging off his mask.

"Why would I?" Harry asked.

Peter just looked at Harry with big, sad brown eyes. Harry wanted to punch him in the face. "Come to see what I'm turning into?" Harry asked, well aware that he looked terrible.

"No," Peter said. "Harry, my blood wouldn't save you."

Harry scoffed and turned away, reaching for the decanter.

"But I know how to make an actual cure."

Harry froze. "What?" he asked. "What are you saying?"

His hands were shaking again, and he put down the glass before he dropped it.

"I know how to make a cure that will work," Peter said. "The spider bite gave me my powers because my dad used his DNA on the spiders, so when he disappeared, nobody could continue his experiments or use the venom for anything – if they tried, it would just poison them. But he backed up all his notes, somewhere nobody would find, and I bet, with my blood, we can reverse engineer what he did and make a cure that will work for you."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I only just found out," Peter said. "My briefcase full of junk turned out not to be junk. It was the key to my dad's backup lab. C'mon. Put some shoes on, I'll show you."

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Boss — Chapter 11

pairing: javier peña x DEA!OC

warnings: NSFW 18+ (MINORS DNI), oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, lots of arguments, angsty vibezzz

words: 3.3k

series masterlist | javi p playlist

“What if…what if we got a hotel tonight in San Antonio?” Valeria stood outside helping Javier dig holes for the fence he was helping his father with. Javier wiped the sweat from his brow by lifting the hem of his t-shirt up, exposing his firm stomach and chest. Her eyes dropped to the exposed skin and she felt the desire to have him again build—this time desperately craving to have him in peace rather than worrying about his father hearing across the hall.

“Tonight?” He asked, squinting from the sun as he turned to her, head tilted. “Why tonight?”

“Because I can’t wait any longer to have you alone.” She nearly whined, surprising both of them. “I just feel like everyday there’s someone new that pops up and demands their bit of you. Which is understandable, you know, but I also need bits of you here and there.”

“They haven’t seen me in years, querida.” He reminded as he went back to digging.

“But we’ve been here three weeks now…and I’ve been patient and let them have their time with you. I just want one night away, one night where we can make love in peace and I won’t have to cover my mouth.” She talked in a language she knew he could understand, watching as he stopped his digging and panted, looking back to her. “I haven’t gotten to experience that since the first night we ever got together…in Medillin. That’s almost three months ago at this point.”

“You’re right,” he nodded and wiped his hands on his tight jeans before resting one on his hip. “I guess I’ve been so concerned with reconnecting with everybody here that I forgot you and I still haven’t done a lot of normal couple things. I still haven’t taken you on a proper date, still haven’t taken a real trip together.”

“Exactly,” she stepped towards him, slipping her arms around his waist and smiling up at him. “And…tomorrow morning, I have an interview with the Sheriff’s Department…in San Antonio.”

“And I thought this was all about us getting to make love in peace.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes playfully. “Sheriff’s, huh?”

“I figured…you know, since you want to stay in Texas,” she took a deep breath and cracked a hesitant smile, leaving out the other interview she had lined up tomorrow as well—one for a job with the CIA—figuring the odds of her actually getting the position were too slim to risk starting an argument over. “What do you say? Should I go up and back our bags?”

“Yeah,” he sighed out in defeat, nodding his head at the house. “Go on. I’ll finish up out here and we can leave after. Oh, but let me talk to my dad—“

“Who’s idea do you think it was to leave, mi amor?” She pecked his cheek and skipped off, Javi watched with a smirk and a shake of his head, amused that she not only had him wrapped around her finger but his father as well.

•••

“So what made you want to work at the Sheriffs Department? You could do anything,” he asked as he kept one hand on the wheel of his pickup, the other on her thigh. She shrugged and looked out the window at the passing San Antonio scenery as they entered town.

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever done the whole crime fighting thing, it’s all I know how to do.” She looked over at him, watching as he smiled and shook his head, making her chuckle in turn. “What?”

“Just because it’s what you’ve always done, doesn’t mean it’s all you can do. I mean, there’s a lot you could try out before you go straight back into…that.” Her smile grew as she realized the stoic man to her left was worried about her.

“Jav, it’s not Medellin. I’m not going to be kidnapped and—“

“I know what happened, Valeria.” He cut her off, making her suck in a harsh breath.

“I only mean that my job will be a lot more boring here than it was over there.”

“I worked for the Sheriff’s department before joining the Agency. There’s still shit to worry about over here. That’s all I’ll say about it.” He shrugged and shook his head again, a silence falling over the two of them only for a moment. “I just wish you’d think about a less stressful career.”

“I don’t even know what I’d do!” She chuckled at his persistence.

“You could work at the school! Abuela Morales mentioned they were in need of a receptionist.” He offered with a shrug. “Could be a little easier on you, working with kids instead of criminals.”

“Easier on me, or on you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, trying not to become irritated with his insistence.

“Would that make you happy? If I came out and said that, yes, I don’t want you working two hours away from me in a state that has the highest volume of drug trafficking—“

“Javier, god! I was your boss! If you think you were good at your job, I literally was your superior!” She scooted away from him and threw away all semblance of patience now, hating the feeling of him looking at her like she was some wounded animal that needed to be protected.

“My superior that got herself into some shit—“

“Hold on, I got myself into some shit? They kidnapped me, Javier! I did not ask for that, but guess who kept me alive that entire time? Not them, not you…me!” She shook her head and had to take a moment to breathe, her ears hot as she simmered with her frustration.

“I don’t know how me offering you a job in town turned into this. How me caring about your safety turned into this.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, the truck pulling into the hotel and parking. A cold silence filled the air as the two of them sat together, both too stubborn to speak first.

“I’m not…not a receptionist. That’s not who I am, Javier. I’m never going to be that.” She finally sighed out, glancing over at him. He twitched his lips and nodded sarcastically before grabbing the handle to his door.

“I’ll get us checked in.” He mumbled under his breath and slammed the door, making her fold. Her hands reached up to cover her face as she cried, wondering why the universe would make her love a man so dearly who she could seemingly never see eye-to-eye with. As if he had a radar for her distress, Javier opened her door and pulled her into his arms as she sat in the seat, sobbing. “I’m sorry, querida…I’m sorry. You can do whatever you want to do, I know that you can handle it.”

“It’s all I know, Jav…” She hugged him back and wiped her tears away with her spare hand. He nodded against her and kissed her head, stroking her hair with his hand.

“I know,” he pulled her head back and kissed her swollen lips, his eyes peering into hers. “I’ll be okay with whatever it is you want to do. Just…keep me in the loop. I worry too much about you, and—“

“Shh,” She shook her head and kissed him again, gesturing at the hotel. “No more talking, okay? Let’s just go get settled.”

Settled hadn’t meant what Javier thought it did, but he wasn’t complaining.

As soon as the door was closed to their suite, she was all over him, her hands holding his face as she slipped her tongue past his perfectly pouty lips, pressing him against the nearest wall. It took him a moment to find his footing, but once he did, he wasn’t about to let her out-dominate him. His hands gripped her ass through her blue jeans as he spun the two of them around, knocking over a lamp as he pressed her against the entryway table.

“Up.” He demanded and she obeyed, hopping up onto the table with Javier standing between her legs. He squeezed his hand on her jaw, forcing her lips to part so that he could properly dive his tongue in and taste her. Both of their denim jeans weren’t enough to stop them from grinding against each other as they battled tongues, soft moans escaping from his throat as she bit down on his bottom lip. “Fuck, come here.”

He tugged her off the table and spun her back around so that she was pressed against the bathroom door, his hands undoing her jeans while she worked on his. His lips had migrated to her neck, nipping and sucking on the skin hard enough that he’d leave a mark, but stopped once he remembered her interview in the morning.

“Keep…why’d you stop?” She whined, hearing him chuckle as he kissed the inflamed patch of skin, his hand tugging her jeans down her hips until she could kick them off.

“Cariño, you have an interview in the morning. I don’t want them to see how filthy you’re being for me tonight.” His voice was so deep and thick with lust that she thought she might fall to the floor, but his hands coming to grip her waist and pull her flush against his body prevented it. With a spank, he pointed at the king sized bed further into the room, wiping his lips as he nodded towards it. “Bed, now.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded and practically ran to it, discarding her t-shirt as she crawled onto the white linen. Javier growled at the sight of her bent over in a black thong, ass sticking out until she laid back on the mattress. He took his time walking over to her, stroking his chin as though he was trying to figure out what his plan of action was. She bit her lip and sat up, locking eyes with him and undoing her bra with a grin.

“Fuck, querida…” He palmed himself through his half-on jeans, realizing that he was still confined. He kicked the Wranglers off and tossed them across the room, his erection standing proudly as it sprung out. She loved his constant “commando”, always ready for a quicky.

“Do you wanna see how wet you make me?” She purred and watched as he unbuttoned his shirt, his head nodding as his eyes never left her. She spread her legs wide and let him watch as she touched her clothed slit for a moment before tugging the thong off, tossing it at him and earning a chuckle. His smile was wiped away once she spread wide for him again, her center slick and desperate for his touch.

“So fucking sexy,” he finally walked to the edge of the bed, reaching to grip her thighs and pulling her so that her lower half was almost dangling off the bed. He lowered to his knees and looked deep into her eyes as he brought his wet tongue to her folds, his lips wrapping around her clit, slurping up her arousal. She could’ve came from the sinful noises alone, but the build-up was too good to waste. Her brows furrowed as she sat up on her elbows to watch him slurp and lap at her most sensitive area, eyes never leaving hers.

“Javier, fuck.” He was almost unbelievable in bed, so unbelievable that she began to wonder if he was always just this good. Surely, he’d had enough practice if he hadn’t been, but the man oozed the confidence of an absolute prodigy. “My legs are shaking, fuck.”

“I can feel it, baby.” He purred as he nuzzled his nose against her clit, his tongue dipping inside to taste her better. “Mm, god. You taste so sweet for me.”

“Javi, I’m so close. Please suck on it,” she couldn’t believe you’d gotten to the point where she felt comfortable making sexual demands with a man, but he just had that effect on her. She knew she was in safe hands with him, that no request would be too filthy or too much—and to find sex like this with a man she loved? It was indescribable.

Javier did as she asked and wrapped his lips around her swollen bud, sucking on it and releasing with a pop, over and over again until he could feel her walls spasming and thighs shaking around his head. She fell back against the sheets and clutched them as her orgasm ripped through her, his name being shouted out like he was her god, and for the time being…he was.

“I love making you cum,” he kissed her inner thighs before standing and wiping his mouth, eyeing her like a predator as she laid sprawled out on the sheets like a centerfold. He shook his head at the sight, knowing that there was no topping this—she’d forever be the pinnacle of both love and lust for him. “Bend over, querida. Want to see your ass when I cum for you,”

“Yes, sir.” The nickname had began as a joke, but in that moment, he was a “sir”. Though she may have been his boss in Medillin, it was clear in the bedroom who really wore the title.

Valeria rolled over and arched her ass up in the air for him, knees near the edge of the bed as he stood tall behind her. His large and warm hands ran over the soft and supple flesh of her ass before he spanked her, making her moan from surprise.

“Want more?” He leaned over her back and kissed between her shoulder blades before whispering in her ear.

“Yes, papi—“ Javier’s head cocked to the side as he listened to the new nickname accidentally slip from her mouth. “I—“

“Am I your papí, querida?” He asked in a low voice, his hand striking her ass again and making her nod. “¿Quieres que tu papí te folle por detrás hasta que veas las estrellas?” [Do you want your papí to fuck you from behind until you see stars?]

“Sí, papí!” She sobbed out, her walls clenching around nothing and driving her mad. Javier chuckled as she wiggled against his length, trying to force him inside of her. He stood upright and gripped her hips, the aching red tip of his cock dipping shallowly in and out of her entrance, hardly enough for her to feel but more than enough to make her whine for him. “Please!”

“Si, okay. My love gets what she wants,” he snapped his hips inside of her until he was fully sheathed, a strangled yelp being muffled by the sheets from the intense stretch of his girth. “You wanted it, no?”

“Yes, yes, please…move,” she begged again, needy and submissive to his most sinful desires. Javier couldn’t control himself anymore, he had to fuck her and he had to make her cum again.

“God, your pussy feels like home, querida.” He moaned as his hips began snapping in and out of her wet and eager walls, her fists gripping at the sheets as sinful slapping sounds of flesh against flesh filled the room along with her cries of pleasure. “Squeezing me so fucking good, cariño. Can hardly take it,”

“You fuck me so good, Javi…no one else…no one else.” She praised him and triggered a rare but not unwelcome, at least on her part, premature release, his cum coating her walls for the first time as he couldn’t bring himself to stop fucking into her. Feeling him twitch and hearing him moan was all she needed to cum, not bothering to care much about the fact that he just came inside her. “Fuck! So good! I can’t—oh!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted out with his last three punctuating thrusts, his heart pounding and head dizzy from the earth shattering orgasm that just ran through him. He slipped out of her and watched his cum follow, his cock twitching at the sight. “Fuck, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t…I should’ve pulled out.”

“It’s fine, I’m on the pill,” she panted as she laid flat against the sheets, needing to catch her breath. Javier walked off and came back with a washcloth, wiping the mess from between her legs before going off to clean himself off in the bathroom. It wasn’t long until he was climbing into bed with her, guiding her to lay with him on the pillows. “If you want me to stay in Laredo, I will. I don’t know what I’d do there, but…” She turned around and faced him, holding his face in her hand. “I love you, Peña. I really do.”

“And I love you. Enough to let you go off and be yourself.” He stroked her bottom lip and bounced his eyes across her features as though to memorize them. “If we could make it out of Medellin, we’ll make it through this.”

“Yeah?” She chuckled and leaned forward to kiss his lips.

“Yeah. Just…just don’t try to hide anything from me. If you’re stressed, scared, worried, anything…I want to know.” Her stomach turned sick with guilt as she thought about the secret interview with the CIA in the morning, eyes looking from his down to his chest. He furrowed his brows as he noticed the shift, sitting up and looking down at her, his hand rubbing her side as he studied her. “What is it?”

“Huh?” She looked up at him, surprised that he was so easily able to read her.

“You’re hiding something.”

“No I’m not.” She defended.

“Yes you are.” He insisted.

“I…got a job offer from the CIA.” She watched as he pulled back, moving his hand from her side and bringing it to his lap. “I have an interview tomorrow.”

“So you lied about the Sheriff’s Department, then?” He squinted at her, hurt covering his face. She shook her head adamantly and sat up, cupping his cheeks.

“No, no. I do have that one, but also an interview with the CIA.” She watched as he half shook his head, trying to figure out what he was thinking before he could say it.

“And if you get it?” He turned to her and searched her face. “You’re going to take it?”

“I doubt I’ll get it.” She shrugged and watched him chuckle darkly.

“You’ll get it.” He stood up and walked to his jeans on the floor, grabbing a cigarette before going over to the balcony door and lighting it. She climbed out of bed and hugged him from behind, kissing his back as he inhaled his second favorite form of relief.

“If I get it, I won’t take it.” She promised, and he turned around, lifting her chin up so that she was looking into his eyes. “I won’t even go tomorrow. It’s not worth the fight,”

“God, Leria. This shouldn’t be about whether or not it will cause a fight. You saw what happened in Colombia. You want to go back to that kind of shit? That’s where they’ll send you, straight back to Cali to deal with the Godfathers.” He kept his volume low, but she could tell he wanted to scream at her.

“I said I’m not going. That’s the end of it.” She sighed and climbed back into bed, laying on her side and patting the sheets beside her. “No more fighting. Come lay with me.”

Javier looked torn as he put out his cigarette. He knew that this conversation was far from over, her constant need to put herself in harms way conflicting with his constant need to protect her, but who was he to look at her cozied up in that bed and not join her. He took a sharp breath and walked to her, deciding that for the tonight, he’d leave the arguments alone. They both deserved a bit of peace, and that’s exactly what he was going to give her.

Over and over again.

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