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macfrog · 9 months

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ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I��m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

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#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dad's best friend #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller pedro pascal #joel tlou #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #cowboy like me

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m2ok · 2 months

Text

Golden Salvation Pt.2

pt. 1

cowboy!Ghost x m! reader

A/N: There will be one more part to this just to wrap everything up :)

Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stranger loomed closer, hand gripping lethal iron at his hip. Fight or flight instincts kicked into overdrive - this was no ordinary burglary; you could see it etched in every predatory line of his body.

This man had come for blood, your blood.

Slowly, you raised your hands in a gesture of peace even as your mind raced. One wrong move and you’d be pushing up daisies come morn. These were the dark shadows Simon lived in, the enemies he’d made through his notorious work. And now they were coming for him...through you.

.“Don’t want no trouble, mister,” you said, keeping your tone calm and even like you didn't know why this man was here. As if there could be any other reason for someone to break into a home as dingy as your own. “Just a simple bartender is all – barely got a dollar to my name”

This snake didn't need to know how deep your bond with Simon went, especially since hiding your relationship was the only way you could see to get out of this situation.

The man cackled at your words, rolling his eyes as the smile dropped and he stalked closer to the bed, aiming the gun at you as he cocked it back with a sickening crack.

“ Mhm... as if you weren't all nice and cozied up to him not mere hours ago – ya really think im gonna believe you?” He gave you a mocking grin

“No no im not stupid sweetheart. Im not here to collect any of his debts from you – I care more about the eight men o’ mine your Ghostie killed. Those boys were my family, he didnt think twice about that though when he shot em’ dead where they stood. Figure I should make him feel the same hurt I do, hm?”

“You won’t hurt him none-” You tried to reason “His heart don't belong to me, he won’t spare a second glance past this cabin. Hell, He's probably halfway across the desert by now” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, lies seeping through your lips at the risk of your life. You knew what you meant to Simon, no one else was able to get into his space as you did- at least not if they wanted to walk away with their life.

The man's smirk dropped, new anger burning in his eyes as the grip on his gun tightened, “I saw the way that mongrel looked at you, you’re his boy and that's clearer than any mountain river” he scoffed, finger moving from the side of the gun to rest on the trigger.

You closed your eyes, praying in your head, but not to any god. No, your prayers were aiming for Simon's rescue, praying that he would somehow know you were in trouble and come rescue you from it.

Simon sat astride his horse on a dusty ridge, watching the moon rise silver over the desert wastes. A half-smoked cigarette dangled idly from his lips; he’d been nursing the same thoughts over and over since dusk fell heavy as a shroud across the badlands.

Thoughts of you.

Somewhere deep in his gut, an uneasy feeling roiled. Like an invisible string tugging at his soul, trying to tug him back the way he came. Simon growled low in his throat, frustrated with his own foolish longings. You’d made your stance clear – this life wasn’t for you, not truly. And he had no right to ask you to join him.

And yet...

A crack suddenly split the still night air. So faint and far that any lesser man may have missed it entirely, but not Simon.

In an instant he was vaulting onto his horse’s back, boots pounding twin paths in the dirt as they flew towards the distant lights of your little town. Another shot rang out, louder now, and Simon’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

He knew that sound – deep in his bones he knew something was horribly wrong.

Choking the reins in a near stranglehold, Simon rode as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his horse’s hooves. Towards you. Towards salvation or damnation, he did not know. But by God, no son of a bitch was gonna harm one hair on your head if he could still help it.

Help was coming- you just had to hold on.

The man fired the gun, a sharp sting hitting your side before it blossomed into agonizing pain. You let out a pained cry, one hand instinctively going to land on your wound while the other covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your hand was soon coated in dark crimson, entire body shaking with adrenaline as the man cocked the gun once more.

“Was gonna just end you, but I figured I should make this painful the same way he did. Should fill you with so many bullets he won’t be able to recognize you” he hissed, aiming the gun at your other side.

Simon was little more than a blur of dust and primal fury as he crashed through the remains of your splintered front door. For a split second, time seemed to freeze – taking in the scene with a single, piercing gaze.

You,curled onto the bed clutching a bloody wound. And him. That snake. Gun pressed sickeningly against your body as he spewed his venomous threats. With an almost guttural roar, Simon’s Colt leapt into his hand like it was part of his very being. Two blooming shots rang as one; his aim was true as bible scripture.

The intruder pitched backwards, scarlets blossoms exploding from where his eyes once were. He was dead before he hit the floor.

But Simon saw none of it. Already he was at your side, tatty serape ripped and pressed desperately against your weeping injury. Brown eyes wild and scared met your own, and for a moment the steely outlaw facade slipped entirely.

“Darlin’...” he choked, voice thick. “Talk to me, baby. Stay with me now, ya hear?” Working frantically to stem the flood, Simon tangled scarred fingers gently through your hair, anchoring you to this world with his touch alone.

“That’s it…keep breathin’, just keep breathin’” His voice dissolved into ragged prayers mere ghosts could hear. Help was still minutes away - but for now, you had Ghost. And he’d be damned before he let the reaper take you from him.

You were sobbing, your brain mangled with confusion and fear as the adrenaline ran out and the full pain of the bullet lodged in your abdomen had you reeling,

Red painted everything around you, hands, clothes, and sheets underneath you drenched in it.

“Simon-” you rasped, breathing labored as you looked around with wide eyes at the gruesome scene in front of you. It was too much, you could feel your head going light- brain fuzzy and ears ringing as you fought not to close your eyes.

“It hurts” you choked, trying to shove his hand away from where he was pressing down on the wound to stop the torrent of blood flowing out. “Simon I cant-” you said, throat raw from the sobs that came out.

You wanted so badly to stay with him, to be able to wake up tomorrow with him, but you didn’t know if you’d get that with the way you felt your strength leave your body.

“It hurts- it hurts” You were almost begging, for what you didn’t know. You just wanted the pain to go away.

You were terrified- not ready to die yet, and especially not like this, not when you had so much left to do. The thought alone sent a new set of tears streaming down your face, hand shaking- clutching the bleeding wound on top of Simon’s own to try and ebb the pain that burrowed deep in your skin.

Simon felt his world crumbling as your agonized crimes tore through him, sharper than any bullet ever could. Seeing you in such anguish ripped open a fissure in his battered heart, letting the demons of his deepest guilt and self-loathing spill forth in a torrent.

“I know, baby, I know it hurts…” he choked, pressing you close as if trying in vain to absorb your pain into himself. His own broad shoulders shook with ghosts of rage and grief, tears cutting rivulets through the dirt caked on his cheeks.

Goddamn it all, he should’ve been here. Should have followed his instincts and never left your side. Now it may be too late to hope for forgiveness, your blood staining his hands a brand of failure he could never outrun.

“Please, darlin’, please hold on…’ Simon begged, voice breaking as he spoke. His bandana was wrung out and useless now - in desperation he moved to cradle you fully, applying trembling pressure with his bare hands and what remained of his coat.

Distantly he heard the clatter of the approaching horses, but paid them no heed. You were fading, slipping away before his eyes, and all the strength and guns in the world couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t ye leave me now…I can’t do this world without ya…” A broken whisper, barely audible above the thunder in his ears. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, sharing the same ragged breaths, two souls more tangled than any root or vine. Hanging on a blade’s edge against the dark.

You stared up into Simon's eyes, eyebrows cinched in pain and eyes soaked with fear.

“I don’t wanna die, Simon” you whispered, voice shaky as you clung to him - like he alone could save you from this fate.

You could feel your heartbeat slowing, breathing ragged as you gasped for air that just wouldn’t enter your lungs….

Soon enough the doctor burst into the room, medical kit in hand as he came barreling over to you. He very carefully took you out of Simon’s arm with some convincing, to lay you back on the bed before he opened up his kit.

He handed you a flask filled with whiskey “You’re gonna want to drink this - it’ll help ease the pain” He said.

With shaky hands you drank the bottle, a scream ripping from your lungs as the man began to carefully dig into the wound, grabbing hold of the bullet with sterile tweezers before carefully pulling it free.

With practiced care he cleaned the wound, a harsh whimper leaving your lips at the sting of pain before the wound was stitched up and bandaged.

You were shaking, sobbing so hard your throat was raw and your lungs burned - the pain was unbearable and a large part of you wished you could just die to get away from it.

The doctor had you drink another flask, the alcohol numbing the pain receptors in your brain just enough to allow you to fall into a light sleep.

Simon sat vigil at your bedside through what felt like hours, not letting go of your limp hand once. Your cries of pain echoing loud and endlessly in his mind, driving spikes of pure anguish deep into his soul.

He watched in heavy silence as the doctor worked, breath caught tight in his chest, hardly daring to hope. But then - your ragged breaths evened out, color returning sluggishly to waxen cheeks. Alive. You were alive.

It was nearly two hours later when the man was done, wiping his hands on a rag as he stood up on shaky legs.

“He’s stable” The doctor said simply

Choking back sobs of relief, Simon buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of gratitude-laced kisses amongst salty tears. “That’s it, darlin’...you fight. Got too much left to do in this world.” he’d whisper to you, voice so soft only you could hear

“Most important thing now is cleaning that wound twice a day lest it get infected. If it does…” The doctor ordered, his words trialing off though his intentions were clear. He put down a set of bandages and cleaning solution on the nightstand for Simon’s use.

“It’ll take a long time to heal, I reckon” The doctor said “but my work is done here, y’all know where to reach me should he take a turn for the worst” He said, tilting his hat to Simon before he gathered his tools and headed out of the shabby cabin.

Simon took the doctor's words as gospel, nodding along to every word before the man left. He spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess that was now your little home. He dragged the body out back to deal with fully in the morning, cleaned your sheets and changed you into new clothes, boarded up the broken window, and finished by fixing the door that he had come barging through.

His own hands were gentle as churches doing their appointed duty, cleansing and dressing the angry wound each time without fail. Whatever it took to coax your stubborn spirit back to the land of the living.

Days bled into each other without notice. All that mattered to him now was you. And slowly, so slowly - full color seeped back, fever broke its hold. Eyes fluttered open to meet his own once more, full of pain but oh-so-blessedly alive.

“Hey there, sunshine…” Simon whispered hoarsely, like a parched man dying of thirst at an oasis. Finally, finally, he allowed himself the ghost of a weary smile.

You were going to be alright. And by God, he’d spend his last days making sure of it.

You slowly sat up, a soft whine leaving your lips with the movements as you aggravated the still raw wound. “Simon” you mumbled as you held his hand, reaching over to take a swig of the whiskey on the nightstand to ease the searing pain.

You rested your head back against the pillows with a soft sigh. It had been a few days now, and the pain was still a dull yet constant ache in your side.

You took the sight around you in, everything was clean and neat including your bedding and clothes. Even the floor had been mopped, the only reminders of your near death being the hole in your side.

“Simon you did all this?” You asked simply, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Simon huffed a soft, weary laugh at your question, gently squeezing your hand just to make sure you were really here and he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Course I did, darlin’. Weren’t about to let ya recover in filth,” He replied gruffly. Truth be told, tending to your every need had been the other thing keeping his demons at bay these long days and nights.

Keeping busy spared him time to think - and thinking led down paths too bleak to tread. Like how terrifyingly close he’d come to losing you forever.

Holding your gaze with quiet intent, Simon softly brushed calloused knuckles along your cheek “Reckon it’s about time i started pullin’ my weight ‘round here proper. Ain’t no safe place for ya out here alone” A question lingered in the subtle quirk of his brow, the hopeful yet wary gleam in tired eyes. After all that had passed between you both, was there still room for him at your side? A Ghost finally ready to lay his soul to rest, if you’d have him.

You could only hum softly at his words, sleep still filled in your bones. You didn’t answer him, instead you patted the empty side of the bed “Come sleep next to me, Si. You need the sleep” You said, your words a silent confirmation that you still wanted him.

Simon gave a soft grunt of approval, too weary in body and soul to do anything but obey your gentle prompting. Careful not to jostle your healing injury, he stretched his long limbs out beside you with a satisfied sigh.

It felt strange but right, sharing your space in such an intimate way after so long living apart. Like the final piece of a puzzle slipped neatly into place.

Turning his head, Simon watched you watch him through half-lidded eyes, drinking in every beloved feature as if to confirm this wasn’t some whiskey-fueled dream. Reaching out, he lightly touched the graceful curve of your cheek before letting his hand come to rest against the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“Sweetest sound there is,” he murmured, voice sleep-roughed and thick with meaning. A tousled head tucked itself beneath your chin with a contented sigh, tension seeping from tense muscles.

Come what may with the light of dawn, for now all was peaceful. You were alive, you were safe. And against all odds, Simon had finally come home to roost.

You held him close in your arms, gentle fingers carding through thick hair as you let his head rest against your now steady heartbeat. He needed the comfort, you could tell, and you were more than happy to give it to him.

“Rest now, Si. I'm not going anywhere. Can’t get rid of me that easy” You assured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

It was a funny thing, holding such a toughened man in your arms, keeping him close and coddled despite the almost laughable size difference.

SImon made a low sound of gratitude at your soft reassurance, melting bonelessly into your gentle embrace. Your gentle fingers winding through his hair brought forth a wave of lethargy he’d fought to stave off this long week past. But no more - here in your arms, he was finally allowed to let his guard down.

It still struck him sometimes how two souls so disparate could fit together so seamlessly. But you’d always had a way of easing even his most ragged edges, soothing demons he thought long beyond taming. Lithe as you were in your current state, your strength ran deeper than any show of force ever could - and he found solace there like nowhere else.

“Missed this…” he mumbled, so soft it was barely audible even in the stillness enclosing your little world. One arm curled protectively around your middle, thumb brushing idle patterns against the slowly healing wound beneath the bandages.

A prayer of thanks on parched lips, Simon let weary eyes slide shut. Sleep rose like a gentle tide, carrying him off to oblivion sheltered in the piece of heaven he’d begun to call home. You’d brought him back from the brink of darkness once more, anchor in the storm. And for that, he was eternally grateful.

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod x male reader #male reader #fanfic #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x male reader

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fatalitysficbakery · 2 months

Text

𓆰♥︎𓆪 Bad For Me. —

Jordan Li x Black Fem!Y/n

genre: angst (questionable, not there)/fluff/SMUT.

warnings: enemies to lovers, car sex, slight humor, possessive dom!jordan, got your tea bitch sub!y/n.

synopsis: jordan hates your guts or wants to rearrange them. they haven’t decided yet. (yes they have).

↳ 𓆰 Fatalitysficbakery navigation menu 𓆪.

↳ 𓆰 Fatalitysficbakery multifandomed &&’ oc menu #2 𓆪.

❦ ⌫ ❦

She forces her way through the crowds, feeling herself bump into more than one frat boy being obnoxious on the dance floor, when she's finally pushed her way from everyone, her eyes darting around to the bar's seating area, not too many were there on account of the drinks keeping them busied.

She sighs until her attention is taken by a friend waving her over. Fixing the cowboy hat on her head, she makes her way over to them, a gentle smile on her face taking one of the seats next to Emma.

She doesn't notice them at first until she looks up and her smile immediately drops when they wink at her.

"Y/n? Earth to Y/n?" Marie snaps in front of her taking her attention away from the supe.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

"I'm here, ma. I was...distracted. Far too many frat boys in that crowd."

"You didn't see anything you liked out there?" Emma asked, draping her arm around Y/n and passing her a shot.

Y/n smirks, downing her shot, head leaned against Emma's when she speaks, her eyes close for a second, meeting Emma's the moment they open again, shaking her head, "Nah, sweetheart. Ain't nothing for me on that floor, you know me."

"I do. You're very picky."

"I like it that way."

As she talks, a pair of eyes track her every movement like a hawk's, eyes barely leaving her to scope out the scene, when they do look away, it's like something pulls them right back to her, which was the wildest thing to them in all honesty. They'd disliked the supe the moment they first met. There was something about her that just pissed them off.

"You been awfully quiet, Jor." Cate speaks up, leaning forward to observe their every move. "Shifty eyes too. What's up?"

"I just need a shot. That reason enough?"

"I'll take it. For now."

Jordan's eyes roll, and now they're really trying their hardest not to look over at the witch, she had psychic abilities, they were sure she'd had them pinned the moment they talked, and if she did, she didn't let it on, looking at them curiously for a fraction of a moment that felt like hours in Jordan's eyes, every time her eyes met them it felt like she could see through to their soul, rip them open and dissect every flaw.

"I could...go get us some?" She offers, moving from her spot leaned on Emma, legs crossed one over the other. Cate's eyes break from Jordan knowingly, but no one really says a word, what's understood, after all...

"You stare any harder your eyes will pop out of your skull, kid." Cate pats the poor thing on the shoulder, grin stretching cheek to cheek.

↳

Jordan despises you, they despise your very existence, the way your platinum blonde curls frame your face, making your dark brown skin pop out in a way that could distract God from his toughest battles, your lips full and always glossed, black lipliner a staple combo for you, they'd noticed. They'd noticed a lot about you and that's what they hated. You were insufferable in a way that left their mouth watering for more.

A puzzle they were determined to solve.

When you had come back with the shots, they weren't surprised that you caught somebody's eyes. That's another thing they hated about you, they hated that anybody else could look at you and notice the beauty they'd been trying their damndest not to notice.

When you were about to sit down again, some jock who Jordan noticed had been eyeing you for quite some time, and Jordan wasn't exactly happy about it.

It happened so quick, everyone and no one was surprised when it did.

"I was wondering, if you, pretty thing would like to dance with little ole me?" He had the most infuriating southern accent possible and Jordan's jaw set immediately upon hearing it, stood up before you could utter an sentence in response, their form towering over you now as they look up at the douchebag, blonde with blue eyes and overwhelming steroids abuse.

"Move along, alright?" Jordan has a grin of all things on their face, like this was merely entertainment to them, their arms casually draping across your shoulder as if it was meant to be there.

"I was talking to the lady, Li."

"Yeah? You're talking to me now, Jeremy. You okay with that?"

Throughout this all, Y/n hadn't really uttered word, in complete shock that this was happening, I mean this was the same person that had just called you a nuisance a day prior.

"Man, I don't want a problem."

"So don't make one." Jordan's gaze burns into his soul, jaw clenched and eyes darker than they'd been before, they smile, eyes narrowing further.

Jeremy scoffs, turning to walk back off with his friends.

You just look up at Jordan in disbelief, mouth opened slightly.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

After that night Jordan was strangely quiet, you hadn't heard a peep out of them since then, no smartass remark, insult, it was complete silence. Though they lingered. Loomed.

It wasn't until you were pulled into an empty classroom, their scent taking up residence in your every sense, it's hard to pin what it reminds you of but you know what it feels like, and it's the most cliche thought you've ever had.

They just stared at you for a moment like they're trying to get a read on you, size you up, you feel exposed, naked as the day you were born despite the sweater she wore.

"You...You make me so unbelievably angry."

"I do? That's what this is? Anger?" You cock your head to the side, a smile threatening to appear on your lips, eyes so deep they drown in them. Jordan hisses, bringing you closer to them, their breath tickling your skin.

"Yeah that's what that is. Anger. We need to talk."

"I agree. Let's."

Jordan hoists you up onto the table, staring you down like it was their job to, before they speak, you beat them to the punch. "That was wild...What you did last weekend at the bar. For you especially. Wanna address it?"

"What? I didn't want him anywhere near you. So?"

"Since when did I become your problem?" You ask, your hands in your lap almost protectively like you were skeptical of how the situation would go, they could pratically smell the nerves on you, and it made them all the more...needy. Like you were the sundae to satiate their sweet tooth, before they knew it, their arm was snaking around your waist tugging you closer to them.

"You became my problem the second you got here, and I can't seem to get rid of you. I don't know what you're doing to me, darlin' but I..."

"You what?"

Their forehead presses against yours, holding you even tighter against them like you'd crumble if they were to let you go, something so fragile that only they could protect it. That's what you were to them. "I need you. Horribly. And it fucking sucks to have to admit it but there's...there's something about your freshie. Something that latches onto me and doesn't let go. Can't you feel it?"

"I always have." You respond coolly, your hand wrapping around their bicep, and it's absolutely far too late to turn back now nor do either of you want to. Neither of you want to ruin this.

"Then the jokes on me, huh Pretty girl?" They chuckle, pushing your legs apart to stand between them, they trap you between their arms their face unbelievably close to yours, "How could I not understand just how badly I needed you, sweetheart? You're something worse than a drug and I think we need to leave before I tear you apart right here right now." Their voice is deep in your ears, something that vibrates within you like a freight train.

There was nothing in their tone to suggest that they weren't completely serious in their quest to drag you off, you could see their self control dwindling before your very eyes and you knew that if it weren't soon, you'd be bent over a desk in some room a poor janitor would have to clean up later.

It's silent for a breath, but their hold on you only grows tighter, possessive like they were afraid of you vanishing.

Their breath kisses your skin, words a soft promise of their undoing.

"My place."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

It wasn't my fault, I don't know when the lines had become so muddied but having her by my side just felt insanely right to me, her perfume blanketing over me and imbedding every fucking detail of the witch into my psyche so deep I can never seem to get rid of it, and as she sat beside me singing her heart out to the radio, it furthers my obsession, she, my vice, and the neverending subject of my every thought.

She says something but I don't quite hear it, her scent drowns it all out, euphoria washes over me, and I can hear her rambling on about everything and nothing like she's already so comfortable in my presence.

My hand rests on her thigh, and I tune back in just enough to hear her ask me with a knowing smirk on her face like she could see right through me and then some, and I wouldn't be shocked if she could. That was the thing about her, she was always one step ahead and that's what pulled me to her.

"You weren't listening to a damn thing I said were you, Li?" She asked, leaning forward to look at me better, observing me so intensely I could feel myself growing an unbelievably deep shade of red that kinda irritated me. Maybe that's why I disliked her so much at first. She was the first person here to make me feel things I didn't wanna allow myself to ever feel, especially not with the path my life was headed.

It was her that made me wanna break all my rules, and I've always been a control freak. It was annoying to feel her pushing so hard at walls I thought I'd built so indestructibly. -- Now here she was looking at me with that damned smile of hers, staring through me and making me question everything I've ever known.

"I- Yeah, Um nah. I was a little distracted, I admit." I chuckle too nervously for my own liking, one hand on the wheel and the other squeezing the pretty thing's thigh; I always get a hit when she looks at me like I hold the world in the palm of my hands, and I can just feel my throat squeezing shut, my self control something so fragile when I'm near her.

"I see. What's on your mind?"

She asked me what was on my mind, I think that's when it snapped. I knew about this little hideaway, a spot away from the lights and the threat of being seen, and before I even realized it that's where we were, a shaded space away from everything with the woman I'd been fantasizing about for way too damned long for my liking, she was gonna be the fucking death of me if I didn't fix this.

"Cute. You know what's on my mind. Get your ass over here."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

She was in their lap within a breath or two, the car wasn't particularly spacious but it was enough for the two of them, a mess of desire ripping off each other's clothes with intent, it was almost like something necessary needed for them survive, something akin to oxygen itself.

Their hand reaches up to tug her head back, hands entangled in her curls, forcing her to look into their eyes directly.

"Ride me." The statement was so simple, so effortlessly whispered between them and it didn't...it didn't get to hang in the air too long either, unrequited was something this situation knew nothing of.

Her body was pressed so closely against them it was almost suffocating, her forehead against theirs when she was fully on top of them. Her chest heaves, their breathing and the sound of the music the only thing heard in the car, and it seemed they were determined to be the loudest things there.

They let out a sharp hiss when their cock is finally exposed to the air and it takes not even a moment for her cunt, dripping so shamelessly, to hover over their hardened length, leaving a heat so lethal to wash over them.

They grip their hand around her neck, tugging her even closer, eyes searching hers with an intensity so palpable it could be cut with a knife. Their hands roam over her like they'd been itching to explore her for a while now and god had they ever been. They'd been absolutely thirsting for it.

"Safeword. Let me hear it."

"I don't know, fucking lime?"

She and Jordan look at each other silently, the hand on the clock ticking ahead before both burst into laughter, Jordan's hands gripping her hips tightly within their palms, the way they look at each other intense, heated, and filled with mutual affection for the other party. "Lime? Fucking lime?"

"You asked for a safeword, I panicked!"

"Yeah?" Their finger trails down her neckline, eyes locking on hers, hands moving her hips in time with their thrusts, a low groan tumbling out of their lips, fingers digging into her asscheeks, pulling as close as they could get her. Closer, if possible.

The way her words die out on her lips, their free hand wrapping around her neck, taking in Y/n's scent, they get closer.

"God you're so fucking cute. Look at that, you're speechless for once in your life. No talking back right now, sweetheart?"

"You...I want you to kiss my ass." She responds, but her voice is weakened, an air of vulnerability washing over her. Jordan catches onto it without much effort on their part, one look at the poor thing and it was clear she was nothing more than putty in their hands. Melting right between their fingers.

"You and I both know you can do better than that. You have done better than that...Where's that spark now, doll?"

Their hand reaches down to pinch her clit between their fingers, breath ghosting over their lips, a shit-eating mischievous-looking smirk on their face, they can practically feel her ending begin.

"Speak up, baby. Be loud for me."

Their hips angle for her g-spot, and with a particularly hard push, they feel her clench around them, cock twitching sensitively when she grips them like a vice and she obliges their requests, singing a pretty little song, all for their utter euphoria.

The way her face twists up, eyebrows knitting, and eyes squeezed tight, lips parted to let a scream out, one so desperately needy it sends them over the edge immediately, their seed spilling into the witch and arms grabbing her tighter without any intent to let go.

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

They had to spar the day after, the little witch could feel her limbs aching with every step she'd taken and unfortunately it was only going to get worse; She could see Jordan looking at her with a determination so familiar in their gaze that it made her shiver. She knew she wasn't safe despite what had happened last night.

"Seriously?" She glances at them, narrowing her eyes their way.

"You're not safe because you're sexy, get your ass up."

Y/n silently nods to herself, standing up to get herself prepared, sighing airily, that familiar confident grin shows up on her face. "Fine. Let me beat your ass and shut you the fuck up."

"That shouldn't be so... C'mon, let's go. You're going down, freshie."

𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎𓆪𓆰♥︎𓆪𓆰♡︎

A/N: happy 21st birthday to me bitchhhh!!!!!!!!!!! here's my lil late lil birthday fic I guess <33.

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dovedewdrop · 7 months

Text

One Number Away (Joel’s POV)

I'm one number away from calling you

I said I was through, but I'm dying, inside

Got my head in a mess, girl, I confess

I lied when I said, "I'm leaving and not coming back" / 1.3k

✨Part 1✨ ✨Part 2✨

A/N: My sincerest apologies for the wait! Thought I'd switch it up and give you all a lil look at the inside of Joel's brain😊 Also I just got back from staying in a cabin for a week and its been giving me soft cowboy!Joel thoughts so if anyone would care to grace my inbox with any thoughts on that...👀🤠🤎

Warnings: Joel being a saddie. Angst.

---

Joel thought being alone would be better. He didn’t need distractions or people depending on him anymore, he’d only let them down anyway. So when you left with Tommy he thought he’d feel lighter, now that there was a weight off his shoulders, but as it turns out, the hunch over his shoulders only pushed him down further.

Everywhere he went he felt the cold at his back, seeping into his bones, reminders of having lost Sarah and how he pushed you and his own brother away. He tried to move on, to tell himself that all of those things were in the past and he had to focus on the next thing, focus or get himself killed but the sting of his losses were written all over him for everyone to see.

Even Tess knew that he wasn’t for her, that his heart belonged to someone else and always would, so she held him at night “for warmth” and made him breakfast and poured him whiskey under the guise of friendship, hoping that one day he’d maybe see her.

For 20 years Joel sat in his guilt and anger, he let it seep through every fibre of his being, he may not be infected by cordyceps, but he was affected in a different way. Not that he was ever the most happy-go-lucky guy in Austin but he had love for his family and that made him smile and laugh and joke around, now there was nothing to laugh about.

That is, until he met Ellie.

It took him so long to warm up to her, every time he looked at her he thought about you and Sarah, he told himself that the baby you were carrying wasn’t just a miscarriage but a foreshadowing of what was to come, how it would be all his fault. Everyday spent with Ellie triggered a fountain of emotions for him, he told himself that he shouldn’t be trusted to look after her, then the next day he’d tell himself that this was his chance to make things right, to protect her like he couldn’t protect Sarah. His inside of his head resembled that of a wasps nest, thoughts always buzzing and swarming in his mind with no chance of respite, but when Ellie cracked that one joke it did, in fact, have him laughing, his mind began to quiet, and he had to admit that it was nice to not always be filled with tension.

As they crossed the country together he found his thoughts sometimes drifting to you, wondering for the most part if you were still alive. If you were, were you happy? Happy to be free of him? Happy to maybe start a new life with someone else? Or were you constantly walking through this life being traumatised? Something he knew you didn’t deserve and especially not from him. He thinks about how you were always there for him and how in the end he took your kindness and stomped all over it in those big boots of his.

When he saw you in Jackson he couldn’t do anything. He was overjoyed to see Tommy but as soon as he saw those eyes of yours, the ones that overflowed with tears the last time he saw you, he was physically rooted in place whilst mentally his mind was running a hundred miles an hour.

He watched as you walked off before turning to Tommy with a sombre look on his face. “I don’t know why I didn’t expect to see her here”, his brother didn’t know how to respond to him, as much as he was happy to see Joel, he stood firm on the fact that he had some grovelling to do. “Thank you for keepin’ her safe” The look in Joel’s eyes was genuine before he headed off in the direction of Ellie to help her with her things.

The sight of both you and Tommy after 18 years is what really took the weight off his shoulders, despite the incessant buzzing starting to creep back in. The collection of doubts begun to swirl around his brain, she doesn’t want to see you, she wouldn’t accept your apology if you gave her one, and would you blame her? He wanted so desperately to talk to you, to pull you close to his chest again, to kiss the top of your head but you were both different people now and he couldn’t ask any of those things of you.

So after his tiff with Tommy he couldn’t resist treading the snow to your house after you’d let out a snide remark. The pit in his stomach told him it was a bad idea, he was already riled up and he didn’t want to let you see that he was still an asshole, sometimes and besides, you don’t need him, you have a new life here, a better life without him, so it was better if he kept his distance.

However, before he even knew what was happening the words were tumbling out of his mouth and into the cold air, condensing it with a fog, “You…got a boyfriend?” He clocked you rolling your eyes at him. Stupid. He shouldn’t have ever come over. And then you were chastising him, something you hadn’t done since before this whole thing started because somewhere along the way you became small and he hated himself for it every single day.

He couldn’t help but take in your features, your soft lips, remembering the way you’d sometimes press them into his shoulder or your eyes, the way they lit up when you held the pregnancy test up to him from the bathroom floor.

He wanted to know what was on your mind even though he doubted you would tell him and he was right, you weren’t answering him and that was all the confirmation he needed that you weren’t interested in engaging with a man who was now pretty much a stranger to you all over again. He had to walk away, for today at least, he was tired, the day had been long and he was emotionally all over the place.

But when you spoke up and confessed everything to him, he had stopped in his tracks and the tears were one blink away from creating a stream over the planes of his face. He couldn’t let you see the inner turmoil he was going through, he wanted to run to you to, to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again but he also didn’t trust that he was fixed, that he was cured of his anger and his traumas.

In a panic, he simply pushed out a “see ya around.”

The following few days were hard for Joel. The buzzing had returned full-time and he was feeling antsy, sometimes snapping at Ellie and feeling immediate guilt. He was working on it. However, when Saturday came around he couldn’t help it, he’d held it together for so long, when you left he’d only slipped up once, the scar on his temple a constant reminder of that.

He’d been watching you watch him and Ellie put the decorations on their Christmas tree, his heart feeling tight, because you should be here with him and Sarah and your little one, who wouldn’t be so little anymore. He’d found himself in the pub at 7:30pm that Saturday evening, downing his drinks and letting his eyes drift towards you, he knew he wasn’t helping himself but he was at a loose end, with no idea what to do with himself anymore.

The next morning he felt rough, he’d cried and cried and cried into his pillow for the majority of the night after Tommy had left him, his fist sometimes slamming down on the pillow lying next to him, before chastising himself mentally, he wouldn’t do this if you were lying next to him, he wouldn’t even be pissed out of his mind if that was the case. He brewed his morning coffee and dragged himself onto the porch, not surprised to see you sat on yours at all. He slumped down into a chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, he had to figure this out, decide what he was going to do.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller angst #hbo joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #hbo joel miller x you #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us #angsty Joel miller #dovedewdrop

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pastelwitchling · 9 months

Text

If you're still doing this... can I request a sequel for chapter 12 of part one? @brittz-2123

Sequel to this fic.

***

For all the enemies Alex had made over the years, some through his military work and most through his fight against Project Shepherd, it was surprisingly difficult to figure out who would want to kill him.

“Run it by me again,” Eduardo Ramos sighed, eyes closed. “Before you got in the car.”

“I already told you,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes from where he sat at his desk, his computer open in front of him. He felt like he’d been watching the satellite footage of the bar on a loop, and if he had to watch this cowboy and his girlfriend make out against the back wall one more time . . .

“No one was watching me, no one lingered in the corners, no one spoke to me. I don’t know anyone that plays tricks like this, if someone wanted to come after me, they’d use a gun or smother me in my sleep. Military or tactful. This feels . . . desperate.”

“Therein lies the crux of the problem, Alex,” Eduardo said, taking the steel chair beside him, eyes boring into his. “I’d understand a double agent coming after you, and I’d understand a soldier. But this mess,” he shook his head at the photos he’d pulled of Alex’s soaked car seats. “What amateur is trying to hunt you and why?”

“I don’t know,” Alex murmured, fingers interlocked against his brow. He had a migraine that had been thumping steadily in the inner corner of his right eye for the past fifteen minutes, the first vestiges of dawn peeking out outside his office window.

And the worst part was that he knew it had very little to do with the attempt on his life and almost everything to do with the way he and Michael had left things several hours ago. He rested his chin on his folded arms and sighed. Did Michael really think so little of him that he thought Alex would fall apart without him?

And what did that say about Michael? If Alex was supposed to be shattering to pieces, was Michael just fine? Was only Alex supposed to be the one breaking? Was Michael that indifferent to them not being together?

“All right, what’s going on?” Ramos huffed. “You’ve sighed twice in the last minute alone.”

“Well,” Alex rested his head on his arms, looking away from him, “someone is trying to kill me.”

“Yeah, but that’s a normal Tuesday for people like us, isn’t it?” Eduardo dismissed and Alex’s lips quirked despite himself. “I know that look, Alex. I’ve been studying you long before you joined us.”

“You do realize how creepy that is, right?”

“I take special interest in my best agents,” he shrugged a shoulder. “And I know everyone’s weak spot here. Yours . . . is Michael Guerin.”

Alex shut his eyes at the mention of him. “He saved me last night. Got me out of the car. Then proceeded to scream at me for drunk driving. Apparently he thinks he was my only brain cell and since we’re not together, I’m losing my grip on my sanity.”

Eduardo pursed his lips and nodded wordlessly a moment, then he clicked his tongue. “Someone thinks highly of himself. But he’s not wrong.” Alex looked up at him and he smirked. “Is he?”

Alex deflated, cheek squished against his forearm. “No,” he murmured. “He’s not. But if I’m dying every day without him, how can he just . . . keep going?” He heaved another sigh and hid his face. “It’s just a real hit to the ego,” he said, voice muffled. “Realizing that I love him more than he loves me. It’s not a great feeling, to be honest.”

Eduardo chuckled, and Alex felt his hand on his hair, ruffling it. “Oh, son. There might be more here that you’re not seeing.”

“Yeah?” he grumbled. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not Michael, so I couldn’t tell you what he was thinking. But I do know this. I’ve been watching him almost as long as I’ve been watching you, and you know what I noticed?”

“What?”

Eduardo smiled at him. “No one watches you like he does.”

Michael couldn’t sleep after Alex left. He paced instead, eyes drifting to Alex’s car every so often. The seats were soaked in alcohol and he could almost smell them to here, a constant reminder of the night he and Alex had had.

“If it’s just a part, then why didn’t you show up?”

The way Alex had looked at him, like Michael was just someone else he’d hoped would love him and ended up betraying him instead. Like he really believed Michael didn’t think much of him.

He took a swig from his bottle only to find it empty, and sighed, letting it fall onto the sand beside him and rubbing his face. When he’d gotten that call from Alex last night, his heart had felt like it was about to leap out of his chest. He’d almost gotten in his own truck and raced to find him before he could crash, the fear in Alex’s voice still echoing in his head and taunting him over what could’ve happened.

He thought he was going to die, a voice in his mind told him, and he wanted to talk to you.

Michael had been all but ready to take him into his arms the second he’d climbed out and kissed every inch of him to make sure he was unharmed. But then he’d smelled the drinks and fear surged like he’d never felt it before. It had settled the day Alex had insisted on staying at Caulfield with him, and turned heavier since the moment he’d confessed to Michael in that bunker that he needed a reason to stay. And once the very idea, no matter how small and unlikely, that Michael had driven Alex—his Alex—to that edge had taken root, it had blossomed into something too frightening for Michael to think past.

It didn’t matter that he knew Alex was brave, that he was strong. Just a hint of a possibility had been enough to make him shudder and say things he shouldn’t have said. Things that he knew hurt Alex a lot. He smirked bitterly against his palms. It seemed all he did these days was hurt Alex.

The sound of tires on gravel tugged Michael out of his thoughts and he looked up to find a car parking in front of the junkyard. For a second, he wondered if the driver really was drunk because the sun had just dawned and he himself was far too sleep deprived to have any patience for someone trying to force open the auto shop first thing in the morning.

But then Alex stepped out of the passenger seat and raised his hand in goodbye to the driver who Michael could see through the open window was none other than his boss, Eduardo Ramos. He stood, staring, not quite believing the scene in front of him. Even as Alex approached him, his shoulders scrunched and his hands in his pockets.

When he was close enough and before he could speak, Michael blurted, “I—I fixed the brakes, but I can’t get rid of the beer smell. I think you’re better off just getting a new—”

“I will,” Alex nodded, avoiding Michael’s eyes. “I’m not here for the car.”

Michael looked him up and down. He had changed out of his clothes from last night, so he didn’t reek of alcohol anymore. Looking at him now, how focused his eyes were even as Michael knew he hadn’t slept a wink either, his anger at Alex for getting in a car while drunk seemed ridiculous now.

“Why are you here, then?” Michael asked.

Alex shrugged. “You know that thing Ramos does when I can’t focus and he tells me what he thinks I need?”

Michael swallowed. For some reason, the idea that Alex was here because his boss had told him to come and not because he’d wanted to see Michael himself left Michael feeling hollow.

“So you’re here because Ramos ordered you to?”

“He . . . suggested it,” Alex pursed his lips.

“Were you allowed to say no?”

“Sure.”

Michael glanced at him, then, wanting something to do and somewhere else to look, took his seat again in front of the dying embers. “What can I do for you? The last I saw of you, you didn’t want to be near me.”

“I always want to be near you,” he confessed, and Michael looked up. “That’s the problem.”

He smirked bitterly. “Loving me’s a problem now?”

Alex’s entire body seemed to deflate with exasperation before he took the seat next to Michael’s and interlocked his fingers. “Isn’t it usually a problem,” he asked, rocking restlessly back and forth on his chair, “loving someone who doesn’t love you?”

Michael clenched his jaw, tapping his thumb on the armrest for a moment before he said, “If you say I don’t love you one more time, Alex, I swear, I’ll split Roswell in half.”

Alex wouldn’t look at him, but he leaned back in his seat, slumped and staring through the bonfire. “Fine. Maybe you do love me. But not like I love you, and to me, that’s just as bad.”

“What does that even mean?” Michael demanded, desperate, turning to face him. “That I don’t love you like you love me?”

“It means that you really thought I would break if we weren’t together,” Alex said, “even when you seemed to be doing okay. It means that you believed I would have nothing left to live for if I didn’t have you, but you didn’t have me and nothing had changed—”

“I was ready to kill whoever cut your damn brakes!” Michael snapped, and Alex, startled, finally met his eyes. Michael stood. “I was going to hunt them down, Alex! I know you wouldn’t have gotten in the stupid car if you were drunk, but I don’t think straight when it comes to you! I get angry, and—and so scared, and I say things I shouldn’t and I do things I shouldn’t because no matter how freaking smart I am, I’m a complete dumbass when it comes to you! You’re my weak spot, you always have been, don’t you get that?!”

Alex, wide eyed, stared as Michael panted. Then he stood, shaking his head, a sad look on his face as he said, “I don’t want to be your weak spot. I want to be . . . I want to be the reason you’re strong.”

The crack in his voice cut through Michael’s angry haze.

Alex swallowed. “Being who I am . . . and having the life I’ve had . . . you have to cut your heart out for a lot of it. If you want to survive, you can’t feel, you just can’t. But you’re what I fight for, you are. Just knowing you pushes me to lead with my mind and my heart, and no matter what happened to me out there, if I thought of you . . . even if I ever came back to Roswell and you weren’t here, it gave me power.”

He shook his head, his eyes turning glassy. “And now you’re telling me that instead of giving you that same power . . . I take it away? I wouldn’t have been able to survive without you there, Guerin, and it turns out, you can’t survive because I’m here with you.” His shoulders fell and he whispered, “This is exactly what I mean. Love shouldn’t shackle you down and hurt you, and you always make it feel like that’s what loving me does to you. That’s what I do to you.” Alex shook his head, moving to walk past him. “I won’t do it to you anymore.”

Michael, shaking, caught his wrist. “Stop it, damn it, just stop leaving me! You think being my weak spot is a bad thing? You’re not my weak spot because your hurt me, Alex, you’re my weak spot because I stop caring about hiding my identity when you’re in danger! I stop thinking right when you need me! My life is nothing but being a disappointment to everyone around me, and I’ve never cared, and sometimes I think that makes me stronger! But . . . damn it, I want to impress you! I want you to like me, not just love me. I want you to think I’m the greatest thing you’ve ever seen, and it scares me what I would do to make that happen!”

He huffed. “I care about what you think, and I hate it. I hate that you love me because every minute is a reminder that I don’t deserve it, and then I’m fighting to earn that love and when I can’t do it, I hate myself more. So yeah, Alex, you’re my weak spot. But it’s not because you hurt me. It’s because you’re the only one with that power and I feel like I’m waiting for you to do it already and you just won’t!”

Alex stared, shocked, and Michael’s grip on his wrist tightened painfully. “I don’t know how to act around you,” he confessed. “I don’t want to mess up, but I know that I will, and that terrifies me. And I know that’s pathetic and I’m a coward, but—”

Alex silenced Michael by cupping his jaw and closing the distance between them, pressing their mouths together in a quiet, soft kiss. Michael whimpered against Alex’s mouth and Alex swallowed the sound, leading Michael’s hand down to his waist where Michael instinctively hugged him tightly against him. Alex’s clothes were warm and soft against Michael, his chest strong, his heart hammering as hard as Michael’s own.

Alex pulled back and Michael chased his lips, his eyes half-lidded. Alex traced Michael’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I’m scared, too, Guerin . . . so what if we just agreed not to be? What if I was just me, and you were just you, and . . . we were just together? I don’t want you to be anybody else, Michael, I fell in love with the angry cowboy that lived out of his truck, you’re it.”

Michael, nervous, put his other hand on Alex’s cheek, and Alex covered it with his own. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else. I’m the one who wants to deserve you. So let me.”

Michael swallowed, watching his own thumb brush Alex’s cheekbone. Part of him still couldn’t believe Alex was this close, that Michael had his stubbled jaw beneath his palm. He wanted to feel more. So much more.

But he managed enough coherent thought just to say, “You can’t leave me. You can’t, Alex. I can’t handle it.”

Alex leaned in until he was nuzzling Michael’s cheek. “I never will,” he breathed, and that was all Michael needed to tilt his head back and slot their mouths together, using the arm around Alex’s waist to pull him in tight against him and carry him a few feet.

“Whoa!” Alex wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “G-Guerin, I still have to find who—”

“Later,” Michael breathed, lifting Alex’s thigh so that his legs were wrapped around his own waist. “I’ll do it all for you later. Just let me touch you, Alex, I need to.”

***

Happy malex Monday ❤

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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Kay!! Darling!! I'm so glad our little corners of the internet crossed paths bc you are truly a gem 💗🥰 you deserve all of the love & success!!

For your Friday Night Fever celebration, may I humbly request the prompt "See what a mess you've made of me?" with our fave space cowboy, Mr. Din Djarin 😏 I think you could do a hell of job of making a mess out of him 😌💕

sweetest sadie!!!! I’m the luckiest gal to have crossed paths with YOU, you bring such a light to this weird lil website for me 💕

spACE COWBOY oh my heart I just love din djarin so much……honestly at first I was like WESTERN!DIN?? but then this happened….

enjoy! 🤭💕

🔥friday night fever!🔥

“Din.”

You’ve been like this for hours.

He doesn’t know what’s come over you, doesn’t quite understand it, but you’ve been squirming in your seat every since the Crest lifted off of Nevarro. He’d made it a few parsecs away before you’d stared calling to him, your voice dripping with affection, laced with something much deeper, something that wormed it’s way beneath his helmet and right down into the barrel of his chest, making his muscles ache.

It’s just been the two of you for a while, since he returned the kid to his own kind, since he rescued you from a less than pleasant situation on Coruscant. The connection between you was instant, something Din couldn’t quite explain, but he did his best, finding the best way to do that was to show you.

His way of showing you meant fucking you senseless any and every chance he got, pressing you against the walls of his ship, still dressed in his armour, or crawling over you in the dead of night while the Crest floated through the edges of space, naked as the day he was born, pulling sounds from you that are meant for his ears only, disappearing into the darkness but imprinting in his mind.

He couldn’t get enough of you, truly, craving your presence any and every time he left your side, off chasing a bounty or trading information on some backwater planet. Din always found his thoughts wandering to you, back on his ship or at the inn you’d found for the night or wherever he’d left you, making sure you were safe before he even considered going anywhere.

So therein lies the problem, because you’re calling his name like that, and he’s trying his hardest to focus on the wide expanse of space before him, trying not to let his eyes slide to the side of his visor, because he knows he’ll be able to catch sight of you that way, and he knows that if he sees you, sees the desperate look on your face that matches the tone in your voice, he’ll be done for. And then you’re never going to make it to Tatooine.

But then you do it again.

“Din.”

It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, gloved hands gripping the steering console even tighter, and he grits out the word: “What.”

He hears your breathy inhale, but still refuses to let himself look. You probably have your head thrown back against the headrest, your pretty neck on display, hands curled around the armrests. “I need…”

“What?” he presses, still not looking. “What do you need?”

A pause, and then, “I need you.”

“We can’t stop,” he answers quickly, “We should have been on Tatooine hours ago.”

“Does it matter,” you ask, “really? Cobb can handle himself until we arrive.”

Din bristles. He’d taken you to Tatooine shortly after you met, called back to Mos Pelgo, and Cobb Vanth had taken an instant liking to you, flirting his handsome face off any chance he got. Din didn’t like it.

The memory of the jealousy, of hearing Vanth’s name on your lips, that’s probably what pushes him to say: “Come here.”

“Thank the Maker,” he hears you mumble, then the click of your seatbelt. Din reaches for the level on the side of the captain’s chair, pushing the seat backwards and leaning back slightly. You waste no time, clambering onto his lap in record time. As you settle into him, Din realizes…

…you’re not wearing pants.

Your tunic is long, hitting the middle of your thighs, and as you roll your hips down he can feel your heat through his flight-suit, scorching and wet, soaking the fabric almost instantly. He settles his hands on your thighs, gripping you tightly. “You’re a needy little thing today.”

“It’s been too long,” you whine, hands settling on his pauldrons, tracing your fingers over the beskar. “I have needs, you know.”

“It’s barely been a day,” Din counters, tilting his helmeted head to the side. “You’re greedy.”

“Needy,” you repeat, lifting a finger and pointing it at his visor, “not greedy.” You grind down into him, and Din can feel himself twitching to attention, but his gaze is preoccupied with your bare core dragging along the seam of his flight-suit. You toss your head back on your shoulders, lifting your hips before rolling them into him once more. “There’s a difference.”

“Then take what you need, mesh’la,” he says softly, the endearment rolling of his tongue easily. It makes you smile amid your pleasure, your face lighting up, and Din doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. “Take whatever you need.”

“Hold my hips,” you command, and he obeys, gloved hands sliding up from your legs to your waist, curling around your hips.

Your hands adjust as well, one moving to the middle of his chest plate, fingers hooking around the top edge. Your other hand moves to the back of his neck, sliding beneath the edge of his helmet, and Din feels his cock jump when your fingers lock in his hair, pulling as much as the helmet will allow.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he tells you, watching as your mouth drops open in a gasp as you drag yourself along him again. He’s fully hard now, pressing against the crotch of the fligh—suit, and he can’t stop his own groan when he feels you move right against him, fabric the only thing separating you two. “I want to watch you come undone, mesh’la.”

You nod, starting to get frantic, pressing into him as hard as you can. Din catches onto your movements, your rhythms, and helps guide you, canting his own hips up when he can, giving you an extra bit of pleasure. He’s right; you do look beautiful like this, spread on his lap, backlit by the wide expanse of the galaxy behind you, the stars in the sky matching with the stars in your eyes as you look back at him. There’s no way for you to know that you’re holding his gaze, but you are, Din makes sure of it, keeps his eyes glued to yours as you start to crest, body twisting as the pleasure overtakes you, leaving you panting and sighing and gasping, collapsing against his chest.

He lets his hand drag up and down your back, waiting for you to catch your breath. You shuffle back slightly once you do, and Din glances down, catching sight of the drenched crotch of his flight-suit, the evidence of your orgasm making the fabric shine in the dim light of the cockpit.

He reaches around you, flicks off the flight guidance, and shifts the ship into stasis. “What are you doing?” you ask, and beneath the helmet, he’s grinning.

"See what a mess you've made of me?" he asks, gesturing to his crotch, and pinching your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “We’re only just getting started, mesh’la. Tatooine can wait.”

You’re up like a shot, pulling him out of the captain’s chair and towards the bunk of the ship. “Thank the Maker.”

—————

I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕

din djarin tags: @iamskyereads @ancientbeing10 @woomen23 @plutoneu @pedropascalsx @allfoolsinluv @williamjzanders @maddiewinchester @winchestershiresauce @lunarpenumbra @minxsblog @bluestuesday @eatommo @randomwords3000 @i-simp-much @trickstersp8 @kirsteng42 @lovesbiggerthanpride @beskarprincessjenny @loonymagizoologist @trinkets01 @greeneyedblondie44 @tanzthompson @fiscinthirst @mswarriorbabe80 @vickytogisa @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @alyona-romanova @littlemisspascal @mrssarahpaulsooonn @arson-tm @december16-1991 @simplyjaana @pastafossa @boliv-jenta @m00nkn1ghts @iccedays @a-hopeless-fan @detectivecarisi-1

#friday night fever #my fics #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #star wars au #the mandalorian au #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you

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honestlydarkprincess · 7 months

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get to know me!

tagged by @monsterrae1, @hippolotamus, @folk-fae, @spotsandsocks, @barbiediaz, @diazass, @cowboy-buddie to do this and i was tagged in like two versions but my brain is smooth so i'm combining them

nicknames: jess, princess, jester, beech (me n my older brother call each other beech), jessy (family only, mainly my parents n my abuela)

zodiac: gemini

height: 5'4

favourite music: i pay more attention to the song than the genre tbh, b u t i'll tell you that my favourite band is sleep token and i have sleep token brain rot >:)

sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury or spicy

relationship status: single

followers: 2.3k

following: 1.6k

do you get asks: sometimes! i do forget to answer quite a few im so sorry i think about you every day i'll never answer but i think about you

amount of sleep: since being prescribed sleep meds i'd say about 7-8 solid hours

what are you wearing: clothes ;) black leggings, black n white striped shirt, and mismatched socks

dream job: librarian

languages: english and i'm learning spanish

random fact: ummmmmmmm i hoard books :) i have probably 500 or so rn i think

aesthetic: i have no clue, someone who knows me pls describe it to me i'll kiss u on the mouth

last song: aqua regis by sleep token

last film: RWRB

currently reading: the last time i lied by riley sager

currently watching: criminal minds for the 9089080482048204 time

current obsession: stardew valley, writing for kinktober

last thing you googled: ancient seed code stardew (i be cheatin')

tagging: @loserdiaz, @bigfootsmom, @911onabc, @theyarnmaidstale, @stagefoureddiediaz, @chimneygoestotherapy, @chimneysrebarscar, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, and @holdmygum

#tag games #about me

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meat-wentz · 2 years

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gerard stirs such a specific longing in me for my own past, especially because “costume” has as much to do with personal expression as any other clothing but on a type of scale that makes one feel grand, that makes one feel embodied and larger than life, and i say this as someone who was very blessed to be a constant attender of themed parties (i’m talking nearly every single party i went to from age 19-26) where it was an event for feeling myself in a myriad of ways. it was styling myself to make it feel right, to make the statement i wanted to make or to show up in full dedication to something i loved, to make people witness me in a way i wasnt witnessed on the day to day. that for a night i was a glitter cowboy with a golden cowboy hat that i stuck a tiara onto and pink velvet heels, for a night i was a maniac with a letterman jacket and a pig mask and a baseball bat, for a night i was an old hollywood b-movie horror starlet in a long flowing black dress, for a night i was a cheerleader with a machine gun (that was a very good one ngl, i ate). for my 20th birthday all my friends dressed as different ways to die so we could kill my teens and i blew out my candles to a chorus of happy birthday from shark attacks, burn victims, gunshot wounds, blood and guts and chocolate cake. for the glitter party we threw glitter across the house that still lives in the cracks between floorboards although new tenants live there now. for a night i was laura palmer, blue, wrapped in a plastic dress i fashioned out of cling film and plastic bags, for a night i wore a veil and a white sheath dress because it was my 21st holy communion, i remember every trashy lingerie party against capitalism, i remember every zombie school girl, every bashed up prom queen, every hour spent in front of a mirror applying makeup in the company of friends asking if anyone had an eyelash curler (no one ever did), every final touch of fake blood or glitter hairspray, every final cinch of a corset or fixing a friend’s stray curl. it was not only me but the love my friends and i shared over how wonderful we felt for the night. over time, it bled into my everyday wardrobe, a full persona taken on for the day that made me feel alive, trying on different people to be i was a baseball boy from the 80’s i was a greaser i was a velvet cowboy i was a polly pocket i was a diy show vampire i was a tennis star and an art museum curator. and costume is so dear to me in this way, it’s not simply artifice or wishful thinking but rather a moment in time where you allow a fantasy about yourself and realize it, it is a moment where i look in the mirror and say i have never felt more me. it is play but it is also honest and earnest, it is joyful and sometimes silly but it is also a fierce snap back at what the world would have you believe you should be. because of covid, i’ve ditched a lot of the costume elements i used to hold so dear, but buried beneath my t-shirts and sweats, lies my cheer uniform and i think i hear it now asking if it can come play.

#gerard way #mcr #my chemical romance #i am digging her out i am putting her on #text

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macfrog · 8 months

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illicit affairs

cowboy like me chapter eleven

howdy everyone it's me again 🤠 latest chapter of cowboy like me is now yours. do with it as you wish. love u all so much. see ya soon x

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: your relationship with joel is getting harder and harder to hide, especially when a surprise visit from your dad threatens to spoil your romantic weekend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is a lil hungover, gluten bagels, lots of LIES, reader and joel being horny devils, gene kelly, unprotected piv sex, sex tape, praise kink, fluff, cockwarming, angst!!! and pain!!!!, reader and joel fight, cheating....??, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 8.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist

You wake in the same position you fell asleep in just hours ago: curled up in Joel’s bed, the curve of his body safely encasing yours. His lips are still by your ear, breath gentle against your lobe. You lean over to lift your phone from the nightstand.

8:14. You’ve had less than four hours’ sleep.

Below the time there’s a text message, sent a couple hours ago.

Dad: Remember to take the trash out before you pass out kiddo. Hope you had a good night 👍

Well, that was never happening, was it? As far as your dad knows, his best friend had picked you up from Frank’s and given you a ride home. Probably walked you to the house on his steady arm, made sure you downed a glass of water before seeing you off upstairs to bed. Polite. Respectful.

Of course, your dad is blissfully unaware that, in actual fact, at 6AM you were in said best friend’s bed, pressed up against him, no clothes between you, fast asleep. Definitely not making sure the trash was out.

The bright screen burns into your eyes as you squint at the notification below his text, decorated with alarm emojis – your way of ensuring you remembered to get back before him. DAD HOME stares back at you ominously, eventually persuading you to push yourself up off the mattress, loosen Joel’s lazy hold on your waist, and slip out of bed.

Joel, still asleep, rolls across your side of the bed onto his stomach when you sit up, sighing into your pillow as you prop yourself on the edge of the bed. You sit for a minute, dumb smile wide across your lips with no one to conceal it from, staring at him. Studying every part of him in his content, sleepy state.

The sharp curve of his jawline, the flecks of gray through his beard. The soft brush of hair falling on his forehead, deep brown curling just above his eyebrows. His toned shoulder, round and strong, flexing some with the grip his arm has around your pillow. His face buried in the cotton, breathing you in.

You jump when your phone starts vibrating in your hand, pad across to the door and slip out, closing it gently behind you.

“Hello?” you whisper.

Your dad’s voice is like a foghorn in your hungover ear. “Mornin’, kiddo! Wake ya?”

You wince, clutching your forehead as the quick movement from Joel’s bed to his hallway catches up with your aching brain. “Mighta done, yeah.”

He chuckles. The car hums in the background while he talks, meaning he yells even louder to compensate. “I’m about an hour out, thought I’d bring in some breakfast. You want anythin’?”

“I’m good with whatever. You’ll be back soon?”

“Nine-thirty or so, looks like. Why?”

“Nothin’, just wondered. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“Hey, d’you take the trash out?”

“Uh, I can’t– You’re breakin’ up, there, Dad, I’ll see you when you get home. Alright, cool, see ya then, bye.”

You cut his babbling voice and hang up, clutching the phone to your chest, close your eyes and exhale. When you swing back into the room quietly, Joel’s still sleeping.

You slip back into your dress and pull your boots on, scanning the room for your panties. No sign of them, though, and it’s not like you got all the time in the world to search. They’re probably underneath Joel’s deadweight body, anyway.

You tiptoe over to the side of the bed and crouch, kissing his neck softly.

He stirs, hand lets go of the pillowcase and finds yours, intertwining your fingers sleepily.

“I gotta go, baby,” you whisper, running your fingers through his unkempt hair.

His voice mumbles into the cotton, deep and groggy. You catch the tail end of his sentence: “…give you a ride.”

“No,” you reply, laughing a little as you sweep hair from his forehead. “I’m good, I’ll walk. You sleep. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Text me when you’re…home…”

The words barely pass through his lips as he begins to drop off again, and you kiss his head before straightening up, grabbing your bag, and heading downstairs.

You dip into the kitchen before you go, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. You’re fucking parched. Hungover, exhausted, you roll the freezing cold bottle across your forehead. It does little to soothe the throbbing pain, but it takes the edge off of it for a few seconds before you’re slinging the bottle under your arm and searching through Joel’s cupboard.

You steal a bagel. Feels kinda hard, probably a day past its best, but it’ll do. You set off, picking at the dry bread as you walk, holding it between two fingers as you gulp at the water.

It’s the blandest walk of shame that ever happened.

Twenty minutes later and you’re pushing through your front door, fucking drenched in sweat. Your jacket’s tied around your waist, leather hot and stiff. You toss your keys on the kitchen counter and collapse into the couch, letting your heartrate settle and waiting for the room to stop pulling in and out of focus.

Your head is pounding now, your throat feels like sandpaper. Your body aches, though if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure that’s just from the hangover.

Once you’re in a fitter state, pulse no longer beating through your eyeballs, you head upstairs and tears your clothes off to jump in the shower. You keep it on a low heat, only warm, and it soothes your skin and flushes the smell of alcohol, sweat, and Joel down the drain.

You’re back in the kitchen, hunched over the counter nursing a coffee, when your dad waltzes through the front door. You lift your towel-wrapped head from your hand and look up.

“Well, hello,” he calls. “I notice ours is the only house in the street with no tra–”

“How was your trip?” you cut in, eyes screwing shut.

“Ha. Good. Nice drive, up that way. I got us bagels. Want one?”

Sometimes it’s like some twisted fucker is sat writing this comedy into your life. He brought home bagels? After you just choked one down walking home in the blistering heat? Whatever, dude.

“Thanks,” you mutter flatly against your mug, reaching out for the paper bag he’s offering.

Your dad lifts his own bagel, takes a huge bite, then looks up at you and gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. When you bite into yours, you’re…less enthusiastic. It does taste better than the dry one you just had, though. The cream cheese helps.

“I, uh…I’ll be headin’ out again soon,” you tell him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Staying at Anna’s tonight,” you lie, setting your coffee down. “Said we’d have a pool day.”

He nods, mouth full of food. “Sounds nice, kiddo. Nice day for a tan. Hey, uh, how was Joel?”

You almost choke on your bagel. “Wh-what?”

“Joel. He alright?”

You shrug, picking at the bread. Unable to meet your dad’s eye. “I dunno. Why don’t you ask ‘im? I don’t know how he is.”

He stares at you. Brows knit, a line between them pointing upward. “I was just wonderin’…since he…He did pick you up last night, right?”

Oh, fuck.

“Oh,” you bat a hand, tucking it back under the counter when you notice it trembling. “Oh, right. I thought you meant this morning. Yeah, he was fine. He…Yeah. Fine.”

“Uhuh,” your dad nods, eyes narrow.

You don’t have the energy or the brainpower to be convincing. Not right now. There’s alcohol still drying up in your blood, muscles still tight from that fucking hike home, and your mind isn’t even in the room with your dad right now. It’s elsewhere – wrapped up in Joel’s bedsheets with him.

“I hope you didn’t keep him up too late.”

“It was, like, 2AM or somethin’. Wasn’t so bad. He said he was up watching TV anyways. So.”

He seems to believe this – swallows it down with the last few bites of his breakfast. You continue chatting, covering over your blunder like packing dirt back into a hole in the earth, conversation drifting from how your girls night went, to how his trip was, to an awkward apology for ‘forgetting’ the trash. He won’t let that go, will he?

But it’s short-lived. Soon, you both fall into silence, and the air between you feels muggy. Thick with lies and secrecy. Things you can’t say – I wanted a McDonald’s, but Joel wouldn’t budge, then I caught him watching Grey’s Anatomy, did you know he’s only slept with ten – I mean nine people?

Your dad glances up a few times, studies your face. You hide behind your bagel, guilt and shame across your cheeks like a wine stain. But he only smiles pleasantly, until he’s throwing the last bite into his mouth and rubbing his hands together, announcing he’s going for a shower.

“I’ll take your bag to your room,” you crumble the paper wrapped inside your fist, toss it across to him, “I gotta pack anyways.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says, patting your back as you pass him.

You don’t look back when you lift the leather straps of his bag and lug it upstairs.

It drops from your clutches with a thud at the foot of his bed. And then you’re quite literally skipping through to your own room, grabbing a black tote from your closet and blindly tossing clothes into it. A spare t-shirt, underwear, socks. Who gives a fuck what you pack? You’re going to Joel’s – the clothes will probably last five minutes on your body before you’re peeling them off again.

One thing you do take time picking is your bikini, opting for a red strappy one. Your old roommate once told you it made you look like you were in an episode of Baywatch. Which, y’know, seems like Joel’s kinda thing.

Your dad’s stood by his bed, hair damp from his shower, unpacking his bag when you emerge from your room.

“That you leaving your old man?” he asks with a tut, folding a t-shirt onto the mattress in front of him.

You wander through, sweet smile on your face, and kiss his cheek. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Have fun, honey.”

And then you’re gone. Straight back to Joel’s.

You’ve been away a couple hours, if that, but when you wander up his driveway, he’s not home. He keeps a spare key under a plant by his door, so you let yourself in. Sink back into his couch, throw on an old episode of Love Island while you wait. Twenty minutes later, his truck pulls up and he shoulders the door open, grocery bags in his arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your head as he passes.

You switch the TV off and follow him through to the kitchen to help him unpack, rocking into his side as you empty the bags with a giggle.

“He ask?”

You shake your head, chewing on a Twizzler.

“Nothin’? Really?”

“Didn’t really give him time to,” you reply. “Had breakfast, grabbed my stuff, left. And I parked a couple streets away, just on the off-chance.”

Joel looks down at you with a hesitant smile on his lips. He steals the Twizzler from between your teeth and puts it in his own mouth.

“Dick,” you mumble, and he chuckles quietly.

“You know, darlin’…all this lyin’, covering our tracks, I…”

“Joel,” you lean into him, standing on your tiptoes to peck his lips. “I don’t care. There’s nowhere else in the world I wanna be. Just with you. He’ll find somethin’ to do, you know he will.”

He gazes at you for a few seconds, eyes flitting back and forth between yours. You lean your head back and his arm snakes around your waist, squeezing you into his side.

“Trouble,” he mutters, taking a six-pack of beer over to the fridge.

----------

The summer sun blazes down over Joel’s backyard, and the pair of you spend the afternoon by his pool, keeping cool by having a dip every now and then. The red bikini is, as it turns out, a hit: Joel can’t keep his eyes – or his hands – off you, anytime you push up off your lounge chair and slink over to the pool edge, slipping in beside him.

You lock your arms around his neck, legs lazily draped over his hips as he floats you both through the water, and turn your head to the sky; eyes shut, the inside of your lids bright red with the sun screaming down through them. Joel idly kisses your chest, lips curving around your collarbones.

“I like this,” you say, looking down at him. Droplets run down the ends of his dark hair, beads of water rolling down his temples. “I could get used to it.”

“Wish we could,” he replies, bucking you up under his forearms. “I like it, too.”

It feels nice, if a little bit of an ache. Hearing him talk like that. Everything you two ever say, no matter how thick with sincerity, is laced with threat. Wish we could. Because you never will be able to get used to it, right? Something will always be swimming underneath you, a black shadow that disappears whenever you attempt one good glance at it.

Something always threatening to spill your secrets. Something threatening to blow everything apart.

Joel lifts a hand to cup the back of your head and pulls your lips down to meet his, moving backward until his back hits the wall of the pool. Your teeth pick up his bottom lip, tongue slips past into his mouth, and he groans, smiling into the kiss.

You begin to feel him harden under his trunks, and you grind your core against him.

“Inside?” he breathes between kisses.

“Mhm,” you whine, and he drags you out of the pool back into the house.

You spend the entire day following a pattern: eat, chill, tease, fuck. Eat, chill, tease, fuck. As the sun begins to melt behind the trees lining Joel’s backyard, you’ve spend more time on your knees, underneath, or on top of Joel than you have actually tanning.

Can you blame yourselves? Whenever you get alone time with no risk of being caught, it’s hard to keep your hands off one another. With no reason to keep quiet or hidden, you can fuck around all you want without a care in the world, right?

Right.

You order pizza, laze in the slow-dying sun to eat it, talking about nothing and everything before one of you steers the conversation and, before you know it…your bikini bottoms are pushed to the side, or otherwise torn from your body.

Eat, chill, tease, fuck. It’s too easy.

When the yard is finally drowned by dusk, Joel grabs some blankets and you spend the evening on his couch, talking some more and then deciding which movie to watch. You’ve never seen Singin’ in the Rain. Joel takes obscene offense to this fact.

“What kind of film student ain’t seen Singin’ in the Rain?”

“We actually did study it for one of my classes,” you mutter, tossing popcorn into your mouth. “Flicked through the important parts. Wasn’t my thing.”

“Well, you gotta watch the whole film. It’s a classic. Won at the Oscars ‘n everythin’.”

His enthusiasm almost makes you hold back – the way he’s sat on the edge of his seat, twisted around to chastise you properly for your ignorance of musical film. This could be the most animated you’ve ever seen him – over Gene Kelly. So, you almost bite your tongue.

Almost.

“Didn’t it…famously get nothing?”

His face sours in a heartbeat. Expression drops like a sack of bricks. He turns away from you and throws himself back into the couch, grumbling. “Alright, smartass. Watch it, and we’ll talk after.”

“I’m just sayin’, it–”

“We’ll talk. After.”

It’s still not your thing. For a multitude of reasons, but the newest one, the most difficult of all to let go: you can’t get the way Joel spoke out of your mind.

Just shut you right up, didn’t he? With three flat words, and a look in his eye that warned you not to push him. But fuck, you want to. You want to make him talk. Now.

Fifteen minutes into the film, you sit forward and swipe his phone from the coffee table.

“What are you doin’?” he asks in that monotone voice, the one he always uses whenever you’re pissing him off. Whenever you’re…getting to him.

“Bored,” you state, thumbs tapping in his passcode. You’ve been around him enough by now, studying every little move he makes, to just absorb dumb little things about him like the fact that his passcode is 0908, because those are the three numbers his thumb can reach easiest.

The phone clicks open and your eyes dance over the screen, deciding which app to load first.

Joel says your name. Just once. But it’s enough.

You angle your head in his direction. Bat your eyelashes.

“Enough. Watch the damn movie, would ya?”

Your head rolls back around to his phone. You click the photos app.

Joel curses under his breath, shaking his head and turning back to the screen. His eyes are boring into the pixels, mumbling things you’re too busy scrolling through his camera roll to listen to.

It’s mostly screenshots. Contracts, invoices, receipts. Boring Joel stuff. There’s the odd photo of his backyard, a few where the sunset rips across the tops of the trees in a fiery glow. They’re a little tilted, a little off balance. You smile at his attempt at photography.

“You gotta learn how to straighten your pictures, dude.”

“Took that for you,” he utters through a mouthful of popcorn. “Thought you’d like the sky with the trees in front, ‘n all.”

“Coulda text me it,” you say, letting him swipe through the photos to show you, each one from a slightly different angle to get more of the trees in, crop the pool out, hide the horrendous rosebush his neighbor has creeping over his fence.

He shrugs, pulling his hand away. “Musta been distracted by all the dumb stuff you send me.”

“Fine, no more funny videos. You’ve done it now, Miller.”

He chuckles and his attention turns back to the film. You’re slowly creeping further back through his pictures – measurements for something he’s building, different thicknesses of lumber propped against each other under the fluorescent light of Home Depot. And then –

You recognize the huge arching window first. Sunlight casting across a white tablecloth, polished cutlery shimmering. The velvet curtains in the background, and the made-up diners dotted around behind you and Sarah, both grinning into her phone camera.

“When did you…?”

Joel’s lips press the crown of your head. “Saw her gettin’ her phone out ‘n thought it’d be a nice picture from that angle, too.”

“Joel…” you breathe, eyes stuck on the image of your swollen cheeks, more centered in the frame than Sarah’s brown curls.

Your thumb swipes once and there’s a second photo: Sarah’s arm is lowered, she’s typing out her caption. You’re still smiling, looking over her shoulder as she selects the perfect cocktail of emojis.

She’s barely in the frame. It’s all you. Only you.

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, limp hands dropping the phone to your stomach.

“’s just a photo, baby.”

And he’s right. Or – he’d be right, if it weren’t the only two photos of a human being in his entire camera roll. The only person he deems worth taking a picture of. The only one, in amongst trees, and emails, and wooden planks. The things that make up Joel, in your mind. His work, his home, and…you.

As quick as the thought delights you, it’s already terrifying you. Thrill barging through your veins, competing with fear to shock through your system the hardest.

“Alright,” you mutter, switching to his camera app and turning the phone to aim at him, “just a photo.”

You watch on the screen as he gives you a telling glance, holds his hand up to block the lens, and says, “Baby. Will you put that–? Hey. Watch the damn movie, now.”

“No,” you reply, avoiding his palm to snap a picture of his face. You twist in your seat until you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him, your feet in his lap, pulling a cushion to swipe at his attempts to grab the phone. “No, c’mon. We gotta fill your camera roll with more ‘n just contracting stuff.”

“Oh, do we?”

“Yeah.”

Your thumb swipes to video mode, hitting the bright red button and giggling when Joel’s deadpan face turns to watch you behind his phone.

“Quit – it,” he chuckles, swatting the phone from his face.

“You wanna watch a movie, maybe I wanna make one.”

His stare darkens. A smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. You hear it how he heard it seconds after, and you mirror his expression.

“Enough,” he tells you again, voice low, but it’s less of a telling as it is…a warning.

You put the phone down. Lock it, slide it across the couch to Joel. Silent. Giving him the choice.

His fingers lock around it, clicking the button to light the screen back up. He studies it for a second, deliberating, and then leans forward, setting it on the coffee table.

When you turn to look, the phone is sat on its side, screen reflecting back the image of the two of you; Joel, sat upright in the couch, and you, strewn out beside him. The oversized shirt you’re wearing has ridden up past your underwear, pooling on your stomach.

He’s staring at you. You can see it in his phone. You turn to look back, and he lifts his palm. Ball’s back in your court.

“Turn the TV off,” you mutter. You’re not fucking him with Singin’ in the Rain in the background.

He keeps his eyes on you, reaching for the remote. The screen cuts to black.

“Sure you wanna–?”

“C’mere,” you cut in, tossing the cushion and pulling him into you when he moves.

Somewhere between Joel leaning down on top of you and taking a grip of your hair in his hands, he presses the record button. The tiny ding sound shines a spotlight on you that lights your skin with nerves, a little bit of embarrassment, but…thrill. Excitement. Arousal.

Joel grinds his hips into yours and you both moan, your head falling back to allow him room to bruise your neck with his lips. His fingers knead roughly into the soft skin around your hips, pressing divots into your waist, sneaking their way up to cup your tits.

And then you’re turning, craning your neck to watch yourselves on his phone screen. Joel’s lips on your neck, his hands beneath your shirt.

He lifts his jaw for two seconds, coming up for breath and noticing your gaze.

“You wanna watch it, baby?”

You laugh in response, nodding when he turns your jaw to look at him.

In two seconds, you’re on your front, flipped by Joel’s hands. He takes your hips and lifts them, lining them with his own. You cross your arms and rest your chin atop them, watching in the reflected image as he slips his tee over his head and pulls your ass back to meet his stiff crotch.

Both of your heads are just cut out of shot. Yours at the left-hand side of the screen, and Joel’s at the top. The only recognizable traits are your hair and his beard. Those – and the sounds escaping your lips.

He wastes no time undressing you. Just lets your tee fall down your spine to your shoulders, pushes your panties to the side, and tugs his sweatpants low enough that he can comfortably slip inside you.

It’s sloppy. And quick. It barely lasts five minutes. As far as sex tapes go, it’s a pitiful attempt. But it’s hot – pretending that someone might fucking see it one day, see you and Joel, arguably doing what you do best.

And it’s even hotter seeing it from a different angle; feeling the stretch of him inside you, and watching it happen in real-time on his phone. Thinking of him rewatching it once the weekend’s over, his cock in his fist, shooting cum all over his belly.

Joel thrusts into you, pulling your ass back until you’re swallowing every inch of his cock. Your fists ball and you bite down on your arm to counter the shallow pain of him deep inside you, groaning with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers from behind, slipping back only halfway and pushing in again.

You breathe a laugh, whispering, “Harder,” and he listens.

His hips crack against yours, a whimper calling from your lips, knees slipping further apart on the leather beneath you to accommodate the fucking size of him.

“Yeah? You want it harder, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you whine, bottom lip between your teeth.

He picks up the pace, pushing deeper every time your ass comes into contact with his hips. His skin slaps against yours, squeals of delight and pleasure cutting from your throat with each movement he makes.

Your hand slips between your legs, fingers run quick circles over your clit.

“Good girl,” he grits, “make yourself feel good, baby.”

You whine his name, forehead flat against the couch cushion as he fucks you, pleasure building between your legs like a tornado, tightening, tightening, tightening.

And then you’re being hauled up from the couch, flat against Joel’s body, cock still buried deep inside you. His hand replaces yours, his fingers on your clit, rubbing faster and harder than you think you can take.

He’s whispering in your ear like he always does. Saying everything he knows you like to hear. You’re a good girl, you’re his girl, you’re taking him so well. It’s desperate, and messy, and you know you’re both just racing to the finish line, aching for the relief that only you two know how to bring to one another.

And you cum, hard, fighting against his hold in a desperate attempt to fall flat against the couch. Joel keeps you upright, fingers slowing on your aching cunt as you clench and squeeze his cock, your orgasm ripping through your body.

He lets go of you, settling you on all fours in front of him before he pulls out, spilling all over your back.

You sink lower, ass still in the air, tits pressed against the cool leather of the couch as his warm cum slowly trickles down your spine.

Joel groans, a deep, guttural groan, still holding his cock between your ass cheeks as he stills, watching every rope of cum coating your back.

You catch your breath, panting mixed with laughing, and turn, rolling over and staring up at him. He leans back over, grabs the phone, and stops recording.

“Fuck…” you breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel agrees.

You laugh again, the last of your energy going into taking his shoulder and pulling him down against your body as he examines the footage. Tender kisses along his neck, dipping between his collarbones, listening to the grunts and groans from the speaker by your ear.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Joel breathes, eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re a fuckin’ mess.”

Your head tilts back with laughter, and Joel’s lips ghost across your throat. “We are not,” you finally reply, taking hold of the phone and scrolling quickly through the video. “I liked that part,” you turn it to show him your bodies held to one another by Joel’s strong arms.

“Yeah?” he asks behind a chuckle. Then he takes the phone from your hands, locks it, and tosses it to the other side of the couch, pulling you up into his arms until you’re sat on his lap, noses brushing against one another. “I liked all of it.”

“I like all of you,” you say, and he presses his lips to yours.

Joel kisses you gently, running his hands under your shirt and across your back, still covered in his release. He presses you closer to his body, almost painfully, as if the cotton of your shirt, the skin of your bodies, the cages of ribs inside are all keeping you too far apart from him.

You pull your jaw from his, run two delicate fingers across his lips.

“Don’t go fallin’ in love, cowboy,” you whisper.

----------

Joel carries you to his room just after midnight – sun-kissed, chlorine-coated, fucked-out, exhausted. He slips into bed behind you, curling his body around your frame, and, when his leg lifts to slot between yours, your hand stops it.

“No?” he asks, head lifting.

“Don’t want your thigh,” you mumble.

“How come?”

“Want you to…want somethin’ else.”

Joel understands without another word. He kisses your shoulder once, then takes your hips in both hands and pulls your ass to his front. You feel him pull the elastic of his underwear, stroke himself a couple times, and then push his tip in.

You gasp when he enters you – half-hard, slow, but even still. You’ll never get used to the feeling of him filling you, of his body connecting with yours, of him knowing and feeling you this intimately. Knowing and feeling you more intimately than anyone in your life ever has. Ever will, maybe.

When you’re full of him, he steadies. You scoot your hips back a little, and he growls in your ear.

“Careful, pretty girl.”

“Just gettin’ comfy,” you sleepily sing, almost teasingly.

He snakes one arm under your neck, cradling your head in the crook of his elbow. The other lies lazily over your waist. A satisfied sigh runs from his lips past your ear. He sounds and feels the most relaxed you’ve ever known him to be.

And you wish you could say the same.

Your eyes close over, heavy and tired, but you don’t fall asleep as quick as Joel. Something’s tugging at your heart. Something solid, that drags it down to the bottom of your stomach, and pools like ice water there. Something that nips at your lungs, stealing breath from you whenever you think too hard about it.

Something you’ve been patting down, stamping out with your foot every time the flame relights. And suddenly it feels as though the entire room just caught fire from under you.

Sheer exhaustion sends you off to sleep, with dreams of conversations and confessions you’re sure would never happen. Could never happen.

Should. Never. Happen.

----------

Warm water pours down over you, soaking your hair and chasing down your shoulders, your arms, past your breasts and over your stomach. You grab some more of the shampoo you’d stolen from Sarah’s bathroom and lather it up, covering your hair in it and drowning yourself under the water again.

Joel’s bathroom is one of three in his house; Sarah’s is slightly roomier, and the guest bathroom has the best water pressure, but you don’t care. Something inside you goes wild knowing you’re naked and washing in Joel Miller’s shower, even though you two have been fooling around for almost a month now.

You’re busy relishing over how perfect the last couple of days have been, wondering what breakfast Joel’s cooking up downstairs when the bathroom door bursts open.

“Hey,” he says, pulling on the shower door. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, eyes screwed shut, hair covered in soapy bubbles.

“I said get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

Joel reaches around you and hands you a towel as he pulls you out of the cubicle and quickly wrings your hair for you. In a daze, you throw his tee over your shoulders and take his hand, following him out of the shower room and across his bedroom to the closet.

He turns you, hands tight on your shoulders, and ushers you inside.

“What’s he doin–?”

“I got a leaking pipe. He was passin’ by, dropped in to take a look. You stay here, do not make a sound, you hear?”

He closes over the slatted door gently, and you peer through the wood with narrow eyes. You hear footsteps approaching, your dad’s unmistakable chortle as the bedroom door is pushed open again and Joel shows him to the leaking pipe.

“Somewhere under there,” he mutters, hands resting on his knees to point to the space underneath his sink. “Had a look myself, tried some stuff, but it ain’t for fixin’.”

“Let’s have a look,” your dad bends down, groaning when his bad knees reach the tile. He’s almost shoulder deep under Joel’s cabinet, flashlight on, when Joel steals a glance in your direction.

He shakes his head, holding a hand up. Stay quiet.

He gives the room a quick scan, frantic eyes searching for any evidence of your being there. He swivels on the spot, twisting behind himself, noticing your cell on the nightstand at the same time you do.

Joel leans back, feet still rooted to the carpet, and fishes the phone between two fingers, slipping it into his back pocket. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Ah!” your dad exclaims, and Joel shoots straight back around. “It’s your trap.”

“Is that right? I had a look at it.”

“Mhm. Is your eyesight failin’? Look at this, son.” Your dad’s hand reaches blindly behind him into his toolbox and grabs a wrench. “Just the joint’s loose.”

Joel grumbles in response.

You hear the squeak of metal as your dad tightens the pipe and then the clank of his wrench being thrown back into his toolbox. With maximum effort – thanks to his bad joints – he straightens back up alongside Joel, who thanks him.

“Better be the last of my issues.”

“Ha! So little faith in me, ol’ boy. Anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. That’s a mighty good smell comin’ from your kitchen, don’t wanna hold you back from enjoying it.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” Joel says, and you can see him trying to usher your dad out.

But your dad, though you love him, is kinda fuckin’ annoying.

“Anyone special?”

“Huh?”

“You, cookin’? Naw. ‘s gotta be for someone good. Anyone comin’ over for a breakfast date? A…receptionist from a plant hire, perhaps?”

Joel’s eyes squint as he looks your dad up and down, taking his bottom lip under his teeth. “Nope,” he grumbles after a beat, with one shake of his head.

Your dad laughs a little, and then looks to something behind Joel’s back.

“Nice hat,” he scoffs, pointing a finger.

Joel doesn’t reply for a few seconds. You know he’s having the same realization you’re having: your cowgirl hat is hooked over the corner of his headboard.

He laughs. Nervously. Though maybe only you can hear that.

“Yeah, uh…yeah.”

“Looks a hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks, sensing the same accusatory tone you do. Your forehead falls into your palm, hearing the almost pissed-off tone in which he asks, “And what would your daughter’s hat be doin’ in my bedroom?”

For fuck’s sake, Joel. Subtle, much?

“No, no,” your dad’s almost protesting, “I ain’t meanin’…” He sighs. “You know what I meant. Alright, I’m gone. I’m outta your hair.”

His boots recede down the hallway, then downstairs. Your breath doesn’t come back until you hear his car door slam shut, and the tires drive off.

When Joel pulls the closet door back, you’re still stood, towel in your hair, head in your hands. You can’t even look at him.

He doesn’t say anything like you expect him to. No, Sorry, baby, I didn’t know he was comin’. No, Come get breakfast, I’ll make it up to you.

He just wanders off back downstairs, leaving you to get dressed by yourself.

When you enter the kitchen, he’s plating up pancakes and drizzling them in syrup just the way you like. You pass him and run a hand over his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.

When you sit at the table, he puts the plate down in front of you. Silently. Then sits across from you.

You watch his every move. He picks up his knife and fork, and begins cutting into his own breakfast. Staring down at the plate. Then out of the kitchen window to the backyard. Then back to the plate.

You give his calf a light kick under the table, and his eyes lift, but only to your plate.

“You gonna eat?” he asks. Toneless. Less emotion than he talked to your dad with.

Without a word, you pick up your cutlery and start on your own pancakes, though your appetite suddenly disappears.

He made them with banana – your favorite – but the way he’s being with you right now, they taste sour and dry. You chew your way through as much as you can until you’re staring him down, desperate for him to –

“Would you just say somethin’?”

He looks up. Finally looks you in the eye. “What?”

“Say something. Get mad. Yell at me or something, I dunno.”

“Why would I yell at you?” He plants his fork into a scrap of pancake and drags his knife alongside it.

“I mean, you seem pretty mad right now.”

“I ain’t gonna yell at you.”

“But you are mad?”

Joel doesn’t reply. He leans to one side, fishes in his back pocket for something, then slides your cell across the wooden table toward you. He nods down at it, and you click to unlock it.

Dad: Hey, I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

Dad: If your slumber party’s over, that is

He sent them an hour ago. If you’d fucking looked, you’d have known.

“Fuck…” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, jaw chewing, “fuck.”

“He didn’t– I mean, he didn’t see me, though. Right?”

“He saw your hat.”

You lean back in your chair, cutlery clattering against your plate. “He didn’t know it was mine.” A smile forms on your lips, you can’t help it, but it quickly vanishes when Joel’s tone doesn’t shift. Not even a note.

“And how do I know he ain’t drive by your car on his way?”

“Aw, c’mon, man, I’m parked, like, four streets away.”

Joel shakes his head, eyebrows arched. “You’re unbelievable,” he whispers.

“Uh, okay. Thanks. Jeez.” You fold your arms and glare out to the backyard, face beginning to heat. Eyes beginning to sting. Joel’s never like this with you. Never mad, never disappointed. Never makes you feel like a kid being told off.

“I mean, your bikini’s hangin’ up out there,” he points his fork toward the backyard, “and ain’t your bag sat in my hallway? How in the hell he didn’t see that, I have no idea.”

“But he obviously didn’t, so what’s the big deal? It’s only a black tote, it could’ve been anyone’s.”

“The big deal is that he could’ve seen it, baby! And it’s not just anyone’s, is it? It’s his daughter’s.”

And the thing is – he’s not even wrong. You can’t argue back much, ‘cause you know as well as he does that everything he’s saying is true. It’s valid. Your dad would’ve walked right by that bag – twice. The same bag he saw you hook over your shoulder right before you kissed his cheek and skipped out of his room.

This whole time, you’ve been dancing on a knife edge. Waiting to be caught. You came too close this time, and Joel tells you as much.

“Alright, well, what do you want me to do? I can’t go back in time and move the damn bag. I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t fucking mean to let him see–”

“That’s not the point,” he interjects, which is another thing Joel rarely does.

This whole argument is something Joel – something you rarely do. The two of you. The last time you saw him this animated, this angry over something, it was Arthur Kennedy eyeing you up at the barbecue. And even that – that wasn’t directed at you. He wasn’t mad at you.

“Then what’s your point?” you ask, hands slapping down on the table.

“My point is – how many times are we gonna come within touching distance of someone finding out about this? If it wasn’t Hank almost finding us upstairs, it was your dad waltzing right in while I had you fuckin’– while I was…” He sighs, and then throws his cutlery down onto his plate.

Your head drops, thinking back to the seconds of panic between your dad opening your front door and him seeing you two, an awkward, guilty distance apart. Your shorts under the couch. Your wet on Joel’s fingers.

Joel’s kitchen table blurs in and out of focus, tears swimming across your eyes. You rapidly blink them away, but they’re forming quicker than you can rid yourself of them. When he speaks again, you can’t look at him.

“Look,” he runs an almost trembling hand through his hair, rising from the table, “I gotta go. I got some things I need to do today.”

You stand to height opposite him. “You…gotta go? Right now?”

“Yes, darlin’. I got work stuff to see to.”

“Right. Sure.” You lift your plate, turning away, and hear him sigh.

“I’ll only be a couple hours. We’ll talk more when I’m back.”

You spin then, pursing your lips. “So, I’m to wait here for you? That what you’re sayin’?”

Joel’s already picking up his keys. “No…If you wanna go, you can go. Just…if you wanna talk, then stay. We’ll talk.”

You look up at him, no more words coming to the surface to say. He moves a lock of hair from your face, and heads for the door.

Wait here for him. What a fuckin’ joke.

Still, that’s exactly what you do.

You throw yourself down on his couch, flick on his TV. Put on another episode of Love Island. Think over which boy you’d pick, then decide it’d be none of them, and wonder why the hell you’re watching it in the first place.

You wander upstairs to his room. Sift through the shirts hanging in his closet – all different variations and prints of flannel because it’s Joel fucking Miller. Pull the sleeves to your nose, breathe in the smell of him. The sweet, sandalwood smell that wraps over you like a warm blanket; comforting, calming. Fix the pillows on his bed, punch out the lumps where you lay huddled against him last night, his body against – and inside – yours.

You feel hot with anger. Frustration. A little bit of guilt. It sits heavy on your head, drips down to your stomach, swirls around and mixes with the anxiety already in there. If he’d just come home, you could argue it out. Force whatever he really wants to say out of his mouth. Say a few things of your own back to him.

You never fight. It’s the one thing – you never fight. You bicker, you toss back and forth. You piss him off and he shuts you up with his words, or his lips, or with more. But you never really fight.

It’s like something’s different. As if something’s changed, right from under your feet.

Joel comes home two hours later. Lets the door shudder closed behind him, sighs as he kicks his boots off. You’re still upstairs in his room, perched on his side of the bed reading some stupid book on Alcatraz you found in a drawer.

“Baby?” he calls, and you don’t reply. You’ve little right to be as mad as you are, but he can search for you for a minute as reparation for walking out earlier.

“Hey…” he whispers when he pushes the door open, spotting you with the book resting on your thighs. “Alcatraz, huh?”

“It ain’t that good,” you huff, slamming it shut and sliding it across the nightstand.

He breathes a Hmph, then sweeps around the bed. Like he’s scared to make a sound. Like he’s trying not to be noticed. When he reaches you, he sinks into the mattress at your feet, elbow resting on your knees.

“We gotta talk.”

Do I want to hear this? you ask him with your eyes.

He sucks a deep, unsteady breath in, and his brows furrow. He sighs again.

And you know what he’s about to say.

“This…We’ve pushed this too far, now. We’re way beyond reining this in.”

You stare at his lips. Waiting for them to offer something more. When they fall silent, your gaze trails up the shape of his nose, curving around his brows and then finally falling onto his eyes. They reveal all you need to know.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You’re not serious, right? Joel.”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a bag?”

“Not because of a bag.” He looks you in the eye and shakes his head, whispers your name., then, “…because of the lying.”

“It’s never been a problem up until now.”

“It’s never been as bad as now. You ain’t been home in almost two days. Your dad has no idea where you are.”

“I’m not in danger, Joel.”

“You think he’d be happy? If he knew where you were really at right now? Knew you’d lied to his face this entire weekend?”

You sink back against the headboard, defeated. Desperately trying to find another way through what he’s saying. “What, then? What do we do? Come clean?”

He almost fucking laughs. Plays it off by pushing the air from his cheeks. “No. I don’t think we should…No.”

You shrug. “Then, tell me. Just fucking say it.”

Joel shakes his head, holds his hands out. “You’re lookin’ at me like I’m breakin’ this off outta the blue, baby. Like it’s comin’ outta left field.”

“So you’re breaking it off?”

“No, I’m– It’s not– I don’t…” He sighs, fingers pressing into his eyes.

You stand up, towering over him, silhouetted by the window behind you. “Just – fucking – say it. End it. I’ll go.”

“That’s not what I’m tryna do, kid.”

“What are you tryna do, then? There are two of us in this, Joel. You’ve been lying just as much as I have.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he hisses, standing up until you’re chest to chest, inches apart from one another. “Jesus, kid. I’m checking myself every fuckin’ conversation I have with your dad. Makin’ sure nothin’ I say will clue him in. Makin’ sure I don’t accidentally let slip what the hell’s been goin’ on!”

“I’ve been doin’ the same!” you yell back. “It ain’t just you, Joel, but that doesn’t seem to mean nothin’ to you!”

“Mean nothin’,” he repeats with a laugh, turning away and running his hands through his hair. “You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?”

“What else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

He falls silent. His lips pull into a frown. He backs off.

Downstairs, his phone starts ringing. He glances to the doorway, shifts between his feet.

“You don’t get to do this, you know,” your voice trembles, “you don’t get to pull me in and then just drop me when it becomes inconvenient. Once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.” Joel’s voice cuts like glass. “Don’t.”

You step back. Stare him down, try to make him say something. Try to make him do something. Your hands are on his biceps, eyes boring into his, swelling with tears you’re trying desperately to hold back.

Nothing. Not a word.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper.

Joel takes a deep breath, his eyes flicker across your lips just for a second. He looks sad, eyes glassy, lines around his eyes where his eyebrows meet. But they tell you nothing.

His phone’s still ringing out, echoing through the silent house like an alarm bell.

You look at him blankly now. “Phone’s ringin’, Joel.”

He says nothing back, just looks at you from under his low brows.

You back out of his bedroom, shaking your head and stumbling a little over thin air. You’re staring at each other; you, trying to work out who the man is standing in front of you, and Joel, trying to plead with you to hear him out.

When you reach the threshold, you turn as if to run.

“Darlin’, come back. Hey.”

He follows you into the hallway and you feel his hand around your wrist. You whip it to your chest and turn to face him.

“Darlin’? Not your darlin’ anymore, am I? ’m just some girl you were fucking for a month.”

“C’mon, now, you know that’s not true.”

You lead downstairs, shoes thudding as you go. Joel’s right behind you, trying any combination of words to slow you down, make you look at him, stop for five seconds.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your arm swoops down to grab your bag, and as you straighten up, Joel’s ringtone cuts and his machine beeps.

“Hey, Joel,” a woman’s voice fills the space between you both. Your head whips around to stare at the machine.

“It’s Lois. I was just callin’ to…to check in. It was really nice seein’ you today. Give me a call when you can, okay?”

The voicemail cuts and the two of you are plunged back into silence. Silence, save for the heaving of your breath. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your heart ready to burst through it. You haven’t taken your eyes off of the machine, red light blinking menacingly.

Joel lifts his hands. “That is not…It’s not what it sounds like…” he says, slowly, calmly. Quiet. Like you’ve never heard him speak before. Not We’re about to be caught quiet. Not even Quit arguin’ back quiet.

This is desperate quiet. And desperate’s not something you’ve ever heard pass Joel’s lips.

Your whole body is shaking, and you’re not sure whether it’s from adrenaline, or fear, or hurt, or pain. It takes most of the life inside you just for your lungs to open and close. You can’t fucking look at him. You can’t – fuck, you can’t even look in his direction.

You turn slowly toward the front door. You unlock it in a daze, and pull on the handle. The heat from outside hits you like you’ve opened an oven door.

“Baby…” Joel whispers.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ranahx @pedropascalsbbg @cartoon-garbage04 @caatheeriinee07 @kngslayr @hopplessilse @vickywallace @lelifesaver @serenaxpedro @lizzyervs @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @patti7dc @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @totallynotastanacc @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @cool-iguana

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

Text

Video Killed The Radio Star ⭐️ | Rhett Abbott Headcanon

Link to my Rhett Abbott Masterlist

Rhett dating someone obsessed with the 80s would look like:

The second verse in the song “1985,” by Bowling for Soup literally describes you when it goes, “She’s seen all the classics. She knows every line. Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo’s Fire. She rocked to Wham! Not a big Limp Bizkit fan. Thought she’d get a hand on a member of Duran Duran.” Yeah, you’ve seen all the classics (including Dirty Dancing, Footloose, Top Gun, The Outsiders, The Karate Kid, Terminator, etc) and can recite every line to the point you don’t even need your eyes on the screen when the scene plays. Rhett was amazed the first time he witnessed it and would challenge you during the scenes with a lot of dialogue.

Rhett was well aware of your love for the 80s. The movies, the music, the aesthetic, just everything. The whole damn reason y’all met was because you worked at the record store in town. He’d always admired you from afar and finally got the courage to go in and talk to you. Wearing an AC/DC shirt and smudged eyeliner, you definitely gave off that classic rock look. Sometimes he’d come in and you were more colorful like when channeling Cyndi Lauper or Witney Houston.

After that first conversation Rhett swore he could hear you talk for hours. You spitted fact after fact to him when he asked questions about a particularly band or movie. Like you knew the exact date MTV launched on cable (August 1st, 1981) and the first music video that aired (Video Killed The Radio Star by The Buggles). Other famous events you knew by heart were Charles & Diana’s wedding, the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion, the Berlin Wall coming down, and the fact the 1984 L.A Olympics was boycotted by the USSR & their allies.

Rhett could easily pick up on who your favorite bands/artists, songs, movies, and 80s heartthrobs were by how consistently you spoke of them. It amazed him, especially because you were likely either a small child or not even alive when the 80s happened, but everything about you screamed you were born in the wrong decade. “I take it if you could go back in time and choose a decade to live in, It’d be the 80s huh?” “Is that even a question? It’s why I need them to crack the code to time travel so I can go!”

Anytime y’all go on road trips you are in charge of the aux and Rhett has grown accustomed to your choice of music. By now he knows all the lyrics from Def Leppard’s Hysteria and almost everything from Journey and Whitney Houston. Before he met you, all Rhett listened to was country and maybe a modern pop or jazz/blues artist once in a blue moon, now his music taste has broaden to classic/metal rock & techno pop. He personally prefers AC/DC, Guns n Roses, & The Simple Minds and you’ll catch him jamming when he thinks you’re not in the room. “Don’t look at me like that, Y/n.” “I’m just admiring those moves, cowboy.” “Stop right there, or imma have to punish you.” “Does punish involve playing ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me,’ if you know what I mean?”

Not many groups/artists still toured, but the ones that did you guys would try your best to attend the concerts. Together you both saw Pat Benetar, Def Leppard, Journey, & even Rick Springfield a couple times. On your bucket list is to see Mötley Crue, Metallica, Cyndi Lauper, and Joan Jett.

When it comes to birthdays & holidays, Rhett loves to spoil you when he gets enough money too. Merchandise and collectors items are usually what he sets his eyes on to get you, but then he discovered the annual ‘80s in the Sand’ festival that takes place in the Dominican Republic where several of your favorite artists/groups will attend. When he heard about that, Rhett was on a mission. For over a year he saved every penny to book flights, tickets, rooms at the resort before surprising you on your birthday with an envelope. You were a fucking mess at the table when you opened the envelope and read the writing—you couldn’t believe he actually got you tickets for the festival. “What the fuck, Rhett—o-oh my gosh how did you—how did you do this!?” You stuttered between sobs, tackling him to the floor and kissing all over his face as he laughed beneath you. “I love you so much—thank you thank you. This is the best gift ever!!”

The anticipation and working so hard to take you to the festival was so worth it when you guys arrived. The smile on your face never left and Rhett swore you were gonna pass out when Simon Le Bon from Duran Duran waved to you. “I just fucking made eye contact with Simon fucking Le Bon—Rhett!! He waved at me!!” Then after y’all had some drinks at the hotel bar you about shit your pants at the realization Nina Blackwood, one of the five original MTV’s VJ’s, was sitting next to you and had complimented your outfit.

Each time you happened to get the once in a life time chance to meet/interact with the artist/group you spent years fangirling over, Rhett would have a tissue ready to catch your tears (of happiness of course) and capture every picture/video so you could have it forever. He literally was the best boyfriend you could ask for, still in disbelief he had given you such an amazing gift he knew you would cherish till the day you died. It was truly the experience of a lifetime.

That entire trip Rhett fell more in love with you and with your love for the decade. He could see it in your eyes and how you connected with people not only y’all’s age who were there, but also the older folks who grew up during that time. Rhett couldn’t wait for you both to go again the next year, making it a goal to attend annually and working to save every penny to make sure he could see that light in you shine bright in the place you belonged.

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott headcanon #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x reader #rhett Abbott fluff #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott #rhett abbott outer range #outer range imagine #outer ranger headcanon #lewis pullman #fluff

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milk-carton-whump · 1 year

Text

Let's meet Kerei and Siqill! Kerei has a lot to learn still... but I'm sure he'll get the hang of it soon.

Tags: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @sideblogformindtrash @cowboy-anon @unicornscotty

CW: fantasy whumpee, cuts, blood, verbal abuse, gaslighting (lmk if I forgot any)

Broken Spells

There had been an explosion and blinding light, it wasn't his fault. He carefully lowered his arms that had been shielding his face and now looked around the room. There was shattered glass and ingredients scattered all over the floor. He sighed to himself and flicked his tail in annoyance, something had been written down wrong for the spell and now it had backfired in the most tremendous way.

He went to find a broom to sweep up the mess, how could it have been written wrong. There was no way possible. He thought to himself. His teacher was one of the most highly respected and regarded wizards around, he never would've made such a foolish error.

Just as he was beginning to sweep up the glass the door to the study swung open.

"Kerei! What was that noise?!" A great figure of a man, his voice booming with no effort as he spoke.

"It was just a mistake sir, somehow the spell was written wron-" He was cut off.

"Nonsense. You did something wrong. All my spells are written correctly. You're where the error lies." Siqill snapped at the boy.

Kerei flinched at the accusation, it hurt to know he was trusted so little. His eyes darted down to the floor.

"What are you waiting for?! Get down and start cleaning up! I don't want glass on my floor."

"I…um…yes sir." The young magic user said and went to start sweeping it up.

"No. On your knees. I want every shard to be picked up by hand."

"But sir…that'll take hours…"

"Don't argue with me. One day you'll look back and thank me for this lesson. Now get to it."

Kerei nodded softly and started to carefully pick up the sharp shards of glass off the floor. He loaded them into his hand as carefully as he could. Hours began to pass, and over that time cuts appeared and the glass took on a reddish appearance. He sniffled as he finally finished picking up the glass, his hands ached from all the open wounds on them. A spell could surely fix this in a breath, but he had already done enough damage today, bed seemed like the better option now.

#fantasy whumpee #cuts #blood #verbal abuse #gaslighting #kerei #siqill #fantasy whump #not my greatest work #and im posting late in the day

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virgils-screams · 1 year

Text

Artistic Forgetfulness

Sleepxiety

So apparently when I get serotonin in me I write stuff like this, so again, enjoy some fluffy (maybe ooc) Virgil and his caring boyfriend.

_______________________________________________

"O bury me not on the lone prairie." Virgil sung below his breath, trying desperately to recreate the skeletal hand he had for reference on his laptop. "These words came low and mournfully." Virgil continued, unaware of how little he had actually taken out of his work to care for himself.

"From the pallid lips, o' a youth who lay on his dying bed at the close of day." The pencil glided across paper, lines across lines and work atop work. He had to get this art assignment done, otherwise, his professor would once again fuck him over.

It had been hours since he had moved from where he sat in his computer chair, hunched over his desk. Water forgotten beside him, and every other need of his left in the dust while he focused on his current task.

"O bury me not, his voice failed there." Everything that Virgil did that was not drawing was autopilot, he wasn't really in control of that, just what his pencil was allowing to pour onto his paper. "And we took no heed, o' his dying prayer."

Virgil carried the tune, his voice sometimes becoming inaudible, leaving him mouthing the words as he focused on making a detail, before he would clear his voice and start again slightly louder.

"In a narrow grave, just six by three., O we buried him there, on the lone prairie."

Virgil hissed as he tried to unlock his fingers, leaving his hand aching. "Dammit." Virgil grunted, finally allowing the ballad go unnoticed while he dropped his pencil.

The door flung open, causing Virgil to jump at the abrupt noise. His neck snapped towards the door, being greeted by Remy's signature sunglasses and leather jacket.

"SURPRISE, BITCH!" Remy yelled, stepping into his boyfriends room. It was only a moment or two before Remy crossed the room to see Virgil, tutting softly as he approached.

Virgil grimaced at the arrival of his boyfriend, embarrassed to be caught in this state after the last time. Remy had watched him and would make little comments everytime he would be sitting there for more than an hour without moving or making plans to care for himself. It was sweet, but Virgil doesn't think that he's worth all that trouble, especially when Remy has his own workload to complete.

"Virge, how long have you been sitting in here like this? You must be aching all over. " he sighed, crouching in front of Virgil and watching as he finally unlocked his fingers. Remy carefully took Virgils hand in his own, softly rubbing his joints.

"Uhm.. Not that long?" Virgil lied with a soft blush blooming across his face caused by Remys soft attention.

"Mm, so we started with the cowboy ballads today did we?" Remy placed light kisses along his fingers before pulling away, deciding to hold his hand instead.

"Well, uhm.." Virgil chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah?"

"That's a no then." Remy stood, lightly tugging on Virgils hand to get him up. "C'mon Addams."

Virgil sighed as he stood. Remy wasn't wrong, his back throbbed as Virgil moved around. His neck popped and thrummed along with the rest of his tired and aching body. It seems Virgil did have a problem when it came to remembering to take care of himself.

Virgil followed Remy. He was led him down the hallway to their bathroom, stalling to stop in front of it. "Alright, I'll get a snack and a cold water," he smiled and let go of Virgil. "It'll be in the living room, alright?" Remy waited for Virgil to nod before leaving Virgil alone. Humming to a familiar tune as he walked away.

Virgil stretched some more as he walked into the living room, eyes landing on Remy as he set out the snacks he promised he would, followed by water and a couple of his own energy drinks.

Remy noticed Virgil a few moments later, a smile replacing his judging frown.

"Rem, you didn't have to." Virgil murmured. He walked over and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. Relishing in the feeling of warmth and stability. "I don't deserve you." Virgil sighed contentedly into Remys chest.

Remy could feel Virgil relax beneath him while he returned the hug. "I know, I'm amazing." He laughed, resting his head atop Virgils.

Virgil scoffed and pulled away, only to be yanked back by Remy. "Let-" Virgil grunted out playfully, trying to pry himself from his boyfriends grip. "gO- aHh-"

Remy chuckled when he abruptly let go of Virgil. Causing him to stumble backwards for a few seconds before Remy caught him again.

Virgil pouted, smacking Remy as he set down with his own soft laughter. Remy picked up a pop tart packet, tossing it to Virgil before sitting down beside him.

"We're almost out of those sundae flavored ones." Remy commented, pulling the tv remote out of thin air and picking an episode of the office to watch.

Virgil hummed as he settled in, snacking on the food and drinks, becoming less and less sore by the minute. God knows how long he had actually spent at the desk before Remy found him. Six hours? It didn't matter. He thought to himself as he sunk further into the couch, leaning on Remy who had his arm around Virgils shoulders.

"Mmphs," Virgil smiled with dope like grin. Man, it was real nice to have a boyfriend like Rem.

_______________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed 💜

Words: 900

Tag list{you can ask to be added or removed}:

@reiney-weather @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @autumnpleaves @hedgiehoggles @emo-sunshine42 @sky-the-weirdo-ace @from-the-gall0ws @skylar-pansexualnerd19

#sander sides #virgil sanders #fic writing #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #remy sanders #sleepxiety

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jackwolfes · 11 months

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heyyy, could u list out all your wips? I'm curious🐦‍⬛🥰

yeahhhh boi 😌 i've put all 85 that i intend to actually genuinely try and finish at some point below the cut (with mild commentary ✨)

soc (book verse/AUs)

Enby wylan Ghezenite wylan jesper go nyoom (street racer jesper au) on your knees, your highness acotld (so close to the end now 🥲) acotld the sequel (you can pry this au out of my cold dead fingers) bridgerton au wesper bridgerton au helnik bridgerton au kanej sugar baby au “I tested a luxury prostate massager with my best friend because I lied to my editor” sex toy tester fic 5 times jesper gets injured during sex angels and demons drummer jesper au every which way (all 15 formulations of crows shipped with each other) first time 2 giving grinding handcuff handjobs inesper prompts kuwesper 1 kylan orchestra make it messy ninejesper 1 trust me love me fuck me wynejsper (wylan deserves to explore women, as a treat) an eye for an eye, a leg for a leg don't hide ghost home jealous wylan relapse fight (req) thats not how my brain works torture (wish i could remember what the fuck this fic was! 😌) wesper anniversary party highlan sickfic a knights tale by the sea cabin cinderella au cowboy au domx for hire wylan history huh (👀👀👀👀) home for christmas jesper fahey vs the world kanej yoga au pain au rewrite (hopefully getting done for wesper week but who knows) piano teacher radio waves (very cute au where they're both radio DJs) slln5 (very nearly ready to share actually) supermodel the darkest little paradise/the return of winglan the things that happen when you get left at the altar (kazper fake married) zookeeper au grisha wylan kazpernej 241 luggage stripper jesper telepathic jesper wsj wve does top surgery wylan van eck: adorable little idiot (wedding florist) inejsper fake dating catnip (fotm bonus) (horatio returns!!) he's gentle when he wants to be (a rare kanej pwp) lightweight kawesper squirt crisis (squisis) strap (👀) the weight of a love that defined and redeemed you (wylan gets amnesia the fic) wylan gets dicked wynej

sab verse

a key means home and tomorrow pt 2 (van eck reveal) return (wylan gets lightly waterboarded) there's a cap on the tab malkolai car sex (i wrote 4,000 words of this in about 6 hours and it's now fully drafted & i think there's a horny ghost in my brain that really likes malkolai)

check please

superheroes (i've actually been working on this quite a lot recently!! and am having a wonderful time)

solangelo

the ghost king (solangelo arranged marriage/royalty au bc who am i if not very repetitive)

trc

pynch painplay jordeclan daddy kink

rwrb

rwrb wedding night smut (prequel to this fic)

aml

hooking magic out of string (aml rope bondage, pt 1 and 2, bc i am shocked and offended that there arent any rope bondage fics already for this fandom)

winters orbit

worbit soulmate au worbit escort au (this has got fake dating in it!)

#asks #anon #feel free to ask about any of them if you have questions lol

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qvid-pro-qvo · 1 year

Note

for a prompt 🌺 Macheresin + late-night confessions Thank you and I hope you're having a nice day! 😊

as always, movie nights end with a bit of an argument. no matter the time, no matter the movie, there’s an insistence that there’s no way it could be bedtime, and that everyone should stay up for one more feature film. never mind that kids and parents alike are yawning, and that each passing moment the time gets later.

but eventually, logic wins out. or at least, dad wins out, once he gives a solid look and one last sweet treat. and then the whole crew starts the wind down, until it’s time for a final goodnight from papa to seal the deal.

it’s javy’s favorite day of the week.

there’s nothing he aches for more when he’s deployed. he loves the bedtime routine. loves tying back their little girl’s hair, loves making sure their son brushes his teeth. and more than anything, he loves listening in to the bedtime story, just down the hall from where javy puts away the dishes.

“one more time, papa,” danielle urges.

“yeah, c’mon, please,” jamie says, and javy can’t help but smile. his own room is down the hall, but he always listens in while jake is in danielle’s room. “tell us!”

“all right, all right,” jake tells them. “but then you’re both going to bed.”

the springs creak a little as the two of them settle in. jake hums for a moment, and the comforter rustles as he pulls it up to her chin.

“when your daddy and i first started flying,” jake starts, “i would call home as often as i could. which wasn’t too much at all, but i missed texas a lot.”

“who’d you call?” dani asks, and javy can see how big her eyes are without looking.

“my mama, your grandma. my sister, your aunt sarah, and your uncle hunter. anyone i could talk to.” jake’s voice has that hint of a smile to it, and javy stops ceramic bowls from clinking too loudly so he can eavesdrop. “so i’d call, and i’d tell ‘em how it’s going, and every time i’d talk about my new friend javy. how he’s doing. how we’re gonna be the greatest pilots alive.”

“every time?” jamie murmurs.

“every time.” there’s a pause, and then jake continues. “so one day, i’m going on and on about this machado guy, and then aunt sarah just gives this little… sigh.”

“like she knows,” danielle chimes in, and javy chuckles a little. not the first time for sure.

jake chuckles, too. “like she knows. and she waits until i’m all finished, and then she sighs again. a little louder. and she asks me —“

which is when jamie’s voice interrupts, pitched a little higher. “when are we gonna hear about you, jake? we keep hearing about this javy machado.”

“which is when you said,” danielle pushes, and the springs creak with her bouncing.

“well, you better get used to hearing his name,” jake tells them. “because that’s the guy i’m gonna marry.”

jamie and danielle both laugh, and jake gives them both loud smacks of kisses. “that’s right. now, bedtime. both of you. c’mon, jamie, hop to it.”

“i didn’t know that,” javy tells jake. after giving their kids both goodnights of his own, the two of them sit on the couch, leaning against each other. an episode of a show they’ve already seen playing while their brains start to shut down.

“know what?” jake says, blinking a bit. their age is starting to betray them, 9:00 PM feeling like hours later.

“that you told your sister you were going to marry me.” and then javy chuckles again, pushing jake’s hair back from his forehead. it’s getting long. “while we were in flight school.”

“oh, i told mom, too,” jake tells him, chuckling and stretching his limbs out wide. “hunter didn’t really care since we mainly talked about the cowboys game.”

“you knew?” javy asks him, raising a brow. “way back then?”

and after a moment, jake sits up. faces javy fully. “i didn’t know anything back then,” he admits. “i just knew i was lucky. we worked well, together, and you really fucking knew how to fly. so i knew i wanted you in my life. no matter what it would look like. me saying that… was a little bit of hope, i guess.”

“speaking it into existence.”

“something like that.”

javy hums a little bit at his words. it feels like he’s been smiling all night, but with jake, it’s not often he stops. and then a memory comes to mind, lazily floats to the surface. and he can’t help his laugh as he thinks about it.

“you wanna know something crazy?” javy tells him. “i told my mama about you, too.”

“what’d you tell her?”

“i told her about a pilot who was trying to kill me,” javy teases. “how he flew like nobody i’d ever seen—”

“sounds about right,” jake says, and shakes his head a little.

“and how he was gonna be sticking around a while,” javy finishes. “and how i couldn’t wait for her to meet him.”

in the low light of the living room the two parents look at each other. share a gentle kiss, silhouetted by the glare of the TV. and behind them, hiding in the hallway, two young kids watch their parents share that moment, and think that maybe a couple of bedtime stories about that kind of love might just make up for not watching another movie.

#macheresin #jake seresin x javy machado #jake seresin #javy machado #tgm #top gun: maverick #qvo ships tgm #prompt fill #my fic #my writing

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htchnr · 5 days

Text

♰ my heart is a sad affair ༻ C. HOWARD.*ೃ˚

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ canon typical violence ⋆ slighttttt canon divergence in episode 2 in Filly ⋆ let's pretend there's a cryo vault close okay ⋆ Cooper getting shot multiple times ⋆ reader is on the verge of a heart attack or panic attack ⋆ she can't choose ⋆ FEELINGS ⋆ mention of reader going through drug and alcohol benders ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

PAIRING ➻ wife!reader x Cooper. (they were married before the war, but both of them believe the other is long dead.)

SUMMARY ➻ request by a lovely anon ; but the angst in a fic for what if you were cryogenically vault frozen for some reason and many years later you get free and try and find place on the surface and then run into Cooper’s edgy ghoul self either literally run into or just happen to be at the same market stall, my heaRT. WC ➻ 4,8k.

the day the bombs dropped was a day you desperately tried to forget. bottle after bottle, stash of chems after stash — there wasn't a thing you hadn't tried to make you forget.

to make you forget the lies from Vault Tec, Moldaver, the loss of your husband that you fear would never get better, you wanted so bad to forget it all. but after being thawed out in a vault after a system wide malfunction and being thrust into the violently changed world made it so damn difficult to forget.

you shuffled around the town, Filly, looking for any kind of work. you weren't too picky as long as it payed decent and didn't cross too many lines for you personally. you walked past a chems stall, some shady guy selling a surprisingly wide variety of things. "c'mon, three hundred caps for that little is fuckin' ridiculous," a tall guy in a long tattered duster and cowboy hat challenged the shady man behind the stall.

your heart ached, the cowboy's voice a little too similar to one you used to hear every morning.

"mm," he would hum, "good mornin' sweetheart," he'd smile, his usually only slightly present southern twang would shine through in the tired hours of the morning, pressing firm kisses into your skin.

"good morning," you'd tiredly giggle, your undying love for him clear in your smile as you would hold him close, as if he'd disappear if you did.

oh how quickly that memory turned so sour, he did disappear when you let go that awful morning. he vanished from your life after he left for the birthday party he was asked to attend. you looked up at the sky, blinking away the tears. you continued through the town, walking over to Ma's to see if she needed anything.

you're somewhat of a regular there, stopping by from time to time either for supplies or work. sometimes hanging around to help her out around the shop.

you stepped inside, the familiar smell of dirty metals, rotten limbs and blood flooding your senses. you'd gotten used to Ma's, gotten used to her company, hell you'd even go as far as to say you'd consider her a sort of friend. "hey Ma," you holler, finding her at the counter as per usual.

she swears, looking up from her ledger. "hey hey! lookin' for more work?" she grins, her smile missing more than a few teeth.

you walk up to lean against the counter, nodding. "anything you need done, i don't care."

she knew your words meant anything by the tone of them, and she paused working on writing something down to move to thumb through the thick book. "well," she hummed, her dirty finger stopping at one line in the ledger. "i've got something that i desperately need done, but don't take it too lightly," she warned.

you waved your hand dismissively, the memories of your past burning away any boundaries you had set up when you left the vault. "give it to me Ma, don't care what it is."

she looks you up and down, eyes flitting over your gear in your holsters. she sighs and the shrugs, nodding to herself. "i got a man comin' in in a bit, Wilzig. i need you to take him to Moldaver." she said firmly.

you blinked as you snapped out of your sour trance, Moldaver. that was a name you hadn't heard in a long time. sure, you'd heard whispers around towns, everyone heard of Moldaver, but no one knew her as well as you did. "i'll take it." you said, as firm as Ma had spoken.

she sighed but nodded, “i’ll holler when he’s here, for now if you’re so desperate for work, ‘could use some help out back with a giant heap of junk someone dropped off. sift through it, see what’s valuable, what’s not. you know the deal.” her tone final.

you nodded, tapping the counter before heading out back. you almost regret accepting it, cause good lord was it a heap of junk. it took a while to sort through, the last half of your work admittedly got a little sloppy as you spotted someone walking in wearing colors you were all too familiar with.

the girl in the vault suit talked to Ma, and Ma was laughing, calling Barv over to look at the Vault Dweller. you had ditched your suit as soon as you could, repulsed by what the suit meant to you and the company it was from. she seemed to fully embrace it, love Vault Tec even.

then the laughter stopped. it came to such an abrupt halt that you set down whatever scrap of junk you had been holding and slowly started making your way back up the stairs and into the building. the colors sending nauseous waves through you as you watched Ma lean forward and curse the girl out of her shop.

the girl looked taken aback, but left nonetheless. "what was that about?" you spoke, Ma jumping at the sound of your voice.

"sweet lord, woman make some sound next time," she huffed, opening her ledger again. "some fuckin' happy go lucky Vault Dweller, lookin' for the wrong person." she scribbled something down before looking up at the sound of the Vault Dweller talking outside. "this fuckin' girl i swear," she grumbles, shoving the ledger shut before storming out from behind her counter.

you stayed inside, hand on the rifle on your back as you watched her talk to the girl and someone else. "you Wilzig?" you hear her ask, the person she spoke to presumably confirmed her question as a dog sprinted inside, instantly going for the bowl of bloody meat on the floor beside you. admittedly you jumped at the sudden intrusion, but calmed as you saw the dog chow down happily.

the dog cause another pang to go through your heart, Roosevelt. you missed your gorgeous boy so much — you don't think any dog in the world, not even a carbon fibre copy could ever fill the void Roosevelt left.

Ma yelled at the girl to get lost, snapping your attention back to the front of the shop. the person stepped more into the doorway, a roundish man, you could now see. he stood nervously, head constantly looking around.

Ma turned, moving to step inside the shop again, but a loud voice made her stop in her tracks. "Wilzig!" a deep southern drawl shouted from somewhere, and your grip tightened on your rifle's handle. you knew Ma could handle herself just fine, but you never strayed too far from Filly just to be sure.

the girl hadn't moved either, turning to face where the voice came from. "now, you wouldn't happen to be a doctor now would ya?" the voice rang loud and clear, though ever so slightly raspy. "cause i happen to be lookin' for one."

the more he spoke the more your brows twitched. your heart pounded, as if your body knew before your head did. the voice pulled strings inside you that you had carefully tied away, strings belonging to voice that sounded a little less raspy than the man's oustide.

you watched Ma wave the man, Wilzig, toward the door. "you know your kind ain't welcome here." she said, a firm tone in her voice.

it was quiet for a second as you tried to guess who she could mean. "well, maybe not," the man mused. "but i'm gonna make myself welcome." your heart sunk as your fingers fully wrapped around the butt of your rifle, pulling it off your back. the tone in the man's voice made it clear what his intentions were.

it was quiet, and everyone could taste the tension in the air. "now, last night a bounty came in through all six agencies," the man called out. ah, a Bounty Hunter.

"for a hefty price," his voice lowered again, you could barely hear him from inside the building. "on the head of a man that fits the description of that fella, right there." he drawls, and you can only assume he's pointing at Wilzig.

your fingers are clenched around your rifle at this point, the voice of the Bounty Hunter hitting too close to home for your liking. a voice you you wished so desperately you could hear once more, but knew wasn't possible.

"now i may not know much," the man paused, "but i do know a biddin' war when i see one."

Ma huffed, "maybe," she stands her ground and you can see her hand inching towards her gun. "but i've been paid a whole lotta caps to provide this man save transport out of Filly-" a loud bang cuts Ma off, and a shout comes from Wilzig as blood splatters into the shop. Ma shoots forward behind anything for shelter as the Vault Dweller and Wilzig remain in the Bounty Hunter's sights.

he cocks his gun again, "change of plans, i guess,"

you take a deep breath in, your shooting hand shaking a little before you step towards the doorway. "that's enough, right. now." you call out, rifle raised near your face and tightly held as you stepped foot outside the doorway, your eyes squinting a little to adjust to the sun.

your brows twitched more as you laid eyes on the man before you, heart pounding in your ears. a Ghoul. and now that you get a good look at him, it's the same man who was yelling at the shady guy at the chems stall. there was something strangely off about him though, a feeling around him that made your hands shake and your heart pound like crazy.

you saw his look falter when he laid eyes on you. dark, deep set eyes. so he felt something too— the thought was interrupted by someone firing, a bullet piercing his shoulder and shooting through, lodging itself into the wall beside you.

you watched the Ghoul snap, spinning around to shoot at whoever shot him. though it didn't feel like that was the reason, you saw something twist in the man's eyes when he saw where the bullet landed.

a chaotic burst of fire broke out, people from all around, everyone shooting at the Ghoul. and he returned fire, not even breaking a sweat. the bullet in his shoulder didn't seem to effect him one bit somehow. you held your rifle high, the man still in your cross hairs, but you hesitated.

"the fuck's goin' on with you!" Ma yelled, "shoot the fucker!" but you couldn't, all you could do was stand and watch, your rifle aimed with his head between your sights. but you couldn't pull the trigger.

you watched him walk around, not bothering to duck for cover. three loud shots rang, bullets whizzing by and lodging themselves into the Ghoul's back. you blinked, bewildered, as you only saw him jolt at the force, then sit down behind some over thrown over stall.

though you kept your rifle trained on the Ghoul, you noticed the Vault Dweller running into Ma's shop, possibly for cover.

you watched as the Ghoul shot the last person, the street's of Filly quiet besides the ringing of the last shot. he stands up, reloading his gun as he slowly makes his way back over to Ma's shop. your fingers tighten around your rifle as he moves, yet you feel your body freeze up more when he lays eyes on you again.

"i'm going to have to ask you to leave him alone." the Vault Dweller steps out of the shop behind you, gun aimed at the man. your grip falters a little as you sigh, lowering your rifle from your face to look at her. that's when the Vault Dweller notices the heavy change in the Ghoul's face, the moment he saw your face more.

"now, i acknowledge that i'm unfamiliar with your circumstances," she continues, "but, at first glance, your treatment of this man appears unfair, and i'm obliged to intervene-"

"goddamn Vault Dweller, you better shut your mouth before i shut it for you," you hiss at her, and she doesn't miss the disgust in your voice when you say 'Vault Dweller'. that tone solidifies the Ghoul's thoughts, already having put his gun back in his holster, but still keeping a firm hand on it.

you raise your rifle again, eyes back on him. your face contorts with confusion when you see the different look on his face and his gun put away. "how can it be?" he asks, eyes squinting as he dark eyes flit across your figure.

your brows twitch at his question, "come again?"

he sets a step closer, and you immediately tighten your aim. "after two hundred years," his voice a little lower, the confusion palpable. "how is it that you're here?"

it's now that the Vault Dweller takes the opportunity to drag Wilzig inside, Ma helping her. the front door slams behind them, leaving you outside.

you frown, eyes searching his scarred face for an answer. "it ain't fair that you still look so damn gorgeous after all this time," the southern twang died down a little, and now you can perfectly place his voice.

your eyes widen, your heart pounds. you shake your head, your hands were getting sweaty. "Cooper..?" your voice was quiet, but given his expression change you knew he heard you crystal clear.

his hand loosened around his gun. "oh honey," his words are equally quiet but southern drawl more intense than you knew it was, as he sets a step closer.

out of instinct your aim tightens again, the ache in your heart too much. "don't set a single foot closer," your voice trembles as you try to purvey some kind of strength still.

the man looks hurt, pain flashing before his eyes. "darlin'-" he starts,

"how do i know it's really you?" your voice gaining some strength again. "hmm? how do i know this isn't a sick fuckin' joke?" you could tell the man wasn't afraid of your rifle, hell, you'd seen him get shot four times and not even blink.

he paused, blinking slowly as he thought. he looked up, now sad eyes meeting yours. "be safe Cowpoke, don't leave me so lonely for too long." he spoke, and your heart sunk. you felt like you could throw up. "that's the last thing you ever said to me, the day it ended.

the town was too quiet, the sound of something whirring inside Ma's shop, the occasional yell of Wilzig, and both of your voices.

"how..?" you muttered, and he knew what you were asking. you slowly lowered your rifle, watching him closely as he slowly neared you.

he shook his head, "that is a story you don't wanna know," he spoke, pain in his voice. your rifle was dropped at your side once he stood before you, a handful of inches between you. he watched as a tear finally slipped down your smooth cheek. "oh honey," he whispered with a rasp, arms pulling you tightly into him.

and you let him, not moving against him until your eyes were met with the worn fabric of the same shirt he left in that dreadful say so long ago. that's when you wrapped your arms around him and let it all go against him. and he held you through it, strong arms tightly wrapped around you and a gloved hand stroking your hair.

the two of you stood like that for a while, your sobs had died down and you were worn out. he held you tight, his hold never faltering.

a million thoughts raced through Cooper's head, about you, what you'd think of what he had become, that you'd hate him for it — but most of all he was dreading having to leave you to track down the girl and Wilzig.

you reluctantly move along as he holds you away from him, sad, gaunt eyes looking into yours. "i'm sorry," he trails, his voice more raspy now.

you frown tiredly, "for what?" your question hurts him more than you can see as he pulls one hand away to rummage in the saddlebag thrown over his shoulder. your brows furrow deeply at the rope he pulls out. "Cooper..?" you ask hesitantly, watching him look at the rope with a frown.

before you know it he's got the rope wrapped around your waist, your wrists held between one of his gloved hands as you struggled against him. "hey-!" whatever was left of Cooper's heart cracked with each sound you made. his pained eyes watch the rough rope scratch against your soft skin as he tied it.

"you better have a damn good reason for this." you seethed, wriggling against him and the rope. while you looked at him with frustration, he looked back with nothing but regret.

that confused you, if he clearly didn't want to do it, why was he doing it? he pulled you back by your wrists, trying to be as gentle as he could but you wouldn't budge. "honey, please," he pleads, holding your wrists with nothing but care.

you shook your head, "unless i get a damn good explanation for this," you gesture at the rope with your head, "you're gonna have to carry me if you want me anywhere else but here." you stood your ground, digging your heels into the dry dirt.

Cooper looked down and sighed. he loved this about you, your stubbornness, your strength to fight something.

he let go of your tied wrists and you jolted away from him, but he wrapped an arm around your waist and one beneath your knees as he with impressive strength hauled you over his shoulder. "goddamnit Cooper Franklin Howard, set me down!" you shouted, tied fists hitting against his back as he moved up the stairs to Ma's porch.

once beside a post, he lifted you off his shoulder before pressing you against the post. "let me- hng- go!" you yell, thrashing in his hold. he had always been a little stronger than you, but post war he seemed even stronger. he wrapped the rope around you and the post, arms wrapping around you to tie the loose ends behind you.

he pulled away, and wished for nothing more than that you could forgive him for this as he took in your hurt, anger and confusion. he leans in, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead, and lingers for a moment longer in your warmth.

he pulls away reluctantly, setting a few steps back. "don't you dare leave me here Cooper." you seethe, but the emotion was getting to you as well.

"don't you dare leave me again."

you saw whatever remained of his heart shatter in face at your words, tears pricking at his eyes. "i'm sorry darlin'," he trails off, looking between you and Ma's front door.

he sets a few more slow steps towards the door, and you lose it. "please," you plead, tears dripping down your soft cheeks. "please don't leave me damnit."

he knew that the moment he stepped through that door, that it would be a long time before you'd forgive him for this.

PART TWO! 🥰

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