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macfrog · 11 months ago

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secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

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

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

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

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“Jesus!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

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

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

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

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

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

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

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

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

“Dad…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

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

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

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

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

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

“Get the hell away from him.”

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

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

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

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad. Enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you figure that?”

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

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

“No, I –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

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

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

“Baby,” he says.

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

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

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

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

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

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

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

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

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

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey. Look at me.”

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

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

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t protest.

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

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

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

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

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost five thirty.”

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

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

You nod. “Sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

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

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

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

You smile. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot her a look. “What?”

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

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

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

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

“You were friends with my dad?”

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

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

You smack her arm and she giggles.

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

“I don’t. Not ever.”

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

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

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He finds a way to try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never better. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything has changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

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

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

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

“All of it?” he repeats.

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

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

“You came back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

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

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it never does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” he asks.

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

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

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

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

And you believe him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #fic: cowboy like me

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dangerkittenclaws · 10 months ago

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Are your requests still open? I’d love a fic where the (AFAB) reader is in a situation where she’s forced to share a bed with Vessel (maybe she’s a musician who’s touring with ST and the hotel is short on rooms? lol I know it’s super cliche) and in the middle of the night he wakes her up by initiating sex? 🥰

This was so fun to write, thank you!! And thank you for being my first request/ask, I'll never forget it! Sorry it took me a hot second to finish. To be honest, I feel I got a tad carried away but I hope I did our lean bean of a man justice! <3

vessel x f!band!reader

warnings: smut MDNI +18

You were waiting in the lobby of the hotel your tour agent had booked, spinning your luggage case lazily by its extended handle. The staff had been frantic as your large group entered the building.

IV was at the counter talking to the man who was clicking desperately at his computer. Something clearly was wrong with the reservation, but you were so tired that you really didn't care, you just wanted to slide into a cozy bed and sleep like the dead. It had been a long day, not including the show tonight and piling into a van afterwards.

Two of your best friends and bandmates, Alexis and Maggie were sitting on one of the lobby couches quietly showing memes to II. Vessel, III, and Liv, your bassist, were sitting on the bench right next to them. You all had gotten to know each other fairly well considering you inhabited a bus for numerous hours, watched each other practice, and went out to eat together.

You had noticed Vessel staring at times the past few weeks. You didn’t particularly mind the man was checking you out, it felt good to be wanted in a genuine way. You were not opposed to something new. You had become aware of him giving you glances that were a few seconds too long, a hand grazing just a little slower, him waiting for you so he could walk with you to wherever you were going.

And the teasing and bickering, god, it never ended. You didn't expect any different, being in close quarters with four boys and your three raunchy best friends, it was a constant war. You didn't quite know how to navigate these waters with Vessel though, it had been quite a while since your last boyfriend.

Your attention was brought back by IV walking back over to where you stood, a grimace on his face.

“Something happened to their booking system, they’re overbooked and we're going to have to share rooms until tomorrow.”

Some sort of seniority took over his voice, “Maggie, Alexis, Liv you can share the two-queen room, II, III, and I will share the other. That leaves you and Ves with the last king room”, he said pointing between you and Vessel.

Your eyes could’ve popped out of your head at that moment, but you schooled your expression hopefully before anyone noticed. You looked over to your bandmates and saw how Liv wanted to protest, but closed her mouth before she could say anything, knowing it was futile and everyone was too exhausted to care. It was nearing 3am and you were only spending two nights here before traveling again.

Vessel's eyes instantly shot towards yours, a small smirk forming on his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. Those lips.

“I guess it's you and me, then, love.” He gets up, standing to his full height before grabbing his duffel bag from beside him. The rest of the group rises and gathers their things, IV giving out key cards in silence.

You look at your girls, bidding them goodnight with a small wave and suddenly your hands are empty. Vessel had taken it upon himself to steal your suitcase and start walking towards the elevators.

Startled, Maggie giggles behind you at your expression. Breath leaves your mouth in a sort of sigh and laugh, and your tired legs begin to move in his direction. He is already in the elevator, keeping the door open for you.

“Damn your long legs.”

He turns to you once the doors shut, “I hope you have a little bit of energy left in you,”

You look at him confused, “What do you mean?” You know what kind of tone he has, a playful, flirtatious one that makes you blush.

“I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?” the doors open to the new floor and he darts out, immediately walking in long strides and searching for the correct door. You try to keep up, watching him try the key card on the fifth door down the hall and entering. You walk into the blackness of the room knowing he's just in front of you. He nearly giggles as he turns on the bedside lamp and watches your face scrunch up at the sudden light.

“You could at least warn a girl,” you yawn. Just as described, there is one large plushy looking king bed in the center of the room, a tv mounted to the wall, a little breakfast counter, and a door ajar on the other side, the bathroom.

Vessel drops both of your bags at the end of the bed, “Okay, me first, I need a shower.” he announces. You scoff and nod anyway, both of you taking out your pajamas and toiletries you'll need to set them aside.

Vessel puts his hand on your hip from behind you, the boldest move he’s made yet, “I’ll be quick” is all he whispers near your ear. The warmth of his hand lingers on you even though you hear the door shut. You finally breathe again, you had stood frozen for too long. Is this really happening?

You finally search out the TV remote, finding some mind-numbing home renovation show. You watch a few minutes, zoning out entirely, before the knob of the door twists and you turn your head. Your eyebrows raise at the sight before you.

He is a little damp, clothes in hand, the last few water droplets running down his lean torso, hair scruffy from the towel dry he did before wrapping it lowly around his waist. You almost drool before looking back up to his eyes.

“My eyes are up here, darlin,” he smirks. You feel your entire being light up red hot before you want to implode for getting caught staring at the very… enticing area that he is putting on display. It's not like he wears those pants for no reason at shows, it leaves little to your imagination and he knows it.

You jump up with your head down, grabbing your things and dipping into the bathroom without another word. You shower hot, needing an excuse to be as pink as you were with that fine man that you had been roomed with. Your pajamas were just an oversized Sleep Token shirt and a short pair of plaid shorts.

After scrubbing the day off of you, you change into your pajamas before your hand hesitates at the knob. You breathe out. We are just sleeping. We aren’t even anything yet. Why am I being so dramatic about this?

You summon all of your courage to open the door and look out to see Vessel in bed, scrolling his phone, the room only illuminated by the TV. You put your leftover toiletries and laundry on top of your bag before plugging in your phone and pulling back the covers on the other side.

Vessel looks over to you, “Come here, love”, opening his arms to you. You snuggle into his side and onto his chest, as his hand rubs up and down your back. You involuntarily let out a little sigh of relief, finally you can rest. You fall asleep like that, him holding you close and warm.

You wake up a few hours later, having turned to your side in your sleep, one of his still around your middle and the other under your neck.

You move slightly and become aware of something pressed against your ass. You immediately hold your breath.

You slowly breathe out, and try to inch yourself away. His arm tightens around you. Oh shit, he’s awake.

Like he reads your nervousness, he starts to kiss along the back of your neck to the side, underneath your ear. You shiver at his warm breath.

“Hmm, I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it with your ass backed up to me darling.” You smile and blush at his words, knowing the effect you have on him. He grinds a bit into you as his hand slowly moves towards the waistband of your shorts.

You realize your shirt had bunched up just below your tits just as his other hand reaches up and runs through your hair, long fingers pulling just enough for your head to move back. You turn to your back when he easily grazes over your clit and you clench your thighs together. Vessel gives you a little growl in your ear and your thighs cave open as quick as your resolve.

“I've wanted you for so long, sweet thing, and I've got you all to myself now.” His fingers move in slow, small circles over your clit and your hands go to his bicep, grabbing at him for more. You let out a small moan as you lose yourself in the feeling of warmth of both of his hands touching your body and the building starry sensation in your belly.

You reach down towards his stomach, caressing down, trying to burn the feeling of his skin into your mind before coming into contact with the curls of his hair. You hesitate slightly and he quickly attacks your lips, like he's reading your mind again.

You continue on to wrap your hands around his long, hard dick and begin tugging on it. He smiles against your neck and brings his other hand up under your shirt to massage your tit before pulling your nipple taut and thumbing over the hard bud forming. He does the same with the other while his fingers work their way into your wet cunt, one slender finger at a time.

You are getting impatient now, kissing his lips and neck, sucking his soft skin into your mouth to leave your mark. He lets out a whimper before seemingly regaining control of himself. Noted for future reference.

He slides down your body in a quick moment before licking up your slick cunt, making you nearly cry out. He tongues your entrance before making his way up to your clit and practically latches on. You claw at the bed sheets beneath you eventually finding his grown out hair to pull. You don't know if you want him to stop or if you want more, this is so much better than your own fingers. You buck up into his mouth and he locks his arm around your thighs to keep you from squirming away. That feeling in your stomach is burning.

He makes a few deliberate swipes of his tongue in succession over your clit and he watches that you come undone beneath him. Your eyes roll back, your hips tighten, and you gasp out his name. He keeps his tongue flat against you, tasting your cum before coming up to kiss you.

The moment you taste yourself on him is the moment you feel him press against your swollen pussy. You moan into the kiss, wanting more of him. He grabs himself to properly press his dick into you. He does it slowly, making sure you savor every inch.

“Please, please, Vessel, please”, you beg him.

“Please what, kitten?”, that slow devilish smirk comes back with a vengeance on his wet lips.

“Please fuck me, I need you to fuck me.” You mumble out, embarrassed but full of anticipation.

He thrusts into you fully, making both of you moan out curses. Ves sets a pretty quick pace but makes sure to hit the one spot inside you that makes your pussy tighten around him on every pass. He bottoms out, touching the beginning of your cervix and you see his eyes roll back.

“God, you are better than I ever imagined.'' He reaches his hand down between the both of you to play with your clit again. This time though, your orgasm is quick to approach with him inside of you. His fingers move swiftly as you grind yourself down onto his cock to meet his every thrust.

You are scratching down his back trying to find purchase with how full he makes you feel. Soon enough, the pool of white hot in your belly is overflowing again and he changes the angle just slightly, fucking you through your orgasm. You moan out knowing your pussy is clenching around his dick in a vice grip. Just as you cum around him, he settles deep within you and his fingers dig into your hips. His thick ropes of cum spill into you and he pulls out to leave your cunt messy.

You open your eyes half-lidded after a moment, trying to catch your breath, “Jesus, did you… did you plan that all along?!”

He smiles wide at you, “Which part, the room sharing or the me-getting-you-to-myself?”

“Either?”

“The rooms being short just happened to play into my favor, but I was plotting to get you alone this weekend, my sweet kitten.” He pecks your lips before moving to the bathroom to get a warm towel for you both.

You sigh out as you watch him, “I didn’t know what I was missing out on, really.”

You hear his sweet laugh as he comes back in, gently running the towel over your pussy, cleaning you up. You squirm a bit but are easily distracted by the kisses he leaves on your inner thigh. You let out a small yelp when you feel teeth graze and a quick nip before he pulls away.

He slides in next to you again, pulling you close, “If I have it my way, you’ll be mine forever.”

“I’d really like that,” you murmured against his chest. You feel him press his lips to the top of your head before you fall back into a satisfied dreamless sleep.

#dangerkittenclaws #sleep token #sleep token fanfic #vessel sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #vessel x reader

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catboybiologist · 8 months ago

Text

I went into Sue to measure her interior for a potential sleeping platform I might build, lay down on the foam mat that I was using to "test" how I fit in her, and I've been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few hours. This is genuinely more comfortable than my apartment bed.

I would totally sleep the night, but I'm literally just in the parking garage for my apartment complex. I don't have window tint or shades or anything, and I know parking enforcement makes rounds relatively early in the morning. But god damn, I'm feeling so good about her potential. I'm so goddamn excited, I can't wait to start using her for real stuff.

But holy shit it's already 3am and I do not want to wake up to a goddamn cop

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saintzweig · 25 days ago

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I’m back. are you sick of me yet. anyway!! I’ve been OBSESSED with the idea of patrick studying law, like idk that just makes so much sense and with that I propose to you: patrick on the mock trial team, or speech and debate. all of the guys on the tennis team think he’s a fucking NERD for doing it, art thinks it’s cool tho! tashi is his go to for practicing his debates before tournaments and she purposely plays devils advocate to piss him off majorly. BUTT going back to u saying reader being a like.. journalism major and working for the campus newspaper, imagine her covering a speech and debate thing and seeing patrick and being like, hm fuckin nerd, but then she goes to a tennis match the next week (bc a friend of hers is like. obsessed with art or some other guy on the team) and then she realizes that guy on the speech and debate team is on the tennis team and he’s like, actually really hot. and then that night she’s at a frat party and she’s getting pulled into a bathroom by a hot as hell guy and, surprise surprise, it’s patrick again. he writes his phone number on some university promotional flier for speech and debate in bright blue pen (using art’s back as a table) and she dies right then and there (and every weekend after when his cock is in her mouth for “stress relief”) - 🎾

(I fear I need to come out of fanfic writing retirement.)

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGG i thought about this hard with the very little juice left in my brain. not proofread bc its 3am ... might make the smut part a whole fic :")

you walked into the auditorium, a ‘stanford daily’ id hanging from your neck and a DSLR camera in your hands as you made your way through the sparse crowd to your assigned seat. you're in your third year of uni and elected co-editor in chief at the standford daily, so your job is mostly looking over the process and production of the weekly paper– this meant that you haven't been assigned to cover an event in a while given that you were the one assigning them. but the student who was supposed to cover this debate got sick, and no one else was available so you took it upon yourself to do the job.

you were surprised to see tashi duncan and art donaldson a few rows in front of you, talking amongst themselves. they're well known on campus, being on the tennis team. you haven't seen or read anything about their life outside of the court, but why a debate event on a tuesday morning? were they that bored? or do they genuinely think that these events are entertaining?

your unspoken questions were answered when the debate team was called to the stage, and there stood patrick zweig with a smug look on his face. you've never seen him in person before but he was a usual subject in the paper– being a reckless and easily agitated but damn good tennis player. now you're finding out that not only is he on the debate team, he is the captain. and a pre-law student? does this guy come from money or is he just a fucking nerd.

you've always thought debates to be boring, even if you're a liberal arts student. but patrick zweig proved you wrong. it was mesmerizing to watch how smooth he was with his arguments, he knew the right words to say, the right points to make and the right buttons to push. he riled his opponents up but in a way that doesn't cross the line and break the rules. it was mesmerizing to watch him smirk, as if he found joy in proving others that they're wrong. you didn't even notice that you're on the edge of your seat, squeezing your thighs together.

you brought the camera up to your face, squinting as you focused the lens on the members of the debate team. and as your camera pans over to patrick, he was already looking directly at you. smirking as he watched you falter for a moment before snapping the photo. you left in a rush as soon as the event ended, heart racing against your will. what the fuck was that?

two weeks later, you find yourself being dragged by your best friend to a tennis game on campus. stanford versus pepperdine. the men's team are playing today and your best friend bribed you with food to get you to come with her and cheer art donaldson on. the first match started and it was a doubles, art and patrick versus two players from the opposing side. if the sight of patrick defeating his opponents in uniform got your heart racing, be prepared to see him do it in shorts. his thighs were godly and you couldn't take your eyes off it.

you finally saw him play, seeing his personality on court that everyone was talking about. his serves were unusual but his backhands were fucking hypnotizing. the sounds of the ball being hit back and forth vibrating in your ears, your heart almost exploded when you heard how loud his grunts were as he plays. like before, you found yourself at the edge of your seat, squeezing your thighs together.

during the break, patrick took the time to scan the crowd before his eyes landed on yours. your mouth gapes slightly open as you feel him stare into you, his lips parted and wrapped around the mouth of his water bottle, the liquid dripping down his chin. he wiped it away, sending you a wink. you don't think you've seen anyone this hot before.

as if dragging you to a tennis game wasn't enough, you found yourself in a party at some random house that you (unwillingly) and your friend crashed. however, as soon as you walked in, she was taken out of your grasp into a bedroom by her situationship, leaving you to your own devices. you decided to grab a cup of the horribly sweet yet bitter punch in the kitchen before making your way through the house, dragging your fingertips against the wall and feeling the vibration of the music.

you yelp as someone grasped at your arm and pulled you into the bathroom, the punch nearly spilling all over them. it was patrick, smirking down on you as he crossed his arms, flexing his biceps against the fabric of his polo shirt. “you're a journalist, right?” his voice was soft towards you, unlike the tone he used in the debate and unlike the rasp when he yelled victory during the game.

you nod, a tinge of pink dusting your cheeks. he smiled at your appearance, you look so tiny next to him and the way you looked up at him, jesus.

he grabbed a pen from his pocket, placing the cap between his lips as he pulled it off. he takes your arm, pants tightening as he took in the size difference of your arm against his. he chuckles lowly, scribbling his number on your arm. you only stared at him, the proximity making your core throb. “call me, yeah?” he smirks, patting your cheek gently with his large hand before exiting the bathroom. leaving you frozen and aching.

#🎾 anon ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#saintzweig asks ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#saintzweig writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#challengers #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers blurb #patrick zweig x reader

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere Best Friend

Tw: childhood abuse, divorced parents, bullying, violence, angstt, parental neglect

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

my masterlist

hi guys after a long hiatus i come back , coping mechanism time

i wrote this like from 11pm to 3am in a frenzy so dont exepct much , ridden wih typos, contradiction,grandma misrake and idk if the reader here is fully gender neutral or i accidentally sprinkled some afab in there

thersras like a part 2 to this so eyah stayetuned

enjoys

He was there from the very beginning, that quiet boy from elementary that you shared your sandwich with when no one bats an eye at him.

He was quiet, you were considered uninteresting. Both of you are somewhat outcasts and the other children held no interest towards you and him. Perfect match for each other, instant best buddies, bonded by mutual loneliness.

Well, maybe, not instant. He was weary and so were you, it took a while before you gained his trust. He made sure you didn't stuff nasty, gritty bugs in that sandwich like how all the other kids would do. You made sure he didn't accept it just to throw it in your face.

Once it was established that you didn't add an extra ingredient and he isn't going to play bread frisbee, the door to a long and strong friendship was established. He doesn't have much to say, but he's never short on kind gestures when it comes to you. Are your bags heavy? Let him carry them, he's a strong boy; he drinks his milk and gets his healthy amount of sleep. You forgot to do your 5th grade long division homework? He is going to swap his completed homework sheets with your empty ones, he's okay with being scolded. He has some stupidly thick skin from what goes on at home.

Your yoyo is really cool, you said. You own that yoyo now. No, really, it's okay. He doesn't really need it and it made you happy when you had it in your small hands. Yes, it took him months of begging his busy, overworked, broken, divorced, struggling, knee-deep in debt dad and a couple of missed lunches to get that shiny yoyo, but he loves seeing your surprised expression and dazzling smile.

Oops, you spilled your drink all over another classmate's book, or you broke a window, or you dented a teacher's car. It doesn't matter how many people witness it, it doesn't matter what you say, he's responsible and will gracefully accept all repercussions and punishments even if that means receiving a couple more ugly bruises on his body that night.

Who doesn't like candy? He sure loves them. That's why, he uses up all his already scarce pocket money to buy you some. You protest, he's confused, don't you like candy? Yes, he knows he won't be eating a lot these few weeks because he can't afford it, but don't you like candy?

Are your hands dirty from eating all that chocolate? Here, use his white shirt as a napkin. No, really, it's okay! He's your friend, he would do anything for you... are your shoes muddy too?

Happy birthday! It's a very special day for you and him too, that's why, he saved up enough to buy you a tasty cake and a pair of beautiful promise rings made up of gold! Isn't that cool? Don't worry about how he got the money and please ignore the giant, bloodied cotton gauze on his head, please ignore his black eye, please ignore the strange burn marks on his limbs. His extra injuries are due to... him falling off a bike. You know that's not true. That's not how he got them. He is going to be really sad if you don't accept his gifts, better just shut up, smile, say thank you, kiss the boo-boos away, stuff your face with delicious cake and wear the damn ring.

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, good night, goodbye, I love you and all the other greetings are something you hear everyday from him. Hm, the teachers are complaining that he isn't that polite to them or to the other children, all they get are silent blank stares at best, a scowl and a spitting hiss at worst.

Halloween's here, you're dressed up as a generic bedsheet ghost because its the cheapest to do. While he's dressed up as a horror movie survivor. Wow, the cuts, tattered clothes, blood, abuse marks and limping walks really sold the costume. But you and him both know very well that these aren't done using makeup or prosthetics.

You and him went on trick and treating quietly.

Aww, you both are so adorable. Candies for days. Your pumpkin buckets filled up quick, that's because your friend keeps piling his candy into yours.

Aren't chocolate bars his favorite? Yes, of course. They're so expensive, delicious and very unafforable. But why does he keep giving them to you and leaving none for himself? Because they're everyone's favorite, including yours, duh!

Such a young gentleman, he is the type to lay his coat over a puddle of water for you to cross over it.

Middle school is where children usually begin to explore the concept of romance. Maybe you saw him as a brother, maybe you weren't attracted to him at the time, maybe you wanted to put his devotion for you to the test. Whatever the reason was, you consistently friendzone him whenever he tried to court you.

But it's okay, he is willing to wait. He is willing to have his eyes sting with tears, heart broken over and over again. He is willing to grit his teeth and clench his fists while forcing a smile, watching you experiment with the idea of having a boyfriend or girlfriend with other people. He is willing to be the third wheel to every single one of your dates with other kids. Your friend is always going to be there for you no matter what, he is your unyielding safety net, he is your second choice, he is always the best alternative or default when the puppy love didn't work out. And, he found solace in that. Others come and go, he is the fucking constant.

Then, he is going to try his luck. He will do it over and over again. You're going to accept it one day.

Your friend loves flowers. He speaks the language and gives you bouquets of red roses and pink Camellias. You usually chuck it in a vase filled with water and let it wilt, they're going to be replaced anyways.

He found that the food in the cafeteria can be awful, with goopy expired milk, to half frozen pizzas, they're bound to cause some poor kid to puke their guts out later in the day. He is making sure you're not that kid, so, he dedicated what precious free time he had to hone his cooking skills. He is a busy boy, working god knows how many jobs a 12 year old can work in a day, just to fund this essential skill of his.

Middle schoolers can be so cruel, your friend may not look the most feminine, but it's the actions he does out of love that makes the children pick on him for being different. Ew! He likes flowers and cooking! Gross! Evil! Unnatural! Independent! So not Alpha!

It starts off rocky at first, bullies will sabotage him whenever they can, kick him while he's down. Ruin his stocks, call him names and vandalize his belongings, but he gets the last laugh when he makes fucking bank by selling warm, hearty, tasty meals. They're a big hit among the staff who have no time to cook for themselves and have half a brain to know eating from the cafeteria is a bad idea.

Of course, his beloved sweetheart gets to eat for free. And has the privilege to go for seconds, thirds, fourths, however much your stomach desires. Yours are always personalized to fit your palate and presented in the most appetizing way.

Soon, other children began buying his meals too. As it turns out, they fucking slap.

He began expanding, selling resold candies at a ridiculously marked up prices, but the way he marketed and packaged them, gave an illusion that he's selling a premium product. They sold out like hotcakes, while you ate wrapper after wrapper without needing to pay a single cent.

Hey, he really has a knack for business! He is raking in profits, bringing you out to eat, spoiling you with riches a self made, young entrepreneur would have, excelling in Business studies, Accounting, Mathematics and Psychology.

He began testing the limits of his trading empire, he began dabbling in service based business such as delivery, doing homework for a price, obtaining blackmail material... that is how he knew your homeroom teacher had an extramarital affair with the principal. Hmm... the principal seems to kiss his ass a lot and you get a bunch of privileges. You wonder why that happened.

His reputation grew as his shrewdness grew. Your friend was too intimidating to be bullied, as one of his business ventures includes hiring others to do some dirty work for him. You don't know the full extent of his giant conglomerate enterprise, and you don't want to know.

You remember seeing a female teacher handing him a wad of cash, her hair tousled, her clothes were messy, her lipstick smeared and weird stains were all over her body. For sure, she didn't just find it laying around in the boys' bathroom... and, there were a lot more boys requesting a bathroom break that day.

Your friend bought you the latest smartphone model on the same day too. You were disturbed with what you saw and the implications, so you asked if she even got anything out of working under him and... if she even agreed to work as... whatever she was. He just smiled, cup your cheek and told you to never, ever, ever, cheat in a relationship. Especially not with him.

He then followed up with his probably hundredth love confession for you. Which you promptly friendzone him again. Your friend would simply sigh and change the subject. Do you like your phone? He asked as you began unboxing it, the loud chatter from the mall's food court drowned the voice of doubt in your head.

His wallet is growing wider, he is growing taller, posture disciplined, voice deeper and he lost the majority of his baby fat. Giving him a sharper, meaner, leaner look, his physique is nothing to scoff at either. All those pastry batter mixing, soup stirring, skull bashing hustling and bustling sculpted those perfect abs and ass. His hair now has a healthy sheen to it since he can afford better things, his skin had no flaw and the protruding ribs on his chest is now covered up with muscular pecs.

Being pretty does have its' privileges, he observed a sale boost in his balance sheets.

Time waits for no man. Before you know it, the both of you are in Graduation togas. Smiling for the camera, you gave your friend bunny ears.

Your friend started worthless in everyone's eyes, something to poke fun at, a punching bag, forgettable and nothing serious. He transformed into this feared, revered, worshipped yet hated entity. Your friend no doubt made as many enemies as allies, that's just how it is in the business industry. Cold blooded, ruthless and absolutely bizarre to you.

He has obviously put some of the staff and students in horrible situations for his benefit and sometimes for your entertainment. They seem to genuinely see him as some sort of god, someone to cleanse them from all their sins. They... loved him. What a manipulative motherfucker.

As for you... your situation is pretty strange too. You are clearly the only person he cared about, the only person he truly ever loved and cherish. No one seem to conjure up the idea to use you against him. You seem... invisible, for the most part. And you are so grateful for that.

At least, that's what your friend wants you to think. You have no idea how many strings he has to pull to keep you safe and oblivious and innocent. You have no idea how much he had to spend to keep you pure and untainted. But, yeah. Keep believing its' due to some sort of cosmic karma system where you didn't incur any karmic debt.

It was the first time seeing his parents at this graduation ceremony, he never liked having you over at his house. They looked like how you imagined them; miserable, horrible, unhealthy and volatile. They really should not be seated next to each other, his parents looked like they're about to strangle each other and your friend at a moments' notice.

His father was smoking, plumes of grey wafted up in the open air. Ashes crumbled and dropped down to his lap. His necktie was undone and his office shirt was disheveled, much like his belt and scuffed shoes. It was a wonder how he's not escorted out of the venue yet.

His mother... she aged horribly. She looks irritated yet distant, she doesn't want to be here. Or does she not want to be with her ex husband? Maybe if they were separated by an opaque wall, the mood would be much more lifted. His mom wasn't mentioned a lot during conversations, you knew close to nothing except the fact that she gets him on the weekends.

Perhaps his mother is simply neglectful and not active, he did mention that its easier to prepare his sellable inventory during the weekends.

You're nervous to meet them, they're really unfriendly and they don't seem to care that much about their son's accomplishments.

Your friend gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rubbed his hand up and down your arm. As if to soothe you from the sight of his less than ideal parents.

To you surprise, he just shot them an indifferent look before leading you away. Their relationships must be unsalvageable.

The event comes to an end, your friend mingled with everyone who, the majority, had clenched fists behind their back. He then went to socialize with your parents, he knew them well and they also knew them well. Their opinions on him are lovely.

He continued his endeavors, trying out many different ventures. It was extremely dizzying with the sheer amount of businesses he had. Your friend moved out of his parents' house(s) and struggled with finding a place for a while. So he stayed over at your parents' house with you for the time being. You get to wake up to the smell of deliciousness every morning, the plants would be watered, furniture dusted, home sparkling clean. Though, he was rarely around.

Eventually, he found his footing and lived in his own place. It's a little cramped and it could qualify as a weapon of psychological warfare, but that was all he could afford at the time.

He fought tooth and nail to obtain a massive bank loan for his main business plan, he was stressing over opening his first restaurant. The logistics of it all, the raw materials, the hired help, the equipment, the advertising-- the pressure of it all was enough to break the average person, but not him. Oh, he thrived on this. He was calculating, he knew the costs, the risks and he saved up enough for a rainy day.

It took him many months, many trips to the bank, many meetings, many phone calls, emails, uncountable hours working 3 jobs a day, an eternity in the kitchen, in the sweltering heat of lit stoves heating up pots and pans, many times where he would lose his voice from aggressive marketing, persuasion, severe sleep deprivation, starvation, networking, tears, blood and sweat. There were more times than you can count with your hands that he was almost driven to insanity if it wasn't for you.

The thought of you alone was more than enough to ground him and keep his eyes on the prize, he is going to make so much money that, you and he wouldn't ever have to work ever again. You both would live happily ever after as a married couple, comfortable and never needing to worry if he could afford the next meal or keep the lights on.

That's nice. You wouldn't need to know what he went through, he doesn't want you to go through a life of hardship like how he did. You wouldn't ever need to work a day in your life.

Your friend rubbed his aching, calloused hands, ridden with cuts and scars. The golden promise ring sits around his finger, it wasn't his to begin with, he stole them from his parents when you both were kids. He found solitude knowing that your hands will never be like his, your back will not ache from overexertion, your muscles will be relaxed and your mind will be quiet, at peace. But only if he kept going. Only if he does not give up.

Everything he does, he does it for you. He thought to himself, as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes staring at the screen of his phone. It's showing that 5 more customers placed an order for his famous party platter through a popular social media app. Your friend sighed as he tucks his phone away before opening the door to his mini fridge containing all the ingredients needed for the orders. It's 11pm, he has to be at one of his workplaces at 6am tomorrow.

The day finally came where he would open the doors to his very own restaurant. There was a crowd waiting in front of the shiny, polished glass doors.

His team of service crews, cooks and baristas anxiously watched on as your friend glanced at his old, marred and cracked wristwatch. His hand was tightly gripping on the door handles as he watched the minute hand twitched. His eyes and mouth were dry, probably due to the dehydration he endured for a while now.

As soon as his accessory shows that it's time for the grand opening, he opened the floodgates.

Customers come rushing in like a torrent of water in a river. Some new, some old, some here to do their jobs as a journalist, some are his other associates, some are his estranged relatives, some are his rivals. It was an assortment of people, a mixed bag.

The Chefs are cooking up a storm in the kitchen, the wait staff are serving customers left and right, bringing them to their tables. Baristas are whipping up as much drinks as they can, as perfectly as they can. Not a single foam bubble out of place, or else all those training would have gone to waste.

It was loud, busy and fiery. Chaos yet it was controlled, Disorder but it was ordered.

Your friend was leading the flow, the rhythm. The pulse of the restaurant depended on him. He made sure everything is in line, satisfaction at an all time high and disappointment non existent. He barked commands, firm and domineering, he controls the scene with an iron hand.

Waitstaff were trained to strike up friendly conversations with customers whose orders will take a longer time, to give the illusion of speed. Cheery faces, toothy smiles, giggles and laughter filled the establishment's air, alluring aroma of cooked goods filled everyone's nostrils, making many stomachs growl. It was colourful, it was tumultuously harmonic, expression of glee would made its way to the patrons' face when their dishes gets served. All the meals go beyond their expectations, in terms of smell, texture, taste and plating.

Your friend made sure that the cooling system was working perfectly, as he works in a kitchen, the easiest way to get snappy and grumpy is to be hungry in an oven. Calming music that's faintly playing in the background also helps, but its' mostly for him and the other staff. Everyone else is too occupied with their own matters to notice.

Today should be a day of accomplishment, happiness and gratitude. Why shouldn't it be? Revenue is projected to be high, profits are guaranteed and expected to go through the roof. Logically, this restaurant will be sustainable for many decades to come.

But your friend... he is getting antsy, upset, distressed, unhappy. His staff is noticing that he isn't all there, he's getting crabbier by the second. They were baffled, everything is going well, he is handling it wonderfully and the pressure is actually slightly dying down.

Where are you? He had scanned the dining area many many times now. No sign of you... but your parents were there. That somewhat calmed him down a bit, if they're there, you should be there too... right? You're probably at the salad counter or the bathroom. He anxiously massaged his hands, where are you?

He trusts his staff to handle everything on their own. He decided to take big strides towards your parents. Your friend greeted them with a warm smile, an animated Hello. Your parents mirrored him and returned the affability.

He was desperate to see you again... oh god, how long has it been since he last saw you? Hear your voice? It must have been months. As this realization dawned on him, he felt the coldest chill run down his spine.

Did he... unintentionally neglected you in the process of building the perfect life? No, that can't be. He sent you texts everyday.

He clenched his jaw and pushed his gnawing thought away momentarily. He made small talk with your parents. It was fine until he abruptly cut them off and got to the point; Where are you?

Your parents glanced at each other and a look of discomfort washed over them. Your friend was using the table to support his weight as he leaned forward. His knuckles turning white from gripping the edge of the furniture too tightly.

They're studying abroad. They said. Your friend froze in place and widened his eyes.

What? Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't he know? Why--

He hastily whipped his phone out and frantically tapped on his cracked screen.

He trembled as he realized you never received his texts, let alone read it.

Your parents explained to him that you changed phone numbers two years ago when you left to continue your studies abroad.

Two years...? Its been two fucking years?!

Your friend began hyperventilating, his face was flushed and he was gagging and gasping. No, no, no this can't be. He is nothing like his parents! You meant everything to him, he had never intend to ignore you, he had never meant to neglect you! Your friend is losing grip on himself, he is shaking like a leaf. No one paid any attention to him, as he is simply insignificant at the moment.

Please... I-I need to call them, please let me call them! He was choking on his tears that were streaming down his face, dripping onto the pristine floors below.

Your father handed him his phone, your new number already dialed.

They're probably having an exam today. Your father tried to warn your friend, but he didn't hear a word. All he could think was you.

Your friend snatched it out from his hand and made a dash past all the staff, customers, chefs...

Until he reached the back door, upon which, he exited through it.

He sobbed, pressing the device against his ear, listening to it beep indefinitely.

The call eventually dropped because it wasn't picked up. His face was scrunched and his sniffles were bouncing off the walls and green dumpster nearby.

He tried again. The call dropped. He tried again. The call dropped.

He tried again,

Your friend crouched down to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. His cries unheard by anyone, everyone else is in the restaurant. He is the only one at the back.

The call dropped.

I'm sorry. He mumbled repeatedly to himself.

He tried again.

I'm so sorry. He sobbed much harder this time, he cradled his face in his hand.

The call dropped.

Please forgive me. He squeezed his arm, his fingernails digging into his flesh.

He tried again.

You're always my number one. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have neglected you. He drew blood from piercing his skin with his nails.

The call dropped.

I'm sorry, I was only trying to build a better life for us. He took much shallower breaths.

He tried again

I would give up everything just to hear from you again, it means nothing to me if you're not here... with me. Please, I'm sorry. He was growing despondent, desolate. He was clutching his head, a ball of quivering mess.

The call dropped.

I love you. He whispered as he broke down completely. Angry at himself, angry at the world, angry at everything. Life isn't fair. He has done everything he needed to do and yet he the only reward he ever wanted isn't granted; you. He ruined everything, all of it, all his hard work, all of it was worthless. He felt worthless. The guilt and remorse and anguish of being a neglectful friend and partner was crushing him to death.

He wasn't there at the very end.

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starryylies · 9 months ago

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Hi !!! Idk if you've done this already but can you do my angel boy Gaz and Ghost with a girl who love scary movies ??? I feel like they'd totally have the mentality of "I gotta comfort her when she's scared" but Gaz specifically flinches and I think Si would like "brace" if that makes sense like wincing his eyes. I dunno if you've done something like that but your emo story reminded me of me and it made me so happy I'm a metalhead and I was gonna ask for more but it was already in there and that just mad emy day ilysm already okay bye -🫀

Simon n Gaz watching a horror movie with s/o

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Again so sorry (I’m sorry for saying sorry sm) but like Omg I love this cuz I love horror smmmm!!! Insidious,suspiria,Bwp, conjuring you name it I love them omgggg.

So thank you so much for the awesome ask and I hope you enjoy it 🩷🩷🩷

Also I used the movies sinister and lights out for the references :))

SIMON-

♰ he thought watching the movie sinister will be fun cuz he thought he could protect you from the jumpscares

♰ he needs to be protected from the damn movie tho (okay this movie is fucked up tho and it’s totally normal to be scared)

♰in the beginning he thought it will be some poorly made movie with shit ass jumpscares but boy was he wrong

♰ when the scene of the family hanging themselves comes on he was taken aback and he lets out an audible wince shutting his eyes

♰ he genuinely finds the movie scary and gory, cannot help but find himself wince and shut his eyes whenever he thinks there will be a jumpscare

♰ as the movie progressed and the other tapes were revealed he just couldn’t take it anymore, his limit broke off when the mowing scene came

♰ but you seemed to be enjoying the movie, anticipating what the next scene will reveal

♰ he shut the tv before he could see further, it was too much for him

♰ “fuckin hell love this movie is a fuckin nightmare” he groans

♰ “noo It’s a well made film :( plus I enjoy a good scare ya know”

♰ god how could you be so chill with it, he can’t tell if he should admire you or keep his distance

♰dw he admires you :)

♰ keeps on ranting about how he’d never do such a stupid fucking thing

♰ says Ellison was a stupid fuckin idiot for getting his family there and curses him for the rest of the day

♰ asks you your opinion on the movie and who you think is recording the tapes

♰ ends up going on the net to see how the movie ends cuz he can’t let it go

♰when he finds out the ending he has an ‘aha’ moment.

♰ tries watching the movie again but ends up stopping in the beginning itself cuz he can’t handle it.

♰ probably doesn’t want kids after this movie

GAZ-

♰ Awh this poor guy just wanted to watch a scary movie with you to hold you when you’re scared but it kinda ends up being the opposite

♰ you both decide on watching lights out (I wanted to pick hereditary or mother but too much cuz I’m writing this at 3am)

♰ see lights out is a Pretty chill film but Diana is creepy as hell and sadly gaz became a victim to Diana’s jumpscares

♰ when she killed the dad gaz visibly flinched like on the edge of the sofa hoping the dad would survive

♰ but boom the bitch killed him :/

♰ felt really bad for the brother (Martin)

♰sympathised with him a lot by saying he’s a good kid and that he’s really strong.

♰ surprised on how you’re not getting scared or anything

♰ thinks that you have watched this film before

♰ gaz got shit scared during the scene where Rebecca and her boyfriend came and Diana creeped around them

♰ the end made him tear up just a lil :(

♰ you ended up comforting him holding him close cuz he felt bad about their mom

♰ thinks it’s adorable how you give lil facts about the movie from time to time though.

♰ cursed Diana for the rest of the day,

♰ if you take any medications, don’t worry you’ll never miss them now cuz gaz will make sure you eat yours on time

♰ keeps the bathroom and living room lights on that night

♰ will search for movies like lights out

♰ will never watch them though

♰ is proud that he got closer to you tho

♰ will definitely hold you the entirety of the movie

♰ will never have a horror movie date again tho

♰ but will watch a horror movie with you if you ask him cuz how can he say no to you :))

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cosyvelvetorchid · 2 months ago

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for a writing prompt,….Buck and Tommy get caught in the firetruck ( buck 1.0 style).

We love a bit of Buck 1.0. Enjoy! 🩶

*****

RATED: E

It was almost 3am. Bucks shift had finished 45 minutes ago and he was more than excited to be going home. Home meaning Tommy’s place. He was always excited to be seeing Tommy after shift but he was particularly on edge to see him tonight.

Literally.

All day Tommy had been teasing him with filthy messages telling him what he was to do with Buck after shift. Buck had spent the majority of the day riled up with half a hard on. One accidental brush to his dick from anyone or any thing and he would have exploded like an illegal firework.

But, because shit always happens when it’s the least convenient, his jeep wouldn’t start. Aside from Chimey who was working a double to cover sickness from a member of the B shift, everybody had already left so nobody could take him home. And being a Saturday night, it would be a wait for an uber.

Instead, he reluctantly called Tommy who, of course, immediately jumped into his car to come pick Buck up.

He walked into the station and Buck damn near came in his pants like a teenager at the sight. He was wearing the exact same outfit he’d worn on their first date—top 3 buttons undone on his shirt too— that he knew drove Buck wild.

“Hey.” His voice practically sang in the low gorgeous tone.

“God you’re so fucking hot.” Buck told him, trying desperately not to jump him in the middle of the station.

Tommy laughed. “I thought you’d like the outfit” he smirked.

“Understatement of the millennium.” Buck told him.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah I-“ An idea crossed Bucks mind. It was probably stupid, definitely reckless but so absolutely fucking hot. “Uh, did I ever tell you about how I got fired when I was a probie?”

“Yeah, you stole an engine to have sex.” He answered correctly. Buck raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s your poi- Evan. We are not stealing a fire truck to have sex.”

“Oh of course not.” He said stepping close to Tommy. “I just think it’s highly convenient there’s an empty engine in front of us and-“ he looked around the semi darkened station “-B shift are all catching up on sleep..” he reached up and opened the door. “And someone told me today that they were going to suck my dick so hard I’d see stars..”

“Evan, we can’t..”

“Well, I’m going to to get in the engine and take off my pants. What you do is up to you.” He stepped up into the truck and closed the door behind him.

Tommy stood for a second contemplating Evan’s suggestion. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t turn him on—he was flushed and half hard already. He looked around to make sure nobody was around and reached up to open the door. As he stepped up and saw inside his throat immediately went dry and his mouth filled with saliva simultaneously.

Evan was sat in the center of the back seat, naked from the waist down, legs wide apart, slowly stroking himself.

This kid was gonna kill him. Or get them both fired.

He shut the door behind him and shot forward grabbing Evan by the throat and crashing his lips into his. Buck whined at the feel of Tommys lips on his, and then at Tommys tongue taking over his mouth. His hand grabbed Evan’s cock and he continued at the rhythm Evan was going at.

“Fuck that’s.. ah.. good..”

Tommy moved his lips along Evan’s jaw, under his ear and down his throat. Nipping and licking as he travelled.

He hated to admit it but the thought of them getting caught was making his own cock swell uncomfortably in his own pants. Slowly his mouth travelled down Evan’s torso and groin. He licked the crease in the inside of Evan’s leg; his cheek lightly grazing Evan’s cock, who groaned at the touch.

“Please.. Tommy.. “ Tommy looked up, making eye contact with Evan as his tongue slid agonisingly slowly across to the base. Keeping eye contact his licked slowly up the underside of Evan’s cock, sucking in the head as he got to the top.

“Fuck!” Evan breathed out. Tommy still had plans for when they got home, so he wasn’t going to draw this moment out too long.

Without warning he took Evan whole in one go.

“Jesusfuckingchrist!” Evan called out, not being able to enunciate his words. “Holy.. ah!”

Tommy moved quickly; lips and mouth sliding up and down along the velvety skin. Evan’s cock was jabbing the back of Tommys throat and his hands grabbed Tommys hair, holding on for leverage as his hips bucked in rhythm, fucking Tommys mouth.

He was so fucking close to exploding down Tommys throat. He loved it when Tommy took his time teasing and playing and edging him into a bumbling mess. But something Tommy surprised him with an instant 0-60mph experience that drove him wild.

“God.. ah.. I’m so fuck.. fucking.. cl..close.. ah!”

He was right there . Right on the cliff edge, about to cascade over into a pool of absolute fucking heaven when the engine door suddenly opened.

“AAAHHHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Chimneys voice cried out. Buck and Tommy immediately separated; Buck clamouring to put his pants back on. He jumped out of the engine, not even bothering to put his shoes back on.

“Chim I’m so so-“

“No no no no!” He called back holding his arms up. “Don’t want to hear anything from you. Why? Buck. Why?! We have to work in that truck?! How many times have you done that?! Do you clean it afterwards?! Actually I don’t want to know!” He turned to walk away.

“Wait wait wait!” Buck shouted, running ahead and standing in front of him.

“It was the first time, I swear. And I-I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to, it-it just happened and-“

“You know how lucky you are that it was me that caught you and not cap? Or any of the B shift?” Chimney asked him. Buck couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m going to let this one go and pretend it didn’t happen—mostly for the sake of the nightmares I’m inevitably going to have now, and the fact that your sister would be mad at me if I let you lose your job. So-“

“I swear it won’t hap-“

“Stop talking. So.. I’m going to walk away and the two of you are going to go home. But if it happens again I’m definitely going to report it to Cap. Understood?”

“Yes.” Buck replied immediately before Chim walked away. Just as he got most of the way up the stairs he turned back towards Buck and Tommy. “Oh and Buck! You better clean in there be for you leave. Maybe use bleach.” He shivvered.

“I think that just put a dampener on our evening.” Tommy said.

“You wash your mouth out Thomas Kinard! You are going to take me home, and we’re going to finish what we started.” He walked quickly out of the station towards Tommys car.

“Yes, Sir.” Tommy replied to himself before following.

#tommy kinard #911 abc #bucktommy #911 #911onabc #buck x tommy #911 buck #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #bucktommy fic #bucktommy prompts #bucktommy prompt #tevan #tevan prompt #tevan fic #911 prompts #911 prompt #cvo prompts

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yandere-paramour · 3 months ago

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Kinda funny ask, but what if your yandere’s darlings get up to midnight shenanigans. How would your yanderes react?

(I personally have no idea what you mean by midnight shenanigans so I am assuming you mean Darling is up eating snacks and watching TV and otherwise not sleeping)

Atalanta is a pretty heavy sleeper, but if she reached over in the middle of the night and you weren't there, she would wake up concerned, alarmed, and PISSED. Her first thought is that you've tried to run away, and she tears out of the room with thoughts of sending a manhunt after you. But then she hears a theme song coming from the screening room and she slinks in to find you eating chips at 3am while watching anime. She's not really angry anymore, just kinda confused as fuck. What ensues is a small conversation like what are you doing, watching TV, it's 3am, I know, ... Go to bed. Atalanta is strict about your health and this is not good for you, so she's ordering you back to bed. If you truly cannot sleep, she will give you some melatonin and probably a lecture about how simply lying down is also restful. So, Ata is not the kind of person to have midnight fun with.

Vivien is a pretty light sleeper, but let's say today that he had a hard day at work and he was really tired. When he rolls over to try and cuddle you (and smother you in his running-too-hot body), and he doesn't find you, he would instantly be awake and so upset, calling your name and trying to find you. He's got the blanket around his shoulders and his hair is so messy and he just looks like a little kid who's working up the courage to tell his mom he threw up. When he finds you watching tv on the couch, he's a little too tired to join you in this fun, but he'll be damned if you'll be lonely. Scoot over, he's coming in. He'll wrap his large body around you and get in the perfect cuddle position, then conk right tf out. It's kind of nice, he loves you so much. Oh and when he wakes up the next morning, he's so confused as to how the two of you ended up on the couch covered in Doritos when you went to bed normally.

Noelle is an insomniac with terrible sleeping habits (Partly Atalanta's fault), so she's probably not sleeping to begin with. If you want to sit around and watch TV and eat snacks in the early hours of the morning, she'll join you. She'll be working/hacking on her laptop or reading the whole time, but she'll be cuddled up right next to you. This is so bad for her though, she already has so little time to sleep. She'll match you night for night with seemingly no effects except a slight increase in the caffeine shakes, but she won't complain. If it becomes a regular thing and she's really really exhausted, you might be privy to seeing her curled into a tiny ball, quietly dozing on your shoulder. Never mention this though, she'll get very embarrassed about that.

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harrywavycurly · 1 year ago

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Hi Sarah!! Could we maybe see the conversation between one night reader and Eddie when he gets her into the van to take her home?🩷🩷

Hiii babes!! Sure!! This is a very random conversation because keep in mind it’s fully 3am when Eddie goes to pick her up😂 but enjoy!!💖

-find all things One Night Stand Eddie here✨

*Eddie thinks just maybe you’re delusional from the lack of sleep because no way you actually just said that to him*

“You’re kinda cute when you’re all…annoyed.” “What?” “Your face…it does this like thing when you’re annoyed like…your lips purse and your jaw kinda clenches…it’s not good to always clench your jaw by the way.” “Uhm then maybe…stop annoying me and I won’t have to clench it so much.” “Maybe I annoy you because it’s when I think you’re the cutest?” “Uh…you really haven’t slept have you?” “I took a nap in my car…where are you going?” “I don’t trust you to actually go to sleep at your place alone so I’m taking you to…my house.” “You don’t trust me?” “At the moment? No….why are you looking like that?…oh fuck don’t cry…please don’t cry.” “I’m sorry I kept Dotty Anne out so late okay but she wouldn’t let me sleep she kept kicking and I’m sorry I went to Lover’s Lake but that doesn’t mean you can just tell me you don’t trust me…that’s so fucking rude Eddie.” “Who the fuck is Dotty Anne?” “The baby…” “who’s baby?” “Who’s baby? Who’s fucking baby do you think asshole?…god you’re so mean.” “Okay okay pause for like ten seconds…I didn’t mean it when I said I don’t trust you I just don’t think if I take you home that you’ll go to sleep so I’d rather take you somewhere that I can actually make sure you get some rest….now as for Dotty Anne…I just wasn’t aware we were discussing baby names already so it just…took my off guard…I’m sorry so can you please stop crying.” “Why can’t you just be the sleep police at my house?” “Uh…I didn’t…think of that.” “Clearly…so…you don’t like Dotty Anne?” “Uhm it’s…cute…” “Wayne suggested it.” “If we name her that he’s never gonna let us forget it…” “will you rub my feet when we get home?” “What?” “Oh are you not into feet anymore?” “I was never…into feet.” “Is that a no?….or a yes?” “It’s a let’s just see how you feel once you get wrapped up in that damn pillow and if you need me to…fine I’ll rub your feet.” “If there was a chart for all the baby daddy’s in the world I’d put a gold star next to your name…for today at least.” “Thanks…”

#one night stand convos #eddie munson series #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x pregnant!reader #dad!eddie x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson x you fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #Eddie Munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson social media au #my little dungeon master baby

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pearblossomrain · 9 days ago

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a rather tired summary of my birthday gp (it's 4am the next day for me so...):

[p.s. i missed last week's because it was at 3am and i had work at like 9am 💀]

• wow this is kind of a terrible home race for perez 😭 it's so bad i genuinely feel sorry for him cos this is just not it at all

• lap one crash oh real racing is so back....no but genuinely did someone curse this gp bc i feel like we've had 10 red flags/crashes already???

• speaking of crashes it's a miracle they got george russell's car ready in time for qualis like that thing was BANGED UP

• being a yuki fan ain't for the weak like wdym top 3 in fp then out in q2 of quali and THEN a dnf?? i swear he's had more dnfs than anybody this season and it's not even his fault?? everybody and their mums crashing into him 😭

• anyways kudos to piastri from making it into the points after starting from hell alongside perez because of, you guessed it, yet Another collision/crash....maybe mexico should have hired a team of religious leaders to bless the track 💀

• the saubers managed p14 and p15 hey those are MY goats!!! (that team is in such a bad state i cheer every time they aren't last and im not even a fan)

• on the topic of goats....haas consistently being in the points was sure as hell not on my bingo but hey i'll take it?? good for them like they're driving a shitbox and a half but pulling that damn thing UP

• enough yapping onto the big issues like that 20s penalty??? that's actually kind of ridiculous like we used to have a 5s penalty for that EXACT thing why is it suddenly 10s and stacked.....fia really are just doing whatever they want i swear

• ferrari. SCUDERIA FERRARI. why did they make charles hold back?? you do that when you're very comfortably ahead and think you can easily hold on to ur positions not when a mclaren ROCKETSHIP is about to chase ur ass down?? girl u could have gotten a 1-2 two weeks in a row!!

• in other news rip to fernando alonso like dnf-ing on ur 400th race start and not even bc of racing but due to ur CAR is mental did somebody sabotage that thing 😭

• the rookies are kind of funny like liam lawson just picking up enemies left right and center omfg i support track terrorism all the time but the middle finger wasn't necessary tbh.....and colapinto oh my god seriously someone get him in a seat for next year he's so funny and delivering like come ON.

• at this point i sound like a college student trying to extend their essay and hit a word count but i genuinely did NOT realize gasly was somehow in the points until the end?? when tf did any of that happen. when did he start p8 am i just blind af??

• also already covered this separately but seeing the 2 mercedes suddenly fight had me yelling at my screen like GUYS WE HAVE BIGGER ENEMIES AHEAD WYDDD we can't have a british civil war!!!! 🤡

tldr; so many red flags and collisions i felt like i was going insane. also i am never staying up for another race again the latest i'm going is midnight and that's it 💀💀 maybe i'm growing old or something but im not built for late night watching help

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sunlightmurdock · 9 months ago

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okay but your car breaks down in the middle of the night and the only person you can call is mechanic bradley 👀

Yeah bc you know that even if it’s 3am, if you call him and tell him you’re stuck, he’s going to drag his ass out of bed or off of the couch depending on where he passed out, and come to get you.

He arrives in grey sweats and a loose t-shirt, barely awake, his a fluffy curl poking out from under the backwards cap concealing his bed head, groaning, “What’d you do this time? — I told you to take it easy ‘til I could swap out the carburetor on this piece of junk.”

And you don’t really have a good enough excuse for him, you weren’t really taking it that easy. The second that he pops the hood, you know that he knows this too.

“God damn.” He exhales, shooting a quick glance towards the sky as rain starts to beat down on his back. “Sugar, this thing isn’t going anywhere tonight.”

“Fuck, really?” You grimace, trying to lean around his broad shoulders to get a look, like you even know what you’re looking for anyway.

“How ‘bout I get it towed to the shop? I’ll fix it up first thing tomorrow.”

“Shit…” You groan, throwing your head back and crossing your arms at the thought of how long this process is going to take, and it’s already so late, and your apartment is so far from Bradley’s — you’d feel awful making him drive you all the way there and back home. “Yeah… maybe I can come get it after work tomorrow. I can just uber, I guess.”

“Or,” Bradley closes the hood, rain dripping onto his t-shirt and making it cling to his toned chest. “You could take up residence at Casa Bradshaw for a night, I could take you to work tomorrow, and I’ll come get you from work.”

You scoff at the idea, then pause. You do keep those spare clothes at work, and he does look awfully good in those sweats.

#mechanic!bradley #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut

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shurisneakers · 10 months ago

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inked #1

Summary: bucky is Shit At Talking so he just writes to his best friend. who he is absolutely not in love with. nope. it's just a therapy project. really.

Warnings: cursing, just bucky being his angsty cynical ass self

Word count: 350

A/N: i have like 15 excerpts from letters like this lying around my drafts for weeks so im just letting them free into the world. very loosely kind of like alex turner's letters to alexa chung. i hope this should be easy to write and remains drabbles since it's kinda low effort and im not really expecting people to read this hehe

This is bullshit.

Never been good with words. Could have been, if I spent more time in school instead of the docks. Steve managed to find something for himself out of his art. I got busy trying to keep things around me from going to shit.

For the record, these are not love letters. Christ, do you know how long it's been since I wrote one? A hundred fuckin years ago, and I can’t even remember her name now.

But I need to get out of therapy, and Raynor says this is a step towards that. Just an outlet.

It’s homework, is what it fucking is. Like I’m back in middle school.

I fucking tell you, i don’t even know why I’m doing this now. I should be asleep. The crackass of dawn isn’t even happening for a few more hours.

I don’t think this is going to be a regular thing. Contrary to what the doc says, most days I don’t know what’s going on in my head. If I do ever manage to figure it out, I'm guessing you'd already be long gone.

It’s useless, is what I’m trying to get at here. If you haven’t already cracked that. If there's any god out there that hasn't already deemed me unsalvagable, you'll never have to read these.

But it's the middle of the night and I know you're awake. I can hear you teetering around out there. I wonder if anyone else can hear you, or you know I'll be listening.

Anyone else, I'd have closed my damn eyes and pretend I couldn't hear.

But in a few seconds I know I'm going to pull on a shirt and go looking for you to see what you want at fucking 3am. I want to know why.

I know you have them too. Nightmares. Nothing I can fix-- same as you, with mine. Truth be told, there’s nothing about you I want to fix, anyway.

But if you're out at 3am, trying to be quiet, I know you're looking for the homemade bread. It's above the microwave.

Give me a few seconds. I'll join you.

I know where they've kept the good olive oil.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

anyway, if you want to send in prompts for future letters, please do!

#Bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #mcu fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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bubbledtee · 1 year ago

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

Warnings: smoking, drinking, social anxiety, sexual references

Word count: 4.8k

beta-read by @30-3am

contents

playlist

✧.* "In a small corner bar he sits there a-drinkin'. Lost as a ball in a field full of corn. Further away than he ever imagined that he'd ever end up from the place he was born." ~ "Creeker", Tyler Childers ✧.*

a/n: this shit took so long to get out i'm giggling

»»——⍟——««

🇳🇪🇼 🇨🇴🇼🇧🇴🇾 🇮🇳 🇹🇴🇼🇳 (Ch. 1)

January 22nd, 1994 - La Veta, CO

Bea held herself in the passenger seat of Zoe’s red Buick LeSabre, the well-below-freezing Colorado weather penetrating the vehicle despite shut windows and cranked heat. She cursed herself for letting Abigail convince her to wear the black, form-fitting turtle-neck dress from her closet, wishing she had opted for a nice pair of blue jeans and a warm sweater instead. She just hoped the heating at the old dive bar would suffice not to freeze her to death tonight.

“Don’t look so sad, B! You’re seein’ the outside world for once,” Abigail’s Kentucky accent was thicker than usual as she pushed Bea’s shoulder slightly from the backseat. “You’re too wrapped up with those damn horses, you need a night off!”

Bea looked behind her into the backseat. The tall, southern blonde held a cigarette between her long, thin fingers, her hand hanging lazily as she balanced her elbow on her knee. Someone walking down the street would know the girl was a Southern beauty just from a glance. She wore too much makeup and an excessive amount of pink that was an eyesore to anybody in their right mind, but most men she was after didn’t so much care about her style as they did about what the dress hid from their perverted gaze.

Bea giggled. “I’m not sad, Abby. I’m just fucking freezing,” she told her, snatching the cigarette from Abigail’s fingers. She brought the lipstick-stained stick up to her mouth and took a long drag, the burn that began to fill her chest, warming her from the inside out. She held the smoke in as she handed the cigarette to Audrey, the girl brushing her ginger curls from her freckled face.

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to wear this god-awful dress. I’m freezing and I look ridiculous,” Bea grumbled.

There was a collective chorus of ‘no’s’ as soon as she uttered the self-deprecating words, “Shut your mouth, you look gorgeous. You’re just not used to seeing yourself cleaned up!” Zoe insisted, momentarily averting her gaze from the barren and beat-up road to look at Bea. The brunette wore a dubious expression with an eye roll, and Zoe gently hit her arm in retaliation. “I’m serious!”

“And even if you didn’t look good, you’ve gotta be confident. It makes anything look good,” Audrey chimed from the back seat, “I mean, it even makes Abby’s dresses look good on her.”

The already-tipsy blonde gasped beside her, “Fuck you!” she playfully exclaimed, shoving Audrey slightly. “They look good either way,”

The other girls laughed, “Yeah, maybe at some hick beauty pageant in Kentucky.” Audrey rebutted, her face twisted into a wicked grin as she poked fun at her friend.

Bea just shook her head and laughed, watching from the car’s front window. She watched as the sign that read ‘LA VETA’ grew closer and closer until the vehicle eventually passed it - her eyes shifting to the tiny rows of buildings that now enclosed the road on either side.

The minuscule town was one she knew well, memories of walking along the sidewalks with her parents and brothers immediately flooding her mind every time she crossed the threshold. It was the closest town to Lone Wolf Ranch with any civilization, meaning it was the only place the family could shop, eat out, or anything in between. The only times Bea went into town was to buy herself new tack and blankets for horses, or when her friends dragged her into a night out–just like tonight.

The car slowly pulled into the Magpie Inn’s tiny parking lot, Zoe leaning forward slightly to search for an open parking space. Bea looked around, too, searching for any cars she knew. The number of old F-250s and Silverado 3500s that crowded the parking lot made it evident enough that the place would be full of cowboys who had been enjoying their day off at the bar since before noon. And just as she had expected, she recognized almost every vehicle there.

After a minute, Zoe pulled the car into one of the last open parking spots in the lot and shut the vehicle off. The group hopped out before swiftly shuffling toward the bar's front doors, attempting to preserve their warmth as much as possible.

Bea could hear the buzz of the neon sign that hung beside the door as they approached it, its bright lights flashing ‘OPEN’. The warmth of the light almost seemed to radiate off the sign and reach her, and she could feel her face warm slightly as they approached the door.

However, warmth enveloped her significantly stronger when Audrey opened the building’s doors. Not only that, but the pungent stench of liquor and beer that doused everyone’s breath inside found her too, all of it topped off by the booming sound of a country band that sat at the other side of the establishment–playing an upbeat tune.

As they entered the room, Bea practically hid behind her friends like a small child. She felt so stupid for being shy around people she had mainly known for years, but she couldn’t help the embarrassment that flooded her as she imagined what everybody thought about the girl being dressed up like she was. All she could imagine was negativity and internalized insults of all types.

Zoe suddenly pulled Bea from her negative thoughts as she spoke, “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You need something to help you loosen up,” She softly grabbed Bea’s hand and led her toward the bar, carefully weaving through the crowd of drunk cowboys and tradesmen alike. She thought a few blurs of faces seemed familiar, but she was thankful she didn’t have the time to do a double take as she and Zoe reached the bar.

Bea leaned over the bar as her counterpart ordered their drinks, her voice bubbly as she did so. She looked down the bar to her left and observed the folks who sat on the old, cracked leather seat stools along the wooden barrier. Most were older men her father knew well–ones that had long been left by their wives and now drink themselves to death by their lonesome. Some of them make their way from those ruts and redeem themselves as her father and her brother, Johnny, had, but others have no desire to fix themselves. Such as her brother Tommy. She shook the thought from her head as Zoe handed her a Heineken, the cold condensation freezing her fingertips.

She sipped the beer lightly, letting the cold bubbles spread across her tongue and sting slightly down her throat. She never was much of a fan of beer, the scent of the hops often ruining her enjoyment of the otherwise refreshing drink, but right then, she really didn’t seem to mind. Anything that would slightly calm her nerves was worth whatever it might take.

The two walked back toward the other girls, Zoe carrying their beers with her own. Bea followed close behind her as though she were a lost puppy looking for her mother; if she were quite honest, she felt like she was.

They reached Audrey and Abby, and Zoe handed them their drinks. Joking words were shared between the three as Bea’s gaze turned longingly toward the door. She felt pathetic for how much she wanted to leave, like such a nuisance to her poor friends who simply wanted to take her from the nights they deemed lonely. But she didn’t quite enjoy seeing so many longtime family friends (or foes) in one place simultaneously.

As her mind drifted off and her gaze lingered on the door, a tall, blonde cowboy walked through the ingress. He looked almost anxious as he tucked his hands into his Storm Rider’s pockets and glanced around the room, his eyes catching Bea’s. Even from a distance, she could admire the icy blue irises beneath his beaten and dirty cowboy hat. She’d never seen him before.

Before she could longer study his handsome and rugged features, a tap on her shoulder made her head whip in the opposite direction.

“You okay, babe?” Zoe asked her with a tilt of her head, her eyes soft.

Bea nodded quickly with a flushed face. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.” She sent a forced smile her friend's way and watched as Zoe’s gaze shifted beyond her and toward the bar. A grin slowly crept onto her face before looking back at Bea.

“He’s cute,” she muttered, causing the pink flush of Bea’s face to turn bright red. Bea rolled her eyes and looked away from Zoe and down at her shoes, almost ashamed. Ever since her last long-term boyfriend left her high and dry two years ago, she hadn’t much tried to find a new lover. Sure, she’d had a rebound or two when she was slumped after the breakup, and she’d tried to have them fill the emptiness that lingered within her heart, but it was either too soon or not enough. So she’d simply given up after a year and decided she’d focus on her father’s ranch rather than a lover. It would be more simple that way, she thought.

However, her desire for a lover had been growing within the prior months, and maybe that’s what gave her the final push to go out with the other girls that night. But she wasn’t sure.

Zoe’s face scrunched in slight disgust as she looked back at the blonde man, “Ugh, but that haircut…” she grimaced, making Bea turn her head to look at him. He had removed his cowboy hat, and his hair was long, with the sides and top cut to make a long mullet. It was reminiscent of a haircut that her sophomore-year boyfriend, Donovan, had had. But she didn’t mind. She supposed the poor choice of haircut was brave in its own kind of way.

“It’s not horrible,” she murmured, not even realizing she was defending the mysterious man. Her gaze lingered a bit longer as he removed his coat, revealing a black long-sleeve shirt with a bleach stain imprinted upon the left sleeve. She only looked away when he glanced back at her after ordering a drink. Bea’s face turned a deep red.

Zoe laughed, “Oh, my god, he’s blushing!”

Bea shook her head, “Shut up. How can you even tell? He looked the other way,” she muttered anxiously, “Stop looking at him, you’re being weird.”

Abby and Audrey turned away from their conversation to inch closer to the two, “What are we looking at?” Audrey asked before taking a sip of her beer.

“The guy with the mullet at the bar,” Zoe told her, pointing at him. Bea wanted to shrink down to the size of an ant and be stepped on right then and there. The situation was beyond embarrassing. “He and Bea were ogling each other,”

Audrey and Abby turned to look at him, “I’ve never seen him around before,” Abby said as she stared at the back of his head. Bea could only imagine how the girls' eyes were burning through the poor man’s skull. She was half expecting his brains to explode under their gaze.

Audrey shook her head, “Me neither,” she agreed. The trio looked back at Bea with wide grins spread across their faces. They seemed oddly excited at the prospect of her simply making eye contact with someone of the opposite sex. Was she really that much of a loser?

“You’ve gotta go talk to him, B!” Abby cheered, the other two girls agreeing in unison.

Bea just looked between the three of them, thoughts racing her mind. He was handsome, but she wasn’t sure if she was fit to simply approach him and attempt conversation. She was more than out of practice regarding anything of that nature.

She began to stutter out an excuse, “I-I don’t wanna bother him-”

Zoe interrupted her with a soft nudge to the shoulder, “There’s not a single man – especially not a cowboy – that would mind being bothered by a pretty girl like you. You know that, baby.” She brought her beer bottle up to her lips and took a quick swig; Bea just gave her a look and silently pleaded with her. Zoe gave a short nod and an understanding smile, “But it’s up to you.”

Bea exhaled a sigh of relief as the other two silently agreed, but not before Abby gave her two cents. “But you’d look adorable with him, B. Even more adorable than you look on your own.”

Bea smiled appreciatively, and with that, the mysterious cowboy was seemingly forgotten. The group carried on with conversation, occasionally running into familiar faces and catching up with each other’s lives over drinks. It slowly became nice for Bea. She wasn’t even entirely sure why she had been nervous to be there in the first place.

However, between drinks and increasingly easier conversation, Bea couldn’t help but sneak looks at the man from before. She’d occasionally catch him gazing softly in her direction already, but when she wouldn’t, she’d admire his features from afar—or at least the ones she could see from where she was standing.

His back was toned–she could tell through his shirt that hugged his broad shoulders–and wide arms. At one point, she had caught him standing to make his way to the bathroom, and she just couldn’t pry her eyes away from his ass. She figured it was better than her own.

With such a physique, she could tell he’d been working for most of his life, and as more alcohol coursed throughout her system, she wondered what that physique was like without such a pesky shirt. She wondered what his muscular thighs were beneath that nettlesome blue denim. Most of all, she wondered how a man she’d never spoken to before could have her practically drooling for doing nothing but minding his own business.

By the bottom of her third beer, Bea was beyond relaxed. She remembered how nice seeing old friends and catching up on small-town drama could be, and she spoke more than she had in the last month. With the growth of her confidence, her consideration of talking to the blonde cowboy grew, too. How horribly could it go? He was lonely, that much was obvious, and she figured he wouldn’t mind the company.

Bea looked back at the man as she took a drag of her cigarette. There was a perfectly free barstool right next to him, and she could hear it calling her name over the booming of the dive bar’s live band. She turned to Zoe and yelled over the thumping bass, “I’m gonna go get another beer,” her voice came out raspy, her throat tired from needing to speak over all their surrounding sounds.

“Okay,” Zoe shouted back. Bea didn’t quite understand how her friend was dealing with the surrounding crowd essentially sober, but she supposed she respected it.

“Do you mind grabbing me one, too?” Audrey asked–a significant slur to her voice.

Bea nodded her head, secretly regretting announcing where she was headed. She looked over at Abby, considering asking if she wanted one too, but she could tell from her company of wasted cowboys that she was more than well off.

Bea flicked her cigarette anxiously and turned toward the bar, beginning to weave through the maze of drunkards. She was smaller than just about everyone in the room, and pushing through the crowd was a task that seemed nearly impossible to her. It was almost like she was invisible as she brushed past drunk cowboys and their equally inebriated female counterparts, people only moving if she pushed them with some force. She truly wondered how difficult it was to be spacially aware as she wedged between the last few layers of people.

Finally, Bea pushed through the thick herd of drunkards and to the line that sat in front of the bar.

Immediately, her eyes were on him.

He had his arm propped up on the bar, his chin gently rested in his hand. His eyes were lazily focused on the hockey game that played on the boxy television hung from the ceiling behind the bar. The Boston Bruins were playing the Philadelphia Flyers, two teams that the mid-westerners who occupied the rest of the bar couldn’t have cared less about, and neither did he, it seemed. But it was something to occupy him, Bea was sure.

She continued to watch as he grabbed his beer bottle and brought it to his lips, taking a thick swig of the bubbly beverage. He huffed a sigh as he set the bottle down.

Bea took a drag of her cigarette and allowed the nicotine to cool her rising nerves. She looked back at the girls she had left, immediately locking eyes with a grinning Zoe. Bea looked away and down at her feet, a blush painting her face. Now she really couldn’t back out, unless she wanted to be chastised endlessly by her best friend for not committing to the chance she was about to take.

With a final drag of her cigarette, Bea looked into the smudged mirror behind the liquor shelves of the bar. She cursed that stupid dress she wore, telling herself how ridiculous it looked. Why couldn’t she have just worn jeans and a blouse? She’d look cuter and be comfier.

Silently, she shook the thoughts from her head as she remembered what Audrey said in the car earlier.

Whatever, Bea thought, Confidence, B, that’s all you need.

She stood straight, adjusting her body language to display confidence, hoping it looked even somewhat natural. She looked back at where Zoe had been staring from, only to find the back of her head. No more eyes on her, good.

With her sleight confidence, Bea walked up to the barstool beside the blonde and sat, setting her forearms upon the bar. She was there. It was a step in the right direction. All she had to do now was start a conversation. Somehow.

In an attempt to stall for time, she waved down the bartender and asked for another beer, hoping it would convince the man beside her that he wasn’t the entire reason she had sat down. Though, he seemed to have not noticed her presence as he lit a cigarette and kept his focus on the hockey game in front of him.

Bea watched from the corner of her eye as he took a long drag and flicked the ash into the tray that sat to the left of him. As he did so, his eyes followed the cigarette, stopping only when they seemed to catch something on the bar. Right then, she noticed just how blue his eyes were; they were only a shade or two darker than the noon sky.

“There you are, darlin’.” The bartender smiled at Bea as he set a cold Heineken in front of her.

She looked up, her eyes wide in something akin to confusion before awkwardly smiling back. “Oh! Thanks,” she spoke. The bartender nodded and turned away, making his way to a drunkard waving him down elsewhere.

Bea’s attention slyly turned back towards the blonde beside her. His eyebrows were furrowed in what seemed to be curiosity, and Bea tried to follow where exactly he was looking. She looked at the ashtray and slowly tracked further left until her gaze met her hand.

“What’s that say?” the man asked, his voice enough to melt Bea into a puddle.

She looked at him, her head tilting. “What?” she nearly squeaked.

“The tattoo,” he pointed to the ink inscribed on top of her hand, “What’s it say?”

His voice was thick and gruff but had a deep smoothness to it that made Bea’s head spin. She looked back at her hand, almost as if she was unaware of the emblem written into her skin. “Oh,” she looked at him, her cheeks flushed a bright red. “Blondie,” she finally told him as she rolled her sleeve up just a bit to reveal the entire tattoo. The name had been inscribed in calligraphy below the print date of “9/26/1988”, a small heart attached to the tail of the ‘e’ on the calligraphy with it all encircled by the depiction of a horseshoe.

“What’s the date for?” the cowboy asked, twisting his upper body towards the woman beside him and bringing his cigarette back to his lips.

Bea sat up straight, “It’s the day he died,” she told him before stumbling to cover her vagueness, “Blondie, a horse of mine. First horse I ever broke on my own,”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, obviously expecting a different, much happier answer. Whatever that may have been. “Oh, m’sorry.” he muttered, clearing his throat and taking a swig of his beer.

“That’s alright,” Bea smiled softly, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage as she spoke with him. Even over the sound of the dive bar’s band, she was sure he could hear it too.

He took another quick drag of his cigarette before stubbing it in the glass ashtray. His hands were big and rough, obviously made from years of work. Bea’s stomach coiled slightly at the sight as her mind wandered. She thought about how they’d feel on her back, her hips, her thighs…

“I like it, though,” he told her, snapping her from her sinful thoughts. He looked up at her, “Not many folks have tattoos. It’s different,”

She was sure her face was beet red as she smiled at him, “Thank you,” she said. “Usually, people ask me if I was drunk when I decided to get it. Or if I worship Satan.”

The cowboy squinted and scoffed before saying, “For a tattoo commemorating a dead horse?”

She shrugged, “They say it’s a Pagan practice.” The cowboy just shook his head and rolled his eyes as he took a final swig of his beer. Bea spoke, “Pretty sure Pagans don’t worship Satan, either.”

“People just like hearing themselves talk,” he grumbled, placing the empty beer bottle on the bar. “Always have something to say about how you live your life. It’s dumb.”

“Agreed,” Bea nodded, reaching for her untouched beer bottle. She took a swig as the cowboy returned to watching the TV, the game at the tail end of the third period. Now she had to start more conversation. She reached into her dress’s pocket and pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds alongside a lighter. As she plucked a cigarette from the pack, she spoke. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

The man looked at her, “Definitely not,” he smiled softly. “I’m originally from a bit further west, little town called Durango.”

Bea nodded, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, yeah! My daddy won a big barrel racing title out that way in ‘68 at the uh…”

“Fiesta Days Rodeo?”

“Yeah! That’s it!”

The cowboy nodded, his entire body turned on the barstool towards Bea. He had a prideful smirk on his face, “That’s the first rodeo I ever rode in. Junior bull riding in ‘77 when I was 14. Fell off in three seconds,”

Bea tilted her head and smiled, “You’re a bull rider?”

“Was, for about two years. Then I started doing some of the calf roping in the rodeo. I did a whole lot better with that, nowhere near as many head injuries.” he told her, picking up his hat from the bar and placing it on his knee to dust it off. “I tried barrel racing, but I never really got the hang of it. Cutting was the most fun, though. It feels like working a herd, except you’re in a ring,”

Bea nodded, “I did lots of cutting before Blondie died. He knew how to work cattle better than any old ranch horse we had,” she told him, “I still breed and train cutters and barrel racers, competing’s just harder nowadays.”

“You sell ‘em, too?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked.

She nodded, a grin plastered across her face. “Yeah. Why? You interested?”

The man snorted and put his hat on, “You’re funny,”

Bea giggled, “Come on, any self-respecting man wants a good working horse!” she took a tender sip of her beer.

The cowboy gave her a sardonic look, “Do I look like I have any self-respect, Miss…”

“Dalton,” she answered, “Lorelei Dalton, just call me Bea.”

“Where does ‘Bea’ come from out of ‘Lorelei Dalton’?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, only then realizing just how loose her once-tensed muscles had become. “My middle name is Bernadette if you really have to know.”

The blonde nodded before sticking out his hand for her to shake, “James Hetfield,” he said as she grabbed it and they shook.

Bea’s hand was warm in his grip, his hand almost twice the size of hers and calloused from his years of work. “What brings you out here, then, Mr. Hetfield?”

“James,” he corrected with a smirk, “And just work. I was in Wyoming working a ranch this past year, but the guy who owned the place was a shady fuck. Didn’t ever pay any of his cowpunchers quite what he owed, so I just sort of up and left.”

Bea nodded, “I’d have done the same,” she said, “Why didn’t you go back to Durango?”

He shrugged. “It’s in my past,”

She took it as an ‘I don’t wanna talk about it,’.

“Well, there’s plenty of cattle to work out this way.” she told him, “I hope you find someone who’ll pay you what they owe,”

“Yeah, me too.” James chuckled. His laugh sent Bea’s insides fluttering. It was adorable. “I dunno, I’ve got a ‘trial’ for a job, I guess. Over in Cuchara. I start tomorrow,”

Bea leaned on the bar top, “Maybe I’ll be seeing you around often, then.” she told him. His head tilted in curiosity at her words. “My family’s ranch is out in Cuchara, ‘Lone Wolf’. My daddy and my brother work the cattle.

“Just them?” he asked.

Bea nodded, “Our herd isn’t huge right now, we had a bad calving yield this past spring.” she told him, taking a swig of her beer before continuing. “What’s the name of the ranch you’re gonna be working?”

James shrugged, “I forgot,” he simply said.

Bea gave him an unimpressed look, “Really?”

“Really.” he affirmed, “I’ve got the address, though.” he began fishing through his jeans’ pockets, but before he could pull anything from them, Bea felt a tap on her shoulder. She whipped her head around.

“Hey, babe. We’ve gotta go,” Zoe told her, her hand now grabbing for the meaty part of Bea’s arm.

“Wh-” Bea began, but her eyes soon fell upon Audrey, who was attempting to hold the attention of a tall, dark-haired cowboy across the room. However, his dark eyes were narrowed and focused overtop of the woman’s head. Straight at Bea. “Oh,” was all she could muster as her stomach dropped to her feet.

“Yeah,” Zoe said before looking over at James, who now sat dumbfounded and almost upset that this random woman had interrupted their conversation. He held a small piece of paper in his hand. “Sorry.” Zoe told him sincerely, “Just look her up in the Yellow Pages, or something.”

With that, Zoe and Bea began out the door. Bea turned to wave at the blonde cowboy, finding his now-longing and sad eyes following her out the door. He waved back at her with a sigh before standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. She felt horrible. But she also needed to get out of there.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked Zoe, wide-eyed as they burst through the entrance. The bitter wind stung their cheeks.

Zoe shrugged, “He just came up to Audrey and asked if you were with us,” she unlocked her car’s door, and the two got into the vehicle. She stuck the key in the ignition, and the engine struggled to a start.

“I thought he’d left town!” Bea exclaimed as she shivered, trying to warm up as the car pushed hot air through its vents. “When is he going to fucking leave me alone?! We fucked twice. Twice! A year ago! That’s it!”

Zoe nodded, “I know. He’s a creep.”

Right then, the doors to the bar burst open, Audrey and Abigail drunkenly stumbling out with something akin to haste. Abigail was leaning against Audrey, her drunkenness reducing her to the balance of a toddler. They raced across the parking lot and burst the car doors open as soon as they reached them.

“We’ve got to go,” Audrey practically shouted as she slammed the door beside her. “Fucker tried grabbing me,”

Zoe whipped around, “What?!”

The man in question emerged from the entrance.

“Zoe, go,” Bea told her friend firmly. The car was then quickly put into gear, and they whipped out of the parking lot, leaving the old dive bar in the dust.

#yay!!!! i did it!!!!#only took 6 months #anywhooo #i hope y'all enjoy!!!!#hopefully gonna have chapter two out in like two or three weeks #james hetfield #papa het #ranch hand!james #rancher!james #metallica #james hetfield x oc #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield smut #the farmer's daughter #bub's writing

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