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macfrog · 6 months

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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 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me

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strangersatellites · 4 months

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the one with the shacker shirt | more frat king steve x his problem causing bf eddie

a mini collab with @amethyst-crowns !!

it’s a cool friday night and eddie’s two tequila shots, a handful of beers, and a cigarette into his setlist at this point. their dedicated few fans are up front and center scream singing along with them while the rest of the bar is bustling with life.

with drinks being spilled, food being ordered and then forgotten about, sorority girls having deep meaningful talks in the bathroom so long their boyfriends’ forgot they were there.

it’s a friday night at his favorite college bar and eddie is buzzing with energy.

he’s got his guitar slung over his back and he’s taking a beer break, eyes scanning over the room in search of his favorite boy. he’s probably somewhere charming his way into free drinks in a way that never fails to leave eddie laughing and a bit baffled. he gets it though, everybody else is just as wrapped around steve’s finger as he is so he can’t say anything.

he’s talking to the guys, kicking a couple empty cans offstage when he sees them out of the corner of his eye.

two guys, probably eddie’s age, maybe seniors. they’re flagging him over and looking around suspiciously and eddie thinks that if they’re interested in buying, this is an awful strange time to approach him about it.

he’s about to break the news, tell them he’s not selling tonight when one of them smiles and claps his shoulder when he squats down to their height.

“hey man, we don’t want you to get in trouble so we figured we’d tell you before someone else did.” he says with a nod. says it like eddie will catch on, like he’ll know what this is about.

he doesn’t.

he furrows his brows and looks at them, confused. “pardon?”

the second guy tugs at the hem of eddie’s shirt, darts his eyes around conspiratorially again. “you gotta turn this inside out of something, bro. pledges can’t wear letters out until initiation. vp rec will hand you your ass if he hears about it.”

the first guy is all but hissing in his ear in his effort to be quiet. “yeah AND the president’s here, man. we’re just looking out for you.”

eddie glances down at his own chest, realizing for the first time what shirt he grabbed off the back of steve’s desk chair this morning.

it’s not his that’s for sure. it’s definitely his boyfriend’s. big, bold greek letters across the chest. ink peeling off and threadbare around the waist. the arm holes more hole than shirt at this point.

he smiles back up at the guys, finally figuring out what this is about.

he huffs a quiet laugh and his knees crack when he stand back up. he hears gareth mindlessly drumming his sticks against his stool so he knows his break’s over. pulls his guitar back around to his chest and bows.

“well i appreciate your looking out for me, gentlemen. but… i think i’ll take my chances.”

he hears a scoff and a muffled “whatever, man” and a “not my fucking problem, i guess.”

but whatever he’s not paying any attention.

the mic squeals when he walks up to it and he’s got a thousand-watt smile and an apology on his lips immediately after.

“ah shit, sorry, sorry guys- my bad.” he backs up a step and squints against the harsh light, still searching for his boy. “before this next one, i’m looking for someone. baby? baby, where are you? can you come up here sweetheart?”

he looks toward the back of the crowd and sees steve’s bright smile and glassy eyes as he shoulders his way up front. sees how he stops to talk to a few people, say hi, dap up a couple of the guys. but he makes it up the front of the stage in record time given all that, regardless.

“there you are! missed you,” he says before he’s leaving his mic again and dropping down to his knees.

now he’s low enough that steve can tangle a hand in his unruly curls and tug him forward and down. can tug him close enough the he feels his breath against his lips when he whispers “will you play my favorite?”

he knows his own smile is bright as the sun.

“of course, baby.”

when steve kisses him, messy and like he’s putting on a show, eddie can’t help but overhear the “what?” and “oh that’s him?” coming from the side stage.

there are a lot of perks to being steve’s boyfriend. but that response is always one of his favorites.

#steddie #steddie fic #gin writes #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanart #shot of gin #ames’ art #gin x ames #frat boy steve harrington #you will ALWAYS be famous #steve would be a sig ep #argue with the wall #source:#my beautiful mind

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 5 months

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a/n: a little festive mat fic! written fairly quickly and minimally edited, but i wanted to get something out for the holiday! not too much more to say except i hope you guys all have a wonderful holiday and i’ll be quiet for the rest of the year, writing and stockpiling fics lol

word count: 4.8k

tw: a little innuendo, nothing crazy

summary: after spending the day hanging out with the team, you have some news for mat

“The snow was a nice touch,” you grin at Holly Horvat. A light dusting of snow is falling outside, the grass in the Horvats’ backyard already white.

Holly laughs, “oh, you know me. I have a connect to make sure even the weather is perfect for our events.” She pours M&Ms into a few small ramekins that are going to be placed around the kitchen island and dining room table where the kids will be decorating gingerbread houses.

The house is bustling with people and noise and you can’t help but love it. You miss having huge family gatherings, ever since your parents moved off Long Island and down south. The rest of your family is scattered to the winds, so it’s nice to be folded into the big team family get togethers. Joining a group of women who love any excuse to throw a party has been one of the biggest benefits from your relationship with Mat.

Half a dozen kids run past you - you spot the Bailey boys and Brock’s two oldest kids in the group as they blur by - holding jackets and their sneakers. “Mini sticks is getting moved outside,” Noah grins as he breezes past you, swiping a handful of M&Ms from the little bowl.

“Stay warm,” you tease, watching him follow the kids out the back door. A parade of adult men follow him - Wahlly, Casey, Josh, Brock, and finally Mat, who stops to give your waist a little squeeze.

“Kiss for luck?” He asks, puckering his lips at you in a dramatic duck face. You giggle and plant one on him, pulling back before he can slip his tongue past your lips.

Mat leans slightly against you, his face a little flushed already from the twenty minutes of mini sticks that’s been going on in the basement. “What do you need luck for?” You ask, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Jacky’s got a wicked wrister,” Mat grins, referring to Casey’s oldest, “and no idea how to aim. Do you know how many pucks to the head I’ve dodged?”

A snort of laughter makes Mat’s lips turn down in a frown. “Oh, I guess you just don’t care about my health,” he sighs dramatically, pulling away from your side. “It’s fine. I’ll take a slap shot to the head and then you’ll see how much you miss my charming personality.”

“Dramatics,” you murmur affectionately, hooking your fingers in his belt loops. “He’s five and you guys use a Nerf ball. I think you’ll live.”

“Maaaat!” Jack comes barreling through the room and crashes into your fiancé’s legs. “C’mon! Everybody’s outside.” The little boy looks adorable in his puffer coat, a little beanie pulled haphazardly over his blonde hair. He wrinkles his face up at Mat in an impatient frown and you can’t help but egg him on.

“Yeah, Mat,” you prod him in the side, looking innocent, “everyone’s outside already.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but grins down at Jack and swoops him into his arms, making Jack shriek with laughter. You prop your chin in the palm of your hand and watch Mat tickle Jack’s belly while he carries him outside. Jack’s little sneakered feet are kicking in the air, narrowly avoiding Mat’s head.

“He’s really good with the kids,” Kristy Cizikas comments, coming into the kitchen with baby Cole propped on her hip.

You scrunch up your face at Cole to make him laugh, “it’s because he’s a big kid himself, right Coley? Huh? Is Matty a big kid?” You giggle at your own baby talk and warmth blooms in your chest when you’re rewarded with a gummy baby smile. “Ooh, you make cute babies,” you tell Kristy.

She shakes her head affectionately, “I swear, they’re all Casey. It’s like my genes didn’t even try.”

“Hey, in like six months you and Mat can start catching up to the rest of us,” Sydney Martin teases, easily passing Alice to you when you reach out for the one-year-old. Alice immediately grabs a chunk of your hair and you wince, untangling chubby fingers from the strands.

You hum noncommittally as you work. “We’ll see what happens,” you shrug. “Might be nice to just be the two of us for a bit.”

“But don’t you want that all the time?” Syd laughs, gesturing to you now that Alice’s fingers are hooked in your mouth. You pretend to nibble on them, making her shriek with laughter. She finishes helping Holly set out the candy, knowing the rest of the kids will start wandering their way into the kitchen.

“One day, definitely,” you nod, settling Alice more securely on your lap, one arm looped around her stomach. The little girl slaps her palms happily on the countertop and you giggle, resting your chin on her head. “No rush though.”

As you settle at the table with the kids, the other guys trail in and out of the backyard, the noise of mini sticks floating inside.

You get to be in charge of Alice during decorating, sitting in between Syd with Winnie and Ashlee with Luca while the kids decorate their pre-made houses. You squirt a line of frosting onto the roof and Alice uses her little pincer grip to place M&Ms on the line. “Oh, good job,” you tell her in a bright, encouraging voice. She rewards you with a half melted piece of candy smushed against your cheek.

“Mommy,” Winnie’s little voice pipes up, “Ali’s makin’ a mess.”

“So are you, Win,” Sydney laughs, wiping up a smudge of frosting off of Winnie’s sweater. “Everyone is going to make a little bit of a mess and that’s okay.”

From your spot at the island, you can see right out the back door and you watch the mini sticks tournament that’s happening. Kids versus adults and honestly, it looks like the adults are having a rough go of it. Mat’s on the ground, a pile of children fighting him. Whally has Cal’s oldest on his shoulders and you honestly wonder how that ended up happening. Sticks have been discarded and the Nerf pucks are strewn around. You watch Casey pull Jack out of the pile on top of Mat, his little arms and legs kicking. From the ground, Mat jokingly sticks his tongue out at Jack and you shake your head. Of course he has beef with a five-year-old.

Bo and Gunnar join the fun outside and Mat slaps the little boy’s hand in a high-five. Your stomach swoops a little. It’s always such a turn-on when Mat interacts with kids, but it’s a little different now.

Alice pats your hand and grumbles a little. “Whoops, sorry, Al,” you squeeze more frosting onto the house for her to decorate.

“Distracted?” Ashlee asks, pulling Luca’s frosting covered hand away from his hair. She wipes his fingers off with a napkin and gives him a pretzel to stick onto his little house. She pops another pretzel into her own mouth.

You hum. “Just making sure he’s not being totally steamrolled by a pack of kids,” you laugh lightly. While Alice works on the roof of her house, you put a few Starburts in place to act as a little pathway going to the door.

In the backyard, Mat stands up, Mack and Wyatt Bailey hanging from each arm. He shakes them gently and you can see both boys’ heads fall back with wild laughter. Meg looks up from where she’s helping Blake with a pattern of Smarties on her roof. “Honestly, if he wasn’t busy with, you know, his actual job,” she laughs, “I’d hire him as a babysitter. The kids loved when he lived with us.”

The entire kitchen of women laugh when the back door slides open and Mat steps back inside, shaking melted snow from his short hair. He stops and looks up, scanning the room full of laughing women. “What?” He asks, eyebrows drawn together. “I interrupt something? Want me to leave so you ladies can keep talking about me?” He laughs brightly, flashing his teeth.

“You can stay,” you offer generously, tilting your head up as he passes for a kiss. Mat’s hand is freezing when it cups your jaw and you flinch a little. He mumbles a ‘sorry’ against your lips before kissing them. When he pulls away, to a soundtrack of ‘awww’s from the women and a joking ‘get a room’ from Sydney, you continue, “but you have to take orders from toddlers, if you do.”

“Like I’m not already doing that,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over your cheekbone and sucking it into his mouth. “Frosting,” he explains, smirking. Your cheeks flush.

Winnie stands up on her chair and leans into you, poking at your cheek with her fingers. “Red, I wanna be red!” She bounces a little and looks over at Mat who scrunches up his whole face at her and tickles her sides, making her shriek with laughter and flop back into Sydney’s arms.

Sydney laughs and tickles Winnie’s side, “girlfriend, you’re collecting boyfriends around here like they’re Pokémon cards.”

Satisfied by the chaos he caused, Mat backs into the hallway, explaining, “I was sent to get more jackets and gloves and sh-stuff,” he course-corrects before letting the curse slip. “It’s freezing out there.”

He’s gone, rummaging through the massive hall closet, before reappearing wearing his own coat and holding an armful of the other guys’ outerwear.

“Who’s winning?” Holly teases, while you all watch Mat struggle to pull a beanie on without dropping anything. He fails spectacularly and gives up when he realizes that everything’s slowly falling to the floor.

Mat scoffs. “The kids, obviously. They’re unhinged,” he grins widely and you can tell he’s having a blast. There’s a chorus of his name being shouted from outside and Mat scoops up the dropped outerwear before dashing off to rejoin the fun.

Sydney leans in and nudges your side gently. “He’s going to be a great dad,” she whispers, smiling knowingly.

You chew at the inside of your cheek and manage a barely convincing smile. “One day, definitely,” you reply, holding an Oreo for Alice to chew at.

She shoots you a little side eyed look and you studiously ignore her, focusing on telling Reese Cizikas how great her house looks. Things start to get messy - well, messier - after a while and the kids get antsy until they’re turned loose from the table to run off around the house. While you clean up the candy, the guys come back inside with the older kids and you can’t help but laugh at how the three youngest men, including your fiancé, have kids hanging off of them.

“If you kids let go of the guys,” Holly says warmly, “I’ll pass around some hot chocolate.”

It’s a mad scramble for the kids to abandon Mat, Noah, and Oliver - and they actually look mildly offended when the kids just toss their jackets back at them in their dash for hot chocolate. You take some of the gear from Mat and lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek, “don’t look so sad, you can have another play date with your friends soon.”

“Menace,” Mat grins, reaching around to pinch at your ass.

“I’ll text Kristy,” you giggle, continuing the joke, “Jack can come over and beat you at mini sticks again.”

“I’m gonna toss your phone into the ocean,” Mat deadpans.

You lower your voice and lean closer to him to whisper, “how will I send all those pictures you like?”

“You can keep the phone,” Mat replies immediately and you laugh, tugging at the open edges of his jacket. He pulls you close and you wrap one arm around his waist, his body warm even though his hands and face are cold. You bury your face in his chest and stifle a yawn. Mat’s hand is warming your back where he rubs it up and down your spine. “Still feeling gross after that bug?”

“Not gross,” you tilt your head to look up at him, still cuddled against his chest, “just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“We can head home, if you want,” Mat offers, but you shake your head again. You like it when the whole group is together and you want to keep enjoying the time with your friends.

You pull back slightly from Mat’s arms, his hands still resting on your back. “I just need a little bit of sugar and I’ll be good to go,” you smile at him. His eyes twinkle before he leans down and plants a smacking, dramatic kiss on your lips.

“Good to go?” He teases when he pulls back.

“Not that kind of sugar,” you giggle, delighted by him always.

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Ashlee says, breaking into the Mat Barzal bubble that you’ve been enveloped in for the last few minutes. You startle a little and some of the other wives laugh.

“Oh god, she forgot we’re even here,” Sydney shakes her head, an exaggerated frown on her lips.

Meg smirks, “thank god we interrupted them before it went too far.”

Your cheeks are warm from the teasing and Mat just turns on the charm, grinning widely at his teammates’ wives. “It’s all part of the Barzal charm,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“What charm?” Bo chirps, coming into the kitchen with Tulsa on his hip. “All you’re good at is league mandated iPad time.”

“Don’t forget all the time he spends sitting on his ass on the ice,” Noah grins wickedly.

“Tell us,” Casey asks you, “is it part of his charm when he messes up common sayings?”

You giggle, sucking your lips into your mouth when Mat glares down at you.

“You guys suck,” Mat flips them off, immediately apologizing when he realizes some of the kids are still in the room. “Sorry, Holly, Meg.”

They waive off his apologies, sending him into the den with a tray of snacks for the kids. They’re watching a movie, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer if the familiar music is to be believed, and you know half the dads are also in the den, napping on the couches. Mat disappears for a while too and you leave him to the movie, knowing he’s exhausted. You get to hang out with the girls for a few more hours, interspersed with hugs and drawings from Gunnar and Winnie, before the party starts to break up.

Everyone’s gone slowly and then all at once, and you and Mat are walking the three blocks towards your house. He bumps your hip with his as you walk, his fingers laced with yours. “You coming to the game tomorrow?” He asks, getting a sense of what the week ahead will look like.

“Mhm,” you hum, “I’m going to go with Syd, so I’m not sure if I’ll end up staying the whole game. So make sure you do all the good stuff in the first.”

Mat bumps your hip again and you laugh, the sound echoing in the cold air. “I save all my best stuff for you,” he retorts, unlocking the front door and letting you step inside before him. He winks at you, his entire face scrunching up in his terrible attempt.

You scoff at him and flip the switches to turn on the Christmas lights, bathing the whole house in the warm glow of multi-colored string lights. You sigh happily, loving the over the top decorations you’d insisted on and the way the entire house smells like pine and cinnamon from diffusers and candles left open but unlit. Mat crowds your space and kisses the back of your neck.

“Couch time?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Couch time,” you agree, muffling another yawn.

You race to the bedroom, changing out of your clothes as quick as possible to get into comfy sweats and sweatshirts. Mat tosses a pillow at your face to distract you, but you swat it out of the air, nearly getting your foot stuck in the leg of your sweats.

“You like when I’m a weighted blanket,” Mat says, voice muffled by the sweatshirt he’s pulling over his head. “Why are you racing me to be on top?”

You don’t waste time pulling on your sweatshirt in the room and instead dart back out to the hallway and skip down the stairs, flopping onto the couch in just your sweats, completely topless. Mat’s hot on your heels and grumbles when he sees you yanking the fabric over your head. Smugly, you reply, “I don’t wanna be squished today. I want to use you as a body pillow.”

He submits to his fate and flops down onto the couch, oversized enough that the two of you could lay side by side and be comfortable, and opens his arms for you to crawl onto his chest. The both of you love the soft pressure of the other person laying on top of them so you’ve had to come up with a contest over the course of your relationship - first person on the couch gets to be on top. More often than not, you end up sprawled over Mat since it’s an easy way to transition into couch sex.

Now, you’re so tired you definitely will be keeping all of your clothes on. But you hum happily when you settle on top of him, your knees tucked nicely against either side of his hips, straddling his lap. When you curl up against his chest, your lower back stretches pleasantly and you wiggle a little, wrapping your arms around his torso and tucking your head under his chin. Mat’s arms wrap around you, one hand covering the back of your head so his fingertips can stroke against the shell of your ear.

He pulls the decorative blanket off the back of the couch with his other hand and arranges it over your bodies, making sure his feet stick out on the end so he doesn’t overheat. “You good?” He asks, his jaw bumping against the top of your head when he speaks. You nod against him and close your eyes, settling into his warmth. Mat turns on the TV, flipping it to ESPN before letting his hand rest low on the curve of your back, fingers grazing the top of your ass.

Mat’s heart beats steadily under your cheek and his hand is warm where it rests on your head. Couch time is exactly what you needed today. Your eyelids flutter shut every so often and you must fall asleep for a little nap because the next thing you know, it’s darker outside and Mat is running his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Hey,” he whispers and you lift your head to look at him blearily, momentarily confused.

“Hi,” you mumble sleepily, brushing your nose against his chin. “What time’s it?”

“Just after 4:30,” he replies and now the TV’s playing a rerun of The Office. He chuckles at a joke and rubs his fingertips against your scalp in a little massage. “You’ve been out for like forty-five minutes and I would’ve let you sleep, but I’m starving.”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re fully awake now. “Oh, same,” you say casually, rolling off of Mat and tucking yourself against his side. “I actually would love a piece of that gingerbread house that I ordered.”

“Gingerbread house?” Mat raises an eyebrow. “When’d you get that?”

“It was delivered the other day,” you explain. “I wanted something cute for our first engaged Christmas.”

Mat sits up, taking you with him and you wiggle around so you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing him. “I totally forgot to show it to you,” you shrug, proud of yourself for being so normal. “But why don’t you go take a look and bring me back a piece?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mat shrugs, scratching your scalp once before getting up. “Dessert before dinner usually means eating you out, but gingerbread is cool too.”

He says it so casually that you don’t really process what he says until he’s already in the kitchen. You bounce up on your knees to look at him over the back of the couch, yelping his name when it finally sinks in. He’s laughing as he pulls the new box down from where it’s been sitting on top of the fridge. “Took you long enough,” he laughs, popping the top of the white cardboard. “That nap really must’ve taken it out of you.”

You scowl at him but don’t reply, anxiously waiting to see his reaction to the gingerbread house. He pulls it out of the box and his lips quirk up in a little smile. “It’s cute,” he says, looking at the house, professionally decorated. “Way better than the ones the kids made today.”

A laugh works its way out of your mouth as he studies it, taking in the details. “Huh,” he mutters, more to himself than anything else, “three people. Must’ve read your order wrong, Squeaks.”

“Oh?” You breathe. “There were supposed to be me and you…” You trail off.

“Yeah, they’re here,” Mat reads the little names iced onto the gingerbread people. “There’s you and Mat and…” he falters, squinting at the third figure, bringing it closer to his face, “Baby B?”

He looks over at you, forehead creased and eyebrows drawn together over his nose. “Baby B?” He repeats the question and you smile carefully at him, hand sliding across the back of the couch so your fingertips rest on your stomach.

“Baby B,” you confirm shakily. Tears well at your lower lash line and you watch Mat for his reaction.

He blinks at you, eyes darting between your face, your stomach, and the gingerbread figure held in his hand. “Wait? Seriously?” He sounds dazed and you can’t blame him. You were freaked out when you took the test a week and a half ago. It’s been the hardest secret you’ve ever had to keep. “You’re…there’s a baby?” His eyes are wide and his jaw hangs open a little.

You nod. “It’s, um, been hanging out for like six-ish, seven weeks,” you whisper, flattening your hand over your stomach. Mat’s eyes track your movement and he exhales a shaky breath.

Mat breathes your name and crosses the room in a few large strides. He cups your cheeks in his hands and studies your face, wiping at the tears that drip from your eyes. “Hey, c’mon, why’re you crying?” He asks, panic edging his tone.

“I know it’s earlier than we planned,” you shrug, “I’m going to be insanely pregnant at the wedding. We won’t get to be, like, newlyweds at all and the honeymoon’s going to have to change or be cancelled altogether.” You ramble on, all of your stress releasing in run-on sentences. You already love the baby, but getting pregnant before the wedding definitely wasn’t the plan.

Mat chuckles a little and you realize it sounds a little watery, like he’s trying to hold back his own emotion. “We’ll figure it out,” he says gently, squatting down so he’s closer to your eye level. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah,” you confirm again. “Are you freaking out? Because I’m freaking out.”

“I’m definitely freaking out,” Mat confirms on a hysterical little laugh. His fingers tremble a little against your cheeks. “But it’s a good thing, right? Like, we’re gonna make the coolest babies.”

You nod. “They’re going to have amazing hair,” you giggle wetly.

Mat leans forward to kiss you softly, tasting the tears on your lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, quietly breathing with you. “That, uh, wasn’t a stomach bug last week, was it?”

“No,” you shake your head against his. “I’ve had some pretty aggressive mid-morning sickness this past week.”

“How the hell did I miss that?” He asks and it’s mostly rhetorical because Mat is not the most observant of men on a good day, let alone during a week and a half period where they’re playing a game every other day.

You lean back and tap at your stomach with your fingers, “baby’s already pretty good about not inconveniencing you. It was bad after you’d already left for practice.”

“I kind of can’t believe our baby’s in there,” Mat says, looking down at your stomach. His hands fall to the back of the couch and his fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out and touch you, but he doesn’t.

“Me either,” you admit. “And I’ve had a week to get used to the idea.”

“Shit, Squeaks,” he shakes his head again, a little smile playing on his lips, “a baby. We’re gonna be in charge of a real baby.”

Your answering laugh is a little hysterical. You’re obviously not the first of your friends to have a baby, but it feels insane that you’re here, especially before the wedding. Your parents are going to be so annoyed. “Good thing we have friends who know what they’re doing,” you murmur, covering Mat’s hands with yours and lacing your fingers together. You look at your joined fingers and your heart lurches in your chest. Quietly, you ask him, “we’re going to be good at this, right?”

“Hell if I know,” Mat admits. You frown at him - that was less than reassuring, but at least he’s honest. He jolts a little, his eyebrows lifting into his hairline, and you cock your head at him in a silent question. “I realized,” he says, a little sheepishly, “that I never said I was happy about this, but I am. I’m excited, scared as shit, but excited.”

“Me too,” you let loose a relieved laugh. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear Mat say he was happy about the baby. It’s been a weight on your shoulders ever since that positive pink line appeared on the test. “Um, there is one thing you could do for me right now though.”

Mat perks up and nods, “yeah, whatever you need, babe. You’re going to be so sick of me and how attentive I’ll be.”

You have no doubt about that, but for now - “can you get me a piece of that gingerbread? I’ve been craving it since the stupid thing was delivered yesterday.”

Mat laughs and stands up to retrieve the cookie, much to your delight. It’s been taunting you for more than twenty-four hours now and you nibble at the gingerbread version of yourself happily. Mat flops down onto the couch next to you and you tuck yourself up against his side. His hand absently runs up and down your arm, his eyes focused in the direction of the TV, but not actually paying attention.

You’re quiet at his side, knowing he needs to process the news. You were lucky in that you were alone when you found out so you could freak out without Mat seeing just how scared you were. Now that it’s been a week of knowing and Mat’s reaction wasn’t a total meltdown, you can relax a little, even start to get excited about having a little summer baby. Mat will get to spend time with you and the baby since you’re due in late August, by your admittedly shaky math.

Subconsciously, Mat’s hand wanders down your side, splaying on your waist, fingers stretching to cover part of your stomach. He rubs his thumb against your ribs and a little huff of disbelief leaves his throat. “Too bad you’re not due before the wedding,” he says, looking down at you with a little smile, “she could’ve been in the wedding, like Gracie at Bearsy’s wedding.”

Your throat clogs with emotion, thinking of your baby being at the wedding, and you bury your face in Mat’s side so he can’t see how tears well up in your eyes again. “You can’t say cute shit like that to me right now,” you mumble, “my hormones are in overdrive.”

Mat pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling his thighs. He kisses the corner of your mouth and you sigh, resting your arms on his shoulders. “Let me know when I can start saying cute shit,” his grin is shit-eating, “because I just realized that there’s a chance we could put the baby in the Cup this summer.”

“Gotta win it first,” you counter, teasing him. He rolls his eyes and lets his hands drift over your stomach, broad palms covering the expanse of the still flat area.

“Got a new motivation now,” Mat replies and even though he still looks stunned, you can see how excited he’s getting about the baby.

You look down at where his hands cover your stomach and it’s all too easy to picture his hands holding a newborn baby with his eyes and your nose, a little shock of Mat’s dark hair on its head.

You can’t wait.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #mat barzal imagine #nhl fic

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mykoreanlove · 6 months

Text

Just another day at the dorms - Changbin Version

„What is this?“

Changbin handed you a very expensive looking satin box. He grinned from ear to ear as he motioned you to open it. You untied the fancy golden bow and opened the present: inside was a beautiful set of lingerie. You held up the racy bralette and tiny thong, all covered in lace and even some crystals. Changbin cleared his throat nervously.

„Do you like it?“

You shot him a surprised look. „Binnie, I adore this. But why?“

It wasn’t your birthday or anniversary or anything. He came closer and placed an innocent kiss on your cheek. „I don’t need a reason to pamper my baby girl, do I?“ And with that he slapped your butt and turned around. „Put it on and come outside. It’s movie night.“

He wants me to wear this while watching a movie with the others?

You entered the spacious living room and sat between Hyunjin and Minho. „Finally“, Seungmin remarked snarkily. You stuck your tongue out at him. „Sorry your majesty. What are we watching?“ Hyunjin handed you some popcorn and smiled: „Barbie.“

All of you were so invested in the movie - laughing and crying along to Barbie finding out about the horror‘s of the real world. At least that’s what you thought. Not long after Barbie‘s first meltdown you winced in surprise, disturbing the boys around you.

„Y/N, psssshhh. Watch, they’re at uni.“ You didn‘t even catch Hyunjin‘s side eye as you were too preoccupied with your underwear.

Your vibrating underwear.

Instinctively, you searched the room for Changbin who was acting as if nothing was wrong.

You felt the vibration getting more intense, naturally squeezing your thighs shut. Your boyfriend was still pretending to watch the movie, the biggest smirk on his lips.

That little shit.

Acting as if nothing was going on was getting harder and harder - you started getting hot, slightly sweating and squirming around.

You finally realized that Changbin was holding a little remote in his hands, fidgeting with it more and more.

Luckily everybody else was heavily invested in the movie.

And just like that he turned up the vibration again. Your eyes as big as the moon, your drenched pussy throbbing - this just felt too good. Your breathing got heavier, chest heaving even and then surprise - another level of vibrating perfection.

But this time was too much - you let out a moan. All eyes were on you, puzzled as to what was happening. You panicked - fuck fuck fuck what do I do?

Instinctively you grabbed a hand of popcorn and pushed it in your mouth, moaning again. „Sorry guys but have you tried this popcorn? Delicious!“

They shook their heads and continued watching. You shot Changbin a death glare and he did his best to hide his chuckle. He was enjoying this way more than Barbie.

Han was the next to disturb the others as he paused the movie.

„Hey? The fuck?“

„Sorry hyung but I need to try that popcorn. Y/N, hand me some.“

The others groaned in annoyance. „Yeah and if we’re already taking a break, can you guys silence your phones? I swear one is vibrating all the freaking time“, Hyunjin added.

Your cheeks were dark red by now - how could he do this to me?

You looked in his direction once more and finally he was acknowledging you, sticking out his tongue and shaking the remote heavily.

„Don’t you want to take care of your problem?“ You felt Minho‘s voice whisper into your ear. Heat flushed your face once more.

„What?“

He nodded while looking at your crotch. „You know, down there.“

Oh my god I’m going to die.

„You… you know about that?!“

Minho flashed you his most seductive yet diabolical smile before answering.

„Who did you think gave him that idea?“

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harrysfolklore · 1 year

Text

birthdays with harry

this was inspired by @sirtommyholland’s four years of birthdays blurb ! one of my fave blurbs ever <3 i hope you like this

happy birthday harry, i love you

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

2011 - 17th birthday

"Happy birthday, dear Harry, happy birthday to you!"

Harry smiled as everyone around him sang, the room full of the people he loved: his mom, stepdad, sister, bandmates that he loved like his brothers, friends from school and the girl who he was head over heels for.

His best friend and now his girlfriend.

"Make a wish, bro!" Niall cheered and ruffled Harry's curls for a second.

"All of my wishes are coming true right now." Harry said and the entire room awed, making him blush before blowing his candles.

After the cake was cut and everyone spread around Harry's childhood home, he looked for his girlfriend, finding her in the kitchen helping his mum put away some dishes.

"YN, would you go out with me for a minute?" Harry asked, still shy to call her pet names in front of his mum even tho Anne was ecstatic over the fact that Harry was dating the girl she adored like a daughter.

"Sure, let me just finish up these dishes."

"Oh don´t worry about it sweetie, I can handle them myself." Anne told her with a small smile and motioned then to go.

Once they were outside and away from the chatter and laughter, Harry stood in front of her and grabbed her hands.

"You know, I'm so happy you agreed to be my girlfriend." Harry shyly told her, still new to the feeling.

"And I'm so happy you asked me to be your girlfriend." YN said with the same shy smile on her face.

"No matter how big the band becomes, you'll always be my number one girl, I'll never forget about you." Harry told her sincerely, knowing it was one of YN's biggest insecurities.

Harry was just turning 17, but he made a promise that would last forever.

2015 - 21st birthday

"This party is insane!" Niall said as they entered the club where Harry's birthday party was taking place, the room full of celebrities and close friends.

"Damn, Jeff really went all out with this," Harry held his girlfriend's hand, keeping her close, "Do you want me to get you a drink?"

"I'm not drinking tonight."

"Why? It's my birthday, baby." Harry grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles softly.

"Exactly, and I want you to enjoy it. So no drinking for me so you can go all out." YN kissed his cheek softly, his long hair getting in the way and tickling her face a bit.

"I don't even want to drink that much tonight darling, don't want to have a killer handover tomorrow."

However, that statement was thrown out the window as Harry chugged down his 7th tequila shot of the night.

"Baby! Come up here!" Harry yelled, standing on top of the bar with Jeff's arm around his shoulder.

"Harry, get down, how did you even climb up there?"

"Tequila gives me special powers!" He started jumping up and down and that was her cue to get him down the bar with Glenne's help.

"My love! I've missed you." Harry obnoxiously wrapped his arms around her in a hug, placing sloppy kisses on her neck.

"Harry, you're hammered!" YN grabbed his face to look at him, his eyes giving away his drunken state.

"I know!" he let out a loud laugh, "I have an idea!"

And before YN could stop him, the music was going down and he had a microphone on his hand.

"Hello! Hello! Can everybody hear me?" Harry said into the mic, making everyone turn to look at him, "Sorry to interrupt your partying, I just wanted to thank my amazing friend Jeff for throwing this party for me."

At the mention of his name, Jeff let out a whistle and cheer, making Harry laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

"And I would also love to thank my incredible, stunning, gorgeous girlfriend YN for... just being hot and charming," he drunkenly spoke into the mic again, making YN blush and hide her face in her hands, "You know, I'm going to propose that girl one day! I will!

The entire room erupted in cheers and claps, and years later, the drunken promise he made on his 21st birthday became true.

2019 - 25th birthday

"Happy birthday, baby." Her soft voice made its way to Harry's ears, waking him up from his slumber and instantly smiling at the feeling of her lips pressing kisses to his jaw.

"Thank you, my love." He mumbled sleepily, tightening his arms around her and dropping his head to lean his forehead against hers.

After YN gave Harry his "traditional birthday shag", they headed downstairs to cook some breakfast before starting Harry's big day.

"How do you feel about being 25?" YN said as she took out the ingredients to cook him some pancakes, "Any expectations for today?"

"I just know it'll be my best birthday yet," he smiled softly as he watched her move around the kitchen, "You know, my first birthday as an engaged man, soon to be husband."

YN couldn't help but smile at the sound of that, still not quite used to the fact that they would be husband and wife soon.

"Who would've thought my high school boyfriend would become my husband." YN turned around to face him, meting his soft green eyes instantly.

"I always knew it," he shrugged before continuing, "I knew you were the one for me from the moment I laid my eyes on you."

Getting closer to him, YN grabbed his face and placed a kiss on his lips.

"I love you so much, baby. Thank you for letting me spend another birthday with you." she kissed him again her smile mirroring Harry's when they pulled away.

"This is just the beginning of the rest of our lives, darling."

And as Harry stood in his kitchen with his fianceé wrapped around his arms, he knew his 25 was going to be one to remeber.

2023 - 29th birthday

Harry found himself in the same position he was during his 17th birthday, in a room full of people he loved while the sang happy birthday to him.

But he wasn't on his childhood home anymore, he was backstage in Acrisure Arena surrounded by his tour crew, bandmates, managers, family members and his beloved wife.

"Blow the candles and make a wish!" Sarah said after they were done singing to him, and the words naturally came out of Harry's mouth.

"All of my wishes are coming true right now."

"Awe! You're all grown up now mate." Jeff hugged Harry tightly, making everyone in the room look at them fondly.

"Okay Azoff, that's enough, I need to give him his present now." YN said as he grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him out of the room.

"Make sure to be quiet! The walls are thin around here." Lambert joked making the group laugh, and YN only rolled her eyes and flashed her middle finger to him before they were out of the room.

"Sooo, you're going to give me my present now?" Harry teased as they walked down the corridor to his dressing room.

"Not that kind of present, you menace," YN turned to look at him quickly as she opened the door to his dressing room, "That one is the reserved for when we're alone in our hotel room."

"Don't tease me, baby. I have a show in two hours." Harry said with a serious tone, making YN laugh as she approached the tote bag where she was keeping his gift, taking the box out and placing it on his hands.

"Okay, open it." YN took a step back and clasped her hands together, her nerves kicking in.

"Told you you didn't need to get me anything," he said as he opened the box, not looking inside of it yet, "I would've been more than satisfied with a 29 minute long blowj-"

"Just look at it!" YN cut him off before he could finish his sentence, making him laugh and turn his gaze to the box in his hands.

And when he realized what was inside, he froze at his spot and his eyes got instantly tearful.

"YN wha-" he stopped himself as his voice began shaking, "Is this...? I mean are you...?"

"I'm pregnant, Harry." She simply said, smile wide on her face and tearful eyes that matched his.

"Fuck," Harry finally took the pregnancy test out of the box and gave it a proper look, noticing the unmistakable two lines that indicating that his wife was expecting his child, "Fuck YN, you're pregnant, we're going to be parents."

"We are, baby." YN couldn't keep her cool anymore as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and making him wrap his around her waist, both of them letting out happy tears.

And in that moment, Harry knew that becoming a dad was the best way to end his twenties.

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reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 7 months

Text

PRE-OUTBREAK JOEL MILLER ~ONE-SHOT~

He holds me in his big arms

Drunk and I am seeing stars

This is all I think of

—

“Three! Two! One!” The children and adults chant as Tommy and Joel light the Fourth of July fireworks. The two men start running back to the crowd of people, everybody equally drunk and excited to see the beautiful sparks light up the sky.

Your boyfriend runs up to you, pulling you into a heated kiss. You could feel his smile against your lips,

“Happy Fourth of July, sweetheart” You grinned as he walked behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your neck in a safe, comfortable chokehold. You giggled as he began planting kisses on your cheek and neck, his beard tickling you,

“I love you” Joel gave your butt a pat and whispered into you ear, replying,

“I love you, too” Looking up at the sky, the stars felt blurry behind the red, white, blue fireworks, your head felt dizzy in a delightful way.

It could’ve been the glasses of wine you had been consuming all night, Tommy refilling your glass every time and telling you to,

“Loosen up, pretty girl! I want every person tonight getting shitfaced!”

As you and Joel stare up at the stars, Sarah comes running over, pulling you both into a tight group hug,

“Happy Fourth of July!” You both give her kisses on her cheeks. She laughs at your dramatic antics and leans her head on her Dad’s shoulder,

“Happy Fourth of July, baby girl” She puts her free arm around your shoulder and looks up at her dad,

“Uncle Tommy told me to tell you that he wants to play a game of pool with you. If he wins you owe him a fuck ton of money” You let out a snort and Joel flicks her forehead,

“Language, Sarah” She shrugs and practically skips away to join back with her friends.

Joel shakes his head but grins, turning back to face you,

“That kid, I swear” You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, playing with his damp hair, the sweat of the Texas heat sticking to him,

“She’s the funniest girl I know” You said. He nods,

“Yeah, she is” He mumbled, pressing his lips to yours once again.

He starts to let his hands travel to your butt,

“Woah, cowboy. Go play that game with Tommy before you owe him a fuck ton of money” He grumbles and pulls away,

“Only if you come watch me” He says, raising an eyebrow. You bite your lip teasingly and shrug,

“I’ll be your little cheerleader” He grins and motions to the house,

“Well come on then, cheerleader”

Joel had won, showing Tommy the middle finger and then giving you a wink before hitting his last striped ball.

You dramatically squealed and jumped up, giving Joel a kiss on the lips,

“I didn’t have enough chalk on my stick! Ain’t my fault!” Tommy began drunkenly slurring, every single beer and shot catching up to him. You laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek,

“You tried your best! That’s what matters” You teased. He turned away, trying to hide his blush, your red lipstick now on his freckled face,

“Yeah, yeah, whatever” He places his stick on the shelf,

“If I lose to Joel, can Y/N give me a kiss on the cheek, too?” Dallas, a friend of Tommy’s asked from across the basement. The other men began roaring with drunk laughter,

“Alright now, that’s enough” Joel said, shooing them away. You cackled and wrapped your arms around his waist, curling into his side,

“I’ll play you next” You said, smirking. He smirked back,

“Oh yeah?” You nodded and patted his back,

“Yep” He passed you a stick and began setting up the balls,

“Your on, sweetheart”

Everybody had left, excluding Tommy and Sarah.

Tommy was passed out in the guest bedroom, and Sarah was asleep in her own room.

That left you and Joel alone downstairs, eating the leftover fruits and rolled up sandwich meat platters that neighbours had brought, talking and giggling like two teenagers. You passed him a beer,

“Alright, I think this is your last one, baby” You said.

He groaned and sat down on the living room couch, staring at you as you sat on the carpeted floor in front of him, your underwear peaking from underneath your yellow sundress.

Joel always thought it was cute how whenever you were tipsy or drunk, your immediate quirk was to lay down or sit on the floor,

“Your too far” He said, rubbing his Jean clad thigh.

You leaned back and spread your legs, giving him an open clear view of the sweet flower between your thighs that Joel always found himself buried in every night, devouring with such eagerness and determination, obsessed and drunk on your taste.

“Your tryna kill me, sweetheart?” Your shrugged, feeling mischievous, the alcohol from drinking all night releasing your seductive, confident side that Joel loved so much,

“C’mere” He said, patting his thigh.

You bit your lip and began slowly crawling over to him, giving him another beautiful view, your breasts almost spilling out the top of your dress.

He watched with a smirk, drinking his beer at the same time nonchalantly. You placed your hands on his knees, slowly coming up to face him. You leaned and purposely dodged his lips when he tried leaning in.

You stood up and smiled,

“What’re ya doing, baby?” He asked, his voice gruff and raspy.

You slowly pulled the thin straps of your dress down, rubbing your hands against your curves as you did so.

Joel watched your every movement, eyes dark and lust filled, yet, he still hadn’t put that damn beer down, continuing to sip it.

That yellow sundress was his favourite out of the fifty other pairs you owned.

Once the dress fell down to the floor and pooled around your bare feet, you walked over to him, straddling his waist,

You pressed delicate kisses on his adam’s apple and the side of his neck. You gasped and pulled back when you felt the cold beer bottle touch your bare back,

“Jesus Christ!” He chuckled at your reaction,

“Put that damn beer bottle down, Joel” He shook his head and took another sip of it,

“I ain’t finished it” You glared and crossed your arms over your bare chest,

“Hm, okay. Then I guess I’ll just call up Tommy’s buddy Dallas and ask him to satisfy my needs then, huh?”

Joel practically growled and chugged the rest of it down and tossed it to the side,

“Like hell you will” You giggled, always knowing how to press your man’s buttons.

You gasped as he picked you up by your waist and dropped you back down on the couch so that you were now laying on your back.

He was on top of you, in between your legs, the weight of his body on you feeling so good and safe.

Everything you did was for Joel Miller.

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mikachacha · 7 months

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𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒 (𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜! 𝙱𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚡 𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝙱𝚎𝚋𝚎! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

Synopsis: You're trying to help your group promote your choreography for Hwasa's chili by doing a solo. What you didn't expect is for your video to blow up, attracting the people's attention and having a lot of people trying to flirt with you which made Bada, your girlfriend, very jealous.

Warnings: language and jealous Bada

(A/N: i have lots of fun making this 🥺🥺 thanks anon for your wonderful suggestions love ya 🫶🫶)

(Edit: i posted this earlier but tumblr is a hating bitch rn and deleted the bottom half right after the a/n)

🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸💮🌸

You woke up fairly early that morning, Bada went to the studio to prepare for her class while you went out to jog. After your jog, you thought it was a good idea to record a video of you dancing to Chili by Hwasa and using your group's choreography to also help promote your group. You picked out a quiet spot before you set your phone to start recording.

When you were finally satisfied with your video, you posted it on instagram. You didn't really expect anything when you posted that video so you just went on your day, totally forgetting about it Sowoen face timed you, the camera pointing at Bada who's currently sulking. You're confused and amused at the same time, you could hear the other girls laughing in the background and teasing Bada for being sulky and jealous.

"What happened to her? Why is she like that?" you asked Sowoen who were barely able to contain her laughter as Bada just lied down on the floor, looking like a kicked puppy, whining about everybody simping over her girlfriend on the internet that made the others laugh even more.

"Y/N-unnie your video is really viral right now and Bada-unnie is mad because everyone is literally simping and flirting with you." you heard Minah explain off cam. You quickly check your instagram and your notification is blowing up with thousands of likes, comments and new followers. Your dm's isn't doing any better. So many messages from random people and some pretty big names, all of them telling you that you're amazing at dancing. You couldn't help but giggle while reading some of the comments then you saw Chocol and Haechi's comments on your video. Even Akanen and Ling left some praises on your video. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing, now understanding why Bada is acting that way. She must've read the comment Haechi left on your video that made her very jealous.

"I'm just gonna get changed then head over to the studio so please tell Bada to calm her jealous ass." you said and soon got ready to meet Bada and your team. When you got there, Bada was already by the entrance waiting for you. A huge pout on her face before engulfing you in a hug. You smile and hug her back, whispering reassuring words to her so she can calm down.

"I'm proud that you're getting the recognition that you deserve but then I saw most of the comments are talking about how sexy you looked during the part where you twerked a bit then also there are people flirting with you.." Bada ranted and you could see the others watching not too far away, giggling at how their leader is currently acting.

"By others flirting with me, you mean Haechi? Baby, Haechi and I are just good friends. I chose you, I chose to be with you. I'm yours and no one is taking me away, okay? I love you, Lee Bada even if you're all jealous right now." you assured her but couldn't help tease her at the end because you rarely see this side of Bada, the jealous part and you found it extremely adorable. She just shot you a playful glare before kissing you on the lips, finally having calmed down from her jealous and sulky mood.

You returned the kiss and dragged her back to the studio where the others waited before having a genius idea of posting a video of you and Bada dancing to Chili and maybe goof around so she'll feel better.

"Another episode of Bada-unnie being so whipped for Y/N-unnie. Never gets old.." you heard Cheche comment and you giggled, agreeing with the younger member of your group. All of you posted a video of dancing to Chili then goofing around before you pulled Bada so you can have a video of just the two of you together. Both of you are all smiles while dancing then she decides to kiss you at the end, making you blush. She grabbed your phone and posted the video without any thought, feeling pleased with herself. You just rolled your eyes at her before kissing her cheek.

"Jealous ass.." You teased her and she pinched your cheek playfully which you reciprocated.

"Can't help it since my girlfriend is just way too hot." Bada retorts and you smile at her, just placing kisses all over her face. You could see your other teammates making exaggerated gagging noises through the mirror to which Bada responded with her middle finger raised.

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #bada x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #tumblr fucked me over

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 2 months

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To Be A Good Slut Girl (Mean MDoms!Sukuna & Choso x Black fsub!Reader x msub!Itadori 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Choso x Itadori Yuji x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend’s older brothers decide that they don’t like how you’re treating their kid brother (who is too oblivious and in love to realize that you’re using him for his money and his d*ck) and decide to teach you some lessons.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); R*pe; Noncon; Bitchy!Reader; Black-Coded!Reader; Mean!MDoms Sukuna & Choso; msub!Itadori; fsub!Reader; Implied Incest (The brothers don't have sex with each other! Only with the reader!); Foursome; Physical Assault; Spit Play; Daddy Kink; Boot Grinding; Collaring; Pet Play; BDSM; Handcuffs; Panty Gag; Choking; Hair-Pulling; Forced Deepthroat; Forced Orgasms; Voyeurism; Orgasm Denial; Sex Toys; Mating Press; Doggystyle; Cum Play; Facial; Some Aftercare

*Important Disclaimer: This work contains depicted acts of r*pe and noncon. PLEASE beware and tread lightly while reading. I personally do not condone any of the acts written in this one shot. It is ONLY a fantasy.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Enjoy & go touch some fucking grass! Luv y’all! -Jazz

********

“Yuji, baby, can I borrow $50 to get my nails done, pleeeease?” you mock-sweetly plea.

“Oh, God, kill me,” Sukuna groans. Choso smirks at the stove, stirring a big pot of ramen broth.

“Sure thing, sweetheart!” Yuji, their sweet, gullible, "golden retriever" ass little brother chirps from the living room. “Anything for my pretty, pretty princess!”

“Please, Choso, just fuckin’ do it,” Sukuna begs, pointing a butter knife to his thick, veiny neck.

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Choso chuckles, taking the knife out of his brother's hand. “That’s his girl. He can do what he wants.” From the living room, he can hear you kissing Yuji down, your lip gloss wetly smacking.

“Yeah, but why do it in our faces?" Sukuna huffs, leaning against the counter with his tatted arms crossed. "Every time they talk, it’s about him buying her this and taking her there!” He huffs, rolling his crimson eyes. “It’s like he’s a fuckin’ bank and personal dildo to her.”

“Don't let your twin hear you talkin' 'bout her like that, Choso chastizes him, wagging a wooden spoon in his face. "This is the first real girlfriend he's ever had. Not everyone can hit it and quit it like you."

Sukuna sniffs indifferently at Choso, yanking on one of his black, spiked ponytails. Choso is the oldest of the sibling trio, acting as the dad of the two pink-haired twins. Sukuna is older than Yuji by ten minutes and is different than his little bro in every possible way: he's grumpy, sarcastic, unsociable, and goes through girls like a smoker would a pack of cigs.

Yuji, on the other hand, is sweet and liked by everyone he meets with his fluffy, pink hair, energetic personality, and dumb antics that they're damn near adorable. He trusts everybody...which includes you: his bitchy, manipulative, gold-digging girlfriend.

"Believe me, I don’t like it either," Choso tells a sulking Sukuna, "but we can’t just tell him to stop dating her. Yuji is down bad for this girl.”

Sukuna tsks, looking into the living room at you sitting on Yuji's lap in your tight little top and short, plaid school skirt where he can just see a sliver of thigh. "Unfortunately," he sighs.

It's no secret (except to Yuji) that Choso and Sukuna don't like you. They know what you're up to and they don't like it. You use their brother up until there is nothing left. Anytime you call, it's always to ask Yuji to take you to a new nightclub or buy you a new Fendi bag.

Yuji has a good job, but he's also in college. He doesn't have the funds to keep funding your mani-pedis and get you some new shoes. Not enough to keep running to the bank or the mall. But Yuji does it because he's insane over you. Five months after dating, the man is head over heels, carrying your bags behind you during shopping sprees and practically kissing your feet.

And you don't do a thing. Choso and Sukuna have yet to see you show their brother genuine love and affection. You only kiss him up and coo sweet nothings to him when he says yes to buying you something or giving you money. It boils their blood, but there isn't much they can do if Yuji likes you so damn much.

“Hey, guys!” Yuji says, suddenly skipping into the kitchen. “You guys mind keeping Y/N company? I’m gonna head out and get her some lemon pepper wings.” He gives his older brothers a gigawatt grin despite their confused scowls.

“But I’m fixin’ us ramen,” Choso states, confused. “Why are you pickin' her up food if I’m cooking for her?” He swears he doesn't mean to mention you so harshly, but he can't help it.

“Oh, she doesn’t eat Japanese food,” Yuji laughs. “And it’s no big deal! I bought stuff for me too, so I’ll just pick it up when I get her meal." He gives them a wink before heading out of the kitchen, his car keys in his pocket.

“Hold up, Yuji,” Choso says, turning to face his brother. Yuji turns around, curious and naive. Choso and Sukuna share a look, both knowing that they can't stay silent about this anymore. “So," Choso starts, clearing his throat, "you’ve been with Y/N for a long time, right?”

Yuji practically gets heart eyes at the mention of you. “Yeah,” he dreamily sighs. “Five months of bliss. She’s the best and the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen!"

Choso inhales deeply, mentally preparing to crush his brother's heart. “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but….Sukuna and I have noticed some weird things about her.” Yuji blankly blinks at him, confused. “Like what?”

“Like how she’s a gold-digging, fake ass bitch,” Sukuna snaps. Choso harshly nudges him in the side. “What?! I’m just being real!”

Yuji's eyes narrow at his brothers, alarmed at such words being hurled at his pretty, pretty princess. “What do you mean?” he scoffs. “Y/N isn’t at all like that! Sure, she asks me to buy her things and CashApp her money for shoes and makes me hold my orgasms, but that’s all part of being a good boyfriend and—“

“Wait, you said she does what?” Choso asks, gobsmacked.

“Has me buy her shoes?" Yuji questions, blinking cluelessly at them.

“No, no, the last part," Sukuna replies, just as alarmed. "She makes you hold your cum? Like….as a kink thing?” Yuji's cheeks grow pink and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean...everyone has their thing, I guess. She likes seeing me squirm, she says. Says I look cute when I’m desperate.”

Choso and Sukuna once again share a look that Yuji doesn't pay attention to. “But then she makes you cum afterward, right?” Choso pushes. Yuji suddenly grows shy, his face going beat red. “Uh…”

Sukuna rolls his crimson eyes. “C’mon, Yuji, we’re your brothers. We found your fleshlight in the dryer before, remember? You've caught us havin' sex plenty of times!”

Though still nervous, Yuji knows his brother is right and decides to be honest. “Most of the time, no. She’s usually the one that cums when we have sex.” He must realize how this sounds because he quickly tries to sugarcoat it. “B-But I don’t mind! I love pleasing my princess. She deserves everything.”

He pulls a dreamy, pussy-whipped face that has his brothers worrying even more. Just how bad do you have this boy in your hands?

“Yuji!" you call, strutting into the kitchen with your fresh bundles and Jimmy Choo sandals. Your smile fades when you see Choso and Sukuna looking pissed. “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Yuji whirls around, looking like a happy dog wagging its tail. “No, my love! What do you need?”

You wave your phone at him. “I got a notification saying that the food is ready. When you get back, can you stop and pick me up some of that strawberry cheesecake carriages for my E-pen?” You snuggle up to him, pressing your tits against his arm.

“Sure, baby girl!" he eagerly replies. "Anything you want!” You happily squeal, pecking him on the lips. “Thank you, baby,” you coo. Your phone dings then, signaling a call. “Oh, that’s my friend! I’ve gotta take this.”

You stroke Yuji's cheek for a brief moment before strutting off, your ass bouncing and swaying enticingly so in your skirt. “Isn’t she so hot?” Yuji sighs to his bros. The two don't answer, instead waving him out the door and telling him they'll save him a bowl.

Once he's out the door, Choso puts the broth on simmer and looks at an equally simmering Sukuna. "Corner the bitch?" he asks.

"Fuck yes," Choso growls. "Hurry, before Yuji gets home." But as they creep upstairs to confront you about how shitty of a girlfriend you are, Choso hears your laughs coming from Yuji's cracked bedroom and coaxes Sukuna to stay quiet as they peek into the room.

You face away from them, twirling your locks around your long nails and chatting away on the phone, unaware that you're being watched.

"Yuji's fine," you say indifferently. "He went to get me some wings. He's such a munch, girl, I swear!" You giggle at the insult to give Yuji and then scoff at whatever your friend says. "Well, yeeeah, technically, we're dating, but I'm not with him for the romance. I'm with him because he gets me whatever I want."

Choso and Sukuna give each other a wide-eyed look. This bitch!

"I'm serious!" you say to your friend. "This boy is so sprung from me and my pussy that he doesn't even care that I'm using him. He's bought me a pink Switch, paid for my makeup and nails, and gives me money for rent all because I ask him...and 'cause I give him such good head."

You giggle again, cocky. "And not only does he do that," you boast. "He's got a mouth and a dick on him! He will eat me out for days and let me ride him till I cum...and I haven't made him cum once." You toss your head back and laugh, the sound irritating Yuji's bros.

"He's my personal black card and dildo!" you laugh. "Such a dumb boy, but so, so cute!"

Choso and Sukuna can't hear anymore so they slink away from the door and back downstairs. "That bitch!" Sukuna growls, seething. "Who the fuck she think she is? I'm goin' back up there to–"

"Wait!" Choso whispers, putting a hand on his bro's chest to stop him. "I have a better idea of how to handle this." Sukuna narrows his red eyes at him. "Instead of puttin' this slut out on the street where she belongs?" he scoffs.

"You know that Yuji will never forgive us if we do that," Choso reasons. "So I have another way on how we can confront her." Sukuna blinks at him, confused yet intrigued.

"We wait till Yuji comes home and then we give her some lessons on how to be a good girlfriend for our brother." A malevolent smirk grows on Choso's lips. "We'll make it so she'll regret ever using him."

Like a lightbulb flickering on, Sukuna catches Choso's drift and returns his evil smirk. "If this idea is what I think it is, I love it already," he cackles. "That bitch won't know what hit her."

And you don't. It all happens so fast: Yuji comes home with the food and your E-pen cartridges; you take him into his bedroom to "reward"; you're on your knees with his pants down when Choso and Sukuna suddenly walk in.

You gasp and jump behind Yuji's bed. "What the fuck?!" you shriek. "Do y'all know how to knock?!" Choso smirks while Sukuna gives you a glare that could kill millions. "Oh, we do," he replies. "But sluts don't deserve privacy. 'Specially gold-digging ones like you."

You glare at Yuji's twin, angered. "Excuse me?" you hiss. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Yuji's very angry twin," Sukuna growls. "And the younger brother to our even angrier older bro." He nods at Choso who shuts the door behind him before crossing his tatted arms over his buff chest. "Yuji!" you snap, yanking at your boy toy's pant leg. "Don't let them talk to me like that!"

But Yuji just stands there, unmoving and silent. "Yuji!" you hiss, yanking on him again. "What's wrong with you?! What are you, a pussy?"

You gasp when Sukuna suddenly grabs a lockful of your hair, wrenching your head back. You didn't even notice him walking up to you from the door. "Hey, now," he tsks, "that ain't no way to talk to our kid brother. You should apologize to him."

"Yuji, go sit over there," Choso demands, nodding at the chair across the room. Yuji does so, leaving you with his two older brothers who have begun to corner you. You shake and shiver under Sukuna's fist still curled in your hair, begging Yuji for help.

"Aw, look, Choso!" Sukuna cackles. "She's scared! She should be. Fuckin' little slut." Just for fun, he yanks your hair back, emitting a pained gasp from you.

Choso kneels down in front of you, his aura intimidating and his eyes firm. "You wanna know why you're here?" he asks and you nod, tears prickling your eyes. "We overheard your little convo with your bestie, talkin' 'bout how our brother is nothin' but a personal dildo for you. How you're only usin' him for his money and his dick."

Your eyes tick to Yuji who sits sulkingly in front of the door, looking like a kicked puppy. You are then roughly snatched back by Choso, his hand gripping your chin. "Don't you fuckin' look away from me," he demands. "And don't lie either. We heard everything you said and we told Yuji too."

"And all this time he was thinkin' about how he can be a better boyfriend to your triflin' ass," Sukuna sighs. "Tragic. He should've dumped your slutty ass months ago, but nooo, he was so concerned that his pretty princess get those shoes or bag she so desperately wanted."

"That kind of behavior don't fly with us, baby," Choso adds. "So we're gonna give you some lessons on how to be a good girl for our little bro. When you walk outta here tonight, all you're gonna be thinkin' about is how you can be a good girlfriend."

"And how much we ruined you," Sukuna laughs. "And Yuji's gonna watch! After all, he needs to be taught how to put you in your place."

He wrenches your hair back hard, making your scalp sting, and bends down so he's an inch away from your face. "And if you even think about tryna escape, you won't like what happens next," he growls.

"You're gonna do everything we say if you wanna leave here tonight," Choso demands. "Do you understand?" You nod despite Sukuna's hold on your hair, but a slap to the face makes you realize your mistake. "Words," Choso growls. "Gimme words, brat."

"Y-Yes!" you whimper.

"Yes, who?" Choso prompts, still in your grill. Swallowing harshly, your brain scrambles for an answer. "Yes...Daddies," you answer, your voice wavering with fear. That must be the golden answer because Sukuna and Choso finally release you, but they still tower over you while Yuji blocks the door.

You've never been so scared in your life than now, stuck in this room and forced to face the consequences of your actions. You don’t know what they’ll do to you if you refuse.

So when Sukuna demands that you take off your top and bra, you do. The skirt and heels stay on.

When Choso orders you to put your hands behind your back, you do it.

You begin to sob when he clips on some handcuffs and Sukuna snaps a collar with a leash around your neck. You feel so much like a pet. A tool to be used.

Tears stain your pretty face and ruin your makeup, much to the brothers’ liking. “Stop fuckin’ cryin’,” Choso cooly says, his voice like ice. “You did this to yourself. You’ve got nobody to blame but you.”

Sukuna laughs, wrapping his fist around the leather strap connected to your collar. “She’s cryin’?” he cackles. “Damn, it only took this to make you break, huh, slut? Mmm, you look so cute with ruined makeup, y’know. Can’t wait to see my cum on this mug.”

He forces your chin up, getting a good look at your wet face. “Now let’s get you stretched out,” he chuckles. Your glassy eyes widen in fear. What does he mean by that? You get your answer when Choso presents you with a bottle of strawberry-flavored lube and a butt plug: small, silver, and shaped like a bedazzled heart.

The two smirk down at you, unfeeling and menacing. It’s enough to make you pee yourself. You don’t fight them when they force you onto your knees, your wrists cuffed behind your back. You bend over in your little skirt, presenting your ass to the brother trio, your thong stuck between your asscheeks.

“Look at this,” Choso sharply exhales, giving your ass a harsh smack. The sound ricochets against the walls, making Yuji squirm in his seat.

“Oh, a thong, huh?” Sukuna tsks. “Such a fuckin’ whore. Prancin’ around in public like this on my kid brother’s arm? I bet you were hopin’ for someone like us to bend you over and ruin you.” He then yanks down your panties and rips them off of your legs, the sound of fabric ripping making you flinch. “You won’t be needin’ that shit no more,” he chuckles.

Your body trembles and shakes like a leaf in autumn when Choso squirts some lube on his fingers and begins tracing your asshole, gently probing the little hole. At the same time, Sukuna spits on his fingers and plays with your pussy. “This is as gentle as I’m gonna be with you, so enjoy it, slut,” he whispers in your ear.

You moan and whimper like a pathetic little whore against Sukuna’s skillful, black-painted fingers, little electric shocks of pleasure coursing through you. It causes your pussy to drip and your asshole to eventually stretch around Choso’s finger. “Damn, you’re tight here,” he hisses. “I bet that cunt is even tighter.”

“Oh, it is,” Sukuna comments, his middle finger sinking into your pussy. “Little bitch is just so hungry to be fucked by anything at this point.” While he continues to finger you and nudge your clit, Choso then pushes the butt plug into your asshole, making your jaw go slack and a whine escape your lips. You can feel it stretching you out, making your toes curl and muscles tense.

“Relax, mama,” Choso whispers. “Just relax.” You manage to do so, inhaling and exhaling until your body unclenches and the plug sinks all the way home inside. “Show your boyfriend that little hole, pet,” Sukuna demands, smacking your ass. “Ain’t she look cute, Yuji? Like a proper slut.”

Yuji has now unzipped his pants and has his hard dick in his hands, stroking away at the sight of you. To you see you look so slutty and submissive on your knees with your handcuffed and the bedazzled heart nestled snuggly between your soft, jiggly asscheeks under your skirt is enough to make him bust.

You hear his soft moans and look back at your boyfriend to see him jerking off at the sight of you, a blush as pink as his hair on his cheeks and his hand gripping his long, fat cock. You’re horrified. How is he getting off to this?!

“How’s that feel, baby?” Choso asks. “You feelin’ full?” You nod, feeling like you’re stuffed to the brim.

“You ain’t felt nothin’ yet,” he chuckles. “But first thing’s first…” Choso tugs on your leash, forcing you to sit up on your knees. Looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a bug, he nods down at his shoe. “You wanna use somethin’ to get yourself off, use this,” he says. “C’mon, show your boo how good of a bitch you can be for his brothers.”

You stare down at his shoe, confused. You then feel a sharp pain in your scalp as Sukuna yanks your hair back, nearly taking a track out. “What, you deaf?” he growls. “Did you fuckin’ hear what my brother said?” His hand comes down onto your ass hard, leaving a horrible sting in its wake. “Ow!” you whine. “P-Please stop!”

“Then get that pussy on Choso’s boot or the next one is markin’ up that pretty face of yours.” You do as they both say, shimmying yourself onto the toe of Choso’s shoe. You begin to roll your hips as you grind your pussy down onto the solid surface of his shoe, feeling humiliated yet blinded by the pleasure.

“Watch her, Yuji,” Sukuna sniggers. “Watch your bitch get off like the slut she is. This is how she should be treated for runnin’ through your pockets, don’t you agree?”

Yuji doesn’t deny or admit to it, but he doesn’t have to. He continues to pump at his thick, leaking cock, his hand a blur as he strokes it fast. “Fuck,” he whispers. He can’t believe you–a woman who has treated him as a servant for so many months–is on her knees getting treated as a toy. And it’s so, so hot to see!

“Ain’t that right, baby doll?” Sukuna asks you. “Shouldn’t you be treated like this for bein’ such a money-hungry slut?” You know better than to say no. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” you whimper. “I’m sorry.”

Zzzzip. Sukuna and Choso’s zippers come down and suddenly, you’re looking at two big, thick cocks that hang in your face. Sukuna’s is much girthier and has an angry, red tip while Choso’s has a hook in it and a silver stud jutting out of his dickhead.

“Oh, you will be soon,” Sukuna says, smirking down at you. “Now open that mouth up, bitch.” You obediently do so, leading Choso and Sukuna to spit in your mouth. The sight of it makes Yuji groan.

“You wanna use that mouth so much then you can use it somewhere else,” his twin spits. He takes a handful of his cock, stroking it while Choso makes his bob hypnotizingly, smirking at the look on your face. “Spit that shit back on our cocks, baby doll,” he orders you.

“You don’t get a choice in this either,” Sukuna grunts. “You’re gonna take this shit and like it.” You obediently spit their saliva back onto their cocks, a string of spit connected from Choso’s dick to your bottom lip. So he goes first. They both fuck your mouth at the same fast, rough, merciless tempo, but they are still vastly different in the way they do it.

As the first one to have your throat all to himself, Choso uses your mouth as his own personal fuck toy, yes, but he keeps a light hand on your leash and sweet talks you, showering you with praise AND degradation as he watches you forcefully swallow his dick while Sukuna fucks your hand. “Such a big girl, takin’ two big dicks at the same time, baby,” Choso coos. “I bet you like it like this, hm? Bet you love gettin’ that slutty throat used up like it should be.”

He pulls away somewhat to slide his dick out of your mouth, giving you a chance to breathe and lick on the tip where his piercing is. The sounds of moans and filthy words fill the air, making you grind down on Choso and Sukuna’s shoes to relieve the throb of your cunt.

Meanwhile, Sukuna is rough. Hard. Brutal. He puts your ass through the wringer with the way he grips your leash and fucks your throat, filling it up at a breakneck pace. The copious amounts of saliva that drip from your mouth and chin only make your mouth sloppier and easier to fuck. The pink-haired twin grunts and groans as he pumps in and out of your throat, using you, breaking you.

“Look at your bitch, Yuji,” he cackles through his moans. “Look at all of that spit while she takes my cock. Does she do it like this for you?” He smacks your cheek, giving it a short sting as he fills your mouth to the brim with his cock. “You got the nerve to not make my brother cum?” he growls. “We’ll see how you like it. Keep grindin’ on my boot, but don’t you dare cum.” You do so, whimpering at the ache of your jaw and the tingling of your clit.

Choso is loving the view as he fucks your hand, endeared by the way your nails look wrapped around his thick cock. “C’mon, baby girl, show me those eyes,” he coos. You do so though all you see is a blurry version of his face because your eyes have begun tearing up. At some point, Sukuna goes too deep and you begin to gag around his cock.

With a groan, he releases you, allowing you to swallow down some air. “Please!” you gasp. “I can’t breathe!” Sukuna barely acknowledges this and plunges himself back into your sobbing, wet mouth. “Shut yo’ ass up,” he snarls. “Breathing is only for good girls. You ain’t earn that yet, slut. Now shut that mouth and keep suckin’ these dicks.”

And you do. You don’t have a choice. The brothers keep switching turns, each one using your mouth up until spit is dripping down your naked chest and your mind is going blank. Yujii is about at his limit. He lets out the sluttiest moans as he jerks his dick to the sight of his brothers ruining you, his release quickly peaking. “S-Shit,” he whines. “Guys, I-I’m close!”

“Ah-ah, little bro,” Sukuna laughs. “Nooot yeeet. We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” He pulls his dick out of your mouth with a moan and roughly yanks on your leash. “On your back, bitch. Legs spread.”

Though your makeup is fucked, your jaw is burning, and you haven’t cum yet, they don’t care. They only care about one thing. So you get on your back and spread your legs wide, exposing your dripping, wet pussy to Yuji. He groans almost in anguish at the sight of your glistening, brown lips and throbbing clit.

“Look at how wet she is!” Sukuna guffaws. “Dumb, horny little bitch can’t help herself! Why don’t you give her what she wants, bro?” He smirks at Choso who is looking at you like you’re a platter he wants to devour for himself.

“Watch closely, Yuji,” he says, looking back at Yuji with a smirk. “This is how you fuck a slut.” He pulls his pants down farther and takes off his top to reveal his toned body, pierced nipples, and tatted skin. Then he’s mounting you and tossing your legs over his shoulders.

“W-Wait!” you protest, but he is already sliding himself home inside of your tight, wet, gushing pussy. Him pushing himself inside of you somehow makes your asshole clench around the butt plug still nestled between your cheeks. A loud moan escapes your quivering lips as your eyes roll back.

Choso pistons inside of you immediately, slamming his cock inside of your gushing cunt. “Nice, hard, and deep,” he gasps, each word punctuated by a thrust. “Hold her down. Make her take it.” He instructs this by holding you down by your throat as he fucks you into the floor, causing lewd, sloshing sounds of his cock repeatedly plunging into your sloppy cunt over and over and over again.

Yuji watches his older brother spread you out and fuck you silly, his hand moving rapidly against his hard dick. “Oh, God,” he moans. “She looks so fuckin’ good.” His cock throbs and strains to feel one your holes squeezing around him and stroking him dry.

Sukuna looks back at him, standing over you as he watches Choso fuck you. “Yeah?” he laughs. “You’ll get her soon, little bro. We’re just makin’ sure you know the basics.” He suddenly taps Choso’s shoulder and with a resistant groan, the oldest brother slides out of you despite your pussy clamping down to stop him.

“Lemme get her this time,” Sukuna growls. Like a basketball player who has been sitting on the sidelines for too long, he gets and turns the game out…the “game” being your pussy. He settles between your legs and tosses one over his shoulder before shoving his cock inside of you and fucking you silly. His hips slap against yours, the sound mingling with your breathless moans and his guttural grunts of pleasure.

You’ve never been fucked like this before: so hard; so rough; so animalistic. His fingers dig into the meaty flesh of your ass and thighs, using them as leverage to fuck himself even deeper inside of you. Your pussy flutters like a butterfly’s wings around his dick, ready to burst…but then he stops.

And then it’s Choso’s turn again. He scoops you up and places you into his lap with him underneath you. With his thighs spread, his cock bobs impatiently beneath you which he slides you onto like you’re no more than a sex doll. Your mouth goes slack as he stretches you out even more in this position.

“C’mon, Choso,” Sukuna urges, pumping his cock in your face. “I wanna see that bitch bounce. Fuck her up.”

And so Choso does. He grabs your hips with an iron grip and proceeds to fuck up into you as fast as a jackhammer, his balls slapping against your clit. “F-Fuck!” you scream. “T-Too much! Please, please slow down!”

Sukuna rolls his crimson eyes at your constant, annoying screeching. “You talk way too much,” he sighs. “Guess it can’t be helped for a bratty bitch like you.” Next thing you know, his cock is in your mouth while Choso greedily fucks your pussy off of its hinges.

“How’s this, hm?” Sukuna laughs. “You like gettin’ both these slutty holes fucked? I bet you ain’t never had it like this.” And you haven’t. You’ve never been so filled like this before! It’s so overwhelming. So humiliating. So degrading.

And yet so good.

“Take it, mama,” Choso huffs into your ear, slamming himself up into you again and again. “You can’t run from this shit, so you’d better take all of me.” Like you have a choice! You’re forced to take his cock that you can feel throbbing and swelling inside of you, beating up your pussy to the point where you can feel your end coming…or cumming.

Sukuna’s cock slips out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe and warn Choso of your peak. “Gonna cum!” you whine, near tears. “I’m close!” Sukuna sighs, looking disappointed. “You’re still talking?” he grumbles.

But Choso is enjoying it, red in the face and quickly losing composure. “I-I thinks she’s close, Sukuna,” he grunts. “God, she’s squeezin’ that pussy around me so tight!”

Sukuna squeezes your cheeks together, mushing your lips in the shape of a fish’s. He gets close to you, stopping an inch away from your nose. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare cum,” he demands. “You don’t have permission yet. You better hold that shit if you know what’s good for you.”

You whine in protest, tears dripping down your face coated in ruined makeup. Luckily, you don’t have to wait for too long because Choso is about ready to bust, loud, slutty moans leaving his lips. “I’m gonna cum!” he warns. “Gonna fill you up! Take my cum, baby girl!” And with one groan in your ear, his warm cum shoots inside of you, triggering your own orgasm.

He holds you down as you both cum together, your sounds of release mingling into one as he fills you up with him. You feel warm and wet, much of his nut dripping down your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sight of the twins watching you. “Wow,” Yui gasps, in awe. “There’s so much leaking out of her!”

“And there’s gonna be more in a minute,” Sukuna huffs. Choso pulls his softened dick out of you while Sukuna grips you up by your hair. With a squeal of pain, you’re tossed to the ground onto your knees and he points at Choso’s cum-covered cock. “Clean his cock up, you messy slut. You don’t get to get away with makin’ a mess like that.”

Weakly, you do so, licking and lapping up Choso’s nut mixed with your cum. You lick from his balls to his shaft to the tip, earning soft moans and headstrokes in return. Finally, you finish, the taste of him heavy on your tongue. “Nicely done,” he sighs, giving you a tired smile. “But you’ve still got another dick to take.”

And unlike Choso, Sukuna doesn’t give you any sort of tenderness. He takes what he wants and doesn’t let you off without getting it.

He puts you on your knees–face down, ass up–and rails you into the floor. You feel his cock pump in and out of you, never once pausing or breaking that fast pace that makes you feel space behind your eyelids.

“Yeah, bitch? Ya like that?” he asks, his words breathless and punctuated by grunts. You can’t even speak, your mouth filled with cotton

Someone is wailing and it takes you a moment after brief deliriousness to realize that it’s you. “Damn, you can’t be quiet, can you?” he huffs. “Choso, shut this slut up so she doesn’t bust my eardrums before I can bust my nut.”

Choso kneels before you, your panties dangling from his hand. He smirks at your horrified reaction. “Open up, mama,” he says and pushes your thong into your mouth. Sukuna groans as he drills your shit harder, turned on by the panty gag. “God, that shit is so fuckin’ hot,” he growls. “Makes me wanna fill this tight little pussy up.”

“M-Me too,” Yuji whines from his spot in the corner. “I can’t hold back anymore, guys! I need to cum soon!” His entire body twitches and his back arches as he fucks his fist faster, wishing it was you.

“Yeah, little Yuji?” Sukuna teasingly asks. “You wanna cum all over this whore, dontcha?” His twin eagerly nods, still pumping away at his cock dribbling in precum. With a groan, Sukuna pulls his thick cock out of you, slapping you on the ass with it. “I’ve got the perfect idea then on how we can really make our time with this cumslut count.”

He and Choso coax Yuji over closer to you. He does so, bringing his chair and his aching cock with him. Sukuna then forces you higher up into your knees so your head is in Yuji’s lap.

Choso kneels at your side, stroking your hair away from your mouth of ruined lipgloss, spit, and cum. “Now you wanna be a good girl for our Yuji, right, baby girl?” he asks. “You wanna show that you’re so sorry for the way you treated him?”

You stare up at Yuji and into his desperate eyes, suddenly flooded with guilt for your previous behavior towards him before all of this. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” you weakly answer his oldest brother. Choso then takes a fistful of your hair and shives your mouth down into his kid brother’s cock. “Then open that throat and suck on his cock ‘cause we’re gonna fuckin’ cover you.”

As soon as your hot, wet mouth wraps around Yuji’s cock, he begins fucking it, grabbing your face to use it as a cock sleeve. Sukuna slides inside of you and resumes fucking you, nudging you closer to Yuji which causes him to sink deeper down your throat. “C’mon, Yuji, fuck her up,” he encouragingly grunts as he fucks you from behind. “Make her sorry that she ever treated you so bad.”

And Yuji does. Letting out the sluttiest moans you’ve ever heard out of him, he fucks your throat until you’re gagging and slobbering all over his dick, all of your senses filled with him. “God, you’re such a good little slut!” he moans. “Gonna make me cum so hard!”

Choso moans in agreement from beside you, his cock just inches away from your cheek as he fucks his fist at the sight of you. “Mmm, me too,” he sighs. “Just watchin’ her holes get fucked like that is doin’ all kinds of shit to me.”

You can feel yourself about to burst too. As your pussy squeezes around Sukuna’s cock, your body aches, your knees and wrists burn, and your jaw feels as if it’s about to fall off. “Oooh, someone’s tightenin’ up,” he chuckles. He yanks on your leash, restricting your breath for a moment. “You wanna cum too, sweetness? Does that poor pussy wanna cream around this cock, hm?”

“Mmm-hmm!” you pathetically whine around Yuji’s dick. Sukuna nods, pleased with this eager response. “Then I think you’ve got somethin’ you need to tell our brother here. And you’d better mean it if you wanna cum.” He and Choso nod at Yuji and the youngest brother lets his cock slip out of your mouth.

You use every ounce of your breath to babble apologies as Sukuna nails your shit harder and harder: “Sorry!” you gasp. “I-I’m so, so sorry, Yuji! I’m such a bad girlfriend! I was such a bitch and I’m sorry!”

A twinkle appears in Yuji’s widening eyes, his cheeks flushed pink. “Ya mean it?” he asks. “You’re never gonna ask me for shit again? Or ask me to send you money? Or fuck me and not make me cum?”

“No!” you practically scream. “No, I’ll never do that to you again, Yuji, I promise!”

The sibling trio smiles at each other. They finally broke you. “Good girl,” all three siblings say in unison.

“Now take all of this cum,” Choso demands. “You deserve this. This is what you get.”

In a snap, Yuji sinks his cock back into your mouth and with a whine of your name, cums deep down your throat. Choso explodes all over your tits while Sukuna cums deep inside of you, sinking his nails into your asscheeks as he fills you up. The sound of their moans of release triggers your own orgasm. With a wordless moan that turns into a broken scream, you clench your pussy around Sukuna and cum your brains out, your orgasm nearly knocking you unconscious with its strength.

“That’s it, slutty girl,” Sukuna laughs, tugging on your leash. “Cum for us. Cum all over that dick.” You keep cumming until your body twitches and bucks as the aftershocks hit you. But as soon as they come, they fade, and the siblings commence to freeing you.

Sukuna slowly pulls out of you and takes off your collar while Choso unlocks your handcuffs. Yuji holds you up before you fall, placing your head in his lap. You are completely covered from head to toe in cum: on your ass and titties; on your pussy where Sukuna’s drips out of you and down your thighs; on your face where your tears have ruined your makeup.

“Now that’s a pretty ass sight,” Sukuna breathlessly laughs. “Now, you gonna be a good girl for our little brother now?” Weakly, you look up at the two older siblings and nod. But they make a disapproving face

“Don’t tell us,” Choso orders. “Tell him.”

Yuji looks down at you, fixing your ruined hair for you. “You gonna be my good girl from now on, princess?” he asks, using his thumb to caress your bottom lip. Swallowing harshly, you slowly nod. “Yes, Daddy,” you croak. “I promise.”

Sukuna and Choso smile proudly at their work, happy to see your change. “Our work here is done then,” Choso sighs with satisfaction. “Now let’s eat.”

THE END.

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