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rosiesmuts · 8 months

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Dangerous Game

Twice Sana ft. Nayeon

Words: 4,400

A/N: Sana hella hot doe

Nayeon is sick and tired of Sana bragging about her blowjob skills yet again.

"And then," Sana says, waving her hands as she recounts her latest sexual conquest. "He came, like, everywhere. All over my face. My tits. My stomach. I swear I was just covered in cum."

"You're so fucking disgusting," Nayeon replies. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Sana chirps. "It's not my fault guys just explode when I suck their dick."

Nayeon groans,"I'm really sick of hearing about how great you think you are at giving head. I bet I'm just as good as you are."

"I doubt it," Sana says, shrugging.

"Bet."

"Fine. Let's bet, loser has to do whatever the winner asks. But how are we gonna prove it?"

"I bet Oppa is game. He's waiting for me to come home. Technically he's the best person to judge."

"Are you crazy? I'm not gonna suck your boyfriend's cock."

"Aww, scared you'll lose?"

"Fine I'll do it, but don't get mad if he falls in love with me."

"I think I'll survive." Nayeon kept up a strong face, but as per usual, she got too caught up in winning an argument. She didn't actually think Sana would actually follow through on this, but sure enough, Sana followed her into the cab.

You hear the sound of your door creaking open. "Nayeon, is that you?"

"Yea! Sana's here too by the way!"

She must've had too much to drink and was crashing over again. A sigh escapes as you get up to greet the two crazy women.

"Here Sana, you left your pajamas last time, you can sleep in these."

"Oh what's the rush Oppa? Don't you want to have a little fun?" Sana teases you, running her finger up and down your chest.

"You're drunk Sana. Go to bed."

"Oh I'm not drunk at all Oppa. Nayeon brought me back here to suck your cock." She says in the most casual tone, like this was an everyday occurrence.

Your mind races. You can't deny that you've fantasized about Sana before. She's constantly talking about how she gives the best head in the world. But you've never taken her seriously, and you didn't want to ruin your relationship with Nayeon by actually testing the theory.

"What the fuck?" You yell at Nayeon.

"Look," Nayeon starts. "She's just been bragging so much about her fucking amazing skills. I told her to prove she was better than me, and who else would know besides you. It's the perfect solution."

You can't believe the words coming out of her mouth. This had to be a dream. But you know Nayeon is the type of girl who sticks her foot in her mouth. This is real. You can't hide the shock on your face.

"I thought she'd back down, but she's pretty set on doing it."

"Oppa, can I please suck your cock? Pretty please?" Sana pleads. Her eyes are begging.

"Um..." The decision doesn't seem difficult from her perspective, but your heart is pounding like it's a life or death situation.

Without a moment to respond, Sana is already leading you to the couch. In one swift move, she sinks onto her knees, making easy work of your sweatpants, sliding them off completely in a moment. The fabric pools at your ankles as Sana nuzzles her face into your underwear. She eagerly presses her cheek and chin into your groin. You've always appreciated her bubbly, round face, but it takes on an extra definition as it's cradled by your crotch.

She leans back for a moment and you can feel her fingers stroking your cock over your briefs, her eyes filled with childlike glee as they bounce around. Sana licks the front of your underwear and moans with delight as she gets a first taste.

Her slender hands hook into the waistband and gingerly slide it down, holding you steady by the shaft.

"Oppa, it's bigger than I thought." Sana giggles before planting an almost innocent kiss onto the head of your dick.

"What's wrong Sana, don't think you can handle it?" Nayeon scoffs as she plops onto the other end of the couch, her feet tucked into her black skirt.

Sana shoots Nayeon a glare, "Size isn't an issue my dear Nabongs. It's just I haven't really done anything yet and he's so hard already. I love how eager he's being for me."

She emphasizes her last word by rubbing her fingers up your thigh, ending at the base of your shaft, keeping it as straight as possible while her mouth hovers inches above.

"Just suck his cock, I'm not here to watch you talk," Nayeon commands.

"Now, now what's the rush Nayeon?" Sana teases while her hands reach under her shirt and into her bra, tossing them over her shoulder. You're left slack jawed, Sana's cute perky tits previously only a dream. But now they're here, in front of you. She's here, in front of you.

"What's wrong, Oppa?" she whispers "You're acting like you've never seen a pair of tits before." She teases, knowing they're bigger than Nayeon's.

"Do you wanna play with them? It's okay. Here." She pulls your hands towards her, allowing you to squeeze her soft tits.

Your gaze remains locked onto her breasts, unable to fully take in the surreal situation. One second they were out, in a teasing peek and next, you were grasping them like an overeager schoolboy.

"I thought this was about sucking cock Sana."

"Oh Oppa, she's so impatient," Sana whines, "doesn't she know a great blowjob isn't just about sucking cock. It's about the whole experience." Sana teases, placing your cock in-between her breasts, jiggling the skin, stroking you, providing sweet warmth as your tip peaks through with every movement.

"Fuck Sana..."

"Do you like that? Do you like my tits rubbing all over your big hard cock? It's okay if you do."

Nayeon is staring from the corner of your eye. "You're going to have to try harder than that to beat me," she sneers.

"See, he likes it. Isn't that right Oppa?" Sana ignores, bouncing her tits on your cock. "Doesn't that feel nice?" Sana beams at your disheveled face, pleased at your helpless reaction to her tits.

"Mmm, that's so hot, Oppa. It feels so warm sliding up and down." She interlocks her hands together, squeezing her tits together. Her tits aren't big enough to fully cover you, but it's just enough. Your cock presses into the valley of her cleavage as she starts fucking them against you, and a sight unlike any other. Sana has been teasing Nayeon this whole time but when she says those last few words, the sneer and confidence falls off her face, turning into an unadulterated gape.

Her tongue sticks out, licking the tip whenever it pops up from her squishy embrace. "Mmm, Oppa, I can taste you already." Sana kisses your slit with a hungry moan, letting some saliva drip down her chin and onto the space between her breast.

"Uggh. Can you fucking suck it already." You can hear the impatience in Nayeon's tone, finally losing all pretense and sincerity.

"This is just an appetizer," Sana interjects, stopping her jerking movements. A smirk on her lips and and naughty look emerges on her face.

"Oh my god Oppa, I can't believe how wet I am. Look." She slips a hand into her pants, and then takes it out, her fingers glistening with her juices. You look down, seeing your cock still poking up from between her tits, but also her fingers, coated with her juices.

"Here have a taste."Sana brings her index and middle finger to your mouth, gently pushing the liquid inside, tracing your lips as you gulp down her arousal.

She squeals in joy. "Oh Oppa, how naughty of you. Do you like the way I taste, hmm?" Her voice coos, watching your reactions. It's like you're drunk, entranced by the sight before you, stuck in a euphoric daze. Sana's so fucking sexy it makes you wonder if there is any woman alive that could top this.

"Come on Sana, quit fucking around." Nayeon sighs with annoyance.

"Silly, silly Nayeon, the key is making them beg. Don't you want Oppa begging for it?" Sana giggles.

"If there's not some cock sucking action I'm gonna declare myself as the winner."

"So impatient. Ok Oppa, let's give Nayeonie a show she won't forget." Sana gets back between your legs and takes a deep breath, inhaling your musk.

"Oh my god, Oppa, your scent is so intoxicating." Her hot breath is blowing against your cock. "I can't wait any longer. I need to taste you." She places a kiss on the tip, then another, then another, each time lingering a little longer than the last. The tip of her tongue slides along the sides of your cock as Sana explores with a curious excitement.

Nayeon scowls. "So your fucking blow job is going to be taking all day."

"He's just soooo hard." Sana caresses the throbbing appendage with admiration. Her right hand strokes your inner thigh in long soothing motions, the pads of her fingers tracing lines up and down your tense muscle.

It's slow, torturously slow. Light kisses and licks cover every surface of your cock, the feel of her tongue now a sensation rather than individual touches. Her tongue starts to flick against the underside of your tip, sending a shock through your body. You can feel the warmth of her breath, the pressure of her tongue. Her eye contact is unwavering, rubbing your thighs up and down with her soft hands.

You and Sana are now in your own world. A private space for the two of you, separated by both time and distance.

There's an excruciating pause. The room stills. There's no sounds, no movement. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks. You're frozen. You can't breath, can't blink. It's an eternity.

The air moves with the slow grace of a dancer as she sucks you between her lips. Her eyes light up when the tip meets her tongue. Sana sighs, relaxing her shoulders. She lets herself get lost, transported by her desire. With the slow rhythm of a slow song, she slowly sinks lower, deeper.

Sana is worshiping your cock, treating it like it's the only one in the world. She's moaning and humming, sending vibrations through your shaft. As great as it feels, there's a special technique about her, knowing exactly how to keep you from cumming. As if she's been with you for years. She reaches for your hands, interlocking your fingers together, making this feel like a tender loving moment rather than just your run of the mill blowjob.

Her eyes remain fixated on yours, never even once breaking focus. It's one continuous moment until she pulls back for breath. A thick, translucent web stretches between the two of you. A dewy layer of spit is now surrounding your cock, dripping off the sides of her lips. You can feel the edges of her lips form a perfect ring as your cock passes between her lips. She is hypnotic, the speed is torture, but it's impossible to stop looking.

She lets you go, slowly inching up until she's next to your ear. "Oppa, can I tell you a secret?" She's whispering, like she's scared Nayeon will hear.

"Sure."

"I really love doing this, especially when it's a cock like yours. I can't wait to make you cum. I can't wait for you to explode in my mouth.

"I can't either."

"But I wanna make you wait a little bit, cause when you finally cum, it's going to be amazing." She trails a string of saliva down from your ear, running her finger past the puddle of spit still leaking off her chin and finally across your balls. She pecks her lips on the underside of the head, all the while looking like a kid about to play with their new toy.

Nayeon hits you. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Um...yeah," You whisper back. You've nearly forgotten she's here.

She seems satisfied at your answer, but it feels weird admitting that in front of her.

Sana's right back into action, your fingers still interlocked so she's using only her mouth. This time she's focusing on the tip, flicking her tongue and sucking on your head.

"Fuck Sana..."

She chuckles, feeling accomplished, her grin big as can be. The two of you resume your rhythm as you grind your cock against her welcoming cheeks. Slowly working her way down the shaft until her mouth is about halfway down. She inhales, breathing deeply, smiling even with her mouth full.

"God, I love your scent." she moans out seductively on her way back up. The hot air of her words permeate and swirl with your sweat. Her pace is further teasing, steady at first then almost playful as she slows and pauses, relishing the torment it has on you. You can feel her tongue working its way down, swirling around your cock. You're so close to bursting, but she knows just when to stop. Her hands pull away, squeezing your balls, ignoring your shaft, focusing all her attention on them. She's cupping them, massaging them, using her tongue on the one not attended by her hands.

Her hot, wet tongue tickles and warms them as she begins sucking and groping, working in unison. Knowing it felt good, but wouldn't cause you to cum. It's a change in tempo, something else to enjoy until it was time again.

"You're gonna be a good boy and hold out until I've shown Nayeon all my skills right?"

"Oh, so he's your new puppy. At least he's useful," Nayeon is curious, testing the waters, seeing how much she can push her.

Her fingers are tracing circles around your balls, sending shivers up your spine. Her other hand is slowly jerking up and down, sizing you up, using her hand to measure your cock.

"I think I can fit you." Sana calmly states, flashing a wink.

"What? What does that mean?" Nayeon yells out.

"Shush, Nayeon, let me concentrate." She tells her off and returns her eyes to you. They're dark and hungry.

Her hands position the tip between her puckered lips. Nayeon stares at the scene unfolding before her, feeling the waves of lust emanating off of Sana. She's got her hands wrapped around your shaft, holding it like a weapon. Your heart races, eyes closed, feeling the pleasure pulse.

You feel a rush, an impending doom, but one you welcome. A moment of heaven, a moment of hell, it doesn't matter to you. Lower and lower she goes, only a couple inches in and you're already overwhelmed. A surreal bliss radiates, filling your mind with an unbelievable pleasure.

There's moaning and slurping, the sound of her muffled voice vibrating through you. She's going further, inch by inch, her eyes locked with yours, fitting more of your cock into her throat every time she goes back down.

Her pace remains the same as ever, steady and sure. A thrust in, followed by a drag out. Up and down, the same torturous speed, letting the sensation flow through your entire body. There's a smug grin, prideful smile, confident in herself. Her hands roaming your inner thighs, content with her conquest, basking in it.

Nayeon stares, but with a different emotion. You feel the heat of her gaze, the anger behind them.

"It's not possible. His dick is way too big. It'll never fit. I've never even been able to-"

"Hush, Nayeon, we're not talking about you right now." She chides. Her voice is softer, kinder, the commanding tone dropping slightly.

Sana's pace quickens, the sound of her gagging and choking fills the room. Drool is dripping down her chin, and she's going faster and faster. Her nails dig into your thighs, her eyes tearing up as she forces her mouth all the way down. Her cheeks are puffed up and bulging, her neck stretches out.

"Holy shit, Sana." Nayeon jumps out of her seat, her eyes wide.

"Holy shit," you echo, feeling her sharp pointed nose tickling pressing into you.

Her tongue is jittering from the girth filling her mouth, sending wonderful vibrations through you. There's a grunt, she's struggling, straining. Sana holds it there for what seems like forever. Your cock is being squeezed by her throat, and you can feel every breath, every twitch, every swallow. After an eternity, she slides back up, and releases your cock from her throat. A string of spit and precum follows, breaking as she licks her lips. Sana looks pleased with herself, savoring the sight before her.

"Holy fucking shit," Nayeon can't hide the shock, can't help but step closer to get a better look at the ridiculous sight.

"I told you size wouldn't be an issue." Sana winks at Nayeon.

Nayeon scoffs, folding her arms in annoyance.

"Oh Oppa, do you like seeing Nayeon pout? That's such a cute look on her."

There's a few minutes of respite, Sana sucking you down every once in a while but nothing more. It gives you a chance to breathe, a moment to process. The image before you is difficult to process, as if you're having an out of body experience.

"Let me try again. It'll be easier the second time." She's not lying. The next time is even smoother. Her throat is slick with spit and precum, and your cock slides in like a knife through butter. There's sucking and slurping, coating your cock with her saliva. She's going up and down, over and over, and the pleasure is insane.

It's not like she doesn't have a gag reflex, she's using it to her advantage. She's gagging on your cock, spit leaking everywhere, the sounds of her throat a sinful delight. After taking a deep breath her head becomes a blur going faster and faster. Your cock is disappearing and reappearing, over and over again. You can't believe the sight before you. Sana, the picture perfect idol, is deepthroating your cock, gagging and choking herself over and over. Her hands have abandoned you, caressing her throat, stroking where you cock is pushing her insides outward.

She looks up at you with her pretty, innocent eyes. The term cutie sexy starts to make sense, so adorable, yet obscene, like an angel became a slut. You're groaning, and panting, stuck in an endless maze of pleasure.

She's drooling, saliva dripping down your balls to her chin, not even bothering to wipe her mouth. She just keeps bobbing her head up and down, faster and faster, moaning like a pornstar. You can see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Your cock is throbbing and twitching. You're on the precipice of climax. You can't hold it back any longer.

She brings her mouth up, making a loud pop as she slips you out of her lips. "Oh no Oppa, you can't cum yet. Not until I've showed off all my skills to Nayeon." holding your cock in her hand and slapping it against her tongue.

"What are you doing?" Nayeon questions her, unsure on what else Sana has to show.

"Shush Nayeon, It's only the second round, and I promised Oppa three. This one is my favorite." She coos to you, sweetly kissing your tip.

"Stand up Oppa." You stand before her, looking down on her beautiful messy face. She places your hands on her head.

"Do you wanna fuck my mouth, Oppa?" Sana teases. "Here, grab my hair and shove it in."

You're stunned. This is all happening so fast.

"Come on Oppa, fuck my mouth." She takes your cock back into her mouth, and you feel the pressure from her hands pulling you forward.

There's hesitation on your side, a lingering reservation, a fear of overdoing it. You're a bit unsure, you've never been deepthroated before, yet alone fucked someone's face. You're afraid to hurt her.

Her lips curl upward, smiling like an eager puppy, letting your cock rest, leaving you suspended. With your grip still on her head, Sana waits for you.

"Come on Oppa," Nayeon snarls, "stop being such a pussy. You know she can take it. She just swallowed your whole damn cock in one go. Stop being a little bitch and fuck her face."

You thrust forward, and immediately the pleasure is overwhelming. Her hands are still pushing, and now your hands are pulling. You're thrusting and pulling, fucking her face. The feeling is unlike anything you've felt before. It's wet and sloppy, the sounds of her mouth a depraved melody. Your hips are moving faster and faster, her eyes are wide and full of lust, begging for you to use her.

The reality of the situation sinks in as Sana sucks harder and harder.

You're facefucking Sana. You're fucking an idol with every inch of your hard cock. She's pushing her head into your crotch and you're burying her face.

You're not gentle, you can't be. It's so wet and hot, and the sensation is insane. Her nails are digging into your thighs, and you're grunting and groaning, pounding her throat like an animal. She's slapping her face against your crotch, taking everything you're giving her. She's choking and gagging, drool pouring from her mouth. Her fingers are exploring, stroking the bottom of her throat and her neck.

You're groaning. This is not a blowjob this is something else altogether. Your hands are tight on her head and your mind is hazy. You're so turned on by her. You're mesmerized by her. You can't stop fucking her mouth. She's moaning and crying, but tells you to fuck her harder every time you pull out. You're focused solely on Sana and her perfect mouth. She's not even sucking - just letting you use her mouth as a cocksleeve. Her tongue is flicking over your tip whenever it enters her mouth. And it's so fucking hot.

You're at your limit. You can't hold it in anymore. You're gonna explode. And then Sana wraps her hands around your ass and squeezes, pulling you closer, forcing you to push deeper into her mouth, your balls pressed against her chin.

"Sana, I'm gonna -"

And that's her cue, her throat constricting and contracting, massaging your head while it's buried deep inside. You didn't even know this was possible. Her final trick. Her ace in the hole. A sense of pleasure that previously only existed beyond your wildest dreams. Your body tenses, and then you let go, the hardest orgasm you've ever experienced in your life, mouth or otherwise. The world goes white and the only thing you're aware of is the warmth and wetness of Sana's throat.

Cum explodes into her mouth, filling her up. She can't take it all, it's too much, and she coughs, and chokes. She pulls off, harshly stroking your cock with her hand. You're still cumming, some landing on her face, her tits, in her hair. Your entire body is shaking.

"Fuck," you groan, collapsing onto the couch. She taps on your thighs and opens her mouth, showing you the pool of creamy liquid collected on her tongue.

"Oppa, you came so much!" she says after gulping down the mouthful.

"I swallowed so much and there's still so much on me." She's scooping your cum off her face, licking her fingers clean, moaning with every drop she swallows. Her breasts are covered, and she's gathering as much of it as she can, putting her hands between her legs, scooping up any drops that landed on her thighs. She takes your hand and puts it on her chest, covering her nipple with your cum, rubbing it around her nipple, teasing it with your sticky seed.

"I told you Nayeon! An explosion! Cum everywhere!" Sana winks and teases her with a wag of her tongue.

Nayeon rolls her eyes.

Sana goes back for more, sucking your cock until every last drop has been extracted. She's cleaning you off with her tongue, kissing the head of your cock, and then she's rubbing her face on it, like a cat nuzzling her owner. "Mmm so good," she coos.

"That's enough, you've proven your point."

"Aww, but Nayeon, look how cute he is, all tired and sweaty." Sana pouts, giving your cock one last kiss before getting up.

"Yeah, well, you look like a total slut." Nayeon snaps. "Seriously, you've got cum all over your face, your hair's a mess. Not to mention, there's a fucking puddle of spit on the floor."

"So?"

"So? Do you have any idea what would happen if someone saw you like this?"

"They'd fall in love with me." Sana teases. "Oppa did."

"Don't give me that shit. You know what? Fine, you proved your point. I guess I owe you a favor." Nayeon takes a deep breath and then exhales, bracing herself. "Whatever you want, just do it quick, and don't tell anyone, okay."

"I'm so fucking horny after all of that." She looks at you, then back at Nayeon. "Threesome?" She's fluttering her eyelashes, acting more innocent than she has all evening.

"Th-threesome?" You stammer.

"Of course." Sana says, matter of factly. "You didn't think I was going to leave without taking care of myself did you?"

"Wait a second, I never said I'd do that!"

"Come on, we're both so horny, I'll bet Oppa is hard again just thinking about us making out. I bet he's already got a load saved up. Besides, he's already fucked my throat. How much worse could it get?"

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Please? Please, please, please? Pretty please, Nayeon? Oh, does this help? I swear I have the best pussy around, guys can't help but explode inside of me. Want me to prove it?" She was stripping as she spoke, not a shred of shyness or timidness anywhere to be seen.

"Oppa, look." She moans, sliding her fingers out and showing the string of sticky fluids connected to them. "Look how wet I am. You did this to me. All that talk about cocks and cumming. I'm so fucking horny. And it's all because of you." She slides her fingers back inside, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. "I'm so close to cumming."

"You're the worst." Nayeon snaps, grabbing her hand and pulling it out of her pussy. "Fine, whatever, but only cuz you won the bet. I'm not doing this because I want to."

"I love you, Nayeonie!" Sana squeals, throwing her arms around her friend. "Come on Oppa! Don't leave us hanging. We'll be waiting in your room." Sana grabs her clothes and skips away, leaving Nayeon alone with you.

"This is such bullshit. Why did she have to be so good at that? Ugh.." Nayeon mumbles. "Come on, I don't wanna keep her waiting...."

#sana smut #twice sana smut

1K notes · View notes

saetoru · 1 year

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。DIFFICULT — GOJO SATORU.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ gojo is too stubborn to let you peacefully sleep on the couch (1.2k words)

☽ contents ⋮ mentions of an argument but it's fluff, gn! reader, annoying gojo bc who is he if not a headache

☽ notes ⋮ he is so cute i wanna stab him

gojo satoru is difficult to have arguments with.

he’s stubborn and never seems to take things seriously and he never really listens to a word you say—everything always goes in one ear and out the other. like when you tell him you'll be on the couch for the night so you can have space, for example. it seems space is not a word in gojo's dictionary, because he strolls into the living room with his hands in his pockets and his lips whistling a soft tune. you glare at him from your spot on the couch, watching as he stops a few feet before you.

there’s a smooth grin on his face, almost too smooth—like he’s plastered it on for appearance’s sake, like it masks the true nature of his feelings as he hides them with that usual unbothered smile of his.

“is there room for one more?”

“no,” you say bluntly, promptly turning away to face your back to him. you don’t have to look back to know his face is curled into that pout of his—the dangerous one that does too good of a job of convincing you to give him his way.

“kay, fine,” he huffs, and then you hear the soft thud of his body settling on the floor, making you itch to turn and peek over the edge of the couch. you succeed at ignoring for him for approximately thirty seconds before the curiosity gets the better of you and you swallow your pride and take a quick look.

sure enough, he lies curled on the hardwood floor, limbs awkwardly sprawled as he stares up at you with innocent eyes.

"what are you doing?" you furrow your brows, and he stares at you like you've asked a silly question—maybe you have. being hard to get rid of has always been gojo's specialty, and you should know better by now that retiring to the couch is never enough to retire from him.

"i'm going to sleep. what does it look like?" he says like it's obvious. you almost smack him with your pillow for his tone, but you have half a mind not to—it's the perfect opportunity for him to steal it, and it's not your problem he forgot the single most important thing when it comes to sleeping.

"well, why here?" you scowl, making him shrug as he settles his hands behind his head and looks up to the ceiling.

"seems like a good spot to sleep," he says casually, "nice hard floor to cushion my back, cool breeze of the air conditioning to keep me cold, the clock ticking in my ear to keep me up. perfect place, huh? and if i get bored, we even have a tv!"

"i let you have the bed, you idiot," you purse your lips.

"who needs a bed when i can sleep on the hardwood floor next to my sweet little baby—" you cut him off before he can finish, feeling the last possible vein you can preserve while dating a man like gojo satoru pop.

"well, then i'm going to use the bed if you don't," you sit up, grabbing your pillow and blanket. and because he's gojo satoru, the bane of your existence and the sole cause of all your headaches, he sits up too.

"good idea, baby! let's go—"

"no. you stay here, and i'll take the bed."

"okay," he hums, still not making any moves to lay back down.

you quickly realize this isn't a battle you can easily win with him—as is any battle, really—and you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat as you glare down at him. he looks up at you with that same innocent look—those same wide eyes that blink up at you like they couldn't possibly do any wrong.

"you realize i'm not sharing the bed with you just because you're stubborn, right?" you ask dryly.

he grins, that familiar glint in his eyes that always means trouble, "well, i never said anything about taking the bed, did i?"

"satoru, you can't possibly mean sleeping on the floor next to the bed—"

"it's technically not the bed," he insists, "all you said is you're not sleeping with me. you never said anything about near me."

"okay, i don't want to sleep near you," you scowl.

"ah ah," he shakes his head, "you can't add rules now. it's too late."

"satoru—"

"so what'll it be? bed or couch?"

"i hate you," you grumble, settling back down on the (uncomfortable) cushions of your living room couch, back once more facing him. you can hear his body softly settle back onto the floor again, and after a few beats of silence, he speaks up again.

"can i use your blanket? i'm cold."

"no."

"c'mon, just toss half of it over the edge, i'll scoot. we can make it work—"

"are you trying to piss me off?" you snap as you sit up, glaring down at him once more.

gojo satoru is difficult to have arguments with. he's stubborn and annoying and so stupidly handsome. he makes your eyes soften before you can help it as they graze over his messy hair and the soft glow of his lip balm. he makes your anger ebb away slowly no matter how hard you try to latch onto it just from that toothy grin of his. he makes you forget you're arguing and that you should be mad when you notice the soft, gentle traces of love in his eyes.

so you blink as you watch him, letting out a quiet sigh as he shakes his head and offers you a small, innocent smile—one that tells you he loves you, that he's not mad, that he'll wait on the cold, hard floor with no pillow and blanket for you as long as he needs to.

"no," he chuckles, "no i'd never want to make you mad. you're scary when you get mad."

"that's rich, coming from the strongest sorcerer in the world," you mutter, making him laugh softly. and you're not mad anymore—not as much as you were just a bit ago.

maybe it's because you love him too, even despite the way he makes your veins pop, and your patience thin, and your head ache with that aggravating personality of his. maybe that's what love is, when even the bad and the ugly are part of the good.

"behind every strong man is an even stronger—"

"just come here," you groan, scooting over to make room for him on the couch. he doesn't need to be told twice—doesn't even waste a moment as if he's been expecting it all this time as he climbs in beside you and pulls you into his chest.

and it's cramped—it's slightly uncomfortable as your legs dangle over the edge and your pillow barely fits under both of your heads. but his body is warm and his arms hold you tight and you can faintly make out out the thrum of his heart against your body.

maybe it's not so bad—not if it's gojo.

"did you miss me too much?" he wriggles his brows, pouting when you shove his face away as he leans in for a kiss.

"still haven't earned kisses back yet," you grin, "goodnight satoru."

"but i can't sleep without a goodnight kiss—"

"love you," you cut him off with a giggle.

gojo satoru is difficult to have arguments with—but you think you win this time.

i want to have gojo satorus babies

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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wheeboo · 3 months

Text

run to you | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. in which your best friend picks you up in the middle of the night. PAIRING. biker!best friend!lee chan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, lil angst, best friends to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, implied that reader lives in a troubled household, lil description of a twisted ankle, kissing WORD COUNT. 2.7k

notes: finally have something written for dino!! i haven't written anything for him in a HOT min that this almost feels out of character for some reason 😭 anyways enjoy <3

Chan doesn't understand why simply the sight of your name lighting up his phone has his heart quickening, head spinning, and adrenaline rushing all in a single moment. But he doesn't give it much thought, his hand instinctively pressing the answer button as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

He brings his phone up to his ear, calling out your name, "Y/N?"

"Hey, um..." Your voice is shaky on the other line, barely above a whisper, laced with something that sounds suspiciously like pain, and it sends a snake of worry up his back. "...can you do me a favour real quick?"

Chan glances at the time on his phone for a brief second, brows furrowing at the late time displayed on the screen. He sits up in bed, already somehow feeling more awake than just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, uh, what's up?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air, heavier than the late-night quiet pressing against Chan's window. He can almost hear your nervous inhale and picture the hesitant frown on your face.

"I left my... well, actually my entire skateboard bag... at your place," You admit quietly, sheepishly. "Could you possibly... drop it off at my door? It's really late, I know, but𑁋"

"Where are you?" Chan asks frantically and seriously that it cuts you off. He hears the way your breath hitches in your throat at the tone of his voice, and it only makes him more apprehensive and his heart hammering against his ribs anxiously. "Are you at the skate park?"

Crap, he knows. He always knows. "Look, I just... needed to clear my head and took a little fall. I'm fine, can you just𑁋"

"Stay put," he commands, leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming to get you."

"What? No, Chan, it's fine𑁋"

He cuts you off, refusing to hear your protests. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."

He hangs up before you can utter another word, quickly tossing a shirt on and grabbing his keys, helmet (and a second one), and of course, your skateboard bag. As Chan throws the bag over his shoulder, a sharp pang of worry hits him. He knows you're downplaying the fall and everything else going on, but the tremor in your voice paints a different picture in his mind, and he seems to be listening to his heart more than he ever thought he would.

All he could think about is you.

Chan knows not to pry, but it isn't the first time this has happened𑁋where you 'clear your head' in the middle of the night and run away from home for a few hours. But the thought of you alone and hurt gnaws at him more than he cares to admit.

Pushing aside the questions and worries for later, Chan rushes out the door, the roar of his motorcycle echoing through the hushed night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. As he speeds towards the familiar silhouette of the skate park, a million scenarios play in his mind, each one twisting his gut tighter. He forces them down, focusing only on one𑁋getting to you and making sure you're okay.

The wind whips past Chan's helmet, carrying with it the sting of the cool night air and the echo of your shaky voice. He rounds the last corner, the skate park coming into view, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He catches a single glance of your figure leaning against wall with your skateboard abandoned not that far away, and his heart jumps into his throat.

He throws the bike into a skid that leaves a dark streak on the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath his tires and the engine sputtering to a halt just beside you. You flinch at the sudden noise, looking up with wide, surprised eyes. Before you can speak, he's already hopping off and jogging towards you.

Something jumps in your stomach when he takes off his helmet, the streetlamp above illuminating the worry etched on his features and windswept, messy hair. Chan kneels before you, the gravel biting into his knees as his gaze takes note of the way you're gingerly clutching down at your ankle.

The concern in his eyes makes your defenses crumble. You open your mouth to explain, but he silences you with a gentle hand on your knee.

"Don't talk," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft. "Let me see."

He gently pushes your hand away, his touch sending a spark through your already jittery nerves, calloused fingers lightly brushing against away the dirt clinging to your slightly swollen ankle. You wince at the contact, breath hitching at the unexpected touch. It's not painful, but it's strangely electrifying.

"It looks swollen," he states, carefully brushing his thumbs over the affected area. "Can you put any weight on it?"

You hesitantly try to wiggle your toes, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up your leg.

"Fuck, ow," You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the shame and embarrassment burn at your cheeks, making you want to sink into the cool concrete beneath you.

He's always right; you weren't fine. You hadn't been fine for a long time, but admitting it to yourself felt like opening a dam of emotions you weren't sure you could contain the longer you stay here, and you aren't sure if Chan being in front of you was helping with that or not.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Chan asks, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the gravel where he kneels. You can't help but meet his gaze, searching for judgment, but finding only concern and a hint of something deeper you couldn't decipher, or didn't want to acknowledge.

You shrug, hating how weak the gesture feels, pulling back your leg away from him slightly. "It's okay, just a twist."

Chan's jaw clenches, the concern on his face morphing into something else, something you couldn't quite place. "Just a twist? Y/N, it's the middle of the night, you're alone at the skate park, and you can barely stand. It's not okay."

You feel your chest tighten. "I told you I just needed to get some air. You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow, and you catch a glimpse of something raw and intense flickering in them.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, coming out a bit harsher than intended. "What if you... what if something bad happened and you couldn't call for help? Do you think I wouldn't want to be the one to find you?"

His words hit you like a physical blow. You flinch, the vulnerability you'd so carefully guarded threatening to spill out. God, you hate that he could see through you, hate that he cares so much, hate that you couldn't hate it no matter how much you tried.

"No," You mumble, swallowing back the heat threatening in your eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just..." Your voice trails off.

"It's just what?" Chan demands, voice tight. "Just another night where you disappear and leave me wondering if you're okay? I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

His words suspend heavy in the air, the only sounds coming from the occasional crickets and the rhythmic thump of your heart echoing loudly in your ears. You could only stare at Chan, his intense gaze boring into you, and feel a dam within yourself start to slowly crack.

Chan lets his eyes roam over you, and a twinge of guilt seems to twitch at his lips, his eyes softening noticeably, but barely. He lets out a sigh.

"Come on," he says firmly. "I can't let you stay here alone, not tonight. Let me take you back to my place, okay?" His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary, a silent plea struggling beneath the surface.

He rises from the ground and offers you his hand. The heat radiating from his skin sends a familiar jolt through you. Hesitantly, you place your hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused as they intertwine together clumsily, like you're testing some type of waters. Then he lifts you with surprising ease, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through your ankle, making you tighten your grip on his hand.

"Sorry," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Let me know if it's too much."

You shake your head, unable to find your voice. You're a tangled mess of emotions𑁋relief, embarrassment, and a fluttering nervousness that you can't quite explain. He helps you onto the back of his motorcycle and secures the extra helmet around your head, before stepping away to collect your skateboard from the ground. Then you feel his hand cup over yours, bringing it to secure around his waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours sending shivers down your spine.

"Hold on tight," he instructs. As the engine rolls to life, you feel the vibration through your body, and you scoot yourself impossibly closer to him, tightening your hold around his abdomen even more.

The ride to his apartment is a blur of streetlights and rushing wind. You cling to him even more, not entirely sure if it's for balance or something more, but it's awfully comforting and... intimate.

You lean your head on his back and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and warmth that seems to calm you more than it should. Shifting your eyes up, you steal a glance at Chan, the moonlight casting long shadows across his determined jaw and windblown hair. You can feel his muscles tense and relax with every shift of the bike, and a strange sense of safety washes over you. You feel a slight tug at your lips at the thought.

As the motorcycle comes to a stop outside Chan's apartment, you linger for a moment, the gentle rumble of the engine fading into the quiet night as he puts it into park. The warmth of his body still lingers onto yours as he takes off his helmet and hops off the bike, before turning around to help with yours.

The brush of your hands against each other sends a jolt through the two of you. Chan quickly pulls away, his hand hovering awkwardly by your helmet, but the heaviness in the air lingers. You look up at him, his gaze flickering between your face, before he fully slips the helmet off your head, hand lingering in the strands of your hair for a moment.

He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I, uh... should get you inside," he finally says.

You only give a nod. But as you attempt to step off the bike, the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg, bringing a wince to your face.

"Here," Chan says quickly, kneeling before you again. "Let me help."

He carefully scoops you up in his arms, the familiar scent of leather and warmth enveloping you once more. This time, you don't try to pull away, your heart pounding against his chest as he carries you inside.

He takes you to his kitchen, helping you sit on top of the counter, and you can't help but let out a quiet, soft sigh of relief. As he draws away from you to rummage through the drawers, you glance around his kitchen, noting the small stack of dishes in the sink, the motorcycle magazines scattered across his little eating area, and an empty bowl of cereal𑁋a glimpse into his life you hadn't seen before.

It's silent when it all happens, almost too silent it's suffocating. But as Chan comes back to you with an ice pack and a bottle of pills, you could only watch him. The soft light from the hanging lamp above bathes his face in a warm glow, and you catch the way his gaze lingers on your face a moment too long.

He reaches out, gently placing the ice pack on your swollen ankle. His touch is light, almost tentative, yet the cold feeling makes you flinch, but Chan's hand rests gently on the skin above your ankle, the other cupping at your knee. There's a part of you that wants to pull away from him, from everything happening right now, but you don't. You don't want to. You can't. He's worried, frustrated, and maybe even a little hurt, and you understand why. You've pushed him away again, and he's tired of it.

"I..." You start, a tremor betraying your words. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Chan glances up at you. "But you did," he replies lowly. "You always do. And it scares the hell out of me."

The tension hangs thick in the air as Chan's words sink in.

"I-I'm sorry, I really am," You mutter, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "It's just... things are hard at home, and I don't know how to deal with it. Being away just seems to... clear it all up a little bit, you know?"

"Then why run away when you can run to me?" He's standing right in front of you at this point, one hand still on your knee.

"Why do care you so much?" You counter almost defensively, feeling yourself tense right under his gaze.

"Because the more this happens, the more I realise I don't want to be your friend anymore," he answers simply, then lowers his voice. "I can't be... just your friend anymore when I want to be the person you run to."

The world freezes. Everything freezes, and you could only stare at him with widened eyes and a pure look of shock. Nothing but silence stretches between the two of you, and the hammering in your chest only grows stronger by each passing second.

Chan lowers his gaze to the floor, taking his hand off your knee and running it through his hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have..." He catches a glimpse of the bottle of pain medication right next to you. "Let me get you some water𑁋"

"No, wait." You grab at his hand, causing him to halt, and he looks back at you. "Don't... go yet, please?"

Chan hesitates, before giving in, finding himself standing right back in front of you, the two of you almost eye-level. Except you shoot a quick look at his lips, then up to his eyes, before letting the hand wrapped around his wrist pull him even closer to you, to the point where he's almost standing between your legs.

His breath hitches from the sudden closeness, but he shouldn't be like this right now. Not when you're hurt and vulnerable. He can't tell you that he wanted you the moment you met two years ago when you rolled past him one day on the way to the same skate park, can't tell you that he would choose you over everything else in a heartbeat.

But all those thoughts are pushed away the moment he feels your lips on his, and his hands come naturally to your waist, as if afraid you might slip away. His lips seemingly mold perfectly with yours, and you can feel the longing in the way his fingers seem to tighten its hold on your shirt.

Your lips part for a brief moment, and there's a long moment that passes before Chan leans in again, capturing your mouth a bit more fervently, a bit more passionately than before, yet nonetheless still sweet and tender. The world outside disappears, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the gentle glow of the kitchen light above.

When you both pull away, there's a breathless pause.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asks cautiously. "I'm sorry, it just..."

"No, I'm... I should say sorry for... everything," You cut him off. "I shouldn't have made you worried or... pushed you away. I'm sorry."

"All I ever want is to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His hand is back at your knee again, finger tracing reassuring shapes, easing the tension out of your body.

You let out a nervous, light-hearted chuckle. "We're not even together yet and I'm already causing you so much trouble."

Chan's expression softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Who said I wasn't yours yet?" He leans back in, teasing his lips back against yours. "I can be, if you want me to be."

another note: ending is a lil rushed im sorry oops i wrote this rlly late 😭

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

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nogenderbee · 2 months

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕒𝕗𝕖 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: May I request the demon brothers with a reader who likes being with them because they feel safe around them?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hi! Absolutely! Headcanond seemed a bit too boring so... I did oneshot. I guess reader could be seen as shy in some? So sorry if this isn't what you wanted but hopefully, it won't interrupt much and hope you like it anyway!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

You were just walking next to Lucifer with coffee in your right hand and his hand in your left. It was late night and you were walking back home after a date, you honestly didn't even care about the fact you were just about to pass some clearly drunk rebels, unlike Lucifer.

You were walking on his right side two you were basically out of reach for them. You just continued your little chat while your boyfriend was the one being caucious about this whole situation.

When you finally walked out of their reach, you could hear him sigh and turn his attention back to you. Just from the posture, you could tell... it's not gonna be the happiest conversation.

"Y/N... you know I appreciate you having conversation with me but I think it'd be better if you could keep it down when we walk by more problematic demons."

"Why tho? I don't think we should have worse time because of them."

"Yes... but haven't you considered the fact they might not be the nicest? Not speaking about the fact they were intoxicated and may've hurted you."

"I don't think so. I really just feel safe around you and that's why."

You certainly made all of his arguments escape his head. You could see small sparkle of pride in his eyes as his expression turned from scolding to gentle smug.

Seriously tho, what made you think it was good idea to boost his ego even more?

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Mammon got you out of the house, mainly by claiming he's not gonna make you pay again this week because he won in casino last night so he's treating you today! Sure, money isn't everything but those little demon owns you thousands of Grimm by now... it's nice to see him pay sometimes too to know there are feelings on your relationship after all.

You were walking through city with one restaurant in mind when he suddenly stopped and pointed at the jewellery shop.

"Hey, wait for me here, alright? I'll just go grab something from that shop!"

"Can't I just come with you?"

"Well uh- you could but... it's gonna be quick, yeah? It's not like someone will steal ya!"

"And what if they would?"

You said it kind of jokingly but also with slight worry... you felt the safest around him, it was only natural you wanted to go with him rather than wait here.

He also changed his expression and he actually thought of it. It didn't even took him long before he grabbed your hand and walked with you on his side into jewelery shop.

"Alright human, THE Mammon has you covered! Just don't peek when I tell ya not to!"

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You tugged on Levi's shirt, trying to get him off his console for 3 hours now... you respected his dedication and fact he wanted to beat up the impossible boss but he's loosing his sanity and you're getting hungry. And since all brothers except you two are away, you wanted to go eat in the city.

"C'mon Levi!! Let's just go order a pizza, have a little walk and we can come back home!"

"You realize you coule just go without me? I'm not gonna run away from this room anytime soon..."

"Well yeah but I don't want to go alone! It's safer with you!"

"You could always ask Lucifer to go with you? Or Diavolo? Or-"

"No, none of them make me feel safe like you do."

You looked up at him, seeing flushed face, open mouth and widened eyes. It was clear you caught him off guard and you couldn't help but grin knowing it's gonna be so much easier to convince him now.

"So? Can we go now?"

"S-Sure... let me pause..."

He wanted to tell you to wait for him to calm down but he simply couldn't bring himself to it, so he just paused his game and followed you to the city.

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You were actually walking alongisde Satan from your little cat cafe date quite comfortably. That's untill you noticed some shady demons on your way. Your boyfriend seemed to simply not care so you just got on the side closer to wall and catched his hand.

You simply felt safer behind him and even tho he wasn't looking your way, it didn't go unnoticed to him. You maybe not realized it at first but after he sent you small smug right as you passed the other demons, you knew he had you all figured out...

"Feeling this paranoid?"

"What's wrong with going behind person I trust?"

"Nothing. I just thought it's cute act. Are all humans this cowardly?"

"It was more of a survival instinct than cowardness..."

"Call it however you prefer."

You could just look at him upset as he chuckled at your reaction. Seems like he knows what he'll rub into others faces for the next few days... but it's still the fact that's the most important to him. People are usually scared of him and you feel safe around him, avatar of wrath? You're definitely something...

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@miya-akane - come get your cat lover!

You were casually walking through streets and carrying Asmo's bags as Asmo was thinking of shop you haven't visited yet today. And we know, you HAVE TO visit all the shops around here!

But when you were walking past shadier alley, you felt slight shivers down your spine... not only it was looking like out of a horror movie, you also heard from news, just today that there were kidnappings and murders happening recently.

Pink haired devil seemed to notice your concern and immidietly grabbed your hand in attempt to reassure you a bit and calm you down.

"Hey now. No need to get so scared when you're around me! Let's just have fun!"

Maybe he knew about your opinion on him, maybe he said that just to tease you? Who knows? What's important is that his actions worker flawlessly!

"Right... thanks a lot."

But your answer left him with small gasp as if not believing you admitted it just like that. So he was just teasing after all!

"Oh my, really?! Awh~ Alright then, sweetheart, I'll fulfill my job as tour prince~"

That definitely made his day and it'd definitely be hard to restrain him from posting anything related to this situation on Devilgram. He even hummer an upbeat song for the rest of the day and took you with him absolutely everywhere even after coming back home.

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@vodka-glrl - come get your pretty princess~

Beel actually knew that his body shape and sin itself could scare others easily and that most of his brothers felt safe around him. Also, he'd always offer to tag along when you were a bit too scared to to somewhere. Even then he didn't expect to ever hear it directly from someone else than Belphie...

"Thanks again, Beel... I shouldn't have watched that horror movie at 1am I guess..."

"It's fine. You already thanked me with food. And as much as I don't mind... you really should go to sleep earlier. Don't human need like 8 hours of sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know... But still. I'm happy it's you who went with me because I had no worries for the entire way! Out of all brothers, you're the one that makes me feel safest."

Beel stopped munching there for a second and looked down at you with slight surprise, but later on it turned into a grateful smile.

"No problem. I'm happy to put my reputation to protect ones I care about!"

What a cutie, he was smiling for the rest of the day too. All brothers thought it was just some delicious food but you, Beel and Belphie knew very well it wasn't the only thing that was causing it. It was honestly sweet to see him follow you with his legs or eyes like a little loyal puppy.

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Walking through city with Belphie looked like either him being carried on your or someone's back, or him looking like he's gonna drop and sleep on road any second. Even then, you took out no one else than avatar of sloth alone to accompany you.

Despite his lack it energy, you knew he could be dangerous. Heck, you alone probably know it better than anyone! So despite him being lazy as always, you actually felt safer than around anyone else! Well... maybe you could use Beel's company to feel even more safe but your boyfriend was still definitely enough. It was just trying to convince him to keep going that was hard...

"I'm so tired... you already have enough, let's just go home..."

"Just a while more Belphie. I still have one or two more shops to visit!"

"You said the same thing for last 6 stores... Couldn't you take Asmo with you instead?"

"Uhm... well technically but I prefered you. You're the one I feel safe around."

He suddenly stopped complaining and you could swear you just saw him getting slightly bit more energetic and motivated after hearing your voice. Also his pout changed into gentle smile as he finally wasn't walking like he'll collapse anymore.

"Oh... alright one more store. But I'm warning you, if we go through 2, I'll tell asleep on you..."

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@miya-akane - come get your sleepyhead~

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bad-and-drawn-that-way · 2 months

Note

ooh! what about vox hypnotising the reader to sign a soul contract with him? 👀

love your work :D

This is gonna be angsty, but not in the way you'd normally expect >:3

More Than Anything [Vox x Reader]

"Ẇ̸̛̞̑h̸͈̰͕͊͝y̴̪͍̠̽ won't you let me do this for you?!"

Vox glitched out as you turned away from him. The two of you had been arguing for at least an hour and his nerves had frayed thin a good while ago.

The two of you had only been dating for a couple of months when some sneaky jackass paparazzi demon snagged a picture of you two h*lding hands while on a date. The image had spread like wildfire and everyone was curious to dig up as much information on you as possible. Rumors about the legitimacy of the photo, Valentino and Vox's neverending situationship, arguments about your character, you name it. It was all anyone could talk about.

At first, you both legitimately believed things would smooth over and the public would move on to the next celebrity scandal within a short amount of time. Reality only partially heeded your predictions.

The occasional talk show would hang on to the topic and some people had ship wars about it on sinblr, but for the most part, hell had moved on. Vox's enemies, however, had not.

It was a day just like any other when it happened. You had been on your way back to your apartment after visiting Vox at his office. He'd been having a rough day and you brought him food for an impromptu lunch date to lift his spirits. You had just turned the corner to the street you lived on, the looming tower of the Vee's still watching over you from afar. Hands grabbed you from an alleyway and you didn't even have a chance to gasp, let alone scream as you struggled against the sickly-sweet-smelling cloth pressed against your face.

You kicked and screamed, but felt your body growing heavy fast. You knew how to protect yourself to an extent, but you weren't a powerful sinner, nor trained for something like this. Your vision blurred and the last thing you saw were bright cyan flashes and blood splattered across the brick walls as you slipped into darkness.

When you woke up wearing your favorite oversized hoodie in the large bed of your boyfriend. You were confused as fuck until the memory slammed back into you. You call out for Vox and hear something crash nearby and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps before he yanks open the doors to his room with a frazzled look.

At first, he'd been all over you. He'd been the one to clean the blood off of your unconscious body after he slaughtered the group of thugs in a white-hot rage. You hadn't known it, but Vox had been secretly watching you on his monitors to make sure you got home safely. He'd started doing it long before the two of you had started dating and the potential of what could have happened if he hadn't been stalking you out of the goodness of his heart chilled him to his core.

"I could've lost you," he grits out as his shaking claws dig into the sheets beneath him. You cupped his face and tried to reassure him, but he only dug his claws in deeper, shredding the fabric with fear and stress. He lets out a shaky sigh before his hand lifts to cup your own. His expression shifts as he looks up at you. "But never again."

"What do you mean?" you ask him softly as you search his eyes for the meaning behind the look he gave you.

He takes both your hands in his own, placing them on your lap. "Make a deal with me. Sign a contract. If I have control over your soul, then I'll always know where you are," he said seriously. "I'll be able to keep you safe."

You shake your head, leaning up to kiss his screen. "No, baby we've talked about this before. I know I'm not the strongest sinner, but I don't want anyone to own my soul but me. I'll get stronger and one day you won't need to worry anymore. Just give me time."

"We don't have time," Vox snapped. The vision of you passed out in the alleyway, covered in the thug's blood was ingrained in the back of his mind. It was at this moment he cursed his active imagination. All he could think of was the horrible scenarios you could be in if he didn't take action.

At first, the two of you were able to talk sweetly enough while you tried to change the other's mind. But as you kept going in circles, you both got more frustrated and it eventually blew up into the fight you were having now.

"Just ļ̷̲͊ę̸̇ț̷̭̅ ̸̖̝̠̔̋͆m̵̧̈́͋é̷̈́͜͠ͅ do this for you!" Vox screamed as he yanked you to turn and face him. His expression was distraught, his face short-circuiting from the anger and fear.

His expression crumbled as he let his head drop. "Please..."

Vox's claws twitch against your shoulders, "I'm sorry..." He mutters softly under his breath.

You look down at him and open your mouth to say something, only to gasp as red and blue fill your vision. Vox shakes as he watches your face relax, your mouth hanging open, and the reflection of his pained expression and black hypnotic spirals in your half-lidded eyes.

"But I can't lose you," he said as he trembled. "You're the only good thing I've had in hell and I can't replace you."

The room sparked with electricity and the entire tower powered down as he made you sign the deal. Your soul for his endless devotion and protection. Even if one day you discovered what he did. Even if you hated him for it. He'd be yours until the end of time.

You blink slowly, shaking your head and feeling a little fuzzy as you look down at Vox. His head was still lowered and you remembered he had just apologized to you and said he'd believe in you to get stronger. You smile softly at him and lift under the edge of his screen to make him look at you.

"Thank you for understanding," you say as you gently kiss him. "I promise, you'll have nothing to worry about. I'll get stronger and we'll be okay."

Vox sighed, looking at you with a tired, loving smile as he kissed you back. "Yeah... Everything will be just fine."

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #i love him

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macfrog · 5 months

Text

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

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

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

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

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“Jesus!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

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

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

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

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

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

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

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

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

“Dad…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

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

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

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

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

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

“Get the hell away from him.”

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

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

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

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad. Enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you figure that?”

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

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

“No, I –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

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

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

“Baby,” he says.

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

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

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

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

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

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

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

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

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

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey. Look at me.”

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

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

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t protest.

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

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

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

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

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost five thirty.”

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

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

You nod. “Sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

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

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

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

You smile. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot her a look. “What?”

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

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

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

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

“You were friends with my dad?”

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

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

You smack her arm and she giggles.

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

“I don’t. Not ever.”

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

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

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He finds a way to try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never better. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything has changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

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

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

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

“All of it?” he repeats.

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

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

“You came back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

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

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it never does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” he asks.

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

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

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

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

And you believe him.

#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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carriesthewind · 11 months

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Good evening everyone! As I said in an answer to a previous ask, there wasn't a public call-in line to listen to the Show Cause Hearing in Mata v Avianca (the ChatGBT lawyer case) today.

However, while we are waiting for a transcript of the hearing (because there was a court reporter! yay!) and a written decision by the judge, we did get this absolutely anxiety-inducing live tweet of the hearing:

(Caveat: this thread was not an official transcript of the hearing and should not be taken as such. It is possible the actual events and statements made in the hearing differ significantly from this report - i.e., take this with a grain of salt and reserve final judgement for the actual transcript.)

I'll put the full thread with some (light) commentary below the cut.* But the overall impression I am left with is that the judge seems to feel this pair of attorneys are treating their duty of candor toward the tribunal with the same seriousness with which they are treating their duty of competence to their clients. (And in this case, that's a very bad thing.)

*The full thread except for a soon-to-follow part 2 because I ran out of space for images again.

(All of the following screenshots are from the above tweet thread by Inner City Press @ innercitypress on twitter, made on June 8, 2023.)

Normally I would overlook that "you, personally," but in this case, you really get the feeling that the judge is concerned that LoDuca might just start talking about what Schwartz did again.

Establishing LoDuca's base of knowledge - he should know how to look up cases and check if they are real; he should know what a real case looks like.

The March 1 submission was the plaintiff's opposition to the motion to dismiss, where they first cited the fake cases.

How bad this answer is depends, I think, on LoDuca's wording here. Best case scenario, his statement about Schwartz was a specific statement about what inquiry was reasonable for him to do under the circumstances (which - for that first filing - I think is actually a reasonable argument. You don't expect your colleague to just make up cases). Worst case, this reads like him trying to wiggle out of his obligations. I will withhold judgement until I see the official transcript.

Rule 11, by the way, refers to Rule 11 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Rule 11(b) states:

(If you remember the Order to Show Cause, we are dealing with a Rule 11(b)(2) issue here. Rule 11(c) allows the court to impose sanctions for violations of Rule 11(b))

Oh no, bad answer. (If anyone reading this is good at photoshop, I cannot express how badly I want a version of the "this sign can't stop me because I can't read" meme with the sign being the quote from defendant's reply where they say, "The undersigned has not been able to locate this case by caption or citation, nor any case bearing any resemblance to it.")

Oh that is not a good way of characterizing those orders. (Those were the orders, remember, where the Court said, "By April 18, 2022, Peter LoDuca, counsel of record for plaintiff, shall file an affidavit annexing copies of the following cases cited in his submission to this Court: as set forth herein. Failure to comply will result in dismissal of the action pursuant to Rule 41 (b), Fed. R. Civ. P.")

I would simply perish on the spot.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention in my original attempted summary of "Varghese" - the first paragraph states that it is a wrongful death suit by the widow of the passenger. Then the second paragraph states that the passenger was denied boarding on a flight due to overbooking and thus missed his connecting flight and therefore incurred additional expenses. The case was such nonsense that I legitimately forgot about that inconsistency by the time I got to the end.

Your honor I plead "2 stupid 2 sanction."

(I believe the "different fonts" is in reference to the April 25 affidavit, in which the case names - and some of the surrounding text - are in a different font from most of the text in the affidavit. It seems like this is because they may have been copied straight from ChatGPT. See e.g., #3 below. It's hard to tell just based on this twitter thread, though.)

A short and simple answer! You did it!

"I have all the answers I need" is not a good sentence in this context.

Very genuinely: shorter is better here. At least I don't think he hurt himself with that statement.

Judge Castel: How do you conduct legal research?

Schwartz: I research cases.

Judge Castel: Do you read them?

Schwartz: Well, I may have once upon a time, but after hearing you ask that question in this context, I have decided to retire from the practice of law forever and also possibly sink into the ground and die. Also, by answering "yes," here, I just realized that I'm either admitting that I read the cases I submitted and therefore must have known they were fake, or else I just possibly committed perjury. Oh shit oh fuck.

Oh god I'm cringing myself into a pretzel just reading this.

Hey, by the way? You can actually use google (esp. google scholar) to do legal research. (It's not a good tool and you will miss things, but it will do in a pinch.) But. Um. If you know that...why didn't you double check your cases at very least on google when you were told they seemed to be made up?

So, once again, I am going to withhold judgement until I see the actual transcript. That said, if Schwartz did say this, I would like to compare it briefly to a part of the chat transcript he provided to the court. Here is the first question asked about the Montreal Convention in the provided transcript:

"analysis"

Oh god. I can't even provide commentary on this one. I hope this is worse than the actual transcript will prove to be. I'm reading through my fingers like I'm watching a horror movie.

"Misperception" (or "misconception") doesn't work once you have evidence that should cause you to doubt - like not being able to find a case that was supposedly published in the Federal fucking Reporter.

This is overshooting "2 stupid 2 sanction" into "too stupid to function."* You either looked for "Varghese" or you didn't. If you looked for "Varghese," it is not credible that you continued to have a good faith assumption that ChatGPT couldn't lie. If you didn't look up "Varghese," you just lied to the Court under oath.

*Just to be clear: for an ordinary person, this would be a very understandable lack of knowledge issue. A lawyer has no excuse not to know this.

Judge Castel: Mr. Schwartz, I think you have the fucking audacity to try to lie to me to my face in my fucking courtroom.

Honestly at this point I'm surprised he could still talk. I think screaming, "I'm melting, I'm melting!" as he vanished into steam, leaving his crumpled suit behind, would be an appropriate response.

NO.

Oh no, oh honey.

Ok. Two options here (again, assuming he actually fucking said "They said they couldn't find them," in response to the Court asking, "When Avianca said you cited non existent cases?"):

Schwartz is once again trying to purposefully downplay what the defendant's reply brief actually said and dodge responsibility.

Schwartz honestly, truly believes that when the defendant filed a reply containing the line, "The undersigned has not been able to locate this case by caption or citation, nor any case bearing any resemblance to it," they were just asking for assistance with their legal research?!??!

I honestly don't know which is worse.

Oh no....

Oh man, I haven't gone over it here yet, but I think that "I looked up the judge" is a panicked attempt at bringing up a talking point the Professional Responsibility Lawyers raised in their memorandum of law. (Again, I'm giving this reading of his response with the caveat that it is based only on this thread, not the official transcript, which might read very differently and contain different/more info.) The Professional Responsibility attorneys noted in a footnote that two of the judges listed in the "opinion," including the "author," were actual 11th circuit judges, and the other is an actual 5th circuit judge. My read of this footnote was as an extra little detail tossed in by the Professional Responsibility attorneys to try to dress up their argument that the "opinions" had various "indicia of authenticity."

But here's the problem. If Schwartz is telling the truth - if he was reading carefully and critically enough that he bothered to look up the judge (why would you do that if you didn't think the case might be fake?!) there is no way he could have missed that the case was gibberish. Again, if this is really what he said at the hearing, he either lied in the hearing, or he must have know the "opinions" were bogus when he gave them to LoDuca to file.

"Did it cross your mind" - if the court actually said this, oh my god.

Hey, that's the point that I made in my original post(s)!

This whole thing about the "+h" to "th" with the notary date is from the recent affidavits filed on 6/6/23, you can read them about them if you want, I'll be honest, I don't really care as much about the notary stuff so I'm going to skip it for the moment.

....and I've run out of space for images again. Part II to follow shortly!

#ai bs #2 Stupid 2 Sanction

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suuuupernovaaa · 1 year

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tìsraw seyki

tìsraw seyki [tɪ.ˈsɾaw sɛj.ˈk·i] vtr. hurt (someone or something)

Anonymous Request: I was wondering if you could do a fic with reader and Neteyam having an argument with Neteyam calling the reader clingy? She’s known for being quiet and reserved and was shy at the start of their relationship, and it took a while for her to open up, so it hits her pretty hard. They make up and stuff but reader keeps her distance bcos she took his comment seriously, and Neteyam isn’t aware of how much his words hurt her.

1,560 words

I dismounted 'Rrta, my Iran, and gave her a loving hug before ensuring the saddle was tight and bidding her a farewell for now.

My riding partner, Neteyam, was already walking away when I turned to join him.

"Wait up," I called, scaling rocks to reach him. I reached out, grabbing his shoulder, but for the first time since I'd known him, Neteyam shrugged off my hand.

I stopped in my tracks, and felt my body tense all over.

"Neteyam?" I asked.

"I need a little space, Y/N. Stop clinging to me. I'll see you later."

He didn't even do me the courtesy of turning around when he said it. He simply stalked away, down the mountain and into the forest, leaving me there alone.

I waited for a long time before moving, to ensure I wouldn't catch up with him, and all the while I wondered what I could have possibly done wrong.

Stop clinging to me.

Was that something I was doing? Neteyam and I spent a lot of our time together, that was to be sure... but I thought he enjoyed spending time with me. In fact, he had taken great pains to ensure I thought that. I was naturally pretty reserved, and not very trusting, and Neteyam had worked hard over months and months to convince me his feelings were genuine, to show me how much he cared for me.

So why this change now? What had changed his mind about me? Had he just gotten to know me better and realized I was annoying, clingy, and not fun to be around?

He could have at least told me that.

It was nearly dark when I returned home, and tucked myself in my hammock to cry myself to sleep.

Neteyam found me the next morning, setting out for a hunt, by myself.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I raised my brow at him. "Hunt. See you later."

Turning, I strapped my bow over my chest, and made to take off, but Neteyam grabbed my arm.

"I'm sorry, about yesterday. I was annoyed at Lo'ak and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have done that."

He seemed genuine, and he looked sorry... so I nodded. "It's okay. I'll see you later."

His apology was not enough to cover the damage that his words the day before had done. I didn't believe him - if he was annoyed at Lo'ak, there was no need to ask me for space or call me clingy. It felt like an excuse, and I wasn't ready to dig deeper and hear the real reason he'd said it.

So, I turned and ran, and he didn't follow.

"She's just been... weird," Neteyam said to his sister, Kiri, a few days later. The two were walking together, back from a long ride, and Neteyam was concerned.

Ever since their fight, which Neteyam had thought was so small, Y/N had been distant with him. She had accepted his apology, but he'd hardly seen her since, and when he had, something had seemed so strange about her.

She barely touched him. Her smile didn't meet her eyes. She just seemed... really sad.

"Has she said anything to you?"

Kiri shook her head. "Didn't you say you had a fight?"

"Yeah, but, I thought we got past it." Neteyam pushed a large leaf out of his way, and held it for his sister. "I said I was sorry, and she said it was okay."

"What was the fight?" Kiri asked.

"Well, you remember that day that Lo'ak was a huge pain in the ass?"

Kiri rolled her eyes. "Every day."

Neteyam laughed. "Right but, it was particularly bad, and I got my ass chewed for it. And then Y/N wanted to go on a ride but, I just wasn't in the mood. She insisted though, because we hadn't seen each other all day. So I went but, afterwards, I told her I wanted to be alone."

Kiri pursed her lips as they walked through the muggy jungle. "Is that all you said?"

"I said she had been clinging to me."

Kiri stopped in her tracks. "You did not."

"What? Was that bad?"

Kiri put her face in her hands and sighed. "Neteyam, you moron. Do you really not see what the problem is?"

Arms outstretched, Neteyam shook his head. "No!"

"You moron!" Kiri repeated. "Y/N is so shy, and so quiet, and it took you so long to get her to open up to you! You complained for months about how she probably didn't like you because she was so nervous and shy, and I told you so many times she was just having a hard time trusting you. And you finally get her to trust you, and you do this? You make her think that you think she's annoying?"

Neteyam's mouth full open and he leaned back, the realization washing over him. "Shit."

"So she probably thinks you don't like her anymore, and she's so hurt she can't even be around you. And you're here complaining to me about it instead of groveling at her feet! Do you love her or not?"

Neteyam felt like a hand was squeezing his heart. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Y/N, and he couldn't believe how stupid and careless his words had been. He didn't think she was clingy, he had just lashed out in frustration after a really bad day, instead of letting her be there for him.

He had shown her what a bad made he would be. He had disappointed her, and himself.

He took off without another word, running as fast as he could to find his woman.

It had been such a hot day, a swim in a cool spring was exactly what I needed. I scrubbed myself from head to toe, undoing my braids and scrubbing my scalp, until I felt fresh and brand new.

I lay in the water now, only my face above the surface, so I didn't hear him at first when he approached.

He was entering the water when I opened my eyes and saw him. A few days ago, I would have felt nothing but excitement upon seeing Neteyam - now, I felt dread. Would this be the time he would tell me he was no longer interested?

I'd been avoiding him for this very reason. I wasn't ready for it to end.

"Neteyam," I said, sitting up so the water came almost to my shoulders, and pulled my knees to my chest.

"Y/N! I have been searching for hours. We need to talk."

I bit my lip and turned away, trying to force the tears from spilling over. "Okay."

Neteyam knelt in front of me. "I owe you an apology, Y/N. I can't... I can't believe how careless I was with my words, and I can't believe I didn't realize how much I'd hurt you until today. I've been wondering why you've been distant but, I didn't even think..." He shook his head, and reached under the water, grabbing my hands. "I should have thought before I spoke. Y/N, I don't think you cling to me... well, you do, but it's something that I like. These past few days without you have been the worst of my life. I'd rather be tortured. I was in a bad mood, and it wasn't your fault, but I took it out on you. I know I destroyed the trust we worked so hard together to build up. I'm willing to do all that work again, to show you how much I love you."

I had failed - the tears had spilled over, but they weren't born of sadness. I leaned forward and got up onto my knees, so that I was more level with Neteyam, and pressed my head into his chest.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him, creating a ripple of waves around us.

The relief I felt was overwhelming. Going from being so sure I was going to lose the best thing in my life to even more sure I was going to get to keep it, it was like whiplash.

I cried and Neteyam held me tightly while I did, whispering reassurances in my ear all the while.

Eventually, we stood up and got out of the water, and Neteyam helped me get dressed.

"Neteyam," I said as he fastened my beaded necklace, "I forgive you. And I'm sorry, too. I should have told you what was bothering me, but I was so scared that you had changed your mind, I was just, um, avoiding you so you couldn't break up with me."

Neteyam shook his head violently. "Bah! Never." He took my face gently into his hands, bringing it closely to his. "You are to be my mate, Y/N. I will never leave you. You can always trust me, and you can always tell me when I've hurt you. Apparently, I'm too dumb to figure it out alone."

I smiled. "Kiri had to tell you?"

He laughed. "She did."

He kissed me then, holding me tight. It seemed we both owed Kiri a thank you. I knew it wasn't the first time she had talked sense into one of her brothers, nor would it be the last.

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar the way of water

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stop-talking · 2 months

Text

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 1)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.5k words

Tags: 18+, mike x reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, so much angst, flashing mike, fluff, spending time with Abby (because everyone always forgets her??)

Part 2

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Mike holds his breath as the phone rings. He's already gone down the mental checklist of people who he could possibly call for help right now, and is currently scraping the bottom of the goddamn barrel.

*click* "Hello?"

He speaks hurriedly into the dingy landline phone, praying you won't immediately dismiss him.

"Hey, it's Mike. Please don't hang up."

You're tempted to hang up on him then and there, just to prove a point. You guys broke up nearly a year ago, and hadn't spoken in... what, six months now? But the tone in his voice... he sounded desperate.

"What, drunk and lonely again?" You scoff, unable to resist taking a jab at him. You two hadn't exactly ended things on good terms, his lack-of-sleep induced grumpiness and general unpleasant disposition making it hard for him to take criticism without it turning into an argument. It wasn't your fault he never made time for you. It wasn't your fault he was so emotionally unavailable.

"No." He grits his teeth, already regretting calling you. "I need a favor. Please." He chokes the word out, his stomach in knots from having to resort to this.

You pause for a few moments, chewing on his words. It must really be serious if he'd called you, after all the things you'd said to him last time you spoke.

"Well... lets hear it, then."

"I need you to watch Abby tonight. My usual babysitter isn't answering the damn phone, and I have to leave for work in an hour. I can't leave Abby home alone. I just can't."

In an hour? You glance at the clock, it's already 8:30. What ungodly hours is he working?

"I thought you didn't work nights? I swear to god, Schmidt, if you're making me watch her so you can go get laid-"

"No. Nothing like that. I swear." He sighs, sounding genuinely exhausted. "I'm working as a security guard these days. Night gig. Long story. It sucks ass, but I need this job. Can you watch Abby? I'll owe you one."

You bite back the urge to scoff at him. He's not even going to pay you? Figures. Oh well. Holding a favor over his head might be fun.

"Ugh. Fine. I'll see. What time will you get back? I have work in the morning."

"6:15. Maybe 6:10, if I drive like a maniac."

"Shit. I'll have to get ready for work at your place. If I go home first I'll be late."

"Yeah, sure. Anything. Just please stay with Abby. She goes to sleep at 10, you can crash on the couch. I just want someone in the house with her."

You let out an audible sigh. Are you seriously going to go crash on your shitty ex-boyfriend's shitty couch on a work night?

...Yeah, yeah you are.

"Damn it, Mike. You'd better kiss my fucking feet when I get there."

Mike almost laughs at that. Almost.

"Sure thing, Princess." He cant help but taunt you a bit, using an old pet name he used to call you way back when you were dating. It probably wasn't the best decision to irritate the last person he could rely on, but he wasn't in the right headspace to make good decisions right now. These days, he mostly runs off of coffee and self-hatred.

"I'll be there in 30. You'd better be on your knees and groveling when you open the door." You slam the phone down before he can answer. Michael fucking Schmidt. Still the same jackass you broke up with all those months ago.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike opens the door to greet you almost exactly 30 minutes later, he reluctantly drops to his knees. He'd hoped you'd forgotten the silly request, but the unamused look you gave him said otherwise.

"Fucking witch." He grumbles, hanging his head as you brush past him into the house. Were you wearing... pajama pants? He stares at you as you set down your things, a purse and what looks like an overnight bag of some sort.

"Stop gaping. And stand up. You look pathetic." You shrug off your coat, revealing an old t-shirt underneath. Yeah, you were in pajamas, so what? Its late. And you couldn't be bothered to put in extra effort for Mike, of all people.

"Excuse me for doing as her majesty commands." He groans and stands up, brushing himself off. As if that'll make him look any more presentable.

Abby tentatively pokes her head out of her room, watching you and Mike argue. Shit. Did she hear all that?

"Hey Abbs." You wave to her, deciding to ignore Mike's comment. "It's gonna be just me and you tonight, sound good?"

She looks to Mike for approval, who nods and gives her a tired smile. The only kind of smile he's been able to muster lately.

"...Will you play with me?"

"Yeah, 'course I will. Let me have a chat with your brother real quick." She seems to accept that answer, closing herself back off in her room. You sigh and follow Mike into the kitchen.

"There's leftovers in the fridge, and a lasagna in the freezer. Probably have something edible in the pantry. I think there's popcorn." He explains, pointing out a few different measly options for a quick meal. "Look, she probably won't, but just try and get her to eat dinner."

You watch him lean back against the counter and rub at his temples. God damn, he looks... exhausted. His hair has grown out a bit since you last saw him, dark brown curls hanging low over his forehead. His eye bags seem to hang even lower.

"Yeah... I'll try and get her to eat."

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as you both run out of things to talk about, so he fills the void with an insult.

"You really had to come over in that?" Mike scoffs and gestures at your frumpy t-shirt and pajama pants.

"What? Were you hoping for something slutty?" You cross your arms and give him a smug look.

He turns his head, unsure what to say to that. Maybe part of him did hope to see you dressed in something a little more revealing. Or maybe just undressed. God damn it, was he blushing?

"Fuck you." He mutters, making his way to the entryway and slipping his shoes on.

"No thanks. Been there, done that." You respond dismissively, watching him leave with a smirk.

Mike slams the door on his way out. Not hard enough to startle Abby, hopefully, but hard enough to make a point he's not in the mood to play your little games. Still, the whole drive to work, he can't help but wonder what if...? What if you had never broken up with him? What if he had been a better boyfriend? A better provider for you and Abby? A better man?

"I fucking hate her." He grumbles, but the words are hollow.

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"Mike told me you stopped coming over because he found out you're a witch and you curse children. Is that true?" Abby finally musters up the courage to ask the question that's been on her mind ever since you walked through the door.

"Did he say that?" You chuckle, a little shocked that this is what she chose to ask after ten minutes or so of silently coloring together.

"Yeah. He said you cursed him, too. And that's why he can't color anymore. He'll explode, or something." She babbles, not looking up from her paper.

"Hmm... well, if you're really worried about your brother, I'll cut you a deal." You do your best to keep the anger from your tone as you continue to color beside her at the table. That asshole doesn't color with Abby anymore?

"...What kind of deal?"

"I'll lift the curse on your brother so he can color and draw again... but you have to eat dinner. Ten whole bites."

Abby seems to consider this for a moment, turning and eyeing you suspiciously. Mike likes to mess with her like this. Were you messing with her too? Probably. But, well, if it would make Mike spend time with her again...

"Fine. What do we have?"

You smile at her. This babysitting stuff is a breeze.

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When Mike stumbles in the door the next morning, he spots you fast asleep on the couch. He flops down in the recliner and just watches you sleep for a minute or two. You look so pretty when you're asleep. Serene. Peaceful. Not at all like when you're awake, giving him that attitude he's so familiar with. He sighs and makes his way over to the couch, knowing he should probably wake you for work.

"Uhh... wakey wakey?" He mumbles lamely, unsure what to really say. Definitely not good morning, beautiful. He scoffs to himself at the thought.

"Mmm... Mike?" You blink up at the man gently shaking your shoulder, your eyes adjusting to the morning light.

"Yeah. Who else would it be?" He shakes his head in amusement and goes back to sit in the recliner.

"I dunno. A hookup?" You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, then stretch out.

"A hookup? Still being passed around, then?" He responds with a scoff, trying to hide just how much that answer bothers him. Even after nearly a year of being broken up, he doesn't like to imagine you with other men. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even if he's not into you anymore. Actually, you don't look half-bad right now, stretching your arms over your head like that...

"Can you blame a girl? Had to make up for all the unsatisfying nights with you."

Mike reeled at that little quip. The smug look on your face, god... He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to shut you up with a kiss or a punch.

"Just fucking go home." Nice one, Mike. That'll show her.

"Hey, you agreed I could get ready here. I'm gonna go use your shower, and then I have something to talk to you about."

Something to talk to him about? He scowls as you walk off towards his bedroom. Why couldn't you just leave him alone? Why did everything have to be so complicated? He groans and goes to lie down in bed. Maybe he could get in a quick nap while you shower. Maybe.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You emerge from the dingy bathroom connected to Mike's bedroom fifteen minutes or so later, steam trailing in behind you.

"Three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash? Seriously, Schmidt?" You scold him, crossing your arms as you stand before his bed wearing nothing but a towel. At first, he seems annoyed when you pull him out of his brooding, but when he takes in your current state of undress, he sputters.

"S-so? Its economical." He scoffs, irritated, but unable to look away as you make your way around his bed and out the door.

You return a minute later carrying your overnight bag. "Forgot my clothes." Mike just nods, still unable to tear his eyes from you.

"Stop staring."

"Stop waltzing through my room naked."

"This isn't naked." You gesture to the towel wrapped around your body, drawing his attention back to you.

"This is naked."

Mike watches in complete shock as you let the towel fall to the floor, completely baring yourself to him for a few moments before finally locking yourself in his bathroom. You hear him mutter a few curses on the other side of the door, and smile as you get changed.

"Was that really necessary?" Mike scowls at you when you emerge from his bathroom a few minutes later, now fully dressed.

"Calm down, Mikey. Not like you haven't seen it all before." The old nickname you used to call him by doesn't sound endearing anymore. It sounds taunting. Mike looks like he cant decide between kicking you out of the house or pulling you into his bed. Good to know you can still get under his skin. And maybe his bedsheets, if you wanted.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" He finally asks, sighing in defeat.

"C'mon. I'll tell you."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Mike sits in the recliner, watching you set up a bunch of unnecessary crap on his coffee table. Did you really have to do your makeup right in front of him?

"A witch, Mike? Seriously? You told her I'm a witch, and then left her alone with me for the night?"

Mike swallows. Shit. He honestly forgot about that, it was just some lame excuse he came up with right after the breakup back when he was still distraught.

"Am I wrong?" He tries to brush it off with a sassy comment, but folds when he sees your intense glare.

"I mean... uh... I'll tell her you're... not a witch..." Real smooth, Schmidt. Mumble and stare at the floor.

"It's not even about that, really. Feed her all the lies you want. What I'm upset about is that she told me you don't color with her anymore."

Mike finally meets your eyes as you apply yet another random powder he doesn't understand the purpose of to your cheeks with the swipe of a brush.

"I'm busy. And it's none of your business. I asked you to come be her babysitter, not her mom." He snarls, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm not trying to be. It just breaks my heart to hear that stuff from her, Mike. I told her I'd lift the 'curse' off of you if she ate her dinner, and she did. So consider yourself un-cursed."

Mike grits his teeth as you put air quotes around the word "curse". He knew you were right, and that bothered him more than the fact he was being a shitty brother. The worst part was, you weren't even being snarky, you just sounded genuinely concerned for Abby. God damn it.

"...Yeah. Fine. Un-cursed. Got it." He grumbles in agreement as you finish up your makeup and swipe the assortment of products into your purse.

"How do I look?"

He wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, that he missed having you around, attitude or not. But in this moment, he couldn't do it. He was too tired. Too angry.

"Like a whore."

"Someone's jealous he doesn't get any."

"Like I'd want you."

"Oh yeah, the raging boner you had earlier when you saw me in a towel was because you don't want me. Totally."

Oh, now you're just taunting him.

"I'll have you know that didn't happen till after you lost the towel." Mike scoffs as he follows you to the entryway, unlocking the door for you while you slip on your shoes.

"Don't lie to me, Mikey."

"I'd never dream of it, Princess."

Mike has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms as you leave for work. Maybe if you didn't look so goddamn smug, he would. Instead he just shuts the door and locks it, hating himself for how much he enjoyed this whole interaction.

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will probably write a part 2 (with smut??)

edit: here is part 2

(no smut. part 3 tho...??)

idk this was my first fanfic ever so enjoy

#josh hutcherson #mikeschmidt #mike schmidt #fnaf movie #fnafmovie #mike schmidt fluff #josh hutcherson x reader #jhutch #mike x reader #no use of y/n #fnaf fic

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