#i really need to update my masterlist... (￣^￣)

[aervera]

Built To Break

synopsis. after nearly losing you on the battlefield, gojo struggles with what was left unsaid— contents. angst to fluff. mentions of blood and injury, mentions of dying.

MASTERLIST

the static in your ears hasn’t settled, not even after they carried you back.

your body is numb in parts that should never be, stitched clumsily by shoko while she muttered curses under her breath. the battlefield is long gone—left somewhere behind smoke and rubble and the sound of your own screams—but the chill of it remains, settling in your bones.

you don’t know how long you’ve been awake, only that the lights are too bright and the silence is too loud.

the door opens without a knock. of course it does.

gojo steps inside, fingers twitching by his sides, that usual cocky tilt to his mouth absent for once.

he sees you.

you see him.

he’s not wearing his blindfold. you wish he were. his eyes—ice-blue, frantic, storming—feel like too much all at once.

you try to sit up. “gojo—”

“don’t.”

he’s at your side in two long strides. you flinch when he reaches for you—he notices, freezes.

you’re quick to shake your head. “no, it’s not— i just… my ribs. still tender.”

he swallows visibly, his fingers curling inward, stopping just short of your hospital blanket. like touching you might make you vanish.

“you almost died, y/n.”

you laugh dryly, wincing at your own voice. “thanks for the update, doctor gojo.”

“don’t joke.” his voice cracks. “don’t ever joke about that again.”

you look at him. really look.

there’s blood on his collar. dried. not yours.

you whisper, “i didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“you think i haven’t seen worse?”

you avoid his gaze. “it’s different when it’s me.”

he doesn’t respond to that—not at first.

you shift slightly, grimacing at the twinge in your abdomen, and that’s when you notice how tightly his hands are clenched.

knuckles white.

breath shallow.

a slow, simmering anger behind his silence.

“y/n,” he starts, and you’ve heard him serious before—during missions, during death announcements, during curses that never should’ve existed—but this is different.

this is personal.

“why didn’t you say h-how bad it was?”

your throat dries up.

you blink at him, lips parting, but no words come.

he scoffs quietly, but it’s more of a broken exhale than a laugh. “you were bleeding out. you—god, you collapsed after that last technique and didn’t even let anyone get close to you until it was too late.”

“i didn’t want to be a burden—”

“don’t you dare.” his voice cuts sharp. “don’t you ever call yourself a burden.”

you’re stunned into silence.

gojo paces, runs a hand through his snow-white hair, stops just by the window like he needs space or air or both. then, like gravity’s too much, he drops into the chair beside you. elbows on knees. head in hands.

“…you always push through the pain,” he says after a long beat. “you always smile like it doesn’t hurt. like you’ve got something to prove.”

“i do,” you whisper.

his gaze flicks up. “to who?”

your lip trembles, and you hate that he sees it. “everyone.”

“you don’t need to prove anything to me,” he murmurs. “i already know how strong you are. you could rip my heart out, y/n.”

you laugh softly, then wince again.

gojo leans forward. “i mean it. you didn’t have to almost die to show me how brave you are. i already know.”

your eyes sting.

the tears that come feel foreign, like your body’s finally realizing it survived something it shouldn’t have.

“…i was scared,” you admit.

gojo moves instantly—kneels by your bedside, his large hand cupping your cheek with a reverence that nearly undoes you.

“you should’ve told me that too.”

“i didn’t want you to worry.”

“i always worry.”

you glance down at his hand. his thumb is rubbing soft circles into your cheek now, like muscle memory.

“you know,” he says, trying to smile, “if you die, i’ll have to kill you.”

you giggle wetly. “that makes no sense.”

“i don’t care.” he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “so next time, let me carry you before you break. let me worry in advance. let me be there, y/n.”

“you already are.”

“but not enough,” he says, and the pain in his voice makes your chest twist. “not if you’re still hiding how much it hurts.”

you reach up, fingers curling into his soft hair. “i didn’t think you’d handle seeing me weak.”

“y/n,” he whispers, “you’re not weak. you’ve never been.”

there’s a beat of silence, the kind that says everything words can’t.

then he murmurs, almost shyly, “when i thought i lost you—i… i lost my damn mind.”

you tilt your head. “gojo—”

“i’m not good at this.” he exhales shakily. “but i love you, and i need you to stop acting like that’s something that’ll weigh you down. you can lean on me. please.”

you feel the last of your resolve melt into his warmth.

you smile through your tears.

“…you’ll still love me even if i look like shit?”

he snorts. “y/n, you look like a raccoon who fought a blender. i still want to kiss you stupid.”

you laugh again, louder this time.

then softer, sincerely: “i love you too, gojo.”

his grin returns, faint but real, like the sun rising through stormclouds.

“yeah?” he says.

“yeah.”

“cool. now scoot over so i can lie beside you and make a big deal about your stitches.”

“you’ll hurt me.”

“i’ll hurt with you,” he corrects, easing into the space beside you like he belongs there. and he does.

you lean into his warmth, feeling—for the first time in what feels like forever—safe.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Music flows from unseen speakers. The boat rocks slightly as Nick makes his way back. You crane to see him as you lay on the beach blanket, the sun beaming down on the lazy stir of the waters. 

He lowers himself next to you and sighs. He bends his arms behind his head. You can’t help but notice how the muscles bulge, not just his biceps but his chest. He’s so perfect. 

He slowly turns his head to look at you. You wince and give a sheepish smile. He shifts onto his side, keeping himself propped up on one elbow and tickles along your side. 

“Come here,” he moves closer, his hand crawling along your stomach. “You look so good, baby, you know that?” 

“I... do? I mean—You do too.” You flutter your lashes as you stare at him. “Sorry, I...” you giggle and it sends a flurry through your guts. “I’m sorry, I—I—don’t know what to do.” 

You cover your face, mortified at the confession. He grabs your left hand and gently moves it away. You drop your other and stare up at the sky, just below the glare of the sun. He guides your hand to his chest. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” he drawls. “You just chill. Be you.” 

He pets your cheek with his knuckles. He leans in even closer. You lock up as your eyes meet his. They are even bluer than the sky. You gulp and he tickles down your throat. 

“Princess,” his lips brush yours. “I need you so bad.” 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Can I have you? Pretty please?” He begs. 

“Ummm...” 

“All of you? Please. It hurts, baby. You don’t want me to hurt, do you?” He rubs his thumb along the front of your throat, his breath fluttering over you. 

Your heartbeat pounds like thunder. You press your fingertips into his chest and nod. Your tongue sticks the roof of your mouth and you cough out your answer. “Y-yes.” 

“Yeah? You want me too?” He rubs his nose against yours. “Tell me you do.” 

“I... I want you,” you pet his chest. “Nick, really, I do.” 

“Mm, I’ve dreamt of you saying that.” He growls and slides his hand up to the side of your head.  

His thumb and index form a vee around your ear as he cradles your skull. He tilts your head and kisses you. He plunges his tongue past your lips and groans as you close your eyes. Your heart races as the noise of the slapping waters and the music fade to a drone. 

The world zeroes in on you. Your skin is on fire, your blood is ice cold, and your nerves vibrate. You slip your hand up around his shoulder and moan into his mouth. You’ve never felt anything like this. You can feel everything so much. 

He turns his body as he smothers you. He slides his arm under your head as he turns his chest parallel to yours. His fingertips massage your scalps as he drinks you in. 

His pushes his pelvis against you, rocking slightly. He hooks a leg around yours and pulls it away from your other. He trails his hand down your neck and tickles along your chest. He gropes you as you feel along his neck, the tendons taut with his hunger. 

He lifts himself and plants his knees between your legs. He holds himself just above you as his lips slip away from yours. He kisses your cheek and jaw, pecking along your neck as you squirm. His breath sends shivers over you as he descends. 

He traces your collarbone with kisses and buries his face in your cleavage. He kneads you through the fabric and teethes at your skin. You moan as a whirlwind swirls behind your rib cage. You can hardly breathe. 

He nuzzles you as he follows the strap of the bikini behind your neck. He tugs until the ribbon slackens. You gasp and try to catch the top before it falls away. You cover your self as he licks the curve of your tit. 

“Princess,” he rasps and you look down at him. His eyes blaze up at you. “You said I could...” 

“I... yes,” your arms are stuck for a moment. They won’t obey. Finally, you peel your hands away. He purrs and dives back in. 

He flicks his tongue around your nipple and you squeal. The sensation tangles in your core. You heave and arch your back. 

You catch the back of his head and urge him on. Your fingers twine into the thick strands of his hair. You look down at him, lifting your head higher to see him, the silver threads in woven through shining in the sun. There's a flicker of doubt though it fades into the flames of his touch. 

He nibbles on your pebbled bud before he parts and tends to the other. You moan and drop your head down. You bend one leg as your cunt clenches needily. He laps and licks and nips as you melt into the blanket. 

He fondles your other tit as he drags his mouth lower. He leaves a smear of saliva along your stomach, teasing you as he wanders back and forth, nibbling at those places that make you twitch or whine. 

He traces the edge of your bottoms with his nose then tugs with his teeth. You gasp and wriggle as he snarls. He pushes the tails of the coverup away from your thighs and loops his thumbs in the ties along the side of the suit. You quiver and reach to stop him as a glimmer of doubt fogs your eyes. 

“Nick...” 

He hushes you as he pulls until the knots loosen. 

“Nick, please... I’m... scared,” you puff out. 

“Baby,” he slowly drags the suit down. Your hands shoot down to cover your pelvis. He tuts and catches them, pulling them away. “Why you scared? Huh? I’m not hurting you.” 

“I... I...” you stammer. 

You shiver even as the sun beats down and speckles your flesh with sweat. Even as you feel flames consuming you from within. Even as his warmth floods into you. 

“Hush, baby, I got you.” 

He pushes himself back and gets on his stomach. He frames your pelvis with his hands, his thumbs petting the short tuft of hair along your vee. He hums and bows his head, inhaling your scent and exhaling it back on you. His breath dampens the wiry curls. 

He buries his nose into you, rolling his head, and tilts back as his tongue swipes along your lips. You gape down at him as his eyes flick up to meet yours. He purrs as he delves deeper, his cool tongue gliding between your hot folds. 

You bite your lip and drop your head down as you moan. The melding of hot and cold flows through you, unfurling from your core. You twitch and dig your nails into the blanket beneath you. 

He spreads his tongue wide and drags it up your cunt, tasting you with a hum. The rumble that rises from his chest stokes the swelter inside you. You arch your back deeper, pushing into his mouth and push your heels down into the floor. 

His mouth laps loudly as he groans and growls rise from him. He feels around blindly and takes your hand. He puts his on his head. Instinctively, you urge him on, clutching him as you rock your hips. 

His tongue flicks around your clit and he teases lightly with his teeth. He seals his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. You cry out and spasm. You heave and thrust your chest out, your body contorting like an ocean tide. 

You yank on his hair as he tends to you. His hand crawls up your thigh, his other slipping beneath your bottom as he gropes you. He tickles your leg up to the crease of your cunt. 

He moves his head in tandem with his tongue. He eats you up as he pokes along your entrance. He rubs you as the slickness glosses over his finger. He grunts as his finger dips into you, as if surprised by how easy it is. 

He pushes in, just the tip, then draws back out. He smears around your juices then delves back in. A little deeper. He pulls in and out, further with each plunge. You quake and clasp onto his head with both hands. 

His tongue circles your clit as the pressure pulses in that one spot. He curls his finger inside of you, rocking his hand slightly as the weight thrums. You gulp and gasp, fighting to catch your breath.  

You tear your hands from his head and slap your palms on the floor. You lift your head and shoulders and squeal as the tension bursts and spills from your core. He keeps going, guiding you through your orgasm as you writhe and whimper. 

You fall back down, panting, legs quivering, heart thumping. He turns his head back and forth, rubbing his beard against you as he hums. He drags his chin along your folds and slowly raises himself up to look at you. The dark hair along his jaw glistens with you. 

“Mm, princess, you’re so sweet,” he growls and licks his lips. 

He looks down, his finger still inside you. He pulls it out and flicks it between your folds. He trails back to your entrance and presses another fingertip there. He wiggles two fingers into you. You groan and reach weakly to stop him, barely grazing his forearm. 

“Please,” you murmur. 

He pushes in to his knuckles. You bend your legs as he kneels between them, watching his hand as he wiggles his fingers inside you. He turns his hand and puts his thumb to your clit. You squeak. 

He tilts his hand steadily, falling into a rhythm. He squeezes so the heat twists between his fingertips. He bends over you, hand still moving, and he kisses you. You can smell and taste yourself on his lip. You shudder and run your hands along his shoulders and down his arm. You squeeze his bicep and moan into him. 

Your walls clench him as you cum again. You nearly bite his tongue as the waves crash down and consume you. Your turn your head and he presses his lips to your cheek. He chuckles as he feels you clinging to his fingers. 

“Baby, you’re doing so good,” he slithers. “Huh, that feel good?” 

“Yessss,” you drone as your lashes flutter. 

“Mmm, good girl,” he kisses you before he sits up again. 

He slides his fingers out of you and wipes your juices down your leg. You lay weak and quivering, the coverup is wide open around your naked body, the bikini hanging below your chest, the bottoms crumpled between your thighs. Each breath rises and falls heavily. 

He raises himself on his knees and hooks his thumbs under his waist band. You stare. You can’t look away. He stretches it away from his body and around his rigid length. He pushes them down his thighs and stands to strip entire. 

His dick bobs before him as he looks down at you. You stare at it. It’s... well. You think it looks pretty big. You peek down at your body and put your legs together. You don’t think it will fit. That though makes your stomach ripple. Inside? 

He gets back to his knees next to you. He takes your hand and pets your knuckles. He kisses them as he caresses your palm. He examines it like something precious as he pushes it flat. 

He guides your hand down to his dick as he kneels beside you. His chest strains as he curves your fingers around him. Thick, firm, the veins swollen and hard against your palm. He pumps you down and back to his tip. He quakes against the motion. 

“Mmm, princess, do you feel how much I need you?” He growls. 

You blink and nod as he keeps your hand moving slowly; down, up, down, up. 

“Slow, like that,” he purrs. “You keep going, baby. Gotta make sure we’re both ready.” 

He drops his hand away from yours and looks down. He watches you play with him. You see how his stomach tightens as he braces his thigh. He groans and chews his lip. 

Your gaze falls to your hand. You’re enthralled by the sight of what you’re doing to him. You squeeze harder and he groans. His breath juts out of him in short puffs. His nails dig into the muscle of his thigh. 

“Yeah, like that,” he goads. “Just a little more...” 

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Eight

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 2.9k+

Chapter Warnings: Angsty with fluff? Mentions of medical emergency , hospital scene , parental health crisis , emotional distress , panic/anxiety , grief themes , mentions of bruises / past Hurt

A/N: heyyy I personally love this chapter sm and have been waitingggg to write it and now its here! I’ve been posting updates back to back recently but I’m so excited for this series and have the time to do so , so why not! andddd I'm sorry not sorry for the cliff hanger hehe enjoy - flower <3

series masterlist or read on ao3!

<- previous chapter - next chapter ->

The sleek local hospital thrived in continuous rhythm , beeping monitors , the echo of squeaky sneakers on linoleum , and the subtle murmur of clipped medical terminology exchanged in quick passing down the long halls. 

In her dark blue scrubs and stark white lab coat , Y/N moved through the building with focus , her expression calm even when her body ached from two back-to-back surgeries and very minimal sleep. 

She’d become good at this. At compartmentalizing her aches and problems. At doing the job and leaving everything else—including bruises , heartbreak , and hollow silence from the night before last—at the door ready to setp into her role as head of Cardio. 

Her happy place.

She leaned her body against and over the counter of the closest nurse’s station , reviewing the post-op notes for the aortic valve replacement she and Peter had just completed together.

It went perfectly  , without mistake and fail.

Her hands were sterile clean , purple gloves peeled off , fingers twitching with the phantom pressure of clamps and sutures in her grasp. 

Behind her , her intern Peter buzzed breathless about restocking supplies then finally catching up with his attending.

“Dr. Y/N , you’re , like… a machine,” Peter muttered , half in awe looking at her , half in fatigue as he slowed his breathing from chasing her down the hallway. “You seriously don’t stop , or…b-breathe.”

“I’m cardio. If I stop so do people's hearts,” she answered simply , marking the last chart smiling handing it to a nurse whos name tag she looked over reading Brandy .

“Thank you Brandy” she quipped.

Peter gave her a sheepish half smile before scuttling off to grab more EKG strips and gloves after they ran out in OR 3. 

Y/N pressed her knuckles into the back of her neck rolling it with a little wince.

That’s when her phone rang loud.

Her eyes flicked to the time then to the contact ID.

“ Wands “

Y/N blinked at the name , confusion covering her face and furrowing her brows. Wanda rarely called her in the middle of the work day unless it was an emergency , or now wedding-related. 

She picked up seeing she did not currently have a surgery beckoning her name at the moment answering with a quick. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Y/N!” Wanda’s voice was rushed , she sounded like she was mid race “Oh my god, I’m so sorry to bother you while your at the hospital… but I—I really need to ask you something, and it’s kind of a complete and total bridal emergency.”

Y/N glanced at an empty storage closet heading in , switching Wanda to speaker. “What happened?”

“It’s Darcy,” Wanda groaned. “She went on an early morning run this morning—who does that before coffee—and tripped over a stupid freaking tree root. She broke her ankle , clean break all the way through.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine. Just high on pain meds wobbling on crutches and furious about the timing,” Wanda said with a huff. “But now I have no maid of honor. I mean, I do… if you say yes to me.”

Y/N froze. “Me?”

“Yes , you , dummy,” Wanda said. “I didn’t ask you in the first place because I know you’re swamped with the hospital and moving and all , but please. Please, I need you. You know all the plans and everything about the day already , and everyone adores you. Plus , you’re walking with Bucky anyway since he’s my man of honor. It’s perfect!”

Y/N’s heart stuttered at that name. “Wait—what?”

“You’d be walking with Bucky. Is that okay?” Wanda’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t trust you both not to act like children on my special day.”

Y/N’s lips parted , a hundred feelings trying to surface at once. 

But there wasn’t time to process them.

Her pager buzzed, vibrating violently on her hip. A triple-page to the ER.

Code red - 911.

“I—I’ll do it , Wanda,” she blurted out , already moving to the ER. “I’ll text you after. I’m being paged to an emergency.”

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll—”

“Bye!” Y/N hung up on her mid-sentence.

Before she could put up her phone again , it began to buzz in her hand.

“ Bucky ;)  ”

She hesitated for a long pause but not stopping her steps , then for whatever reason she didn't even know herself she answered it , still jogging toward the main elevators.

“Hel-”

“Are you at the hospital?!” His voice was raw and breaking , loud enough that she had to hold the phone slightly away from her ear with a grimace.

Her stomach dropped to her knees at his tone. “Yes , Bucky of course I am , I’m literally on my way to the ER right now for an emergency , so can we—”

“It’s Ma!” he shouted , cutting her off again. “She’s the one you’re being paged for!”

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Then took off sprinting passing the elevators taking off down the stairs.

“W-what?”

“She collapsed at a bookstore, the one she loves on 22nd street. I—I got a call from first responders who got her. My number was in her wallet. She wasn’t waking up , they brought her in—” His voice broke. “They said she’s not responsive. Y/N , I don’t know what to do , I—”

“I’m coming. Stay on the phone Bucky i'm coming,” she said , already running as fast as she could. NOt caring about the stares she got from passing families and staff.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The large ER bay doors slid open with a gust of cold , sterile wind.

Her eyes swept across the bouncing and full room searching till she saw him. Bucky.

Standing in the middle of controlled chaos like the eye of a storm that was anything but calm right now , panic written across every line and show of his face. 

He was clutching his phone to his chest hard enough to split the screen into a million pieces , looking down the hall toward a gurney being rushed past two trauma bays.

On it lay his mother Winifred Barnes.

She was pale and still. Unmoving. Oxygen mask over her face. Eyes closed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to go to him.

She shoved and elbowed her way through the crowd and grabbed Bucky by the arm. “Hey , I’m here. I’m right here.”

His eyes locked on hers and immediately filled with tears gripping onto her. “Y/N��she just… she collapsed. I wasn’t there. I—I didn’t even—”

She wrapped both arms around him before he could fully collapse into himself.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, a hand coming up to his head raking her fingers in it , grounding him. “You did everything right , I'm here now.”

The paramedics called out vitals as they moved Winifred toward the cardio trauma room. 

Y/N turned to one of the nurses who was cleaning where they had Winniefred in the ER bay. “What’s her status Piper?”

“BP is crashing , CT confirmed complete LAD occlusion. We’re prepping the OR as we speak Im sorry Dr.,  but i gotta go”

“Thanks yes of course go-”

“Blockage?” Bucky whispered brokenly behind her , voice trembling.

Y/N spun turning to him , hands going on his shoulders. “It’s a heart attack , Bucky. A big one. But she’s here now , and I know this hospital, these people—we’re not going to waste a second they've got her.”

“But—what if it’s too late? What if—” he stutters out not breathing.

“Oh-Oh Okay. It’s okay your having a panic attack Bucky,” She acted quickly. “You're safe. Right here with me.”

She reached out and gently took his hand—it was clammy.

He didn’t pull away.

“Just copy me,” She whispered keeping her voice calm. She took a deep breath , in through her nose , slow and steady.

He tried. Too fast. Chest still fluttering rapidly.

“Okay , again. Slower this time.” She exaggerated itc, making her own breath loud.

In. Out.

He followed. Not perfect, but better.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re here. In the hospital with me , standing in a pretty gross ER." she let her lips twitch slightly.

He let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. Still shaking.

“You’re doing good,” He nodded.

His eyes finally met hers—and really met them. The tension in his body eased, just a little.

“I hate this,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said. “But , It’s not too late,” she said firmly cupping his cheek in one hand. “They’ll need to clear the blockage and place a stent. I’ve done this surgery myself a hundred times and the people working on her , I've trained.”

“But you’re not doing it this time,” he whispered, shaking his head. “So what if they mess up-?” He hiccuped.

Y/N’s heart cracked , he was so scared , right now he wasn't the built man who was standing before her. No , right now he was just a boy who’d seen too much grief, too much loss afraid to face more of it.

“I trust them with my life Bucky ,” she said , taking his hand rubbing over his knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They moved to stood outside the OR prep hallway , just beyond the sterile double doors , where Winifred Barnes was being wheeled into her surgery.

Y/N hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand once refusing to drop it.

Her grip had shifted , no longer urgent and needed , but a steady grounding tether. 

The same way he used to hold hers after she ran barefoot into his backyard , bruised and shaking.

Only now, he was the one who couldn’t stop shaking or trembling.

“She’ll be okay,” Y/N repeated , voice soft as they stood together pressed against the wall. 

The staff buzzed and swarmed around them , moving carts ,  monitors and medications with seamless precision in the OR. 

“Her vitals stabilized enough for surgery. The blockage they found is in the left anterior descending artery. But I'm hopeful they caught it fast enough. They’ll insert a catheter through the femoral artery and place a stent to open it.”

Bucky blinked at her like she was speaking a different language from another planet or world. “I don’t—I can’t follow all that.”

She turned toward him and gently touched his upper arm. “You don’t have to. That's medical nonsense. I’ll translate it into Bucky Barnes terms, okay?”

His lips twitched at that. Not quite a smile. But close.

“She had a heart attack,” Y/N continued calmly. “LIke i said earlier a pretty big one. But she’s in the best possible place right now. This team is the one I trust with my own patients everyday. They’re going to thread a tiny little wire into her heart and open up the artery that got blocked , which caused the heart attack. Once the artery opens again , blood will flow normally and her heart can start healing and getting stronger.”

“How does it know to go back to beating and healing again?”

“Muscle memory” Y/N smiled , squeezing his hand once.

Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the OR doors. “How long?”

“Depending on how stable she stays and how fast they access and treat the blockage… anywhere from 30 minutes to a couple of hours.”

He gave a slow nod , his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.

 “She was just going to the bookstore , ” he whispered. “Said she wanted to pick out a new book for Alpine because she “likes being read to during thunderstorms” She was just…fine.”

“I know.” Y/N swallowed the lump rising in her own throat. “That’s how it happens sometimes. There’s no warning no alert. But we’re not going to let her go , Bucky.”

He didn’t respond , just continued staring straight ahead. So she reached up and gently tucked a piece of longer fallen hair behind his ear , the way she used to when they were younger and he couldn’t sleep unless someone ran fingers through his hair. 

His shoulders eased a little at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed breathing out a shaky exhale.

“I’m staying with you.”

He looked at her. Really looked , eyes scanning her face for sincerity , searching for it. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

They ended up moving together to the small family waiting alcove near the OR corridor. 

It was a private little room with a soft muted blue couch , a few slightly worn and uncomfortable chairs , with a coffee machine that hadn’t worked properly in years. 

The overhead lights hummed too loudly , and the air conditioner made a clicking noise every time it kicked on.

But it was quiet. Safe.

Y/N sat down on the couch and gently pulled Bucky beside her wrapping her arms into his jacket and starting stroking his back

She slipped out her phone and sent a message redirecting her last surgery that day to the resident just below her .

They sat close , the space between them was warm with old familiarity and safety. 

She couldn't help but be reminded of their late-night study sessions at their shared off-campus apartment—awful coffee-stained old notebooks, half-melted pizza cold , and the curve of Bucky’s knee always brushing hers under their coffee table.

Except this time , there was no young laughter and love. No midnight music playing from her laptop speakers or Bucky's humming and her smile.

Only grief. And desperate waiting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Another ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then forty five.

Bucky didn’t speak the whole time since going to the family room. He just fidgeted—rubbing his thumb over the inside of his wrist , then clenching and unclenching his fists. 

His eyes never stayed still , flitting to the door , to the rug , to her, then back to the door again waiting for a doctor or nurse , or anyone to give him the news he needed.

“She’s tough, you know,” She tried to fill the silence. “Your mom , she once brought me soup when I had a cold from sleeping in the treehouse one night and wouldn’t leave until I finished all of it. She glared at me every time I tried to brush her off or say I wasn't hungry.”

A soft watery huff came from Bucky , barely audible but there.

“Yeah mom is a stubborn and stern one , once lectured a grown man at the grocery store for cutting in line in front of a teenager…She made him put all his stuff back,” Bucky added , voice hoarse. “Said the only way entitled jerks learn is through inconvenience.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Yep, that's Winifred Barnes.”

Bucky leaned forward , elbows on his knees , hands clasped tight between them dropping his head low. “I thought I lost her.”

“You didn’t.” She leaned over placing her forehead on his shoulder. “You didn’t.”

Another twenty minutes passed.

His hand found hers again.

And stayed there , neither pulling back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They both must have dozed off at some point while waiting. The exhaustion of the day , the anxiety and fear , the steady lull of the ticking wall clock all pulling them into something softer and restful.

Y/N’s head tilted to the side with an exhale , settling against Bucky’s shoulder.

His arm curved behind her body , on instinct , the way you hold something you don’t want to drop or lose.

His cheek rested lightly on top of her head , taking a risk , he lazily- sleepily kissed her temple with the softest brush of his lips , breathing evening out as she was already asleep.

For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—Y/N’s body was in no harm or pain , as he just held her.

They didn’t speak or wake when the other slightly shifted or stirred.

They didn’t need to just needed each other in this very moment.

The OR door hadn’t opened yet. The news hadn’t come.

But for now, in this sliver of peace between heartbeats and heartbreak.

They had each other-“Bucky?...Y/N?!...”

-end

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[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

Sleep

BangChan x fem! reader. 9th member.

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. MamaBear Collection.

Summary: Turns out you're a pretty good pillow for the guys.

You were often told by the guys that you were the best pillow. It was just one of the many titles you held within the group. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing, the boys always managed to fall asleep on you. Granted, you also did use them as pillows. Some more than others, but they had all had a moment when you had fallen asleep on them, too. You were just happy that the boys were getting sleep.

—--------

After you had recorded your lines for one of the newest songs, Chan had invited you to stay and help out, or just listen. Today you sat beside Chna, helping him to work. There was a gap between Changbin and Seungmin’s sessions. So whilst Han and Binnie went to get food for you all, using your card, you and Chan had decided to stay behind and look through the takes that had already been done.

Chan laid his head on your shoulder and let out a small huff of air. He ran his hands over his face and looked at you for a moment. 

“You okay?” You asked as you placed a kiss on the top of his head.

Chan shook his head. “Struggling to keep my eyes open. But we still have the rest of the team to go.”

“Chris. You can sleep. I can help. I’ve seen you boys use all this enough times to know what I’m doing.” You told him with a small nod of your head.

Chan shook his head once again. “No, I can do it.” He told you, but his eyes fluttered close. You didn’t move, you just let it happen. He was falling asleep, and you weren’t going to stop him. Your boyfriend was asleep for ten minutes before Seungmin came in with Binnie and Han trailing after him. 

“Hi, babies.” You spoke quietly. 

Seungmin walked into the booth and began his vocal warm-ups. Han sat on the couch and immediately began to dig into his food. 

Changin walked over to you and put your card back into your phone. He placed your favourite drink in front of you. Of course, you thanked him. Binnie quickly noticed Chan was asleep. “At least he’s finally sleeping.” He pulled up a chair, ready to help you with whatever you needed. 

You placed a hand on the red button, allowing Seungmin to hear you. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” You asked him softly.

Seungmin nodded and gave you a thumbs up. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright. We’ll go from the hook if that’s okay with you?” You asked him, not wanting to control everything. You still wanted Minnie to have his own input. 

And so you sat there and took on Chan’s role. Letting your love get some rest. Seungmin finished his session pretty quickly. He left you with a kiss on the head and a compliment. “You should do this more often. It’s fun seeing you in producer mode.”

Next came I.N. and then Felix. Changbin took over for Felix, but you still stayed, not wanting to move. Not wanting to wake Chan. 

He finally did wake up, though, as you were listening to Hyunjin perfect his line and Han was gearing up to go in. At first, he couldn’t believe he missed so much of the recording, but he gave you a soft kiss and whispered a genuine ‘thank you’. 

—--------

You had been lying on the floor. You were looking through your camera roll as everyone took a break from dance practice. You let out a startled yelp as you felt a hand slap your ass. You turned a little to see Minho cackling. He shook his head and flopped down on the ground beside you. 

“You did well.” He told you as he turned his body and lay down, his head lying on your back. His voice was slower than normal.

“Thank you. You did an amazing job. I know this was a tough routine. I’m proud of you.” You told him with a smile. You turned your head to look at him, only to see Minho’s eyes closed. A small snore left his lips. He must have been really tired. So you decided not to disturb him. You just kept scrolling through your camera roll. 

Chan noticed, though. About five minutes after Leeknow fell asleep, he noticed. He grabbed a pillow off the couch and walked over to you. 

“For your elbows.” He said as he helped you to move so the pillow would go under your arms. You couldn’t help but smile at him. Whilst you were busy making sure Minho slept, here Chan was, making sure you were okay. He ran his fingers through your hair gently. 

“I don’t have the heart to wake him. I know we should be practising, but he’s exhausted. They all are.” You spoke quietly.

Chan nodded his head in agreement and gently took your hand in his. He brought your hand to his lips and gently kissed your knuckles. “We all are. We can call it a day. Come back tomorrow?” He suggested to you. 

You nodded your head. “Yeah. We have the rest of the day cleared. I want the boys to go home and sleep. I’ll stay here until Min wakes up.” 

Chan couldn’t help but let out a small, soft sigh. You were so perfect in his eyes. “I love you.” He told you and placed a kiss on your forehead before standing up. 

“I love you, too.” You replied, the love clear in your voice.

“Alright. I think that’s enough for today. I want you all to go home, shower, eat and get a lot of sleep. We’ll continue practising tomorrow.” Chan told them all. The boys cheered and quickly moved to grab their things. 

Han paused, though, seeing that you, Chan and Leeknow weren’t moving. “Aren’t you three coming?”

“No, sweetheart. We’ll be home later. Min is asleep, and I don’t want to wake him.” You explained to the male. Having heard your words, Han nodded his head. He then looked at Chan. 

“I’m staying to keep her company. I’ll text to let you all know when we’re heading home. Now go.” He ushered the boys out of the room. Though Hyunjin was able to get a quick picture of you and Minho. He claimed it was for blackmail purposes. But the picture found its way as your and Hyunjin’s new contact picture for Minho. 

And so there you stayed. On the floor, with your eldest’s head on your back, fast asleep. The love of your life is lying in front of you. The two of you are playing on your phones, writing a new song together and just talking. Both were patiently waiting for Minho to wake up. There was no rush. Just two people hoping for their seven boys to get all the sleep they needed. 

—--------

Changbin had fallen asleep with his head on your thigh. You had all been chilling at the beach. Having fun, swimming in the ocean and making sandcastles. You had laid down on your side, on the blanket. Seungmin was taking pictures, and you had decided to pose. It was during this little photoshoot that Changbin made his way over to you. He had placed his head on your thigh and had grinned for the camera. 

The thing was, after Minnie was done, Binnie didn’t move. The two of you chatted for a moment, and you fed him some food. Then you began to realise that he hadn’t answered one of your questions. You turned your head to look at him, only to see Changbin fast asleep. His hand was half holding the bottle of water that you had given him. 

You let out a small giggle, grabbing your phone to take a picture of the male. Your hand came to play with his hair for a little while until the position got a little uncomfortable. In the meantime, you decided to enjoy watching the rest of the boys play and have fun. Seungmin was having fun taking pictures. Hyunjin, Felix and Chan were all in the water. Han and I.N. were trying to have a sandcastle competition. 

Minho made his way over to you and sat down beside you. “Sit up.” He said, causing you to frown. But you did it anyway, careful for to disturb Changbin. Leeknow moved so that when you lay back down, your head and arm would be on his lap. 

“Thank you.” 

Leekow just smiled at you and shrugged. “You’d do it for us. Just making sure you’re taken care of too.”

—--------

Hyunjin had decided to crawl into bed with you. You had all got the week off and had decided to get away. So you rented a nice house near a lake, away from everything. It was just the nine of you. You and Chan were lying in bed, watching YouTube. You were watching a YouTuber reacting to some Stray Kids stuff. It was something you enjoyed doing. 

The door to the bedroom opened, causing you and Chan to look over at who was coming in. Hyunjin closed the door behind as before he walked over to the bed. He lifted the covers and crawled into bed beside you. 

“What are we watching?” He asked curiously, and he lay back, his head on your shoulder as he relaxed. Your finger gently ran over his hair lightly, ready to pull away if he wanted you to.

“I thought you were sharing with Changbin tonight?” Chan asked him in confusion. 

Hyunjin shook his head. “No, he’s with Felix tonight.” He shrugged as he looked at the TV. He let out a laugh at something the guy said. “He’s funny.” He clapped. 

You and Chan shared a look. You simply shrugged and relaxed. Chan followed your lead, and the three of you continued to watch the TV. Slowly, as time went on, Hyunjin’s tiredness was getting the better of him. His head moved from your shoulder to the crook of your neck. His breath began to steady out, letting you know that he was slowly falling asleep. Thankfully, you were in a comfortable position. You didn’t want to risk disturbing him. 

One of Hyunjin’s hands was gently gripping your shirt. He slept soundly. Chan turned to look at you and smiled. “You’re so soft with them all.”

You gave him a sweet smile. “I know. But how can I possibly say no to our boys? I like taking care of them. Even if it is just using me as a pillow.” You told him genuinely. 

Chan chuckled. “When we get home, no one is allowed in our room for a week. Just us. No late-night cuddles with the boys for a week. I want you all to myself.” He kissed your cheek and turned off the TV via the remote. He lay down and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Good night, my love.” 

“Sweet dreams, my heart.”

—--------

Jisung was tired. It had been a day jam-packed with dance practices and interviews. Han was starting to feel tired by the time you all went to the studio. You all still have a few more things to do. So the boys went about their business. It was just three more hours, and then you could all go home. 

You stood in the recording booth. The headphone was on your head as you sang into the microphone. You wanted to get your lines over and done with. Chan had perked up a little, hearing you sing. Changbin was drinking coffee and cheering you on. Whilst the three of you were still tired, you managed to create a fun atmosphere. Eventually, you were finished. You exited the booth, giving Chan a soft kiss as you did so. 

You sat on the couch just as Han walked into the room and let out a yawn. You opened your arms for him. “Come here, honey.” 

Han walked over to you. He moved so that his back was against your front, though his head lay on your stomach. Your fingers ran through his hair. 

“Get some sleep, lovely. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go home.” You continued to stroke his hair. As you did this, you softly began to sing ‘Once Upon a Dream’ from ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Han snuggled closer to you as he slowly drifted off to sleep. You continued to sing to him until you were completely sure he was asleep. 

Whilst you had been cuddling Han, Chan had gone into the booth to record his lines, Binnie had, of course, played his role as producer beautifully. You listened to Chan singing and rapping, and a smile found its way on your face. You had always truly adored his voice. Truly and wholly.

Once he stepped out of the booth, he walked over to you and let out a chuckle. “We’ll get to go home soon. I just need Minho to go over his lines, and then we should be done for the day.” 

As if on cue, Leeknow walked into the room. He had previously just been cleaning the dance routine and helping some of the members with the moves. He was tired, but he was adamant about getting his lines done with. He gently stroked Han’s hair before heading to the booth, 

You would all be done soon. For now, though, you were happy to just let Jisung continue sleeping. You didn’t mind being a pillow for him. As long as he was getting the sleep he needed, you were happy. 

—--------

Felix walked into the kitchen. He silently watched you as you cleaned up. Technically, you shouldn’t be the one cleaning as you, Chan and Minho had cooked for the group. Every week, you all always had what you called a ‘family meal’. It was normally held in your, Chan and Innie’s dorm. But the family dinners were important. Whilst yes, you all spent a lot of time together, family dinners were a no-work zone. It was the same day every week, and everyone always made time for it. It was a chance for the nine of you to unwind and just enjoy each other’s company. 

You finished cleaning up and turned to look at Felix. “Are you okay, baby?” You asked him softly as you walked over to him. He looked tired, really tired. 

“I was wondering if we could cuddle?” He asked hopefully, then let out a yawn and covered his mouth. 

You nodded and walked over to him. You gently took his hand and led him to the free couch. You lie down. Felix carefully lay on top of you. His head comes to lie on your chest, his legs between yours. Your fingers gently ran through his dark hair. You felt his body relax into you. Your free hand came to gently rub his back. 

You began to hum ‘Blue’ by ZeroBaseOne. Slowly, Felix was beginning to drift off to sleep. The rest of the world didn’t matter. He ignored the sound of Changbin flirting with Hyunjin. Of the sounds of Seungmin and I.N. giggling over something Minho and Han were doing. What he didn’t miss, though, was a second hand gently stroking the nape of his neck. The last thing he heard before he let sleep take him was you, your voice softly singing to him.

“I wanna run, into your world of bright blue, whoa, touch the clouds.”

Chan had watched you and Felix when you had entered the room. He had watched as you let Felix snuggle into you, using your chest as a pillow, as he often did. His arms wrapped around you as you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands are moving from muscle memory. One gently stroked his hair, hoping to get him to relax. Your other hand wants to comfort him, but still being careful.

Chan got up and walked over to the two of you. He grabbed a blanket. It was cold, so he wanted to make sure you were both warm enough. Chan gently placed a hand on the nape of Felix’s neck, hoping for him to have a good sleep. 

You looked up at Chan and smiled softly. “Hi.” You spoke softly. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” He leant down and placed a kiss on your forehead. He put the blanket over the two of you. “Let me know when you want me to move him to the bed.” He ran his fingers through your hair. 

You gently nodded your head and smiled. “I will.”

Chan sat down on the floor in front of the couch you were on. He leaned back, enjoying getting close to you. He could be all lovey-dovey with you around the boys. You could be near and just be. They didn’t mind. They would tease you both, but the guys allowed a space where the two of you could be together freely and wholeheartedly. 

The evening continued on, and Felix was still fast asleep. The boys had fun playing games and just talking. Eventually, though, sleep was creeping up on everyone. You had somehow found yourself fast asleep during the chaos, though not before you invited Seungmin to stay the night, since Felix wasn’t going anywhere, you had offered for Minnie to stay so he wouldn’t have to be in the dorm on his own. Innie had offered for the two of them to share his room, with Minnie accepted. 

When you woke up the next moment, you found yourself in the same position as you had been in that evening, only now you and Felix were in bed and Chan was sleeping peacefully beside you both. 

—--------

You were all filming for a new SKZ Code episode. You were all having a lot of fun. You had all played a lot of games and done a lot of fun activities. However, the day was slowly coming to an end. The camera crew had left, allowing you and the boys to spend the rest of the night how you wanted. Of course, there were cameras in more a less every room, and also pointing outside. 

You were sitting next to Chris. Your head on his shoulder as you snuggled close to him. You were all giggling and just having a good laugh. Han stood in the middle of the room. He had been trying to make a joke, only to completely lose his train of thought after watching Felix throw a marshmallow to I.N., who caught it in his mouth. 

You suddenly felt pressure on your lap. You looked down to see that Seungmin had lain down beside you, his head on your lap. 

“Tired puppy?” You asked him curiously as you gently stroked the hair by the shell of his ear.

Seungmin nodded his head as he slowly closed his eyes. You moved your attention back to the group. You continued to stroke Seungmin’s hair lightly. It was a habit of yours. One that you didn’t notice at first, but Hyunjin had been the one to point it out to you, whenever one of the boys fell asleep on you, you’d play with their hair if you could reach it.

Seungmin wasn’t the only one to fall asleep, though, as Felix had fallen asleep on Hyunjin. However, the rest of you stayed up a little longer, talking and discussing what challenges you all thought would happen tomorrow. 

Chan was the one who eventually sent everyone to bed. “It’s getting late, and we all need to get some sleep.” He said. The rooms had already been chosen earlier in the day due to some games. 

“I don’t want to wake either of them up just to go upstairs.” You said as you bit your bottom lip softly. 

Changbin stood up and walked over to you. “I’ll carry him up. Which room is he in?” He asked as he carefully scooped Seungmin into his arms and lifted him. The sleeping male let out a small whine but stayed asleep. 

“Thank you. He, Lixie and Innie are sharing a room. Upstairs, second door on the right.” You explained as you stood up. You placed a gentle kiss on Seungmin’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, Puppy.” Changbin then made his way upstairs, with the second youngest in his arms.

You turned to Hyunjin. “Are you up for carrying Lixie upstairs?” You asked curiously, causing the taller male to nod his head. “Thank you, hun.” You walked over and repeated what you had done with Seungmin. You kissed his forehead and smiled. “Sweet dreams, baby.” You stepped back, allowing Hyunjin the room to stand up, lift Felix and carry him upstairs. Soon enough, everyone said good night to each other, and some hugs were exchanged. But eventually you were yourself were fast asleep with your head in Chan’s chest and his arms around your body.

—--------

Jeongin looked out of the window. Changbin was driving with Chan in the passenger seat. In the back were you, I.N. and Seungmin.  Leeknow was driving the second car, with Hyunjin in the passenger seat and the Sunshine twins in the back. 

You were on your way home after having a fun day out. I.N. was slumped in his seat. He was tired, and the movement of the car was not helping him to stay away. He was slowly nodding off. He didn’t notice that he had begun to lean into you. His head lay on your arm at a weird angle. So, you carefully moved his head to your shoulder, not wanting him to wake up with a stiff neck. 

The music in the car played quietly. The sound of Chan and Binnie talking filled the space, but not in an overbearing way. They were mainly discussing where to stop off to get food before going home. Chan was texting Hyunjin the details. Seungmin was watching something on his phone, but he too found himself leaning on your shoulder. You closed your eyes, not falling asleep but just enjoying the atmosphere. You spoke up whenever you were asked a question or when Chan or Binnie included you in the conversation. 

You were happy, though, letting the two youngest members of the group use you as a pillow. With one fast asleep and the other in his own world. You would never complain about being the group’s pillow. Because it meant they were comfortable with you. When asleep, a person is at their most vulnerable. And then sleeping on you showed they trusted you. They trusted you to let them sleep, to keep them safe, to keep them comfortable. You were to be that person for them, because you knew they’d do the same if the roles were reversed. 

 

—------------

Everything Taglist: Thank you for supporting me. @thecheshireprincess @potato-vagina @spanish-delulu-23 @deliciousmagazinequeen @myblovedjyh @alex--awesome--22

SKZ Taglist: Thank you for supporting me. @jinnie-ret

[citysuk]

when we were young | lh44 & nr6

chapter 3

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!strategist x nico rosberg

summary: "flashbacks when you meet me, your buzz cut and his hair bleached. even in my worst times, you could coul see the best of me. flashback to my mistakes, my rebounds, my earthquakes. even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me."

words: 1171

warnings: love triangle, fluffiness, 3 idiots who don't know how to really talk about their feelings. eventual angst. eventual brocedes conflict.

notes: double update? in this economy? yeah! love these three sm, I can't make you wait long. like and reblogs are very much appreciated 🤍 let me know if you want to be added to the tags!

series masterlist | previous | next | masterlist

Monte Carlo, Monaco — May 2006

You were in the same place as many years before, different time.

And as if you knew this place like the back of your hand, you didn’t need to turn to know who was coming. You’d recognize that laugh anywhere.

"Did you get taller, or is that just the Monaco ego showing?" you teased without looking back.

Lewis grinned as he stepped beside you, helmet under his arm, sweat still drying on his neck from the GP2 practice session. "Definitely taller," he said, flashing that crooked smile. "But yeah... maybe a little ego too. You need it here to survive."

You bumped his shoulder gently, grinning. "GP2 leader suits you."

He chuckled. "Feels weird without you out there, though. Like the grid’s missing something."

"Missing me spinning you off at the start, you mean?"

"Exactly that," Lewis grinned wider. "I miss seeing you in my mirrors."

Before you could reply, another familiar voice chimed in behind. "Still lying to her, Hamilton? Some things never change."

Nico strolled up, shades pushed into his hair, Williams team shirt crisp and clean. He grinned warm and easy, like old times — not the polished F1 rookie the rest of the paddock knew.

"You’re one to talk, Britney," Lewis shot back. "When’s the last time you admitted she beat you fair and square in karting?"

Nico gasped, mock offended. "Never. My pride’s worth more than the truth."

You laughed, shaking your head as they slipped into their usual teasing rhythm — easy, familiar, like nothing important had changed since those karting days. For a moment, standing there under the Monaco sun, it felt just like before. Three kids at the track again.

Lewis leaned against the barrier beside you, looking out over the pit lane. "Crazy, right? All of us here. Monaco. GP2. Formula 1. It’s like everything we used to talk about actually happened."

Nico smirked. "Told you it would."

You smiled, warmth curling in your chest. "It's wild seeing you two doing this for real. Like the world let you in after all that dreaming."

Lewis tilted his head, eyeing you. "Your world too, you know. You didn’t just disappear after karting."

You hesitated for a heartbeat, then grinned, pulse quickening. "Actually... that’s what I wanted to tell you both."

They quieted at once, turning to you.

"I signed with Mercedes," you said, trying to keep the smile from breaking wider. "Starting next season. Strategist."

Silence — and then Nico let out a sharp laugh. "No way. Seriously?"

"Seriously. Vodafone McLaren Mercedes Full contract. Starting 2007."

Lewis whooped, punching the air. "What?! Mate, that’s huge!"

"I know," you grinned, cheeks starting to ache. "I wanted to wait until it was all official before telling you guys."

Nico shook his head, laughing softly. "Unbelievable. From karting to the pit wall. You’re going to be running the show while we sweat out there on track."

"Better you than some suit who’s never smelled burning rubber in their life," Lewis said, eyes bright. "Damn, this is brilliant."

The three of you stood there for a moment, grinning like idiots, the sound of engines in the background, Monaco glittering around you.

"You’re going to kill it," Nico said finally, nudging your shoulder. "Mercedes is lucky to have you."

Lewis bumped your other side, grinning. "Guess that means when I get to F1, you’ll be telling me when to pit."

You laughed — real and full. "You better hope I like you that day." Their laughter joined yours, loud and warm, carrying over the roar of engines below.

For the first time that weekend, the future felt bright — not because of what they were doing, but because you were finally part of it too.

Your hotel room smelled like fresh shower gel and chocolate — the reward for surviving a long, sunny day in Monaco. You flopped backwards onto the bed, arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling with a grin.

"Mercedes. Bloody hell... Mercedes!" you laughed softly to yourself, the words feeling strange and wonderful out loud.

A soft knock came at the door. You frowned, checking the time. Past midnight.

"Room service!" came Lewis’s voice — badly disguised in a terrible French accent.

You groaned but couldn’t help smiling. "Lewis, what the hell—?"

"Open up before Nico finishes everything," he said, dropping the act. "We brought snacks."

Laughing despite yourself, you opened the door. Lewis stood there grinning, arms full of hotel room service plates — fries, tiny sandwiches, chocolate mousse. Nico behind him, holding a bottle of something bubbly from the minibar.

"Late night feast!" Lewis announced grandly.

"Old tradition," Nico smirked, pushing past you into the room. "Like Rye House — but warmer. And with fewer rats."

You rolled your eyes but smiled wide. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You're lucky we love you," Lewis grinned, balancing the trays on your tiny coffee table. "Otherwise you’d be stuck brooding up here on your Mercedes high horse, all alone."

"Brooding? I’m celebrating," you laughed, stealing a fry off the tray. "God, I’m still buzzing from telling you two."

"You should be. Big girl in the big league now," Nico teased, plopping onto the bed and kicking off his shoes.

Lewis sprawled onto the floor with a groan. "I give you six months before you’re running the whole damn team."

"I’ll be gentle when I start bossing you both around," you smirked, grabbing a sandwich.

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Nico muttered with a grin.

For the next hour, the room filled with laughter, crumbs, and old karting jokes. Lewis teased Nico about the time his engine stalled right before a final. Nico reminded you how you broke your own visor during a crash and stomped around like a storm cloud.

Lewis pretended to interview Nico with a butter knife like a Sky Sports reporter.

"So, Rosberg — tell the viewers, how will it feel being lapped by someone who used to glue stickers on her kart next to yours?"

Nico grabbed a fry and pointed it at you. "She’ll be feeding us pit orders while sipping espresso on the wall. But I welcome the challenge of having her on the paddock. Unlike Lewis, who’ll probably be stuck in GP2 forever"

"Oi!" Lewis grinned, throwing a napkin at him.

For the first time in weeks — maybe months — your chest felt light. Like the future wasn’t so heavy after all.

Later, when the food was gone and the minibar empty, they lay sprawled across your tiny hotel bed and floor, yawning, content.

Lewis propped up on one elbow, looking at you, his smile gentle now. "You’re gonna be brilliant next year. Proper brilliant. They’ve no idea how lucky they are."

"Mercedes is lucky," Nico echoed with a tired grin.

Your chest squeezed warm. "I’m lucky," you whispered.

The room fell into a sleepy quiet — three old friends curled around crumbs and memories, the outside world far away.

For one perfect night... it was just the three of you again.

Like karting days. Like always.

[spikedfearn]

at the rate I'm writing I should probably make a masterlist for my Remmick fics

[cameliawrites]

So I guess it's a rare double-post day over on my ao3 - with both a fluffier offering and an angstier offering for you. <3

[mothwingwritings]

Hey so, I looked on a03 and scrolled through your account here, but I just cannot find the chapter where step dad yujiro impregnates Y/N. Am I just stupid or is it hidden away or sum I'm getting frustrated over here, reading the other parts to that story, but not that, feels unfulfilling 😭

You know, I never actually made a dedicated chapter/story where step dad Yujiro impregnates the reader (at least that I can remember lol) but there was THIS ASK that I answered about that scenario.

There was also another ask I answered that had to do with Yujiro impregnating reader, but that ask was ABO flavored and can be found HERE.

If it wasn't either of those it may have been someone else's work. ^^;

[froggibus]

are we okay with the way my masterlist is formatted now? like just character name -> fic/hc titles -> marked as nsfw?

or would we prefer if I sorted them by angst/fluff/hurtcomfort?

i wanna make things easier on you guys for reading!! ^^ i thought before about maybe adding the summary’s to the masterlist?

i always see other people have like cute little symbols & stuff to divide them by what they are but tbh it always confuses my sleepy little brain :,) butbutbut if it’s something that you guys would like, i would gladly do it ^^

[kyouka-supremacy]

Your new banner is so cute I would buy a physical copy if it was an actual game 😭

Thought process was entirely: Atsushi turns one corner, sees Kyouka and his wallet becomes empty again; turns another corner, and his leg is surrendered as is their habitual mating ritual when seeing each other (just sskk being sskk); turns ANOTHER corner, and he's met with the traumatized kid who will give him trauma in return; turns a final corner, and he's greeted by the dude he saw falling off a mechanical whale a few seasons ago, then he reaches his mentor :>

No, don't do this to me……… [Crumbles under the effort that not going to animate this right this second takes]

[ray935sworld]

🐢 Now, I will tell you again something like USUALLY i am not the bittest fan of deaged fics. But apparently that was a loooong time ago. By now, I am making a fool of myself by telling you "I usually don't like..." because you make me want to read them eventually anyway. And because the academy deaged was super fun to read, especially the rosquez fluff parts (I think I haven't been turtle back then, but I am also not sure if I've sent an ask specifically about that one, I think it was something with thunder? Or am I stupid? Rn I hope I am not messing things up and it's actually yours but I can't check because I am typing rn). And now this I am really looking forward to read as whole as well!!!! The total shift of caring in Jorge when he learns it's something about Dani and the way he stands up for his opinion that he should be the one taking care of deaged Dani, I love it!!!!

Best part to me: "Jorge wasn't fucking with their bike. Just with their rider" RAY HAHAHAHAHHA I CAN'T OH MY GOD

And on a more serious note, it's super fine to need reassurance at times - even better that you say so when you need it!!!! And really, I love seeing my icon in your posts as well (be it my sent ask or your reply or a tag) and I am super sorry for taking so long (not particularly because I don't "know" I don't have to reply when I dont have the time because I want to be fully there mentally when replying (sound super awful when you phrase it like this, but I hope you get the point, thoughts matching as you said) but more because it caused you stress and insecurity and that's really nothing I want!!!!). Just know that I will always look forward to seeing your posts, especially if it's about something we've already discussed and I am in a way part of ❤️ And if I am ever in the saarland, I will hold you to that 🥰

And regarding your recent post, live changes so quickly and you are so right that things change over the years and I am so happy that you can speak so positively about those changes now ❤️

This took forever, I am so sorry, my headache was being a bitch and I wanted to do a proper reply - so hi. Here I am late but well.

I'm taking that as a HUGE compliment because what do you mean you don't like deaged but you read mine??? 😭🥺😭🥺😭🥺 Honestly I would have to check my asks. I know I got some anon asks about it and I aS soooo excited but they didn't use an icon (valid totally OK of course) but I'm glad you liked them :) The name of the story was thunderstorm and children's laughter. And yes it was mine. It includes the actual chapter, a cut out scene and a Christmas and new year "special". I wrote a deaged Jorge one and two about only Bez being deaged. One with Vale as a father figure. And one about marcmarc. Wow. It's almost like it's one of my favorite trops 😂 (it is)

I haven't really worked on it again but there's definitely going to be some VERY VERY soft scenes between mini Dani and Jorge. The main "issue" is gonna be Jorge unpacking his fear of being a father and accidentally turning out like his dad. (I was thinking about a kind of mirrored scene where kid Dani accidentally knocks over a glass or smth and it shatters and he starts crying and kid apologizes. And Jorge is extremely worried about Dani because he's sitting in between the shards and is crying so not looking where he's going/ putting his hands so he just grabs him, possibly hurting himself on the shards cause he doesn't care he just needs baby Dani to be safe. After making sure Dani is not hurt in the slightest, he's reassuring him it wasn't his fault and just in general being sweet to him. And then later he remembers a similar incident from his own childhood where he got yelled at for breaking something. And he looks at Dani and he can't even imagine in the slightest how anyone could raise their voice to an innocent child. Especially their own. And he just loves the idea of possible raising a child with Dani so much that he can't see himself hurting their baby in any way and that's kind of the key moment where he realizes that he really wants to have kids and that he can be a good dad with Dani.)

Meanwhile baby Dani is gonna be very much all over Jorge. I'm not sure how far I'll write. Maybe I'll include Dani turning back or smth (similar scene to angry teen at the end), maybe not, it really depends how long it'll be and if the story feels completely. I do remember that I had an additional idea with Marc after Dani turned back to normal that was more crack but I can't remember :(

Oh that's soooo sweet of you to say. Thank you so much. Again. It means so much to me to hear that. And please don't worry about taking a little longer to reply. I totally understand that you want to be there mentally and I really don't want you to feel like this is a "task" it's supposed to be fun. So please take your time. And I promise me, normally I'm not getting anxious if you don't reply within idk a day or two or how ever long you need. Yesterday was just a bad day mentally for me due to some stuff so I was already on edge and that of course then wasn't excatly helping my anxiety. But I'm managing and I'm yapping again - anyway - what I'm trying to say is. Don't worry. Take your time. Always looking forward to hear from you. ❤️❤️❤️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You cling onto the strap of your bag, wringing it as your nerves build with each step. You're really doing this. You're going out with a boy. No, a man. 

You stop short, a few feet from Nick's car. You gulp. What would your dad say? What would he do if he found out? How much would he really care? He only cares about your grades. 

You stare as you weigh the decision. He's not going to find out. Austin won't even know you're gone. So why are you suddenly so afraid?  

Nick's headlights flash and he rolls toward you. You turn to face him as he pulls up. You smile to hide the tremor in your chest. 

"Hi," you squeak as he lowers his window.  

"Hey, princess? You forget something? What's the matter?" He asks. 

"Oh, uh, I don't know," you look back at the house. "I... no. I..." 

"Get in, baby." He reaches over to pat the passenger's seat. "Boat's waiting." 

You stutter step then stagger around the car. You fumble with the handle and swing the door out. You fall in, ready to dissolve into mist, and shut the door with a jarring snap. 

You're so anxious, you could explode. Before you can even reach for the seat belt, Nick's on you. He cradles your cheek and slips his hand down to your chin. He holds you firmly and leans in, brushing his nose against yours. 

You shiver at his closeness. His warmth swathes around you and his scent stains your breath. 

"You miss me?" He purrs. "I missed you, princess. All I've been thinking about is you. About us." 

"Um, yes," you babble and nod into his hand.  

His lips curve and he presses them to yours. You brace his forearm in surprise, his veins bulging against your palm. His tongue dips into your mouth and he growls. He leans further over the space between the seats, smothering you. 

When he parts, you're dizzy, lips puffy, and cheeks burning. You stare at him dopily. You push your thighs together and tilt your pelvis. That tingly coil winds through you. 

He wears short-sleeve white button up with a blue line at the edge of the collar. And pale blue shorts that cut off high up his thighs. He wears those loafer-type shoes with the little nautical knot. Boat shoes? His gold chain sparkles above his chest and his pinkie ring encircles his finger. 

"I got everything you need, baby. Don't worry. It's all on the boat," he pets your cheek with his knuckles. "You're just going to sit back and relax. Let me take care of you." 

"Al... alright," you wisp. 

It's going to happen. You felt it. In his urgency. You know what he wants. He hasn't been subtle. You think you want it too. That must be what makes you so squirmy. 

"It's gonna be a great day. Just us. At last." He looks over the steering wheel and buckles his seat belt. You do the same. "Sun, drink, each other..." 

He grips the wheel with one hand and slaps his other onto your thigh. 

"We got all day and I'm going to take my time, baby. I'm gonna make you feel like the princess you are." He slowly pushes down on the gas. "You don't gotta worry about nothing." 

💜

The water gently stirs as you walk down the dock. Nick has your hand in his as he guides you along the shore side. There are other boats tied off there. Luxurious boats with upholstered seats and cabins, large steering wheels and monikers written across the sides. 

Austin has pictures of a boat like this on his socials. He went off with his friends last summer and came back hungover for a week. Your dad let him sleep it off while you did his dingy laundry. 

A ripple flows through you. Something like anger. Irritation. Your brother gets to go off and have fun without question. Even your dad goes out for drinks or goes golfing or whatever else he likes. Why is it so bad that you do anything at all? If your dad even knew about the trip to the gelato shop, he’d be barking at you for wasting time. 

You sigh. Nick squeezes your hand as something jingles in his other. He tugs you back before you walk off the side of the dock. 

“Woah, baby,” he draws you to face him. “Don’t want you falling in.” He kisses your forehead and the heat of his lips pulls you back to the present. “Whatcha sighing for?” 

“N-nothing. I...” you look around, searching for anything to say. “I’ve never been on a boat.” 

“Gonna be a lot of firsts today,” he winks and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “You stay here. Keep clear of the edge for me, princess.” 

He lets you go and shakes the keys in his other hand. You fold twine your fingers together and press your palms to your stomach. You turn to watch him as he nears the edge of the wooden planks. He hops across onto the open rear of the boat, easily launching himself over the gap. 

He steadies himself and ducks under the roof. You listen to his steps as the boat shifts subtly. You rock anxiously as a cool breeze brushes across you. 

He appears again and bends to slide out a board hidden beneath the floor. He extends it over the space between the dock and the boat. He straightens up and reaches to you, one foot on the ramp. 

You untangle your fingers and take his hand. He guides you firmly across onto the polished flooring. You glance around at the open space at the back of the boat, just behind the cover sitting area of the cabin. White leather and azure cushions. A table mounted between the benches, a narrow doorway to the front of the boat with the driver’s seat. 

“Wow, this is yours?” 

“Sure is,” he drags his hand up your arm slowly. “Ours.” 

You look at him, your heart pumping. You smile. You peer back at the dock. 

“Oh... I...” You watch a woman on another boat, in a sarong and sun hat. 

“I told you. I got everything figured out,” he rubs your shoulder. “Just a minute.” 

He turns and goes to slide the board back under the floor. Then he stands and unmoors from the post. The boat rocks with his steps. 

He strides back to you and points to the bench. “That’s yours there.” 

There’s a white and blue beach bag on the seat. You hadn’t paid it much attention at first glance. You tilt your head curiously. 

“You get into your bathing suit and I’ll get us asea,” he coaxes. 

“Oh, uh, okay?” 

“One thing at a time, right?” He purrs and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes as a thrill rolls over you. Too far. No going back. 

“Yes, Nick.” You murmur as he parts, cradling your face as he brushes his nose up yours and once more presses his lips to your forehead. He hums. 

“Good girl.” 

His reluctance has his hand lingering on your neck before he pulls back. He turns and struts through the cabin to the front of the boat. He drops into the driver’s chair and you watch him swipe up the keys from the little tray beside the wheel. He turns the engine and the rumble startles you. 

You approach the beach bag. You peek inside as you touch the side. You reach in to pull out the bikini top. Oh. You only ever wore a one-piece with shorts. Your dad made you keep a tee shirt on even. This is less than you could even imagine. 

You run your finger over the patterning on the triangle of fabric. White with lilac vines printed onto it. It’s pretty and the straps are like thick ribbons. 

You glance at Nick and the boat lurches. You land on the seat with a gasp. He looks back. 

“You okay? Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“I’m good,” you sit and dip your chin, examining the top. Your hands tremble. You peek at him again. He’s focus on steering. 

You nod, goading yourself into it. You unhook your purse from across you and put your phone inside. You push it against the back of the sofa bench and drop your shoulders. This is what you want. It has to be. 

You peel off your shirt and look down at your bra. Plain, white, boring. You reach back to unhook it, another wary look at the driver. He’s unconcerned as the boat bobs over the waves. 

You take off the bra, your nipples hard from the air breezing through, or maybe the anticipation. You tie on the bikini top and it does little to hide them. Your chest feels like it will spill out at any moment. 

You stand and search for the bottoms. Not much more than the top. You quickly change into them. You try to stretch the fabric across your bum but it only covers half your cheeks. You chew your lip. 

You take the flip flops sticking out of the bag and put them on. You fish around again and pull out a sheer purple cover up. It opens in the front and has little tassels dangling from the short sleeves. 

“Alright,” Nick proclaims and makes you flinch. 

You bend to gather up your clothes and stuff them away in the bag. He stands and turns, ducking into the cabin then stands straight. He looks you up and down as you cross your arms. 

“Princess,” he breaths as he grabs your wrist. “Let me see.” 

He takes both your arms and pulls them apart. His eyes rove up and down your body. You shiver as the cover up falls open. 

“Oh...” he utters. 

You stare at his shirt collar, face ablaze. Is he disappointed. You brace yourself for it. 

“Wow,” he slips his hands from your arms and frames your hips. “Baby, you look amazing.” 

“Um, really?” You jitter in disbelief. “Er, thanks.” 

“Baby, baby, baby,” his thumbs dig into your soft flesh. “We got all day... so you gotta make me go slow.” 

“Oh,” you gulp. 

“I could...” he begins and chuckles. He shakes his head and pokes his tongue into cheek. “Come on, let’s get settled.” 

He lets you go and pops open the top button of his shirt. He goes down the row and pulls apart the fabric, revealing his muscled torso. He strips away the linen shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the bench. You gape at his chest. 

“Like what you see?” He taunts and you look him in the face, shrinking in embarrassment. 

“I--I--” 

He snickers. “It’s all yours, princess. You don’t gotta be shy.” 

“I... okay. I'll try.” 

“Baby, I got you, alright?” He drawls. “Come on.” 

He takes your hand and guides you onto the back of the boat. As it rocks with the water, you’re put even more off-kilter. He squeezes before he releases you again.  

He peers around and grabs a striped fabric chest. He flips the top and pulls out a large beach blanket. He spreads it over the flooring. He goes back to the cabin and grabs some cushions and tosses them down too. He plunks the chest at the edge of the blanket. 

“Got drinks, got snacks,” he reaches inside, “but most important, sunscreen.” 

You nod. He takes out the bottle of cream and wiggles it at you as he comes closer. He touches the edge of the cover-up. “Take this off. I’ll get you.” 

“Huh, oh?” You look down and shrug. You let the sheer fabric fall down your arms and pile at your feet. You’re too stunned to catch it. 

“Come on,” he gets down on his knees. “Relax, princess.” 

He tugs until you get down to. He taps the bottle on the blanket. “Lay down.” 

“Uh, okay...” you lay on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as your chest hammers. 

He shifts onto his butt and flicks the cap open. He squirts the cream into his palms and rubs them together. The coolness of the lotion is as jarring as the feel of his hands. He starts at your neck, smearing across your collar bone and to your chest. 

He drags his hands down, spreading it diligently before squeezing more from the bottle. You twitch as he gets to your chest, poking his thumbs under the edge of the bikini to get cream there too. He rubs it into your skin as your nipples poke against the fabric. 

He continues on to your stomach, massaging as he goes, then does your arms, kneading your hands delicately as he gets between your fingers. You’re paralysed as he plies the UV to your skin. 

He pokes your thighs, “come on, baby.” 

You hesitate before you spread your legs. You squeak as he gets between them on his knees. For a moment you think... 

He claps his hand on your thigh and smears the cream into your skin. He squeezes and his fingertips sends sparks through you. You spasm and squeal as he hits every nerve. You wriggle at the unbearable tingle. 

You giggle as the sensation turns ticklish. He chuckles too and purrs, paying close attention to your thighs. Pushing his thumbs in until your clasp onto his wrists. 

“Nick!” 

He smirks at you. “These are nice,” he clamps tighter on your thighs. “You know that?” 

You whimper his name again. He pulls out of your grasp and drags down your legs to your feet. When he finishes your soles, he clucks. 

“Turn over.” 

You blink but do as he says. You flip onto your stomach, feeling the jiggle of your bum as the bathing suit rides up. He hums. 

“Oh, princess,” he drones. 

“I... sorry,” you reach to fix the bottoms. 

He tuts and swats your hand away. 

“It’s all mine, baby. Don’t you worry. I want every part of you,” he shoves your hand down so it bounces on the floor. Your knuckles ring with the impact. “I told you, relax.” 

He gets up on his knees and blends lotions into your shoulders and down the back of your arms. Then he coats your back and hips, following the curve of your back to your bum. He massages the rise of flesh and bends to kiss the swell. You squeal in surprise and he nips you. 

“Mmm, delicious,” he snarls and runs his thumbs along the crease below your butt. You wince and ball your hands. 

He continues along the back of your thighs, even more sensitive than the front, and you squirm. You can hear him breath, almost growling. Your own breaths puff out in a storm of excitement and fear. 

As he gets the back of your calves, your head swims. He raises himself up and moves beside you. He caresses your arm. 

“Now let me see that pretty face.” He grits. 

“Sure, uh,” your turn over again and sit up. 

He rubs his hands together then cradles your face. He uses his thumbs to cover your cheeks with cream and traces your features. He runs his palms over your face gently and caps off the application with a longing kiss on your lips. 

He hovers just before you. “My turn.” 

He lets you go and lowers himself down. He hands you the bottle and you take it, dazed as your skin thrums. You watch him as he pushes his chest up just slightly and your eyes scale down his torso. Where do you start? 

You dollop the lotion into your hand and mash them together. You start at his neck, feeling his throat bob. He purrs as you get to his shoulders. The firm muscle makes you quiver inside. Then his chest... oh. It feels so nice. So strong. 

You retreat and focus on his arms. There’s muscle there too and the thick veins on his forearms have you squeezing your thighs together. His hands are bigger as you focus on them and rubs the cream into his rough palms. 

As you ply the sunscreen to his stomach, you feel it clench. You recoil as something catches the corner of your eye. You gasp and stare at the front of his shorts. You can see him inside, nearly bursting out as he bulges beneath the waistband. 

He lifts his head and groans. 

“It’s okay, baby, I won’t bite... yet,” he snickers. “Keep going.” 

You nod and bite your tongue. You put your hands back on his stomach and trail along his sides, sure to get every bit of skin. Your eyes flit back to his shorts. Your insides tighten. You shake at the flicker in your mind, the thought of grabbing it... 

Instead, you shift and move to his thighs. As tempting as it is, you’re still terrified. You’ll work up to that. Eventually. 

[astraystayyh]

"when you used to feel lonely but not anymore with minho."

this is on your masterlist but clicking on it takes me to the fic below it 🥹🥹 LOVE YOUR WRITING

aaaah i’m sorry baby i fixed the link rn!! it should work for you :)) THANK YOU ❤️

[starmocha]

wanting to do some writing but also wanting to take more illusio screencaps (especially of Zayne in That Hairstyle) but also needing to download all of the illusio screencaps i've already taken and helpppp i've just downloaded 1.2k screencaps and not close to being done 😭😭😭 and i also need to transfer them to my old laptop and also backup all of those files Just In Case 😔

i might have a problem 😔

this will be worth it, i say with tears in my eyes as i do this miserably tedious task

[little-pup-pip]

hey hope its not too much to ask but could you make some puppy stimboards with no agere stuff in them? my girlfriend has triggers with that kinda stuff and i wanna be able to show her stimboards

Hey there!! My requests are closed currently, but I have what you're looking for in my petre masterlist!! A lot of my moodboards in there have no agere stuff! There are some that have agere themes, so I would look at them before showing her, but there's probably some stuff in there she'd enjoy!!

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!